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warlockslovetomeow · 20 days ago

Text

time flies...

when captain jenna assigns you to infiltrate an intel hub disguised as a jazz club in the N109 zone, you make one simple request to the universe: don’t let me run into my ex. that prayer goes unanswered. but others? you might just get lucky.

pairing: exbf!sylus x female reader warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, porn w plot, porn w feelings, exes w unresolved tension, possessive behavior / mild jealousy, loooots of banter, thigh rubbing build up, dirty talk, like filthy, bratty!mc, sylus wants you so bad, walk him like a dog sis, oral (m & f), eating from the back, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, mating press, cumming inside a/n: wrote this with one hand!!!!! i need this man so bad!!!!!!!! wc: 5.9k

"....located in the N109 zone. any questions?"

and then she shot you. captain jenna—your fierce and until approximately five seconds ago, loyally trusted commander—had just fired her pistol at you within point-blank range.

you swallowed the bullet lodged in your throat before responding, reaching deep within yourself to appear as neutral as possible.

"no, captain!"

damn it all. of course your previous experience in the N109 zone would put you at the top of the list for this mission. unknown to your captain though, you'd rather chew on knives than risk a chance encounter with your ex boyfriend.

but since the intel she's assigned you to look into involves a new strain of protocore tech that mimics wanderer signatures, making it nearly undetectable and dangerous for all factions, it was high priority. and unfortunately for you, the same thought was likely running through his mind.

it'd been months since your messy breakup, months since you've spoken to each other. he wouldn't dare try anything again, especially in a compromised place like a covert jazz club.

when it came to sylus, however, you knew better.

you run through the briefing details once more in your head. this intel hub operates like most others in the N109 zone: secretive and precise. a surefire way to get yourself killed in places like these is by looking confused or unsure.

your orders are to tell the bouncer you're searching for a man wearing green inside, the color being code for the information category. according to association intel, green signifies everything related to protocores. once inside, you're to head to the bar and order an emerald isle, the contents being a gin and mint martini. the mint serving as a tip-off that you're looking for fresh, new information.

from there, you're basically on your own. the guise of a jazz club is intentional, patrons are to fraternize with their drinks visible in hand, searching for people with similar colored ones. once you find someone, you relay what drink you ordered, and if they have information on such a topic, they'll take a sip from your drink.

the catch? no refills allowed. if the person has irrelevant information, you've wasted part of your opportunity.

you saunter up to the entrance of the club, your black maxi dress shaping your body perfectly and almost causing you to disappear into the low lighting, exactly as planned. if the situation were to get threatening, your dress wouldn't be a risk.

however, this mission required you to look enticing while eyes were on you. the low, fishtail back and thin straps were sure to prompt onlookers to approach you and chat. you'd keep them in line, if not with words then with your loaded gun strapped firmly to your thigh.

you smile sweetly at the bouncer, saying everything required and getting inside without breaking a sweat. the club is busy, but not overwhelmingly so. you do a full room scan and mentally note that there are around 8 people with green drinks in hand—all at different levels of fullness. after you order the emerald isle, you make your way to the floor.

time to hunt.

the moment you walked in, sylus choked on his drink.

of course you'd be the one sent here. of course the same woman who hadn’t so much as looked at him in months would stroll back into his life with a drink coded for protocore intel.

the very thing that blew everything apart.

you hadn’t changed a bit. still walked like you owned the room. still wore danger like perfume. and those straps clinging to your body? a challenge written in silk. that dress wasn’t for him, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if some part of you knew he’d be here. if some part of you wanted him to look.

hell, he was looking. couldn’t stop, actually.

he leaned back in his seat on the second-floor balcony, his eyes locked on your every move through the dim haze and low lights. moments ago, he’d been halfway through a trade with the scrawny male seated across from him. but now, the man might as well be invisible. sylus couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve looking at you.

he watched you flash that fake, pretty smile—the one you wore while you were on missions. no one else would know the difference. but he did.

when he saw the color of your drink, he almost laughed. no doubt you were here for information surrounding the new wanderer mimicking tech. the irony twisted like a blade between his ribs.

you hated him for hiding his connections to protocore manufacturing. said it was betrayal. said you couldn't trust someone who kept secrets like that. but you never saw the full picture. he was protecting you from yourself.

you didn’t understand, maybe you still don't, but he hadn’t been lying to hurt you. he knew what getting you involved would cost. he knew you, and the second you found out the truth about what exactly onychinus was sponsoring, it'd drag you into the depths of the mystery surrounding your aether core. he knew you wouldn't be able to stop pursuing it all, no matter what it did to you.

and now, here you were. wading waist-deep into the same fire he lost you to.

sylus clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his glass. he should look away. should let you do what you came here to do.

but then some lowlife in a tacky rust-colored suit slithered up to you, requesting a dance. he was too close. acted too familiar. sylus watched your smile shift into something tight and forced. the kind you used when you were baiting someone.

no.

he wasn’t going to just sit back. not when you were back in his orbit, whether you meant to be or not. and not when he still wanted you just as badly as the day you walked away.

this had to be some sort of punishment. you must’ve pissed off the universe in a past life to end up pressed against a man wearing the ugliest rust-colored suit known to mankind. he smelled like sweat masked with cheap cologne. every inch of him screamed sleaze. yet, here you were, letting him touch you. because, of course, the filthiest bastard in the room had the most valuable intel so far. and with your drink nearly empty, you couldn’t afford to cut the dance short.

his grimy left hand rested on your waist—drifting lower with each passing second—while his other clung to his green drink like he planned to propose to it before the night was over.

"...only sold to the 1%, then trickling downwards to whoever can afford those prices. say darling, you oughta come home with me tonight. there's a lot more i can tell ya, you know, in private." his voice dripped like oil, and as he leaned in to whisper the last part, his fingers slid beneath the open hem of your back.

you resisted the overwhelming urge to pull out your pistol and really show him something private.

instead, you forced a breath and put on a tight smile. a smile that was nowhere near reaching your eyes, barely a curl on your lips. then you steered him back to the reason you were even still breathing the same air. “who are they buying from? is there no logo? no trace of manufacturing?”

“not a thing,” he said, grinning like he thought he was clever. “but I did hear some old abandoned buildings around the N109 zone have been lighting up lately. enough space to test high risk tech in those.”

you could barely hold back your eye roll. the way he spoke, like you owed him something just for opening his mouth, grated on every nerve in your body. and he looked at you like he planned to collect on that imagined debt in full.

“where’s the closest one?” your tone had a sharp edge now. his fingers kept wandering, and your patience was running thin. you needed this conversation over. and this man dead.

"hmm? not far from here. i'd say about—”

he didn’t get to finish.

a tall figure stepped between you and the creep, sliding a hand onto your waist in place of the one you'd been seconds from snapping in half. you didn’t need to look. didn’t need to double check.

you could recognize sylus by touch alone.

“mind if I cut in?” he said smoothly, his voice low and razor-sharp. “this man appears to be more thirsty than classy.”

you sighed. worst timing possible.

"no, thank you. that’s the idea,” you replied coolly, but it didn’t matter.

sylus had already made his move. the shorter man stumbled back, face ghost-white, mumbling something that sounded like an apology—or maybe a prayer—before scurrying off as if sylus had just rearranged his face with a look alone.

then, he turned to you.

he didn’t speak at first, only stared. like he couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t believe you were real. his gaze swept over you, slow and starving, as if he were trying to memorize every inch before you vanished again. not a trace of a smirk, just a man who’d been sucker punched by the sight of you.

but eventually, sylus flipped the mental switch. he stepped closer, hand outstretched, voice as smooth as sin, "this place was dangerous before you walked in. now, it doesn’t stand a chance.”

you stared at him, unblinking, letting the silence hang just long enough to make your point. the theatrics didn’t impress you, but the corner of your mouth twitched anyway, a reflex you hated. with another sigh you stepped forward, your hand sliding into his like muscle memory.

before you could get a word in, sylus reached for the drink still in your hand. his fingers brushed yours, unhurried and deliberate, as he took it from you without asking to silently relieve the burden.

his other hand found your waist and you let yours rest on his shoulders, the familiar feel of him under your fingertips sending a shiver through you.

it was dangerous how easy it was. how quickly your steps matched the rhythm. how naturally your body leaned into his, like the time apart had never happened. the jazz music swelled around you and you both moved with it like something practiced in another life.

then his mouth was near your ear, voice dipping low as the air between you tightened. “careful. you dance like someone who remembers exactly how I feel.”

“i dance like someone who can’t wait for this song to end," you shot back, your tone sharp enough to cut.

"no," he said, like he knew something you didn't. "you dance like someone pretending the space between us isn't pulling you in.”

a tense beat passed.

"poetic. a bit too drab for my taste, unfortunately."

“you used to like the way I spoke when it was your name in my mouth.” his voice danced down your spine like a dirty promise, hot enough to make your stomach twist.

you hated it. hated that he still had this hold on you. that months later, you still reacted.

you bit back, voice steady and full of edge. “and you used to listen when I said no.”

“you never said no when it was just the two of us.”

his tone was so unbothered, so undeniably sylus. you hated how your chest ached at that. you'd buried that version of you with him a long time ago. or at least you thought you had.

you glared at him, trying to telepathically communicate how badly you wanted him to burn.

the song then faded into a slower, darker tune. like even the music knew how deadly this was becoming.

you stepped back, but only a hair. not enough to give him the satisfaction. just enough to remind yourself you still could.

his gaze followed the retreat like it hurt him to let you go. “how did you find out about this hub? did you come alone?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned from him. a clean, intentional break. you were done letting him circle you like he still had the right.

but his fingers caught your wrist before you could fully disappear from him again, placing your hand back on his shoulder.

