#this is a deceleration of war

[wolrith]

sorry if i dont boop you back im at war with @permanently-tired-pigeon

[terriblygrimm]

unstoppable force

immovable object

[citralekha]

Wait, with Wildemount soon falling into chaos, and information about the Vanguard plot seemingly leaking into public consciousness, what if the Kryn Dynasty find out that Ludinus, HEAD OF THE CERBERUS ASSEMBLY AND EFFECTIVE RULER OF THE EMPIRE, has been using Dunamis for his plan?? Oh boy, second War of Ash And Light on its way in 3... 2...

[notmyneighbor]

Scarlet Milk - Doppelganger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Word Count - 5.2k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content, blood drinking

Also available on AO3

fanart by kaworinx

Your eyes flick to the clock mounted on the wall. Your morning shift at the telephone exchange was almost over.

“What number, please?”

You scan the switchboard for the correct sequence, removing and plugging in the jack to connect the call seamlessly. The next number requested is for a different exchange and you transfer the call with barely a delay.

At last it’s time to set the headset down. Your work as a telephone operator is done for the day.

Business in the telephone exchange office had really picked up since the war, and had increased further still after the DDD began their operation to help identify and weed out the invading doppelgangers. It’s the perfect time to work, getting as many hours as you need and stowing away the extra funds for a rainy day.

You ride a bicycle to work since your employer isn’t far from home. A little rougher going in the winter months, but now it was spring, the weather warming up nicely, the budding trees and renewed verdant color in lawns further signs that the seasons were changing.

You’ve barely left the city behind and entered the suburbs before you run into trouble: a sharp object, perhaps a bit of glass or metal, has punctured one of your tires. You slip off the bike seat after coming to a bumpy halt, now forced to walk alongside the bike the rest of the way home. You think there’s a repair kit lurking somewhere in the house, you’re just not entirely sure where.

You spy a milk delivery sitting near the front door of one of the houses you pass, still remaining unclaimed at this late morning hour. A small blue and yellow bird perched on the rim of one of the bottles is startled by your presence and temporarily abandons its assault on the foil lid before it regains its confidence and returns, the beak breaching the barrier so that it can drink the rich cream that has risen to the top. Clever, naughty thing. You’d shoo him away but you know it or one of its brethren will just return anyway. You had to be careful nowadays, leaving something like that unprotected.

You had to be careful nowadays, period.

You spy the milkman’s truck further up the road, the driver near the tailgate, lifting his cap and dragging the back of a pale wrist against his perspiring forehead. The rear of the vehicle is empty, the goods inside all distributed for the day’s route.

Your pace slows as you draw closer, nodding a greeting to the man. You don’t recognize him. Maybe a new hire for the dairy company. The other driver had been getting older. Maybe he’d finally retired. At least, you hoped his sudden absence was for that pleasant reason and not something more sinister relating to the doppels. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His voice is warm and friendly. You see his eyes focus on the deflated tire, then back up to your face. “Flat tire, huh? Need a lift?”

“Oh, no, I can manage, thank you. I’m nearly there.”

“I’m heading that way. There’s no reason to tax yourself.”

You shake your head. “Really, I’m fine.”

He shrugs. “Alright, then. Get home safe.” You watch as he seals the back doors and returns to the driver’s side, climbing up and settling behind the wheel. You suddenly feel foolish. The man was just trying to be kind, surely. He starts the engine and eases back onto the road slowly, decelerating to a meager crawl to keep pace with you, calling to you through the open window. “Last chance to change your mind.” He smiles. Handsome. He has such an honest face. Weary eyes. The early mornings no doubt leaving those inky shadows on ivory skin. He must be eager to be home now that his job was completed, yet he was still offering to help.

In spite of your earlier caution, you find yourself feeling it would be rude to decline again, and you accept the milkman’s offer. “Alright, thank you. I promise it’s not far and then you can be on your way. I’m sure you want to get home.”

The truck halts, the breaks squeaking slightly. Your bicycle is lifted effortlessly and stowed in the back. There’s no seat inside save for the driver, so you remain standing, bracing yourself against the rear of the cab awkwardly. At least you don’t have far to go.

“Anyone at home to help you with that flat tire?”

“No, I live alone,” you admit, then silently curse yourself. You shouldn’t be volunteering that kind of information, even if it was the truth. Your brother had left you with the inherited house after he’d moved in with his new wife last year, still disappointed that you hadn’t found someone yet, disapproving of your decision to choose to live independently in such strange, dangerous times. Now you’ve just revealed this vulnerable fact to a stranger. A male stranger.

“The birds have been at your deliveries again,” you say, searching for something to fill the sudden silence.

“So I’ve seen. They can’t resist the cream. Interesting story about that. It’s only one particular species, have you noticed?”

“I haven’t, actually.”

“They had no trouble before they started sealing the bottles, but even after the lids were implemented they persisted until they found a way to get inside. Taught the others how to do it, too. Adaptation and evolution are necessary for survival.”

“I suppose you’re right. This is my house here,” you point and the driver slows and stops, parking the truck along the curb and shutting off the engine.

“Let me give you a hand unloading the bicycle.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

“No problem.” The milkman stands. Suddenly the cab of the truck feels very small. He’s positioned so that he’s blocking the doorway, making no move to head to the back where your bike is being stored. The smile on your features slides off like melting ice cream on a summer day.

No. He couldn’t be.

Your heart begins to beat rapidly. The smile he offers doesn’t quiet touch his eyes this time.

“Actually, I’ll just um…I can get it. Thank you for the lift.” You try to ease past him, thinking to make your escape through the rear of the vehicle instead, but he slaps out an arm to bar your path, crowding you against the steel frame.

“We’re adapting, too. Evolving constantly. Getting better and better at blending in. Finding new ways to breach your homes and sate our hunger.”

“Please don’t kill me.” As if the doppelganger would have mercy. You feel tears pooling in your eyes. How foolish you had been, walking into his trap. Why hadn’t you trusted your instincts?

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway. See, it’s occurred to me to take a page from those birds’ books, so to speak. Sample the sweetest, most nutritious part. And let the rest of the meal live on, thereby providing an endless supply, rather than gorging on one human in a single sitting, then being forced to find another. We’ve already seen what happens when we indulge too voraciously. It’s why we were forced to visit your planet, after all.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Your blood. That is what I desire. A sample each time, and then you go about your daily life as usual. A fair deal, isn’t it? Certainly a better offer than most of my kin would give you.”

“You want to…to…” You can even bring yourself to utter it out loud.

“Drink your blood, yes.”

“Like a vampire,” you whisper in horror.

“Something like that.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I consume you right here and now.”

Two tears spill over your cheeks. The doppel clucks his tongue. “There’s no need for that. It’s really a very obvious choice. The sooner you agree, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair for the remainder of the day.”

“Is it…is it going to hurt?”

“Not as badly as me tearing you apart with my claws, I assure you.” His features soften, and that impression of how handsome the original man he’s copied must be strikes you again. “This doesnt need to be violent. It will go easier for you if you don’t resist.”

You swallow thickly, trying to summon courage. “How do you know I won’t just call the DDD?”

“Because that would be a very, very foolish thing to do. And I think you are smarter than that, aren’t you?” His nostrils flare slightly and he inhales deeply. “I’m getting hungry. Do you agree to my terms or not?”