“an emerald isle,” he murmured. “what intel are you here for?”

you looked him dead in the eyes, annoyance painting your features. “sooo many questions. do you always get this chatty when you're trying not to look desperate?"

god, he missed you. missed when you got like this with him. he loved nothing more than when you challenged him, rough and biting.

“just concerned, sweetie. especially if what you know brought you here…" his smile curled as he spoke. "…looking like this.”

“that's too bad. you don’t get to play protective anymore. that role expired." your voice came out flat and cold, like you had rehearsed the indifference.

“mmm. but it seems your feelings for me haven’t, kitten.”

“funny. i don’t remember ever admitting I had them.”

“no? then why are your thighs tensing like they remember everything?”

your breath hitched. not loud, but enough to make you furious with yourself. heat flushed up your throat, mortification and memory colliding in the worst possible way. you hated that he noticed. hated more that he was right. that your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

you didn’t let the silence stretch. couldn’t let it stretch.

"you're in my way."

sylus tilted his head, the smirk on his lips making your blood boil. “and you’re in my thoughts. every day. every night. doesn’t feel fair, does it?”

“what’s not fair is how your ego somehow survived our breakup.” you spoke through gritted teeth, still recovering from his last blow.

“you don’t have to say it," he was grinning now—the bastard. "i can feel it.”

“what, your neediness?” you practically spit back, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

“yours, actually. you’re shaking, kitten."

“it’s rage.”

“mmm. is that what we’re calling want these days?”

before you could fire off something scathing, sylus wrapped his fingers around your wrist again and this time he pulls. not hard, just enough to close the last of the distance. chest brushing chest, breath mingling in the small space in between your lips.

“you think I don’t know that look in your eyes? that tilt in your hips when you dance near me? you want distance, yet your body keeps inching closer," his voice was low, fever laced into every syllable. "what am I to believe?”

“i'm working, sylus. this—” you gestured between your bodies, the closeness, the feelings, all of it. “—can’t happen again."

his smirk fades, but not into hurt. into hunger. “then tell me to stop.”

you don't.

his fingers trace the underside of your jaw, measured and daring.

“say it." he murmurs. "say stop.”

but you don't. you can’t. your lips part, but not for protest. then—

“is there a problem here?” a voice cuts through from behind, snapping the spell. a man steps between you and sylus, eyes flickering between your faces. “doesn’t look like you want to be with him, sweetheart. just say the word.”

“step back,” sylus says before you can even breathe, his tone icy. possessive. “you’re in her space. that’s the problem.”

the man falters, visibly unsettled by the sharp gleam of red in sylus’ eye. “i’m sure she’d prefer someone who doesn’t drag her around the dance floor.”

sylus smirks at him, deadly calm. “she’s exactly where she wants to be.”

it seems the man recognizes onychinus' leader, because that’s all it takes. the man backs off without another word.

you let the silence settle, pulse still fluttering from both the interruption and everything before it.

“jealousy doesn’t suit you,” you tease, turning your head just enough to draw his eyes back to your mouth.

“neither does watching you pretend you don’t miss me,” he shoots back, matching your quip as he always excelled at doing.

“i don’t.”

he smirks. “liar.”

your voice sharpens. “we’re broken up, sylus. don’t you recall?”

his gaze doesn’t waver. “i remember everything. your laugh. your skin. the way you used to—”

“don’t,” you cut in, voice like a blade. “you don’t get to say those things anymore.”

he leans in anyway, close enough that you can taste the desire radiating off him.

“then stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?” you hiss.

his mouth curved with mischief and warning. “like you want me to follow you upstairs.”

you blinked, heart slamming so hard it hurt. and for one breath, you let yourself feel it, all the pain he left behind.

then you swallowed it whole, and drowned in him.

as you both slipped out of sight from the crowded dance floor, sylus tugged you closer, kissing you like he’d been starved. your bodies stumbled up the stairs, hands tangled and desperate, a hunger between you that neither could deny. he pressed you against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips trailing down your neck, each kiss an act of claiming. you felt his eagerness press against you and your head swirled deliciously.

“i can feel how badly you want me,” you taunt, chest rising as you fight for composure. “want me so bad you’d drop to your knees if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”

"you could make me beg for you. and more." he pressed into you, harder now. his body solid against yours as the air became thick with want. “but we both know you want to be the one on your knees."

you pull off him with a smirk of your own, opening the closest door and leading him inside. “you think you’re the only one who knows how to play this game?”

once you both stepped into the room, you shove sylus back onto the bed. his handsome face tipped up at you from where he landed, eyes cocky and smug despite being beneath you.

"i’m the one who taught you how to play, sweetie.”

you lock the door behind you with a click, leaving him on the bed to watch every calculated move you made.

you turn to face him. your steps unhurried, hips swaying like a predator with a plan. his gaze devours you as you reach the center of the room and spin your back to him.

the low hem of your dress dips scandalously, held up only by two delicate straps. you slide one down, then the other. the fabric sinks down your body, every inch a show for the man breathing heavier by the second.

the fabric hits the floor and you step out of it and cross the room. sylus sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread like he's trying not to burst at the sight of you.

you drop to your knees before him, fingers ghosting up his thighs.

you undo his belt like it’s second nature, because it is, but this time there's no soft glances or whispered promises. only tension, sweat, and the sharp edge of something darker.

you shift him out of his underwear and he's already leaking, throbbing for you. you pull him out slow, eyes locked on his like a dare. despite taking him plenty of times before, his huge length still intimidated you. and made your mouth water.

then, with his hard cock still in your hands, you tilt your head back and loll your tongue out with a dirty smile.

“fuck,” he breathes, before leaning forward and spitting directly into your open mouth.

you swirl it around with your tongue, exaggerated and filthy, before letting it drip from your lips straight onto the tip of his cock. you stroke him with it, twisting your wrist just right, watching him twitch and strain in your grasp as you spread the mess down him.

sylus manages a breathless smirk. “has our time apart made you dirtier?” his voice is wrecked. “or have you missed me this much?”

you drag your tongue up his length, lingering on his sensitive vein, then pull back with a wet pop. the action drives him wild, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning.

your eyes gleam with something wicked. “you’re so much more attractive when you’re moaning for me instead of talking.”

your lips part again, this time to take him in painfully slow. you twirl your tongue around his tip, the taste so familiar it makes your eyes roll back. the mix of fluids slick his cock all the way down to the base, your lips shiny and swollen around him.

then you sink lower and he can’t stop staring. can’t stop twitching in your mouth like he’s about to blow from just the sound of your gag. his hips jerk when the tip hits the back of your throat, and you pull off again with a sinful smirk.

“you always get so twitchy when i barely touch you,” you purr, stroking him with lazy precision. “what happened to that control you're so proud of?”

his jaw tightens at your jab, hands gripping the edge of the bed so hard his knuckles go white. while he did enjoy you challenging him, you were working his last nerve.

you lean in once more, smiling with satisfaction at his reaction. your movement light on his aching cock, suckling and teasing, never committing. your hands move unhurried, your mouth even slower, and his whole body is trembling from restraint.

sylus lets out a low, ruined growl. “keep teasing me and you'll regret it, kitten.”

“is that a threat or a promise?” you whisper, licking along the underside of his shaft. “because it sounds a lot like begging to me.”

his hands tremor like he wants to grab you, but you stay in control. for now.

you now take him with vigor, enough to make him moan, then stop. again. and again. always just a little more, never enough. he's throbbing in your grip, leaking like he could cum from this alone.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you’re gonna drive me insane.”

you pout with faux innocence. “what, this?” you give him a long, slow lick, eyes full of mockery. “close already?”

and then he snaps.

in a blur of motion, sylus grabs you by the hair, pulls you up, and throws you onto the bed, flat on your back.

you barely have time to gasp before he's on you, all passion and vengeance. he slides between your thighs, yanking your panties off like they personally committed your aggravating acts.

“you wanna tease?” he snarls, breath hot against your inner thigh. “then fucking take it.”

his mouth hovers just above your dripping cunt, teasing you now. his turn to play. he breathes against your folds, lips barely brushing, just enough to make you whimper.

“what’s wrong, sweetie?” he taunts, voice thick with revenge and lust. “thought you liked going slow.”

you reach down and twist your fingers in his hair, yanking his face into you with a growl of your own.

“eat. or i will ride your face and make you regret waiting.”

sylus keens at your words, tongue diving in like a man starved. he loved when you got rough with him, turning him on like no other.

you moan right back at the feeling of him, legs already starting to shake. there's no more teasing in his movements, he’s messy, frantic, seemingly obsessed. his mouth is somehow everywhere at once, like he’s trying to drown in your taste.

you writhe under him, losing every ounce of control you once held. and he doesn’t stop. not even when your thighs close around his head. not even when you scream his name.

there’s no finesse, just open mouthed hunger, his tongue and lips on a mission to touch every part of you. then he adds two fingers, slipping in deep and curling them just right, hitting that spot you never could on your own. you gush around them, soaking his hand, and he groans like the mess is a gift.

you clutch the sheets below you, the sensation too much and not enough. every time his nose nudges your clit, every hit of his perfectly angled fingers, your body jolts. the bed creaks below you as he pushes you closer and closer to that high you've been chasing for months. but nothing, nothing, ever touched you like this.

your orgasm starts barreling toward you and right when you're on the cusp of mind numbing pleasure—

he slows down.

right as your toes curl and your thighs tense, he pulls back. you whine, strung out and soaked.

you’re about to beg when you notice the bed is still shaking. not just from you.

sylus is grinding against the mattress. hard and desperate.

you let out a breathless, evil little laugh. “you’re humping the bed? i’m the one getting eaten alive, and you’re the one falling apart?”

you should’ve stopped there. you really should’ve.

but you smirk, lift your hips so you can meet his eyes, and whisper, “what, couldn’t wait your turn?”

his face changes at that, deep and pissed, then he grabs your hips and flips you onto all fours like you weigh nothing.

“should’ve filled your throat with cum to shut that mouth,” he hisses into your ear.

before you can reply, his hands are spreading you open and his mouth is back on you. from behind.

his tongue laps at your entrance, filthy and unrelenting, while his fingers sneak down to bully your clit in ruthless circles. your arms give out at the same time as your legs begin to buckle, but he doesn’t let you fall. one strong arm wraps around your waist whilst the other pleasures you without mercy.

you greedily grind your ass into his face and he groans at the action like he wants to live between your thighs. you clench around his tongue, fluids mixing together, and the mess just spurs you on further. spurs him on further. the building liquids slide down your legs, coating his face and all he wants is more.

you’re about to fall apart all over again when he pulls away in one fluid motion.

your body collapses onto the bed, shaking from the sudden change. you roll onto your back, dazed and desperate.

sylus wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, not even trying to be subtle, and spreads your legs wide. his eyes drink in the sight, as if your glistening pussy was some divine offering.

you pout, fingers drifting toward your clit, desperate to finish what he stole. but sylus grabs your wrist, pins it above your head, and lines himself up with you. his neglected cock dripping with precum as he slides it between your folds.

you bite your lip at how heavy and huge he is. the head alone makes your thighs tremble.

then he leans down, mouth right against your ear.

“you’re not cumming,” he murmurs, slow and cruel, “unless it’s on my cock.”

your breath stutters. it’s been months since you took him, months since your body was trained for that stretch. he was so big, it hurt. you swallow hard, pride burning at your own words.

"just… not too fast,” you say, trying to stay steady. “okay?”

he tilts his head, mocking you with that fake-soft voice. “of course, sweetie. whatever you need.”

he kissed your forehead like the lover he once was.

then slammed his full length inside you.

your mouth opens in a silent scream. he’s thick, obscene, and the sudden stretch makes your vision fade out. you claw at his biceps, nails digging in, but he doesn't care.

“you thought that bratty little attitude was gonna earn you favors?” he grits out, voice strained and dark with desire.

he pulls out almost completely, then drives back in deeper. harder.

“be good and take it.”

your mind is reeling, your body even worse. you're clenching around him like a vice, almost trying to force him to slow down. he doesn't.

in fact, he lets go of the hand pinning yours above your head and grabs your hips instead, tilting them up and fucking into you faster. he’d force you to take it. you always liked it rough.

"just needed some dick to shut you up, hmm?" he stated, each word hitting with the rhythm of his thrusts.

you almost choke. he was drilling so deep it felt like he was aiming for your throat. his hand then slid over your stomach and pressed down, and he grinned above you like the smug devil he is when he felt himself moving inside you.

"shut up—nghh—'n fuck me harder." you manage out, your tone not matching the challenge in your voice even slightly.

your body remembered him now. that stretch, that angle. you were soaking him, walls practically begging for him. his cock slipped in and out like he owned it. because he does.

sylus realizes it too, because he leans in, pushing impossibly deeper before gloating in your face. "this pussy missed me. she’s crying for it."

you try to snap something back, something sharp, anything to bite into his smugness. but it dies on your tongue the second his hips grind into yours. his cock drags deep and slow, just once, and your whole body locks up. the stretch is somehow overwhelming and perfect. like you were made for him.

your fingers scramble over his back, clinging to him for stability, but all you can manage is a strangled, “fuck, sylus—”

his rhythm falters, just for a second, but you feel it. his gaze snaps to yours, suddenly serious. his body stills then, cock twitching inside you. it seemed like he was searching for something in you that he was too scared to name.

he leans in once more, but this time not to hit deeper. to look at you, really look. his breath fanned your lips, your cheeks, your throat.

"you missed me too," he says. no question in it.

you want to lie. bite back with something petty and proud. but your pussy clenches around him like it’s answering for you, loud and shameless.

your chest heaves as you stare up at him. your throat aches from holding back all the things you swore you’d never say.

and still, you whisper it.

“yours.”

sylus goes rigid at your confession.

you feel a shudder pass through his entire body. he clenched his jaw while his hands trembled against your waist, grip tightening. then something breaks. he manhandles your thighs up and wide, body looming over yours.

“say it again.” he demands in between guttural grunts. “say you’re mine.”

you wail at the change in position, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and pleasure twisting in your belly like a storm. “'m yours. fuck—sylus, i’m yours.”

his chest pins your thighs to your torso, folding you nearly in half. the angle makes your head dizzy, an entirely new world of bliss. you’re split open, completely at his mercy, and your cunt pulses around him like it knows it’s where it belongs.

“fucking say it while I ruin you.” his voice cracks, hips pistoning forward again and again. he’s completely unraveling, thrusts messier now, more desperate.

you chant it like a mantra. “yours, yours, yours—”

“look at you,” he grunts, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your chest. “taking me so good now. tight little pussy just needed a reminder.”

his pace is brutal and unrelenting. your thighs shake, pinned wide open, helpless to do anything but feel every inch of him. be filled by him.

his eyes don’t leave yours. there’s hunger there, but you also notice something raw too. that longing feeling you thought only you felt.

sylus dips down, lips brushing yours, and murmurs against your mouth. “you really gonna go back out there like this?”

you blink at him, dazed. “huh?”

“full of me,” he snarls, hitting deep enough to knock the breath from your lungs. “my cum soaking your thighs while you try to finish your mission. think you can keep it in?”

you moan loudly at his filthy words and he grins against your cheek.

“say you want it. say you want me to fill you up.”

you don’t even hesitate.

“yes please! sylus, want it!”

“say it right.” he commands, snapping his hips so hard the bed frame groans. “tell me who you belong to.”

“you! ’m yours—fuck—please cum inside me!”

he loses it.

his grip tightens bruisingly on your hips, dragging you down to meet every savage thrust. the drag of his cock is erratic, his body shuddering above yours.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, “make you mine all over again—shit!—you’re gonna leak for me, kitten. gonna walk outta here with my cum dripping down your thighs and everyone knowing you let me claim you.”

the possessiveness in his voice sends you spiraling. your pussy clenches tight, fluttering around him like your body’s already begging for it. the tension in your belly coils impossibly tight. every hard, brutal thrust inside you making your vision blur.

“sylus,” you gasp, pitch high and breathless, “close, please—”

“you wanna cum on my cock?” he asked, slamming into you with the full force of his weight. “wanna milk me while I fill this cunt up?”

you nod frantically, tears spilling down your cheeks. “yes, yes! please, wanna cum with you, wanna feel you!”

sylus drops his head to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin. "go on, then. show me how bad you want me."

and you do.

you shatter with a loud cry, your orgasm hitting like a wave that floods your senses. you clench tight around him in spasms that make your back arch off the bed and your fingers dig into his back to anchor yourself. you sob his name as your pussy pulses around him, your entire body wrung out and shaking.

“that’s it,” he moans deeply, his rhythm stuttering as your walls clamp down. “so tight—”

and he’s right there with you.

with a sharp groan, he drives himself deep to bury every inch inside. his hips jerk and his cock twitches as he spills into you, hot and thick. his voice breaks as he utters your name out like a prayer. one hand squeezes your thigh tight while the other trembles on your waist, trying to hold himself together while he fills you up.

you’re shaking, panting into his shoulder, pulling him close as his warmth spills into you. he doesn’t pull out. not yet. just stays there, breathing ragged against your skin, forehead pressed to yours.

your body trembles with aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his cock, milking every drop from him like your body refuses to let him go.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice almost gentle. “you were made for me.”

you’re still dazed, your brain lagging behind the high. you can feel him dripping out of you already, warm and slick between your thighs.

he leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple, like the lover he is.

“you better squeeze those legs shut when you leave,” he murmurs, cocky smirk creeping back in. “i don’t want anyone seeing what’s mine.”

a/n(2): first time writing sylus, hope i did him justice >_< likes and reblogs r super appreciated, lmk your thoughts on this!!!

@mcdepressed290 here is your tag friend as requested. hope u enjoy!!!

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

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Sup Currently im writing a military themed story and I want to know some useful phrases and (maybe???) some links to useful thingies. I am wrapping my head around researching way too much but I dont want to make my writing unrealistic T-T So any advice for that?

Some Military Vocabulary

terminology and slang

Aide-de-camp - a member of the personal staff of a general officer, acting as his confidential assistant

Blue Falcon - Someone who betrays you (buddy f’er)

Clandestine - Military activities intended to be kept secret or concealed

Chamade - Drumbeat of surrender

Chest candy - Decorations or awards on an officer’s dress uniform

Dream sheet - Job and assignment preference worksheet for cadets

Élan - A high-spirited morale usually associated with exceptionally self-confident and elite units

Expectant - A soldier who is expected to die from their injuries

Feu de joie - French phrase meaning 'fire of joy' describing a firing of muskets one after another, closely timed to make a continuous noise, in celebration

Garrison - A a military post, especially one that is permanently established; the troops stationed at a military post

Ground zero - Point of origin for violent activity (such as where a bomb hits); specific point directly below explosion of a nuclear weapon

Hangfire - Wait for orders

Infantry - A branch of an army whose soldiers are organized, trained and equipped to fight on foot

Insurrection - The process of rising up to challenge one’s own government

Jeep - Soldier just out of basic training

Meat wagon - Ambulance

Mess hall - Hall where service members eat their meals

Moonbeam - Flashlight

NVD - Night Vision Device

Oxygen thief - Recruit who talks too much

Sky blossom - Parachute

Smoke - To punish a soldier excessively for a minor infraction

Soup sandwich - A situation that was poorly planned or has gone terribly wrong

WTHR - Weather

Zone of fire - A particular area where a unit delivers or is about to deliver fire

Some Military & Warfare Tropes

False Flag Operation: Attacking another nation and making it look like someone else did it.