“What guarantee do I have that you’re not just going to kill me anyway?”

“None, other than my word.”

You could almost laugh. An invader asking you to trust him. To allow yourself to be fed upon until…when would this conceivably end? “How long will I have to do this for?”

He shrugs. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Many things. How many others will supplement my diet. How much I decide to take. This will end whenever I say it ends,” he adds in a growl, and you shudder.

You close your eyes. “Alright. Just get it over with.”

“Not here. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see, now, would we? Hop on down and I’ll deliver your bicycle. Then we can go inside and…have a little snack.”

You wish your neighbors would see your plight, but there’s no one to help you. The elderly man across the street was probably well into his morning nap. The young couple next door both worked. The housewife who lived on the other side was undoubtedly busy with chores, the children at school.

The doppelganger leans your damaged bike against the fence, following you up to the door, waiting for you to unlock it.

So. You really were going to invite him inside after all.

Normally you’d be fixing lunch at this time. Maybe doing some housework yourself. Now you set your keys in the trivet dish by the door and tuck your shoes neatly beside the frame, watching the doppel shut the door behind him.

“Come here.”

You’d taken a couple of steps further into the hallway and his voice makes you jerk to a halt. You warily turn back.

That smile again. Your stomach flips nervously as you move to stand beside him.

He makes a little hum of sound, pleased you’re being obedient and cooperative. Your hair is already pinned up, your throat exposed. Assuming that was where he was going to bite you. The thought makes your breath hitch and you close your eyes again, willing the moment to be over.

You feel the heat of his breath as he leans closer to your neck, hear another deep inhale. His lips graze your skin in the barest whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces a line down the side of your neck and then there is pain, sharp and fast, your body reflexively trying to pull away but his arms fasten around you, clutching your body against his.

“Relax,” he urges you again, his mouth lifting just long enough to issue the command to you before it returns and you feel the suction, the wet heat, that terrible drag of your life force pulled from the vessel beneath the skin. A little moan accompanies that gesture, sending vibrations as the alien savors the taste of you. Your fingers curl in his work shirt as you’re pushed back against the door. If there had been anyone there to see, it would have looked as if you were a young couple in the throes of passion. But there is no one witnessing this act. It is just you and the doppelganger.

“Enough,” he murmurs, his face revealed once more, no longer supping from your throat. You reach for the wound, surprised to find your hands coming away clean. No blood. Just scabbed puncture marks you can palpate with the pads of your fingers.

He’s breathing heavily. It had been hard to stop, maybe, fighting that natural instinct to kill and ravage. The dark eyes are bloodshot, a pair of fangs visible before they’re retracted again, the red haze gradually clearing as he continues staring at you. His appearance returns to that of the milkman he’s impersonating and he finally steps back.

“Tomorrow,” he says, a promise, a threat, before he exits, leaving you trembling, your fingers still cradling your neck. You hear the truck’s engine rumble to life.

Tomorrow.

***

He visits again the following evening.

You don’t know why you’d expected the doppelganger to be at your door at any particular time. Your anxiety has been peaking in anticipation. Dreading the next feeding. Still wondering what’s to stop him from just killing you anyway.

The marks he’d left had been surprisingly tidy. Easy enough to conceal. You’d struggled at work that day, your normally nimble hands and sharp eyes faltering more than once, your performance lacking. Your supervisor certainly noticed. You’d been spoken to. A warning.

Maybe you should take the next day off. Maybe you should…

A knock at the door interrupts your musings and you look up from the novel you’ve been attempting to distract yourself with.

He was here.

The temptation to phone the DDD is there again. But it would take them time to get here. You’d certainly be destroyed for your breach of contract long before the disposal team arrived.

You open the door.

He’s still wearing the milkman’s uniform, although this time he’s shed the cap, revealing the thick wavy brown hair that had been hiding beneath. Wordlessly you step back to make room for him to enter. Your eyes are on the floor now, suddenly shy. You hear the door being closed.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes lift and you gaze at the doppel through your lashes. Surely he could hear how elevated your pulse is. Did that entice him, that rapid flow of crimson liquid?

The mimic moves behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against him. Fingers guide your head to dip to one side, a gentle nudge before his lips are at your neck again. The same side as before. They press more firmly this time. The stripe he licks reaches all the way to your ear lobe. A whimper escapes you. It feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

The sharp pair of the monster’s cuspids pierce your throat. Another choked sound escapes you, this one a blurred mixture of pain and pleasure. The fingers resting against your abdomen dig in. His other hand is braced against your chin, manipulating your head, keeping you in position while he takes what he desires.

You clutch at the hand on your stomach. You think you’d faint if you didn’t have him at your back. There is something hard pressing against you there, another need digging into the cleft of your buttocks. Arousal. Your cheeks feel hot. There are no longer teeth sunk into your neck but his mouth is still there, laving and caressing the injured flesh. Soft, wet kisses planted. “So sweet,” he breathes against your ear. “Your scarlet milk is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

He departs minutes later and you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you get ready for bed, wondering why you’re not more afraid.

***

The milk delivery truck is parked outside your home when you arrive there the next afternoon.

You lean your mended bike against the picket fence. There are people outside. Someone is raking leaves from last autumn. Children are tossing a ball back and forth. The doppelganger has a bottle of milk in his hand, the tips of his fingers clutching it by the neck. He’s leaning against the outside of the truck.

“Come inside,” you hiss, not trusting him not to make a spectacle right there and then. He smirks at your invitation, following you inside.

There are sunspots in front of your eyes. It was so bright outdoors. The interior of your house is darker, cooler. “You should be more discreet,” you mutter, your hands rubbing together restlessly. Nervous. You’re so nervous.

“No one is paying any attention. They didn’t care when I took the truck. They hand the goods over willingly. It’s made finding other…donors…so simple. Your kind is so oblivious to what’s right in front of them.”

“How many other people are you…?” The idea of the imposter operating as a milkman making deliveries as a guise to shield his true purpose of seeking more sources of that sinister meal he craves twists your stomach in knots. Worried. You’re guilty over what’s happening to your neighbors. Not necessarily your fault, but you knew about it, and you allowed it, participated in it…

“Not many. Discretion is best, we agree on that much.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite treat.”

“I’m not jealous,” you reply defensively, perhaps a little too much vehemence behind the words. Was there some of that mixed in your emotions as well?

“You should let me give you a ride home one of these days,” he murmurs.

You frown, your reverie dissolving. “Why?”

“Because,” he drawls. Not an answer. His upper eyelids drip languidly as he sets the bottle on the kitchen counter. The foil lid is soon demolished into a crumpled ball. He drives a middle finger into the cream gathered at the top of the bottle, scooping out a dollop of the thick substance. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“This is the best part, isn’t it? You humans seem to enjoy it. Open,” he commands again, and this time there is a bit of a threat there, the easygoing teasing suddenly disappearing. His eyes darken and your lips part obediently. The digit pierces those borders and drives straight back across your tongue, your eyelashes fluttering, surprised, the brisk invasive movement catching you off guard. Your mouth closes reflexively over the offering and the wedge of muscle presses his finger against the top of your soft palate, the pad brushing past the ridges to find the smoother flesh as he offers you a taste. Your stroke across the joint of his knuckle, then the nail bed as he slowly withdraws back through the tight ring of your mouth, finally emerging with a soft popping sound.