Peeling Potatoes: The commanding officer makes subordinates peel potatoes when they get out of line.

Sealed Orders: Sensitive orders aren't relayed until the last moment to prevent intel leaks.

War Is Hell: The work depicts war in a negative light, such as emphasizing that people get killed in wars and demonstrating the trauma suffered by those forced to endure the bloodshed.

We Have Reserves: This particular military doesn't consider it a big deal to have soldiers die so long as replacements are easy to obtain.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some references, do go through the links because there are so many more interesting ones I wasn't able to include here. Finding that balance when researching a story can definitely be a challenge. As you write, I think one thing that could help is to keep in mind your target audience. Would the flow be disrupted by adding a certain detail? Would it be better just to exclude it? For instance, including jargon or terminology that your readers may not be familiar with, but might be necessary for your story/character. So find that balance to retain it but in a way that includes some sort of explanation for your reader (e.g., through another character or through the narrator). And here are some tips to help guide you with the tropes in this genre (and the genre, in general). Hope this helps with your writing!

Update. DOD Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms ⚜ Naval Abbreviations ⚜ YouTube Channel: Military-Related. Thank you to @anumberofhobbies for these additional references!

#on writing #writing tips #tropes #writeblr #writing advice #writers on tumblr #literature #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #writing resources

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witchpassing · 11 months ago

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interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

#empty spaces #mechposting #this one's writing #microfiction

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codingquill · 28 days ago

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Welcome back, coding enthusiasts! Today we'll talk about Git & Github , the must-know duo for any modern developer. Whether you're just starting out or need a refresher, this guide will walk you through everything from setup to intermediate-level use. Let’s jump in!

What is Git?

Git is a version control system. It helps you as a developer:

Track changes in your codebase, so if anything breaks, you can go back to a previous version. (Trust me, this happens more often than you’d think!)

Collaborate with others : whether you're working on a team project or contributing to an open-source repo, Git helps manage multiple versions of a project.

In short, Git allows you to work smarter, not harder. Developers who aren't familiar with the basics of Git? Let’s just say they’re missing a key tool in their toolkit.

What is Github ?

GitHub is a web-based platform that uses Git for version control and collaboration. It provides an interface to manage your repositories, track bugs, request new features, and much more. Think of it as a place where your Git repositories live, and where real teamwork happens. You can collaborate, share your code, and contribute to other projects, all while keeping everything well-organized.

Git & Github : not the same thing !

Git is the tool you use to create repositories and manage code on your local machine while GitHub is the platform where you host those repositories and collaborate with others. You can also host Git repositories on other platforms like GitLab and BitBucket, but GitHub is the most popular.

Installing Git (Windows, Linux, and macOS Users)

You can go ahead and download Git for your platform from (git-scm.com)

Using Git

You can use Git either through the command line (Terminal) or through a GUI. However, as a developer, it’s highly recommended to learn the terminal approach. Why? Because it’s more efficient, and understanding the commands will give you a better grasp of how Git works under the hood.

GitWorkflow

Git operates in several key areas:

Working directory (on your local machine)

Staging area (where changes are prepared to be committed)

Local repository (stored in the hidden .git directory in your project)

Remote repository (the version of the project stored on GitHub or other hosting platforms)

Let’s look at the basic commands that move code between these areas:

git init: Initializes a Git repository in your project directory, creating the .git folder.

git add: Adds your files to the staging area, where they’re prepared for committing.

git commit: Commits your staged files to your local repository.

git log: Shows the history of commits.

git push: Pushes your changes to the remote repository (like GitHub).

git pull: Pulls changes from the remote repository into your working directory.

git clone: Clones a remote repository to your local machine, maintaining the connection to the remote repo.

Branching and merging

When working in a team, it’s important to never mess up the main branch (often called master or main). This is the core of your project, and it's essential to keep it stable.

To do this, we branch out for new features or bug fixes. This way, you can make changes without affecting the main project until you’re ready to merge. Only merge your work back into the main branch once you're confident that it’s ready to go.

Getting Started: From Installation to Intermediate

Now, let’s go step-by-step through the process of using Git and GitHub from installation to pushing your first project.

Configuring Git

After installing Git, you’ll need to tell Git your name and email. This helps Git keep track of who made each change. To do this, run:

Master vs. Main Branch

By default, Git used to name the default branch master, but GitHub switched it to main for inclusivity reasons. To avoid confusion, check your default branch:

Pushing Changes to GitHub

Let’s go through an example of pushing your changes to GitHub.

First, initialize Git in your project directory:

Then to get the ‘untracked files’ , the files that we haven’t added yet to our staging area , we run the command

Now that you’ve guessed it we’re gonna run the git add command , you can add your files individually by running git add name or all at once like I did here

And finally it's time to commit our file to the local repository

Now, create a new repository on GitHub (it’s easy , just follow these instructions along with me)

Assuming you already created your github account you’ll go to this link and change username by your actual username : https://github.com/username?tab=repositories , then follow these instructions :

You can add a name and choose wether you repo can be public or private for now and forget about everything else for now.

Once your repository created on github , you’ll get this :

As you might’ve noticed, we’ve already run all these commands , all what’s left for us to do is to push our files from our local repository to our remote repository , so let’s go ahead and do that

And just like this we have successfully pushed our files to the remote repository

Here, you can see the default branch main, the total number of branches, your latest commit message along with how long ago it was made, and the number of commits you've made on that branch.

Now what is a Readme file ?

A README file is a markdown file where you can add any relevant information about your code or the specific functionality in a particular branch—since each branch can have its own README.

It also serves as a guide for anyone who clones your repository, showing them exactly how to use it.

You can add a README from this button:

Or, you can create it using a command and push it manually:

But for the sake of demonstrating how to pull content from a remote repository, we’re going with the first option:

Once that’s done, it gets added to the repository just like any other file—with a commit message and timestamp.

However, the README file isn’t on my local machine yet, so I’ll run the git pull command:

Now everything is up to date. And this is just the tiniest example of how you can pull content from your remote repository.

What is .gitignore file ?

Sometimes, you don’t want to push everything to GitHub—especially sensitive files like environment variables or API keys. These shouldn’t be shared publicly. In fact, GitHub might even send you a warning email if you do:

To avoid this, you should create a .gitignore file, like this:

Any file listed in .gitignore will not be pushed to GitHub. So you’re all set!

Cloning

When you want to copy a GitHub repository to your local machine (aka "clone" it), you have two main options:

Clone using HTTPS: This is the most straightforward method. You just copy the HTTPS link from GitHub and run:

It's simple, doesn’t require extra setup, and works well for most users. But each time you push or pull, GitHub may ask for your username and password (or personal access token if you've enabled 2FA).

But if you wanna clone using ssh , you’ll need to know a bit more about ssh keys , so let’s talk about that.

Clone using SSH (Secure Shell): This method uses SSH keys for authentication. Once set up, it’s more secure and doesn't prompt you for credentials every time. Here's how it works:

So what is an SSH key, actually?

Think of SSH keys as a digital handshake between your computer and GitHub.

Your computer generates a key pair:

A private key (stored safely on your machine)

A public key (shared with GitHub)

When you try to access GitHub via SSH, GitHub checks if the public key you've registered matches the private key on your machine.

If they match, you're in — no password prompts needed.

Steps to set up SSH with GitHub:

Generate your SSH key:

2. Start the SSH agent and add your key:

3. Copy your public key:

Then copy the output to your clipboard.

Add it to your GitHub account:

Go to GitHub → Settings → SSH and GPG keys

Click New SSH key

Paste your public key and save.

5. Now you'll be able to clone using SSH like this:

From now on, any interaction with GitHub over SSH will just work — no password typing, just smooth encrypted magic.

And there you have it ! Until next time — happy coding, and may your merges always be conflict-free! ✨👩‍💻👨‍💻

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metalichotchoco · 1 year ago

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Ai characters and what their acronymal names can tell us about them

Let’s start with GLaDOS, Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System , a play on the name gladys and a dos system which actually functions to show what they are playing at here:

she’s half operating system and half an actual person. I personally think a pun like that is just very very good design. The disk operating system can also tell us a bit about her. She’s controlled with a text based command line. The cores they add to her are essentially a bunch of floppy disks of information

Moving on, HAL is short for heuristically programmed algorithmic computer. This tells us the ways in which he deals with problems in a bunch of tech terms.

He goes to calculations or algorithms and then he uses trial and error. He basically is programmed to learn from experience once rules become loosely defined. It actually funnily enough can take us through his thought process given his two objectives.

Last but not least is AM, good old Allied Mastercomputer. He’s fun since this meaning changes but all of them still apply to him.