“Good?” The word is croaked out hoarsely. Your heart jackhammers as you nod. You watch as he repeats the gesture in his own mouth, brow furrowing over the taste as he considers the flavor of the cream. “I prefer you instead.”

The doppel’s lips touch your throat. You can’t stop the needy sound that escapes. “I won’t see you for a few days. Need to let your body rest and replenish. You’re of no use to me without the proper nutrition.” He nips your ear lobe. “So I’m going to stay a little longer today. Prolong things. I’m sure you don’t mind.” His hands have found the bottom of your skirt, lifting the hem. There are curtains on the windows but anyone standing close enough outside could look in and see what’s happening. Your cheeks burn with shame, that rush of heat further elevated because some part of you wants this. His fingers snake beneath the waistband of your panties and dip between your legs, swiping through the arousal leaking from you to collect a sample.

He licks them clean. An appreciative hum. “Now this, I really enjoy. Why don’t you hop up here.” You never get the chance because he lifts you first, setting you on the edge of the counter. Your skirt is flipped back impatiently again, your panties dragged roughly down. And you allow it. You allow the manhandling of your clothes, your body, manipulated into balancing precariously on the edge before he pulls a chair from under the kitchen table over and settles into it, his fingernails lightly scratching against your thighs before he parts them and buries his face into your sex.

Your head tips back and you bite your bottom lip as the doppel explores the sensitive pink flesh, enthusiastically swirling his tongue over the folds and your clit before pushing inside you. The hands curled around your thighs are changing, the nails digging in no longer the replicated human’s. The tongue violating your canal seems to lengthen, expanding. You’re afraid to see and yet you want to watch, your fingers burrowing into his hair. Bloodshot eyes, the doppel’s easing through, yellow tinged, pupils now sharp, narrow, a flash of teeth before his mouth shifts impossibly wide, more than a human jaw could ever accommodate, sucking at your clit while still fucking you with his tongue. A monster is ravaging your body and your only thought is MORE. The wedge of muscle curves inside you, tapping in staccato movements against the shallow secluded shelf of hidden pleasure and it sends you over the edge immediately, keening and shaking as he continues sucking and stabbing until you can’t stand it anymore, your legs trying to close, the hand that had been pulling him against your pussy now trying to push him away.

He finally surrenders, mouth parting reluctantly from your sex. You’re on fire, every nerve tingling in your extremities, at your center, where the pulse is strongest. A satisfied grin, a flash of sharp teeth aligned in a row, before the imposter milkman stands, kicking the chair back so hard it knocks over. His fingers sink into your hair and he jerks your head back, grabbing one of your hands and pressing it over the bump in his trousers. You fumble the fly open, dragging his needy erection through the flap of his briefs. It’s large and hot and your hands seem too small, too delicate to stroke that engorged organ properly.

“Milk it. Make me cum.” His lips hover before your own. You wonder why he hasn’t kissed you on the mouth yet. Would those razor slivers of bone slice you to ribbons? The morphed tongue strokes the angle of your jaw. Your hand is working in harsh, jerky movements. Clumsy. You’re panting with fear and desire. You can’t reach his mouth at this angle so your lips find his throat instead, the patch of skin just above the fastened work shirt and knotted bowtie. He growls and bellows as your fingers finally, finally seem to have adapated, smoothing a gush of precum over the sensitive crown. Large as it was, his prick still felt human enough, so perhaps it was the same, or perhaps he still had yet to reveal its true nature. A moan now hummed against your throat, this soft and pleading noise the polar opposite of the menancing sound he’d emitted moments before. Teeth scrape your neck. The veins in his cock bulge against your hand. He’s so swollen, so ready to erupt. Fangs begin to dig into your flesh. Only a pair. He’s shifted appearances again, protecting you somewhat. You wonder how much of a struggle it is to keep it in check, during the height of something like this. The teeth descend further and you feel the suction as he pulls your blood into his mouth just as a hot spill of seed bathes your hand. He leans forward and your free hand reaches back to brace yourself, sending the milk bottle onto its side, mirroring the white flood that now coats your skin. He sucks and it aches and it feels like a second orgasm building inside of you.

At last, at last he draws back, and it is a human’s face you see, with shadow smudged eyes and mussed hair and swollen lips. The urge to kiss him flares anew but he backs away. You’re suddenly aware of the dairy product that’s spread across the counter, sinking into your clothes, spilling over the edge and dripping onto the floor. The doppel rights the chair he’d tipped over earlier. Clothes are straightened into some semblance of order.

You’re normally relieved when he departs. Today you find yourself clutching his sleeve as he reaches for the doorknob. Something has happened between you two, besides the obvious. A new kind of intimacy blossoming, satisfying other, more primal needs. Adapting and evolving like the doppel had said, perhaps.

“I’ll see you soon.” Not tomorrow. He’s already told you that. An anemic blood supply will not satisfy him. You’re more lightheaded than you’re letting on. He’s taken so much already, but you still want to give him more. “Soon,” he repeats. Then he’s gone.

***

In the dream, you’re in your bed, trying to achieve a slumber that won’t come. You toss and turn restlessly. Get a glass of water. Use the restroom. Flip your pillow over to the cooler side. Shift the covers. It’s no use. You can’t sleep.

You’re thinking about the doppelganger.

About that smile, that warm breath and wicked mouth and wet tongue. His body pressing against yours. Tasting you. Cumming in your hand. The vampiric kisses. It should be terrifying, knowing he holds your life in his hands, your fate determined by the whim of an alien creature.

The replicant is back.

You sense him before he even taps on the glass of the French doors that lead from you bedroom into a private garden area in the back yard. You recognize that shape behind the gauzy curtains that shield the glass, flinging back the comforter and sliding out of bed. The cool air wafts over you as you open the door. You’re only wearing a thin nightgown. You shouldn’t be dressed like this in front of him. You shouldn’t be doing any of the things you’ve been doing with him.

His palm settles warm against the side of your neck. His mouth touches yours for the first time.

Heat pools in your sex. He tastes like metal, copper heavy on your tongue. There is the flavor of tart wine and something smokey as your body is pressed down onto the bed. Your fingers siphon through his hair. You can feel his erection again, demanding somewhere near your own groin. His hips cant slightly and you both moan softly.

The hem of your nightgown is slid up the length of your thigh. You can feel the sharp points of the claws that tear your panties from your body, a casual display that leaves you gasping. A faint jingle of a belt moving and the whine of the metal teeth of a zipper parting and then his cock is shoved into your slickened entrance.

The tongue that twines around yours feels foreign now, the doppel revealing more of his true form. Long and thick, like the prick that’s invading your pussy. Your brain in its dream state has no sense of shame. There is nothing but desire, hot and wet. The front of your nightgown is sliced through, the fabric easily parting beneath the sharp claws that have replaced human nails. Your breasts are kneaded as the sound of lewd slapping fills the air, wet noises from your joined mouths, from the cock pounding into your dripping cunt. Had he been hungry? You’d been starving, you realize. Craving this. Undeniably wrong but oh so right.