Allied references the allied powers of ww2 though it’s mostly supposed to bring to mind america. Master computers tell satellite/ sub computers what to do, think of it like the brain and muscles. Am also stands for agressive menace (which he very very much is) and adaptive manipulator, very accurate since he literally does but it’s also a reference to his other objective of evolution and becoming better. “I think therefore I am” is the last play on his name basically “I am thinking therefore I exist” incredibly loaded for ai characters but especially am

Anyways I thought these were fun, lemme know if there’s another acronym you’d like me to cover

#Hal #hal 9000 #glados #am #allied mastercomputer #heuristically programmed algorithmic computer #ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #2001 a space odyssey #space odyssey #ihnmaims am #ihnmaims allied mastercomputer #portal #portal art #portal glados #space odyssey Hal #genetic lifeform and disk operating system #portal 2 #am ihnmaims

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 9 months ago

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OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

#one piece #opla #mihawk x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #monkey d. garp #garp #bogard #red hair pirates #shanks #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #fanfic #one piece fanfic #flightrisk

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perry-the-platypus-f1cs · 5 months ago

Note

Your idea for Dadler and Graveson au is wonderful. Also involving the 141 in it is icing on the cake !

I'm curious do you have ideas on how interactions between 141 and Adler will go down .

Thanks for your time !

ahhhh! thank you!

(short answer)

There would be a lot of tension, particularly with Soap and Price. However, if Adler were able to prove his value through action, the team might ultimately come to accept him as a leader/handler

(long answer)

141 would interact with Adler similarly to how they interact with any other unfamiliar allies. Adler would be introduced to the team by lasswell as their 'handler' simply put, Adler would make sure that they completed their missions and don't get side tracked by their animosity towards Shepard or any other third parties (Graves)

the interactions would start with distanced-professionalism from 141 not trusting Adler because he was sent to basically keep them under control.

this would create tension between Adler and 141 especially with Price, Price has his own sense of honor and responsibility, and Adler’s morally ambiguous tactics clash with Price’s more straightforward military mentality and tendency to divert from military leadership and approval. However,

Price would likely respect Adler's tactical mind and experience, even if he disagrees with some of his methods and how he controls the taskforce.

Soap, being more hot-headed would have more difficulty accepting and respecting Adler’s leadership. He is used to following Price’s orders and detouring from usual intelligence driving tactics. Soap would also not take kindly Adler's past manipulative tactics and how Adler would 'control' the team.

It would take time for Soap to warm up to Adler, especially given that he has witnessed Shepherd’s betrayal and will most likely see parallels between Shepard and Adler's leadership

Ghost would follow Adler's orders without much questioning, as long as the task at hand is aligned with their mission and goals. However, like Price and Soap, Ghost would likely be cautious and watch Adler closely, particularly regarding his trustworthiness and moral compass.

Ghost would also probably speak to Price about Adler hoping to learn more but would end up empty handed as Adler's missions are classified to high heaven.

Gaz would be cautious and skeptical of Adler when he first takes command. Gaz, while being more flexible than some of the others, would still feel the weight of the mistrust that happened after shepherd's betrayal. He’s not as brash as Soap, but his wariness would be evident. He’d want to see if Adler’s actions line up with his words.

Adler would view the task force as either a temporary problem/ distraction or as just another operation that he needs to do. his interactions with the team would start professional and then quickly ease into interest when he finds out

(either from Soap or Phillip) about what happened in las Almas and the animosity between the taskforce and his son. he would most likely talk to Phillip about this and get his side of the story before slowly digging away at the taskforce slowly gaining information about what happened.

possible scene

Adler :(sipping coffee) so, what exactly did the general do that got you so fired up?

Soap: (tried and angry) The general let a son-of-a-bitch PMC commander practically almost kill!

Adler: (curious) huh. what PMC?"

Soap: (yawning) Shadow company."

Adler: (chokes on his coffee) I am not a bitch!

Soap: (confused) huh!?

#thanks for the ask!#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #phillip graves #russell adler #shadow company #kyle gaz garrick #john price

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kurithedweeb · 9 months ago

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@cinnamontoastcroonch brought up the guard quarters being like dorms last night and it led to Garrance brain rot.

They talk quietly through the wall late at night when neither of them can sleep, and some days they'll sleep in shifts in the same room so they can guard each other from nightmares.

They'll sit in the common room in silence as they each fill out reports. Eventually, one of them will always get up and make tea when he notices the other getting frustrated or tired. They plan strategies and contingencies by lantern light over cups of tea.

Garroth finds comfort in the Shadow Knight eye gleam because he associates it with Laurance waking him up from nightmares and comforting him late at night.

Laurance wakes up scratching at his eyes sometimes, yelling about how they're not his eyes, and Garroth is the only one who can hold him down and talk him through it.

Since they operate as equals, they split the paperwork of both head guard and second in command between them, so when Laurance is having a bad vision day he will dictate what he needs to put in his work while Garroth transcribes, and when Garroth can't make himself sit down and focus on writing he'll pace around and talk over half a dozen things while Laurance jots down notes for him to look over later.

Garroth regularly checks in on Laurance during the cold months to make sure he's not falling into a coma or something since Shadow Knights are more or less cold-blooded and will get super drowsy when they get cold, sometimes sleeping for days at a time if they get cold enough to conserve what heat and energy they have.

Laurance drapes himself over Garroth's shoulders and acts all dramatic when he notices Garroth getting too into his own head, or he'll give him a simple task like braiding and talking about nothing of importance until he comes back to himself.

@xerith-42 said they'd do wrist exercises together, since they put a lot of strain on their wrists from holding shields and swords all day and then having to also do a bunch of paperwork. I said to this, they still talk about work while doing these exercises, and when they get really absorbed by whatever issue they're discussing they completely forget that they're basically holding hands. Laurance will absentmindedly trace patterns around Garroth's callouses and Garroth will run his thumb over the lines of Laurance's palm, and there's a moment after they realize that they're just holding the other's hand where they let the contact linger, and then they pull away and get back to business without saying a word about it.

The way I write their relationship is all about both of them knowing going into it that they both love someone else too, above each other, and their duty to the village and their Lady will always come first. But, there is still something there between them that they both understand on a level deeper than anything else while at the same time not being able to recognize the feeling in its entirety. There's also this special third ingredient of knowing no time is the right time and they never should have allowed themselves to fall into whatever this thing between them is but they are drawn together time and again as though caught in each other's orbit. They will eventually crash, and maybe they have been circling that end for a while already and haven't noticed it until now. Maybe the conclusion will be as beautiful as the story leading up to it, like a dying star's final breath.

#minecraft diaries #mcd #aphblr #aphmau minecraft diaries #mcd rewrite #aphverse #dropofsunlightextras #aphmau mcd #garroth ro'meave #mcd garroth #garroth greatshield #laurance zvahl #mcd laurance #mcd garrance #garrance

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catenary-chad · 2 months ago

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Direct electrification and talking trains

(another nearly 5k word post)

A lot of people will make Electra mostly battery-operated (including the revival), but canon, through the lyrics of AC/DC and Electra’s replica design and “pantograph pose” pretty explicitly make them a non-battery electric engine that runs off overhead power. Which imo is a very interesting and underexplored topic that affects a lot of dynamics. Electrification has fascinating potential for a lot of social themes that aren’t seriously explored in Anglophone media, it’s a “fourth dimension” that impacts so much but is treated as a non-entity.

It’s actually kind of… sad how train media seems to be quietly “batterywashing” electric trains that would be powered by overhead wire or third rail and really overselling a flawed technology while ignoring a proven, almost uniquely “train” power source with a fascinating history and practicalities. Early tech limits have a massive effect on even modern trains in the US and Europe, and countries’ adoption or rejection of electrification tends to say a lot about their political and economic outlook. It’s something that’s a no-brainer when rail is a public service focused on the long term, and usually a nonstarter when it’s a private business focused on short term returns.

So I’m going to cover some of the basics of it and my own takes on how it could affect a talking train society.

This topic is totally alien to a lot of people, so I’ll try and keep this as non-technical as possible. While this post focuses on Electra, a lot of these things would also apply to the Nationals or electric OCs. And while this is mostly aimed at the Starlight Express physical setup and themes, a lot of this info could be applied to more realistic Thomas-style talking trains.

(Note: I use “direct electric” because I’m not even sure there’s a specific term for non-battery electric trains besides just plain “electric”. I’ve seen “straight electric” which is hilariously ironic with Electra specifically. I avoid “pure electric” because it’s often weaponized to make the character a Malfoy-esque figure, which annoys me to all hell because it couldn’t be further from the truth. Electric trains have a notoriously liberal and diverse fanbase and it feels downright slanderous to make them out to be rich supremacists. Those types HATE actual electric trains.)

On the most basic level, direct electric-only Electra (and most of the Nationals) would be like a whale. Whales are almost unstoppably dominant outside of human threats… unless they end up out of the water, where they’re pretty much immobile and helpless. Outside of areas with compatible overhead power (or perhaps third rail), or if their pantograph or other current collector was damaged, they would also be pretty much immobile and helpless. Usually electric engines like that have a small battery (akin to a combustion car’s) that can power lights and controls when disconnected, but that’s about it. So they might be able to respond to basic commands, answer yes/no, but not move without outside assistance.

Which leads to the VERY interesting situation where they would be bricked in 99% of the US, most secondary and smaller lines in the UK, and even a number of branch lines in Europe. There’s major limits on where they can go, and even where they can go, the infrastructure they need is vulnerable to neglect and underinvestment. It parallels disability accessibility in a lot of ways. With the fascinating caveat that some countries like Switzerland and India are 100% electrified and with that accommodation omnipresent, being electric-only isn’t even “a disability” anymore, it’s just the norm. Directly electrified trains actually dominate nearly all metrics of speed, strength, and power and are a nearly perfect metaphor for someone or something that excels in pure meritocracy but is repeatedly held back by institutional forces and government underfunding, and tends to be the first affected when programs are axed. Half my fascination with the show and character is just how much better Electra fits the social themes they tried to implement early on, and how there could have been a story “just about trains” that also strongly mirrors human politics. The broader problems of utilities being public services vs private businesses, and underfunded services being deliberately sabotaged by conservative governments to axe or privatize them have only become more relevant since the 80s in so many non-train avenues.

(Electric trains in the Anglosphere are a Rorschach test of minority coding in general, with even more parallels in how they’re viewed as faceless statistics, their history has often been overlooked, forgotten, and outright erased, and are portrayed as an alien threat when they’ve been around for a century+ and have quietly done a lot of grunt work without much fanfare.)

A VERY different and more fanciful take is found in the “Electricity Fairy” of early 20th century France. This is a fantastic article about it in regard to model trains and French electrification, by an author who is incredible at characterizing electric trains in general (machine translation dampens things a little but his main points come across well). Electricity as a sort of Tinkerbell figure to a Peter Pan-esque Electra is a very compelling direction, especially with the thematic and personality parallels between the two characters.

EMUS AND LOCOMOTIVES

Before I go on, I need to address this distinction. EMUs are self propelled electric railcars, basically coaches with motors attached. Like a subway train. Locomotives pull unpowered cars. This is why I keep saying the vaguer term “train” vs “engine” because most of this post is relevant to both setups. Diesel-powered multi units also exist… and bimode and battery and all three at once. The MU/locomotive divide exists for those too, it’s just more prominent in electric systems since the advantages of electric traction are utilized so differently by locomotives vs MUs. MUs are almost exclusively for passenger use but have occasionally been made for freight use, and if you go all the way back to the trolley era you had some mixed/freight streetcars too.

The main advantage of EMUs is faster acceleration/breaking and lighter weight, they’re often cheaper too. They’re especially attractive for short trains of just a few cars. Passenger services, both commuter and high speed, have been increasingly replacing locomotive-hauled trains with EMUs because they’re better suited for the heavy start-stop nature of the task and can substantially increase train frequency. Electric locomotives are far from irrelevant, but their main advantage is being able to haul fast and/or heavy freight trains like nothing else, ability to remove them from trains when they break down, and ability to pull double-decker coaches… which have been tricky to make EMU variants of. EMUs are also a bit different maintenance wise (rail maintenance shops tend to hate change) and can be noisier due to motors being directly in/near the cars vs separate.

EMUs don’t really exist in Stex canon which is a shame, because they’d fit well. They’re a massive wedge in the false engine/coach binary and just having the coaches converted to MUs as a way to permanently solve their engine problems would be an ending with a lot of irl train precedent. Exploring how dysfunctional MUs (like the Metroliners) often end up unpowered coaches is also full of potential. And then the whole streetcar/interurban/early electric era rarely follows any kind of freight/passenger, engine/coach, or heavy/light rail binaries, it’s just a spectrum of madness.

You could also do some interesting things with class divides between loco-hauled trains and EMUs. EMUs are often associated with very low-end trains irl, especially public transit and subways, but then you also have weird luxury exceptions like the Brighton Belle and some modern high-speed trains. I think the Rockies are so subway car-coded it hurts, the perpetual underfunding of them in the US would fit Right Place Right Time so much better (freight is a profitable business) and the dance styles and graffiti are also right at home with the NYC subway (though SEPTA would fit their names better with the Philadelphia-Rocky connection). Loco-hauled trains in the present day seem to trend towards a weird midpoint, often old equipment that used to be high-end that’s now the cheap option for longer distance travel. You can even get deeper into the independent locomotive vs power car and trainset divide, the latter is generally more prestigious today and the former more pedestrian. Coco or Bobo would likely see Electra as… kind of a big dumb lug because the Nez Cassé engines were used on lower end passenger trains and freight services after TGVs came in.

It’s personally hard for me to really make electric trains heavily divided though, they just have too much shared hardship in the Anglosphere to not be weirdly united despite their glaring differences. But then again, the messy intricacies of inter-community conflict among them could be FASCINATING.

Also, Caboose crashing the Shinkansen and pulling the “you’re no engine” speech would be funny because it’s accurate because that’s an EMU! You are indeed no engine!

TYPES OF ELECTRIC-POWERED TRAINS

Anyways, there’s a HUGE divide between direct electric trains, battery-electric trains, and bimode (electro-diesel) trains.

There’s a very uncompromising, all or nothing aspect to the politics and economics around direct electric trains that sounds unreasonable from the outside…but becomes very reasonable and understandable the more you read into it. There’s massive political friction against spending on them in the US and UK that doesn’t exist in much of continental Europe and Asia, advocates kind of have to take that relentless and uncompromising approach with how cyclical political and economic support for them is and how often projects are cut back or cut entirely when administrations change. To have success like France you have to have a continuous, rolling program to create economies of scale and maintain a consistent, trained workforce. Doing it in fits and starts every few years leads to dramatically higher construction costs and constantly training new workforce, which makes cost per mile/km much higher. This all sheds a very different light on how Electra is so insistant and all-or-nothing, it’s not a cartoon villain wanting to take over the world, it’s someone who wants the equivalent of universal wheelchair accesibility when the government constantly pushes against that. Bringing hydrogen power into the mix has even more potential to be interesting, just look into the term “bionic duckweed” to see how the conflict between it and widespread electrification has been in the UK. In a weird way, electrification has become the most conservative option in rail because its 100+ years of proven success is its main asset. The oldest locomotives running on a non-tourist line in the US are likely the 1920s-era electric steeplecabs with trolley poles on the Iowa Traction Railway shortline! There’s this bizarre and painful irony in how it’s viewed as both “inevitable and alien” and “antiquated and unglamorous” at the same time.

(battery mining lokies my beloved)

Battery trains are actually even older than direct electrification (they go all the way back to the mid-1800s and are a very janky rabbit hole) and there were a surprising number of BEMUs and small battery locomotives as far back as the turn of the century. They definitely have utility as switchers or on low-traffic commuter lines but the technology is nowhere near powering heavier, faster trains soon. Batteries just aren’t energy dense enough to power fast, heavy trains for longer periods of time. They have all the problems with battery power in cars and other things in regards to fire hazards, mineral sourcing, and the environmental and labor impact that involves (and unelected oligarchs trying to destroy world order for their access).

There’s also a very double-edged aspect of “compromise” with battery power specifically with trains. They can be a stepping stone for areas that aren’t fully electrified… or turn into a stopgap that never leaves, ala diesel power in the US and many parts of the UK, and impedes widespread electrification.

(There is a third rail contact on this engine somewhere. Yes, this is the equivalent of Greaseball if he stuck a fork in a light socket on occaison)

As an important note, diesel-electric (not quite the same as electro-diesel/bimode) is NOT at all equivalent to electric-only trains. They’re diesel-powered and use that engine to generate electricity for electric motors because giant gearboxes are impractical for road locomotives. It’s like conflating lab-grown and conventional meat, same end product… but wildly different production and politics/economics. The power source and reliance on external infrastructure creates a massive divide, even though they have a lot of identical tech after the power supply.

But that similarity means that if you add some kind of electric pickup to directly power their motors, they’re now bimode/electro-diesel. Those are in the same “compromise” category as battery-electrics, just trade out the mineral politics of batteries for oil ones and greatly increase the energy density of that power source. They’re also fairly old, dating back to the 20s when diesel locomotives were in their infancy in general. Some are glorified diesel trains that just have electric-only capability for tunnels or underground stations, some are mostly electric with limited diesel backup power.

And then you can also have all three in one, which is also a 100+ year old setup. Places like New York and London that electrified early and have weird, inconsistent systems often get some weird equipment to cope with it. This is foreshadowing, you have been warned

ELECTRIFICATION SYSTEMS

Anyways, now for some fun specifics on different electrification systems and why they’re important. You may be familiar with how household power is 120 or 240 volts and 50 vs 60 Hz depending on country/region. Rail electrification often predated the wider electrical grid and is so much weirder and less consistent due to the early tech limits that shaped it and the difficulty in changing things.

THIRD RAIL

Heavily associated with subways and metros, but used on some suburban surface lines (NYC area, southern England). Also used by three-rail model trains (like Lionel and Märklin).

Low voltage DC for heavy rail use required the use of third rail vs overhead wire due to the conductor thickness required for the high current. They were mostly used on early 20th century lines before catenary and AC power became established. The rails themselves are cheaper to install and maintain vs overhead wire, but they’re notoriously hazardous to humans and wildlife and vulnerable to icing over in winter. They’re also DC-only, which requires more (and more complicated) substations, making the overall price much higher. DC also majorly limits the power of trains they can run (AC can run far higher voltage, we’ll go into this later). They’re well suited to subway use though, since they reduce the tunnel size needed (VERY expensive), distances are shorter and trains are smaller/lighter, and there’s less risk of people/animals getting on the track. On the surface, they’re rarely built anymore and outright prohibited in some areas, and generally being slowly phased out.

I’m prone to giving Electra some kind of third rail pickup since it’s common on multi-voltage electric trains. It’s a funny tie in to how model trains are powered by them and how static buildup on skates can be an annoyance. The CC 40100 locomotives didn’t have one, but some related CC 6500s did for the Maurienne line. Running a nearly 8000 hp locomotive on 600-750 V third rail systems like those around New York City or southern England would result in Electra being laughably weak/slow or just blowing out substations but could make sense for brief backup tunnel use (common in the tunnels around NYC).