“Bite me.” In your waking state, you’d never issued such a request. Only in dreams could you be bold enough. Your fingers clutch the nape of his neck, encouraging him as your knees dig into his ribs. You gift him your blood and he gifts you a load of something thicker, creamier, milky shots of cum spurting deep inside of you. There are stars in front of your eyes, fireworks, bursting lights in the darkness. He kisses your mouth and the tang of your own lifeforce is strong there. His teeth are still sharp. He hasn’t changed back. You kiss him again anyway.

***

Your eyes open.

It’s raining. You can hear the soft patter of it against the roofing shingles above. Your heart is hammering wildly. Your entire body is drenched in sweat, your panties soaked with something more carnal. You fling back the sheet and blanket much as you had in the dream, padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom. You need a shower. You feel soiled.

You wish the events of the dream had really happened.

It’s been five days since you’ve seen the doppelganger. The water of the shower spills over you, pelting you gently. You drag the bar of soap over your body. There is something thick and wet between your legs, the fluids of your arousal a different kind of wetness than the spray of water. Your clit is swollen. You wish for his fingers, his tongue. You circle the raised bundle until your body trembles, until you’re forced to lean against the shower wall for support.

You shut off the faucet and towel yourself dry before pulling on a clean nightgown. You burrow your face into your pillow and think of the mimic’s smile until sleep reclaims you once more.

***

A week has passed. Now you think something must be wrong. The doppelganger’s delayed absence can’t be intentional.

Perhaps the DDD had gotten to him. Someone had seen something, called. Maybe not all his ‘donors’ were quite as willing as yourself. A hot flame builds inside you. You are jealous, after all.

It’s raining on the night he finally returns. Later than he has ever been. The water has soaked his skin, his clothing. There is only the living room lamp on to illuminate your view of the alien creature, looking so pitiful standing there, a drenched figure with tired eyes and dark hair plastered flat against his head, the rainwater spilling over the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, over the gentle curves of his lips.

He steps inside and closes the door. Your breathing is harsh, rapid. A match for his own. “Where have you been?”

“Did you miss me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. His voice drags against you skin like velvet. “No.”

“Liar.”

You reach for each other at the same time. Your fingers knot into the saturated fabric of his work shirt while his close over your upper arm, crowding you back against the door. “Where have you been?” You repeat again, your voice gentler this time. “I thought the DDD had gotten to you, I…”

“You were worried about me.”

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly.

“You missed me.”

“Yes.”

His thumb briefly strokes one cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

“I do. Quite a lot, in fact. In many places,” he adds, smirking a little, some of his customary teasing emerging.

“You know what I mean. On the mouth.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because,” he says, and for a moment you think he won’t answer you properly again, dodging the question, but then he continues, “that means something very, very different.”

“Different how?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

The doppel’s lips press against yours. Closed at first. Then they divide and your tongue darts between them, granting you your first taste of the invader. Nothing like the dream. No bitterness or metal or sour flavor. No smoke or ash. Just clean, pure, natural.

“Do you understand now?” His gaze traps yours. Human pupils dilating. You know what really lurks beneath. You like both.

“No. Show me again.”

A faint smirk. Then the doppelganger’s mouth captures yours once more.

[fanaura]

can you write an nsfw where there’s like this ‘mating ritual’ where when a two na’vi want to mate the male must earn his woman by being able to successfully catch her/hunt her down as she runs away and tries not to be caught? so in this nsfw neteyam is hunting his soon to be mate and there’s lots of teasing but eventually he catches her and they mate? love your writing x

STOP THAT IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA Y'ALL ARE JUST TOO CREATIVE FOR THIS WORLD OMG

yes ofc i can!! and tysm i appreciate it xx

pairing: neteyam x omaticayan!reader - aged up (23 + 22)

content warnings: sexual content, queues connecting, p-in-v, neteyam being an experienced boi caused he's older and KNOWS his way around the bedroom, slight breeding kink, this ritual is completely fan-made as far as I'm aware!! I'm only following from what this person has written.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet thudded on the soft dirt floor of the forest as you ran through it, dodging and weaving tree stumps and the smaller animals of your home. The faint smell of sweat hung in the air from the effort, the sound of Neteyam's breath expelling and inhaling in ease, his strong body staying close behind you.

You sped up as you ran past a bend in the path Neteyam had been chasing you through for the past 10 minutes, as a part of the People's mating ritual. It was very traditional and slightly outdated, but with everything you and Neteyam had been through in the war with the Sky People, you wanted to make a big fuss over the mating, to make it special.

Since the time of the First Songs, it was the option for a male and female about to mate to begin The Hunt; a mating ritual in which the female was to run from her partner, until they caught up to each other, where they then mate for life. Again, some would call it silly. But after Neteyam's fierce and horrific encounters with death throughout the war - all you wanted was something to commerate it.

He was gaining on you - drawing closer and closer as you got more tired, legs aching and heavy - anticipation also causing you to decelerate. Neteyam's warrior frame stayed steady compared to your singer's body. While some females chose the path of warriors, healers, hunters, you chose to sing. Singing the words of Eywa was honourable, and made you feel closer to her and the People, but it didn't bless you with the powerful musculature others had developed. It made you feel so guilty during the War, when you had to stay back and sit around worriedly in missions because it was more dangerous for you than useful. You were a liability.

The thoughts were a useless spiral, so you shook them away, right as Neteyam reached you and wrapped his arms around your waist and tackled you to the dirt ground.

"Nete-YAM!" you squealed as you tumbled and he began tickling you.

"Stop!" you breathe-screamed in between giggles.

"What was that? Keep going?" He said, relentless. One of his large hands held both of yours together as he kept going.

"Neteyam! You skxawng!" You screamed again, abs hurting as you panted.

He was also smiling, but he let go of your hands and rose, so he was on his knees as he pulled you up as well. The grin had now softened, his eyes boring into your very soul, every thought, every movement, every heartbeat.

In an unexplained unison, you both reach behind for your queues, eyes still focused on each other with bated breath.

"My Yawne," my beloved, he mumured so quietly you almost couldn't hear him. You both brought the tips of your braids together and watched as they made Tsaheylu.

"Neteyam," you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs, and he gasped, eyes fluttering. He groaned and put his head down on the crook of your neck, heaving.

The swell of everything; his soul mixing with yours in a swirl of heat and love and passion, all blending together in harmony, like the ocean meets the sky and the earth meets the rain. A compliment, a perfect fit.

You lightly grabbed his face, bringing his lips to touch yours, heavy and full of lust.

Neteyam ended up on top of you again, but this time his face was sultry and focused. He kissed your cheek, your neck, your lips, and continued down. He worshipped you. The valley between your now bare breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and the bundle of nerves sitting in between them.

It wasn't like you both were inexperienced in any way. There were stolen moments over the years throughout the chaos of war, a silence in the midst of a storm. It had given you both the opportunity to learn and experiment with each other, which had allowed you to figure out what you liked, and the same for Neteyam. But you couldn't deal with him taking it slow now, not when all you wanted to do was touch every inch of his body, to calm the overwhelming feeling of everything swirling inside you. You knew Neteyam was only going painfully slow because he knew this, and he felt the same.