Fun bonus: The exception to third rails being DC is actually three-rail model trains, which are usually AC. There’s clearance issues with it on real trains, but it’s okay on that small of a scale/power. The line between how model trains are run and full-sized third rail trains is… thin. Especially when you factor in how some extremely early electric trains ran off two-rail systems exactly like oversized versions of other model trains. A number of issues with regular electric trains also appear in model trains- like incompatible electrification systems and issues due to neglected maintenance. A kid playing with toys is just a sillier microcosm of governments and businesses making rail decisions. Voltage drops in DC power requiring more power sources/substations is also a shared trait, DC model systems often need additional power supplies connected.

OVERHEAD WIRES

The modern standard worldwide, due to their ability to run AC power. I’ll explain that aspect later, but the biggest thing is that AC is leagues better for long-distance power delivery and allows for more powerful trains. Overhead wiring started with simple trolley wires and poles, but the catenary and pantograph setup largely replaced it for heavily applications. Far more expensive to install and maintain than third rail and design problems can plague systems for decades (fixed-wire catenary on the Northeast Corridor causing issues in hot/cold weather, widely spaced poles on the East Coast Main Line leading to more fragility and failures). They also require more vertical clearance, a MAJOR issue in the UK due to their infamously low tunnels and bridges that cause them to have tiny trains in general. They also run into vertical clearance issues with double stacked container trains, though that can be remedied by well cars and purpose-built extra high wires ala India.

The design of catenaries and pantographs is a deep rabbit hole of its own, but it’s pretty easy to mime aspects of them. I’ve seen claims that some of Electra’s common poses were deliberately based on them and I’ve been calling some the “pantograph pose” myself. Raising an arm to represent raising a pantograph, using both arms to represent older style “diamond” pantographs vs single-arm Faivley ones. Lowering one arm and raising the other to represent switching pantographs for different voltages for Electra (the CC 40100 had FOUR pantographs). Using an open hand to represent contact with the wire, coming loose if wire tension is lost and becoming tangled. “Invisible catenaries” are an accepted convention with model trains because making functional ones is incredibly fussy so the wire doesn’t need to be there, just implied. A laser beam might work though. If electric infrastructure were a more important part of the show having catenary poles visible would be plenty to designate electrified vs nonelectrified zones, and so they could be damaged as needed. Trolley poles also aren’t too hard to mime with an outstretched arm and balled fist or twirling fingers for the wheel.

Both catenary and third rail systems have issues of physical inconsistancy and incompatibility between systems even where voltage and frequency match. Stuff like pantograph thickness, over vs under-running third rail adds yet another layer of complexity. That’s something that gets super regional that I don’t know all the complexities of though.

OTHER SYSTEMS: You also have some oddball systems out there like fourth rail on the London Underground and some systems with overhead “third rail” with a rigid conductor that a tiny pantograph touches ala a bumper car on rails. Rail electrification is… a deep rabbit hole and there’s a lot of really weird stuff early on if you dig even a little. Like this wacky three-phase AC railcar with three different pantographs that held the rail speed record for well over a decade in the early 20th century.

My favorite wacky electrification method is just “giant extension cord”. It’s mainly a thing on short industrial/switching yards in Europe but this example is from a mine in Chile and the Milwaukee Road had a homemade corded shop switcher used to pull electric engines from unpowered sheds to the powered main lines. I’m not fully sure how it works logistically but it’s hilarious to imagine and makes sense for very short distances where it’s easier than building and maintaining catenaries.

DC- DIRECT CURRENT

If you use the water metaphor of electricity this is like a constantly flowing river.

DC saw widespread use in trolleys and transit and early heavier rail electrification descended from this (the light/heavy rail divide is more of a spectrum if anything). It was simple and durable for its time (early 20th century) and then-prevalent DC traction motors were simple to power and control with it. It’s harder to implement over long distances due to the higher current needed and greater voltage drop and heat losses vs AC. It requires far more (and more complicated) substations than AC because of this too. AC can also deliver far more power. DC has been gradually replaced with AC where possible, but sheer inertia has made it a slow process and it’s still common in Europe, usually as 1.5 or 3 kV mainlines. There’s also some commuter railroads in the US with DC overhead supplies.

Trains can be pretty easily modified to run on lines lower than their designed voltage, they’ll just be much slower/weaker. Overvolting for short periods of time can increase performance but tends to be damaging in the long term. The latter would be unlikely for a 3 kV-designed train though, since that’s about as high as most DC systems go.

People talk about Electra behaving differently in AC vs DC modes, which is an interesting concept, but going off the CC 40100… yeah it didn’t make a difference since it was designed around running on 1500 V DC, the lowest voltage it took. Newer trains tend to be mostly designed for modern AC lines and are notably less powerful on DC.

The main difference would be… being more “digestible” for DC-motored trains? Tech limits made converting AC to DC difficult in the early 20th century and being able to process it more efficiently was a huge step up. Musically I think DC power would be more associated with Western convention since it mostly developed in the US and western Europe, and player piano ragtime is basically the default trolley/interurban ambiance music.

Another more abstract, but interesting direction for DC mode would be the “ever onwards” mindset electrification has to have when faced with the back and forth of political will… kind of like how a rectifier “straightens out” forward and back AC to DC

AC- ALTERNATING CURRENT

is usually described as “like rising and falling tides” or “a reciprocating pump pushing water back and forth” in the water analogy.

Transformers are the main reason why AC is so dominant in powering trains (and electricity transmission in general). They can “step down” very high voltages, which are more efficient for transmission than lower ones. Basically, it’s easier to deliver more power to trains and requires fewer, cheaper substations. The main issue is converting that AC to a usable form, and technology limits related to that have had HUGE impacts.

Early AC trains often had “universal” AC/DC traction motors that required unusually low AC frequency to run, 25 Hz or less, which is too low for residential use and needed specialized equipment for generation or conversion. It also requires heavier transformers in trains, but this isn’t as much of an issue since especially in the modern day, electric trains tend to be too light if anything. Airplanes often use 400 Hz AC for the opposite reason though, they need the weight savings of the extra light transformers. Around the mid-20th century, rectifiers became practical and it became feasible to use 50/60 Hz mains frequency for trains. Most lines built after that have been that way. But a lot of those earlier lower-frequency lines still exist due to the hassle in changing all that equipment vs just making dual/triple/quadruple voltage trains. It’s like making tilting trains for old, winding rail lines vs building new straighter ones.

Which is why being able to change frequency is an important feature for Electra! Going over/under design frequency will damage equipment and trains will stop if they detect it. Which is why I say that Electra and basically all other AC trains notice the frequency of light flickers and have perfect pitch because being able to detect exact frequency is like telling if food’s gone off for them.

Musically I want to associate AC trains with Serbian music as a reference to Nikola Tesla and because you sometimes get some vaguely similar fluttering, bagpipe-like sounds from AC motors. Balkan folk music is a fascinating rabbit hole in general and was popular in the prog rock sphere for how it sounds so alien to western audiences.

AC vs DC: TRACTION MOTOR EDITION

Oh great, another layer of complexity with the AC vs DC thing, because this is also important.

AC motors are superior in basically every way and DC motored trains aren’t made much anymore. Many of those that remain have been rebuilt to AC motors. They’re lower maintenance and more efficient and powerful. But before semiconductor technology, it was hard to control AC vs DC motors, so they didn’t become more widespread until the later 80s. You’ll see some very old mountain drag freight electrics (N&W electric engines, PRR FF1) with three-phase AC motors that could basically just go one constant speed, which worked for that job and not much else. They are about the peak of being “big dumb lugs” for lack of a better descriptor. Universal AC/DC motors were also common in the early 20th century.

DC motors have brushes that are more hassle to maintain and run hotter. As said above, they are easier to control with older tech though. It’s done by varying voltage with a combination of resistors and running motors in series vs parallel (look into Frank Sprague’s work on trolleys for details). Regenerative braking isn’t possible on engines with AC/DC rectifiers since they’re a one-way device, so many have dynamic brakes. Dynamic braking is done by just sending that excess electricity through a huge variable resistor, like a giant toaster or space heater. And that’s why DC-motored trains often have infamously loud fans (see the BR Class 91). It’s pretty much fact that Electra would sound like an overheating computer as an 80s-era locomotive. I see Electra as at least initially DC-motored and maybe converted to AC motors in midlife, around 2000.

Bonus: AC motors after the 90s or so are controlled by variable frequency drives and make lots of fun noises depending on tech.

MODEL TRAINS

The line between how model trains work and full-sized electric railways is… surprisingly thin, especially early on. Toy trains with onboard batteries have been a thing for years, of course. But because electric toy trains existed before household electrification was prevalent or standardized, many of those had separate battery packs that powered the track vs plugging into a wall. Not unakin to how some early electric railways were run. Two-rail electrification (one rail positive, one negative) used on many model systems was used on some very early tramway systems, though it was vulnerable to being shorted by kids placing rods across it or frying women in long, soggy skirts and didn’t last long.

Lionel uses a third-rail system similar to that on subways and commuter lines, though with a centrally placed rail. Märklin has stud contacts for similar purposes. Both are the big, weird exception to all third rails being AC- the vastly lower voltage remove the voltage issue.

Two-rail systems can be DC or AC (usually for DCC). DC has similar issues to voltage drop as on full size lines. It was also the standard for years due to ease of control, varying the voltage on a controller changing the speed of the locomotive and flipping the positive/negative reverses it. DCC is used for more precise control of multiple locomotives today. Compatibility between the two is an issue, trains can be converted to work on the other system but running DC motors on AC only works when done a specific way, and if left to idle for long they’ll just go back and forth and burn out.

Building tiny catenaries for model trains exists and is incredibly fussy and niche. Model with functional pantographs are common, but making and running the actual system is often very frustrating even for experienced adults so it’s rare to actually use. It’s something I’ve even seen people who work in actual rail electrification balk at because of the tiny scale of it, but it reportedly has similar issues with pantograph contact and pressure and wires breaking, with the bonus of way more derailing and corrosion issues that require frequent cleaning to prevent due to the tiny contact area

PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER

Here’s a relevant news story that’s got… battery and non-battery electric locomotives AND EMUS AND bimodes, and five seperate electrification systems ft. several different DC third rail and AC overhead voltages/frequencies. All it’s missing is DC overhead, which I don’t think even exists in this region anyways.

So go forth and use some of the more unique tendencies of electric trains. If you do it on even a surface level you’ll be ahead of 90% of the rest because this stuff is just ignored or batterywashed SO much in Anglophone media. I was going to include a section on power electronics evolution in regard to them but that’s going to go in a separate post. They’re important to why use of AC power was limited

Main sources: William Middleton’s “When the Steam Railroads Electrified” and this video by a longtime Amtrak employee.

Also see above article for more sources on the northeast US and lots of specific numbers. And anything by Clive Lamming is great for personifying this topic, especially if you know French.

#stex #starlight express #stex electra #electric train info series

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deepspaceboytoy · 20 days ago

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Imperial Warship Classifications

To fulfill the incredibly broad needs and requirements of the Imperial Navy, the Imperium maintains a massive number of disparate ship classes, each one capable of fulfilling a niche role inside the Imperial combat machine. Ship classes are first determined by size, and then further narrowed by role.

Supercapitals

The height of Imperial shipbuilding achievement, these gargantuan vessels are capable of laying waste to entire star systems on their own. Each of these incredibly rare vessels contains the combat power of a small fleet, easily outclassing almost any opponent in the galaxy. All Imperial supercapital ships are based on the same basic hull pattern, made recognizable by the tapered, dagger-like prow where the flag bridge sits. Each ship measures exactly 14452 meters in length, 2112 meters in height at midships, and requires a crew numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Notable classes at this size are the Aëtius-class Superdreadnaughts and the Plebeian-class Supercarriers. These ships are typically found as Fleet command vessels, though sometimes, when the Imperium’s ire has been particularly stoked, they may be seen on long range deployments. Each vessel is unique, with service records dating back hundreds of years for the oldest of these void-borne titans. Alongside shockingly potent naval combat capabilities, they also hold huge numbers of Imperial Legionaries for planetary operations, with enough troops and matériels onboard to maintain a ground operation in perpetuity.

Because of the unique resource needs of these behemoths, supercapitals maintain their own onboard macrofacturing facilities, able to construct things as large and complex as new hull systems or even entire escort vessels down to small arms and armored vehicles.

Notable Examples: IHNV Two For Flinching (SSDN-11, Aëtius-class Superdreadnaught), IHNV Sunrise Over Terra (SSCV-04, Plebeian-class Supercarrier), IHNV Lamb of God (SSDN-24)

Capitals

More diverse than the supercapitals, capital-class vessels are typically found leading independent units operating away from the Fleet, or leading frontline combat units in wartime. The most common vessels of this class are the Triarii-class Battleship, Awesome-class Battlecarrier, and the Tyrant’s Bane-class Battlecruiser. Typically measuring between 6000 to 8000 meters in length, these the main heavy combat elements of any Fleet, capable of destroying or disabling dozens of lesser ships on their own or, with proper support, brawling with any other military’s heaviest capital ships. Crew requirements for these tough ships are significantly lower than the supercapitals, usually around 25-50,000 personnel, not including Legion forces.

Notable Examples: IHNV At Midnight’s Passing (BBS-114, Triarii-class Battleship), IHNV Fortune’s Favored (BC-117, Tyrant’s Bane-class Battlecruiser) IHNV Scipio Africanus (BCC-12, Awesome-class Battlecarrier)

Ships of the Line

The workhorse vessels of the Imperial navy, ships of this size typically measure from 2000 to 4500 meters in length. Perhaps the most well known of these ships is the Tyrrhenian-class Heavy Cruiser, of which there are hundreds spread across the Twelve Fleets. Other ships include the Palimpsest-class Warfrigate, Spatha-class Hunter/Killer, and Princeps-class Carrier. Making up the bulk of Imperial warships, these vessels are rarely seen on their own. Instead, they fill out most of the tonnage in Imperial task forces and flotillas. Typically the first step for any captain seeking higher command, these ships are found in the thickest of the fighting, relying on super Imperial armor designs to survive where their cousins from other militaries would quickly perish. With significantly reduced crew sizes even compared to the capital classes, the Imperium can field hundreds of these ships per fleet. Combat roles typically involve screening larger vessels, absorbing incoming fire as Imperial capital ships seek to find gaps in the three dimensional formations of naval warfare, and acting as harassers, leaving Fleet shield envelopes to loose off devastating close range barrages at distances of sometimes only one or two hundred thousand kilometers. The smallest vessels in this class, such as the Vainglorious-class Heavy Destroyer, are the largest Imperial vessels capable of operating inside planetary atmospheres without significant environmental harm- to both the planet and the ship.

Notable Examples: IHNV Age Before Beauty (HHD-1411, Vainglorious-class Heavy Destroyer) IHNV Red Sunrise (HPB-97, Onager-class Planetary Bombardier) IHNV Perpetual Victory (HCV-314, Princeps-class Carrier) IHNV Gone Too Soon (HSC-22, Pilum-class Strike Cruiser) IHNV Morning Glory (HAX-03, Assertor-class Advanced Fleet Auxiliary)

Light Combatants

A much looser grouping, ships of this class are not intended for heavy fighting, instead fulfilling many of the auxiliary and support roles that keep the frontline warships fighting. From electronic warfare specialists like the Tempest-class Techship to the Fabricatus-class Constructor to the completely unique Salamander-class Void/Terrestrial Warship that can serve as an actual seafaring ship for use in supporting ground forces on ocean worlds, the ships of this class fulfill incredibly diverse and niche roles. Because of the sheer number of service roles ships of this class are used for, there is no standard size range, and instead the Imperial War College includes ships based on installed weaponry. These ships are universally lightly armed, with many only carrying point defense systems. Many Imperial fleet officers start their careers aboard these ships, familiarizing themselves with both the realities of command and the myriad support units necessary to sustain Imperial combat operations.

Notable Examples: IHNV Jenin (HFA-11, Mediterranean-class Fleet Auxiliary) IHNV New Dawn (CCA-1120, Manzikert-class Civilian Conveyor) IHNV Kingfisher (VTW-1, Salamander-class Void/Terrestrial Warship)

Escort Vessels

The miscellany of the Imperial Navy, escort vessels make up far and away the greatest number of sheer hulls of any class, with thousands spread across the fleets, though it remains the smallest by tonnage. These ships are very small, with most measuring barely more than a hundred or so meters, with crew sizes almost never exceeding more than 20. In fact, so small are these ships that they usually don’t even have a captain, instead answering to squadron commanders stationed on the larger vessels they’ve been assigned to protect. Escort vessels have exactly one purpose: protecting the warships of the Fleet from enemy munitions, strike craft like fighters and bombers, boarding craft, and any other dangers point defense systems can counter. Loaded to the rafters with rotary railguns, plasma incinerators, and high powered lasers, these ships are lethal in large numbers, of which they are exclusively deployed in. Something like a heavy frigate may have up to 10 escorts, while the supercapitals are surrounded by flocks of them numbering in the hundreds. Escort ships are actually incapable of interstellar travel, exclusively relying on external docking cradles on their assigned ships to carry them between worlds and systems. While each ship may carry different weapons systems or specialize in neutralizing different threats, they are built on the same basic hull, the Pugio-class Escort Vessel (Multirole). Because of their size, individual escort vessels are not named, instead receiving a new numerical identifier whenever they are assigned to a ship.

Other Classes and Craft

Even further below the escort vessel are the rest of the Imperium’s spacecraft. Including shuttles, cutters, boarding launches, strike craft like interceptors and bombers, and personal yachts, these craft are exclusively ship-borne, carried in vast hangars aboard the Imperium’s various carrier classes. First and foremost are the strike craft, such as the VF-19 Gothic heavy bomber or the VF-11 Gladius interceptor, which make up the Navy’s strike wings. Able to punch far above their weight, a wing of bombers can disable an entire battlecruiser or heavy carrier if they’re overlooked or manage to pass through the point defense field. There are also Legionary boarding launches, one-way rockets meant to rapidly deliver Marine boarding units to the poor unsuspecting bastards whose ships they’ve been sent to take, and personal yachts used by the various officers to travel between ships, planets, and other Imperial outposts, and the ubiquitous heavy troop conveyors capable of transporting hundreds of legionaries down to a planet’s surface under enemy fire. Across the Twelve Fleets, there are hundreds of thousands of these tiny craft.

#not too long this time #but that’s because some of these classes are gonna get their own detailed articles #the two supercapitals especially #and we’ll have to have articles on Imperal Navy technology doctrine and strategy of course #and an article of the Harbinger ships #hell we’re gonna need an Invictus article too #and then articles on the Benden Aberinian Horagint Igorian and Zentilluss navies #the victusverse

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