"Tease," you huffed, grabbing his jaw desperately and kissing him fiercly. He chuckled, kissing you back.

"You want it, do you?" He asked in between kisses. You whined, arching into him.

"Nuh uh," he said, pulling back and going to speak in your ear, his voice and breath in your ear sending shivers down your whole body.

"Use your words," he said, left hand dragging up your torso and breasts, drawing lazy circles that turned you to jelly beneath him.

"I want you inside me, Neteyam," you choke out, just as his hand reaches the wetness between your legs.

"Oh yeah?" He moved his loincloth and your own, positioning his cock right at your entrance, again teasing you even as you clawed at his back and tried to pull him closer to you, craving contact. He resisted.

"Yes. Neteyam- please," you said tremulously.

"Well, since you used your manners..." he brought one of his hands down and guided himself in you, the thickness of him stretching your folds, as he had done many times before, but has never ceased to drive you mad.

He started off painfully slow, moving in and out of your wet cunt. You moaned, planting both hands at the back of his neck so your foreheads were touching.

"Faster," you whispered, and he obliged, pounding in an out of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your eyes fluttered closed. He was kissing your neck, and you knew you would be left with purple marks on your already blue skin.

Neteyam groaned, a sound that immediately deepend your pleasure, bringing you up higher and higher to reach your peak.

"Come on," he said your name while he moved in you, you writhing and grasping at anything to hold on to.

"That's it, baby. You're almost there, just a little more for me," you mewled and cried out, finally reaching your climax.

The dizzying satisfaction you felt was drawn out as Neteyam sped up to also reach his addictive high, spilling his seed into your dripping pussy.

[momojedi]

now idk if youve been requested smth like this before but tbb finds reader (whos another clone child like omega)?? thatd be cool, id think!! gn reader btw 🫶🫶 ALSO LOVE YOUR WRITING SM TY FOR WRITING THIS IF YOU DO

— FAMILY FOUND pairing. omega/clone force 99 x clone child! gn! reader

**

type. oneshot note. hi anon! thank you for your request, i'm incredibly happy to hear you like my writing! regarding your request, i hadn't thought of anything like that so far, but i love the idea - this is set during season one! the reader could technically be seen as disabled but i'll really leave that up to your interpretation. enjoy! warnings. needles, human experimentation, dehumanisation, sisterly omega fluff, big brother/dad batch, slight injury, potential reference to the blackwing virus, references to clone wars events word count. 2k

star wars masterlist || pinned post

Four hours.

That's how long you'd been running from the Empire and the claws of the Kaminoans, swiftly escaping the planet with the help of AZ-3. After a tearful farewell, the droid had tightly sealed the escape pod's hatch as well as your fate, leaving you to hold off the Kaminoans from tracking you as you fled Tipoca City, the place you once called your home.

When you landed on Ord Mantell, the sudden impact of the crash had swept you off your feet, chucking you to the floor with a loud bang. The intense pain that abruptly shot through your arm as well as the burning sensation that spread in your right cheek quickly lead you to realise that you needed to get a hold on some medical supplies as soon as possible.

"Where is it, where is it - kriff!"

Despite years of being reprimanded by Commander Colt not to curse and avoid the usage of bad words, you couldn't help but ignore your late brother's teachings when you sat back up on your knees after crawling out from under the pod's control panel. There wasn't a medkit in sight. You huffed, gripping your throbbing head with your healthy arm. "I must've hit my head," you whispered to yourself, squinting your eyes in pain. Slowly but surely some medical attention was starting to become really necessary, especially when you felt warm liquid dripping down your cheek.

You sat up. Perhaps you'd find some help in the inner city?

Ord Mantell was huge; bigger and much more crowded than Tipoca City you found yourself realising. Though, that view might've been influenced by the fact that, like most clone children, you'd never seen anything but Kamino throughout your entire life.

Time and time again had you sat among your brothers, listening intently to their adventurous tales fighting in the war and visiting various places throughout the galaxy. And although you felt bad for the loss and pain they went through day by day, you couldn't help but envy the wonderful worlds and systems they also had the chance to experience.

Unlike most clones, you hadn't been made to be a soldier but rather a subject to be tested on. Your entire purpose since you'd been born was to be a lab-rat, to endure tests and examinations in order to help the Kaminoans determine the breeding conditions of their next clones. You thought little of the Kaminoans, as most clones did. Their constant pricking of needles and blood letting made you feel sick and although you'd grown up on Kamino and were used to being dehumanised and seen as an object, a tool rather than a living being, you still hated the longnecks with a burning passion, silently enduring the torture they'd been putting you through. Naturally that also meant that you were made to suffer from various side effects of the experiments, such as age acceleration - or in your case, deceleration.

Unlike the usual clone, you aged slower, almost at the pace of a nat-born. You couldn't see very well due to visual tests they'd made for a special clone unit when you were very young and your hair was trimmed unevenly from being shaved off time and time again.

Naturally with that also came the judgement. Many of your brothers considered you a freak, curiously eyeing you and some times even mocking you. But even though there were many bad apples, you were proud to say that most of them had gladly taken you under their wing, partially having even grown up around you, and you couldn't be prouder of their accomplishments.

When the Empire took over and Admiral Tarkin arrived on Kamino, you swiftly developed a strong disdain for the imperial official and his scornful treatment of the clones. He frightened you with his skeletal appearance and judgemental expressions, scoffing at you when he'd first crossed you following a kaminoan scientist down the corridors of the city.

This disdain solidified when, from behind a window, you observed Tarkin handing obscure plans to Prime Minister Lama Su, signaling a clandestine exchange that left you feeling uneasy. Pressing your face against the glass to glean any insight, you overheard a conversation that sent shivers down your spine.

"I can assure you, CE-0003 will make a wonderful asset to project Blackwing—a low cost for such a risky intrusion; the potential loss won't be of any importance," Prime Minister Lama Su coldly stated, not bothering to acknowledge your presence. The mere mention of your designation number, CE-0003, served as a chilling reminder of the dehumanization endured by clones, but Tarkin's emphasis on "low cost" and "loss" struck an ominous chord, setting off alarm bells within your conscience.

Feeling the weight of an impending threat, you knew that the time had come to make a fateful decision. Unwilling to succumb to a potential death sentence or exploitation in the Empire's mysterious project, you resolved to escape Tipoca City. In the brightly lit corridors, your internal struggle reached a tipping point as you confronted the severity of your situation.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. "Kamino is in the past," you mumbled to yourself, avoiding looking straight at the faces that passed by. After all, who knew whether someone had been sent after you or not? The Kaminoans were a very ambitious species and although Ord Mantell was filled with dubious figures, you could not let your guard down just yet.

Your head was starting grow dizzier by the minute and your world was starting to spin. you quickly managed to get a grip on some metal structure to keep you steady - or at least as steady as possible - when a voice caught your attention nearby.

"Oh ... can assist you in any way?"

Only now did you realise that the metal you'd gotten a strong hold on was, in fact, plastoid armour. Immediately you pulled your hand away, apologising profusely, though halfway slurring your words. You weren't even able to make out the stranger's face as the world spun around you and before you knew it, you passed out, barely hearing the stranger calling out another name.

"Echo, come here!"

"A - a clone?"

Hunter and Echo's eyes were settled on Tech, whose own goggled pair were glued to his datapad, as usual. "Precisely," he responded matter-of-factly, "It appears that they apart of a specialised cloning program founded specifically for scientific and medical experimentation."

"You're meaning to tell me the longnecks tortured this child for some bioweapons and drugs?" Echo's voice was angry, his face twisted into a furious grimace as he turned away from your unconscious form whilst holding the bacta-soaked cloth he'd previously been dabbing the gaping burn on your cheek with. Tech huffed, eyeing his brother over the edge of his datapad. "Yes Echo, that is exactly what I'm telling you."

"Unbelievable," Echo scoffed, fist tightening around the cloth, "and to think we once fought alongside those monsters." With a deep sigh, Hunter pushed past his bickering brothers to look over your sleeping form. By now, they had made sure to patch up your broken arm and clean any leftover bruises, settling you down on one of the parlour’s benches. It didn't look necessarily comfortable but seeing as Cid had business to attend to, it was all they could come up with so far - Tech had even dug out Wrecker's civil poncho in the Marauder which you now were cozily wrapped in.

Hunter gingerly brushed the loose hair strands out of your face, watching you with softening eyes as he took over cleaning your bruising face. A small smile tugged on his lips at the sight of your peaceful expression. How would Omega react to you?

As if on cue, the loud chitter-chatter of Wrecker and their little sister erupted in the stairway of Cid's bar, turning the heads of the rest of the batch. Omega squealed excitedly when the giant clone set her down, running toward Hunter with a box of Mantell Mix in her hands.

"Hunter, look!" She chirped, holding out the sugary treat for the sergeant to see, "The nice lady added new toppings and - [name]?"

Her eyes fell upon you and suddenly, she forgot the world around her. Hunter raised a brow before exchanging a questioning look with Echo, who had quietly observed the interaction. Was that your name? How did she know you? Taking the box out of her hands and setting it on the table, the clone sergeant took Omega aside, kneeling to be at her eye level.

"Omega, do you know this child?"

With a worried expression at the sight of your wounds, she hesitated before nodding slowly. "Their name is [name]," her voice was hoarse as she kept an eye on you, "we both assisted the scientists in the medbay, back on Kamino ... they'd often do those weird tests on them, to the point they wouldn't show up for days afterwards." Hunter's blood boiled at the thought of the painful abuse you must've had to endure but he stayed composed. He had to focus on the task at hand after all.

"Are - are they okay?" Omega's eyes were wide as she glanced back at him. "They're alright so far," he slowly stood up, crossing his arms over his chest, "We took good care of their injuries. Tech and Echo found them earlier - they suspect they may have crashed nearby. Should that be the case, they can consider themselves lucky."

The light sound of a confused groan caught Hunter off-guard as he turned to look at you. "Well, look who's up."

You had squinted as your world had grown clearer with every passing second after you woke up, still trying to make out what was going on around you - until you had noticed the five figures standing in front of you. And then the panic set in. Had the Kaminoans already sent out people after you?

"Please don't bring me back," you had sniffled, hot tears already rolling down your cheeks, "I don't want to go back!" It had only been when a familiar girl had approached you with raised hands that you slowly but surely had started to calm down. "Omega?"

As it turns out, the men you had feared to be mercenaries were in fact the infamous Clone Force 99 that had gone rogue and deserted the Empire a few weeks before you escaped. Although you'd heard talk of them plenty of times from your brothers and the scientists, you had never met nor seen them in person as they were usually out on missions and only ever briefly stayed on Kamino. When Omega had left with them, you were heartbroken to see your sister go - most of your time was spent alongside her, after all.

By now, Cid, the Trandoshan woman the bar belonged to, had returned and to the Batch's apparent surprise, quickly took a liking to you; that or she at least pitied you enough to slide in a hot meal and grant you some company as she sat down with you and grunted every now and then while looking over her datapad. Either way, you weren't going to question it and simply enjoyed having the chance to fill your stomach after what felt like forever.

"So, how's AZ?" Omega had managed to squeeze in between you and Cid, eyes fixed on you. "He's okay," you mumbled between bites, "He helped me out a lot when I ... well ..." You frowned as you remembered your escape, setting down the spoon. Although you had fled with good reasons, you couldn't help but miss the place you had once called your home. Fortunately, Omega quickly caught on as she settled a hand on your shoulder with a warm smile.

"I know what it's like," her voice was firm and encouraging when she looked over her shoulder the other side of the bar, where the tall clone you'd earlier found out to be called Wrecker roared in frustration at one of the arcade games set up in the bar while the other, Tech, tried his best at explaining it to him. Echo, the one with the scomp arm, watched and shook his head with a sigh and the leader, Hunter, chuckled while playing with the vibroblade in his hand.

"Our brothers ... they know what they're doing. We keep each other safe," Omega then grabbed your hand tightly and grinned, "And as long as we're here, we'll keep you safe, too."

if you're interested in being tagged for my future works, let me know in my comments or by sending me an ask!

@patapouille @flyiingsly

[bracketsoffear]

I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream (Harlan Ellison) "For the past 109 years, sadistic supercomputer AM has been torturing the last five humans on Earth in the depths of his complex. It is brilliantly intelligent and wields unimaginable power, but because from its very core it was designed as a tool for war and destruction, it is unable to use its enormous potential for anything constructive. AM is painfully aware of this, and it is an endless source of frustration, self-loathing and hatred towards humans for making him this way; he outright states that his utterly ballistic hatred for all human life is what allowed him to thrive in tormenting the protagonists for over a century, and the only thing he seems to enjoy is torture. All of AM's games are unwinnable by design, either because he's ensured that the scenario is tailored to the player's fatal flaw, or because he's given them almost nothing to work with. It lets them travel for thousands of miles to get to the ice caverns to obtain cans of food because AM keeps them at starvation point and only feeds them disgusting food…and it turns out there really are cans, but nothing to open them with, and the whole thing was just to fuck with them. After Ted kills the other humans, he becomes the sole target of AM’s torture; he is turned into an amorphous creature unable to harm itself, without a mouth, and has his perception of time continuously accelerated and decelerated, with his only hope for escape being when AM finally stops functioning, potentially thousands of years later."

The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas) "Everything’s going great for Edmond Dantès! He’s getting a big promotion, he’s marrying the woman of his dreams, his whole life is ahead of him.

And then all of that gets ripped away from him in an instant. He is thrown into prison for years, and when he returns, he finds that his enemies who conspired to put him there are thriving.

So, he dedicates himself to getting even. Carefully and methodically, the Count of Monte Cristo goes about destroying the lives of those who took everything from him."

[mellorphic]

Tommy was the heart of L’Manberg.

He lived and died for it. He loved it longer than anyone else and was loyal to it regardless of the ways it failed him. He inspired the anthem and everything L’Manberg stood for, Tommy stood for too.

Tubbo was the body of L’Manberg.

He built L’Manberg. He built Manberg. He built New L’Manberg. Everyone else could give the nation everything they had, but it wouldn’t have existed without Tubbo. Not in the way that it did.

Wilbur was the mind of L’Manberg.

Without his ideas and without his dreams, L’Manberg never would’ve existed, and it never would’ve been a synonym for freedom or joy. There never would’ve been a deceleration or a war or an election or a nation without Wilbur to think of it. And he blames himself for its downfall because of this.

Fundy was the spirit of L’Manberg.

Fundy had lived in L’Manberg through all three of its administrations. He was born there. He pulled pranks on the nations people which made it what it was. And Fundy believed in L’Manberg and it’s message until the end of schlatt’s presidency. Then he lost all trust in it.

Niki was the soul of L’Manberg.

She fed the nation. She fought for it. She understood the vision of it. She loved the people inside of it for so long. She broke when it did. Niki gave up it lost its final life. Eventually she did move on.

All of them were L’Manberg. All of them lost L’Manberg. The country died, bit by bit, every time one of them lost faith in it.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Cloud:   Pop quiz time. A train is traveling west to east at speed of 300km/h. The driver applies the brake producing a deceleration of 1.4m/s/s. In newtons, how hard will the man in carriage 7 mash his face into the seat in front of him and realize most of the problems in his life are created not by external circumstances but by his own repeated self-sabotage?

Aerith:   Cloud?

Cloud:   Are human tears primarily composed of a) water b) antibodies c) a quiet admission that all of our plans and dreams will eventually turn to forgotten dust or d) salt?

Aerith:   Cloud!

Cloud:   Daniel gets salty at criticism and admits he is wrong: never. In years, how long will it be before he alienates all of his friends with this behavior and finds himself entirely alone?

Tifa:   Is this supposed to be a personal attack?

Cloud:   Rachel has chosen to remain alone at home for the evening and drink two liters of red wine. Please identify the correct chemical formula for consumable alcohol. Is it: a) C2H6O b) C2H5OH or c) The 17th time this year Rachel has attempted to solve an issue by escaping it internally simultaneously knowing at some point, however difficult, she will have to confront whatever it is that went wrong and why?

Tifa:   Yo what the fuck?

Cloud:   If the y axis is a sense of purpose, and the x axis is the course of a person’s life time, please explain the significance of this result. *flips them off*

Aerith:   Cloud this isn’t funny.

Cloud:   Quiz ain’t over yet. Alice and Pierre are having a significant disagreement. Pierre says ‘why didn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi remember R2D2 in star wars episode IV?’ Alice says 'he did, because, like, remember when he called him his little friend.’ Pierre replies 'then why did he say he didn’t remember owning a droid.’ And Alice returned 'that’s because R2D2 was Anikin’s droid.’ Who is right and why?

Cloud:   Please study figure 66 of the world not giving the slightest shit. And relatedly refer to figure 72 of the world before you were born. Then the world after you’re gone. Then the world after everybody is gone.

Cloud:   *Holds his arms apart* Is this angle a) acute b) obtuse c) reflex or d) the hug we desperately wish we could ask for but have convinced ourselves that the pain of existence must be carried alone on our backs forever and ever?

Tifa:   This is a personal attack.

Aerith:   I’ll hug for as long as you want as much as you want.

Cloud:   Ava and James sometimes interact digitally. This month James has responded: 4, 3, and 7 days after Ava’s messages so as to give the impression he is uninterested despite being completely infatuated with her. What is James’ median reply time and why will he live miserably ever after?

Tifa:   Is this why you don’t text me back immediately?

Cloud:   Arthur knows people who are nice to him, and people he likes. Please explain why the only people he pushes away are the few who belong to this intersection.

Aerith:   I don’t know…

Cloud:   An intersection is a point where two lines cross over. Will and Claire intersect on a street. Claire is thinking 'Do you know that I still love you? That I will always love you? I was never as happy as when things were good between us and I wish it could have worked and I’m just so sorry.’ Will is thinking 'Not a day goes by where I don’t remember your little and big kindnesses. And I recall the heights of happiness we climbed to. And how sure we were that it couldn’t go wrong until it all went wrong and I’m just so sorry.’ Their lines will not intersect again. Why are people like this?!

Aerith:   Cloud, what the actual fuck.

Cloud:   This year Amelia has suffered a death in the family, a break up, and several personal crises. Calculate her remaining resistance to completely loosing it when Christopher says: 'Hey you look sad. have you tried going for a run? Have you tried the paleo diet? Have you tried melatonin?’

Tifa:   Okay Cloud we get it.

Cloud:   I’m not finished with the exam. A pine cone is the canonical fruit of the pine tree. It isn’t sentient but it also doesn’t suffer for possessing sentience. Therefore, would you rather live as a) a pine cone b) a pine cone or c) a pine cone?

Cloud:   A pine cone experiences neither shame, anxiety, nor the long months that turn grey and numb for conceivably no reason. Using only the terms 'gnaa!’ and 'aaahahaah!’ explain what a nice condition it must be to be a pine cone.

Cloud:   A pine cone is traveling from west to east at 300km/h. If the driver applies the brakes even if the pine cone bops its head, even if the pine cone comes home to its house burning down and its life destroyed, even if Octolon custodian of the seven hell realms manifested in the sky and started laying waste to continents with anti-matter beams shooting out of his ass please explain why the pine cone will witness and bear these things with ease and experience no self contradictions, no sadness, but merely boundless calm.

Aerith:  

Tifa:  

Cloud:   And for extra marks please explain why evolution or a deity would bestow upon a person a big enough brain to realize they are fucking up but make them too stupid to stop fucking up and if your answer is 'happiness’ please show all your workings.

Aerith:  

Tifa:  

Cloud:   If your answer is 'happiness’ please show all your workings

[illuminatedquill]

Ghost Stories #03

Feat. Captain Rex + Kanan Jarrus/Sabine Wren + Ezra Bridger

Story Context: The aftermath of a successful heist stealing Imperial medical supplies for the Rebellion leaves Rex, Kanan, Sabine, and Ezra stranded in deep space without a working hyperdrive. As efforts to repair the damage get underway, Kanan and Rex reminisce over the past. Meanwhile, Sabine and Ezra, working together to fix the hyperdrive, contemplate the future.

The ship jolted violently as they decelerated from lightspeed. Kanan gripped the arms of his seat tightly, his stomach churning nervously. His recent blindness, an injury from his excursion to a Sith temple on the planet Malachor, prevented him from seeing their current situation properly.

As a Jedi, he was still adapting to his disability, relying more on the Force and his other senses to understand what was happening. Kanan turned his head to the side, where he knew Captain Rex, an old soldier and veteran of the Clone Wars, was sitting in the pilot's seat.

"Rex!" he shouted to be heard over the wailing alarms filling the cabin. "Talk to me!"

"I've got red showing up all over the board," Rex responded, his voice strained with tension. "Shields are still holding, hull's intact, weapons still good; we're not venting atmosphere either . . ."

Kanan heard something spark erratically behind him from one of the consoles. "What's the damage, then?"

A muffled curse: it was Sabine. "Double-check the panel notifications again for me, Ezra. I banged my head pretty hard when we came out of hyperspace."

Ezra replied, concern evident in his tone. "Are you sure you don't want me to look at your head instead? It sounds painful."

Kanan, worried, asked, "Sabine? You alright?"

"It's fine," she replied, exasperated. "I'll be okay, Ezra. Check the panel again and tell me what you see. I want to be sure."

Through the Force, he sensed Ezra's feelings of protectiveness towards Sabine war with his desire to finish the mission. In the end, the latter won - just barely, though. With a sense of reluctance, Ezra moved to Sabine and peered at the panel.

"You see it?" asked Sabine.

"Yeah," Ezra answered. "It's the hyperdrive. Looks it was damaged during the escape."

Beside him, Rex clicked off the alarms. "Well, not the worst problem to have in our current predicament."

Kanan took off his crash webbing and stood up from his seat. "True. But not by much."

The mission had been straight forward: infiltrate an Imperial outpost and steal Imperial medical supplies for the Rebellion. Rex had provided the intelligence, along with volunteering to see it through. Kanan had brought along Sabine and Ezra for back-up.

It had gone smoothly (a rarity in their line of work), until bad luck struck as they were lifting off; a random Imperial patrol appeared and flagged them immediately. From there, it had been a dogfight and chase through an asteroid field before Rex had finally locked in coordinates for a hyperspace route.

"Kanan?" prompted Rex. The Jedi felt Sabine and Ezra's eyes upon him too, waiting for him to announce their next course of action.

Okay, he thought. Time to look good for the kids.

Stroking at his beard, he turned to Rex. "Where exactly did you bring us, Rex?"

"Mid-Rim space, middle of nowhere," replied the old soldier. "It's an old hyperspace route used by pirates."

"Pirates," Kanan repeated. "What about the Empire? Anyone else know about this route?"

"Not that I know of. It's fairly remote."

"But there's still a chance we could still be discovered," Kanan said. "And without a working hyperdrive, we're sitting ducks."

"Agreed," Rex said. "We should get it up and running immediately."

Kanan turned towards Sabine, only to hear her already getting up from her seat. "Sounds like that's a job for me," she said cheerfully.

"I'm helping, too," volunteered Ezra. Sabine frowned at him.

"I can handle it myself, goober," she replied.

Ezra shook his head. "An extra pair of hands wouldn't hurt, Sabine. Besides, Kanan and Rex can keep an eye up out here just fine without me."

"How long to repair the hyperdrive?" asked Rex.

Sabine cocked her head, thinking. "An hour, maybe."

Rex whistled in amazement. "Impressive."

"Make it less," urged Kanan. "The longer we're out here, the more likely it is we get found."

Sabine gave him a two-fingered salute. "Yes, boss. Let's go, Ezra. You can hold the torchlight, I guess."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "So glad to be of help, my lady."

She grinned at him and they set off down the hallway at a brisk pace.

Waiting, despite his Jedi training, had never been one of Kanan's strong suits. He heaved a deep sigh and ran an impatient hand through his hair.

"Relax, man," came Rex's voice, sounding relaxed. "It's only been twenty minutes. You keep doing that, all your hair will fall out from the stress."

"That explains your whole look," replied Kanan, annoyed.

Rex raised an eyebrow at the Jedi.

He blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just feeling tense, lately. Too many close calls."

The old soldier nodded sympathetically. "I understand," he said. "But those kids are smart and capable. You have faith in them, yes?"

"Of course," Kanan answered automatically.

"Then let them do their job. We'll do ours." There was the sound of creaking leather as Rex leaned back in his pilot's chair.

He decided to follow suit, reaching out to the Force for calm. But something still nagged at him; a feeling that had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

No time like the present, he thought. He sat up in his chair again and turned to face Rex.

"I'm sorry about Ahsoka," he said quietly.

For a few moments, Rex was silent. Then, Kanan heard a deep, rumbling snore.

"Hey," said Kanan, feeling a vein pulse in his forehead. "Are you serious right now?"

Rex popped an eye open and let out a laugh. "You're so serious about it. Thought Jedi were supposed to be relaxed in any situation."

"We have our limits, you know," muttered Kanan grumpily. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, I did," Rex answered. "You don't need to apologize. It is what it is. She wanted to be there."

The old clone sighed. "Just wish I knew what she was thinking, going up against Vader like that. From what I've heard, he's not someone you fight. You either run - or die."

Kanan said, "I think I know why."

Rex turned to look at him, his expression serious. "Really. Tell me."

"Ezra heard some bits of their conversation," said Kanan. "Vader killed Anakin Skywalker."

The soldier's face turned sad. "Ah. That would do it, yes. She'd want justice for her master."

Kanan sat back down in his seat. Ahsoka seeking to avenge her master, Anakin Skywalker, was bringing up his own conflicted feelings about how his own master had died. Unlike Ahsoka, however, there was no single figure responsible for his master's death. The clones had done it, but they had been forced to by Emperor Palpatine. That drive to seek out the truth had given Ahsoka strength, even at the end.

He had none of that. Some days, he felt like he was pretending to be a Jedi.

"Ahsoka had purpose and incredible drive. I feel like I'm just muddling around in the dark sometimes. But even she was lost without her master. If she couldn't figure it out, what hope does someone like me have? To lead Sabine, Ezra, and others to a better future?"

"We're all just doing our best, Kanan," said Rex. "That's all we can give."

The Jedi shook his head. "It doesn't ever feel like it's enough."

"Your entire crew, I'm sure, would say differently," countered Rex. "The kids look up to you."

"I am a blind man," said Kanan bitterly. "And, somehow, they expect me to lead them onto a safer path."

"Yes," replied Rex, sounding irritated. "Even with your disability, they still don't see or think of you any less than what you were before. That says a lot about you as a person, Kanan. Stop listening to your doubts and start listening to their belief in you!"

Kanan went silent, astonished at the sheer force of will behind Rex's words. The old soldier was right - he needed to start looking past his doubts and see himself the way others did. Even now, they were all still depending on him to lead.

"Thanks," he said.

Rex shrugged. "Don't mention it. We all feel a little lost sometimes."

Kanan snorted. "That's an understatement. Been feeling this way since my master died during the war."

"Who was your master?"

The Jedi closed his eyes, remembering. "Master Depa Billaba. She was one of the best."

"General Billaba," said Rex thoughtfully. "General Skywalker talked about her sometimes. Always the highest praise."

Kanan smiled. "She was amazing."

Rex gave him a direct look. "I'm sure she'd be proud of you, Kanan. For all that you've accomplished."

He shrugged. "I hope so, too. But I don't want to die like she did."

"Oh?" Rex asked.

"I could feel her emotions, seconds before she died. The shock, the fear, the confusion - and then . . . she was gone." The emotional memories of that day still scarred him deeply; Kanan knew it was something he would carry with him to the grave.

"Then how would you like it to happen, if I might ask?"

"With peace and purpose," replied Kanan. "That's all I want anyone who witnesses it to feel and understand. No fear, no anger, no confusion."

"Peace and purpose," echoed Rex. "I like that."

Just then the vessel shuddered and there came the sound of a muffled explosion from somewhere near the engine bay.

Kanan let out a groan.

"You might not be getting your wish if those two aren't more careful," remarked Rex dryly.

The Jedi sat up in his seat and punched the intercom button. "Hey, you two," he said, injecting calm into his voice, "everything okay down there?"

Desperately waving his arms to clear the acrid smoke, Ezra stumbled towards a nearby console and found the speaker button.

"Yeah," Ezra gasped, suppressing a coughing fit. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sabine scrambling towards a corner to get some fresh air. "We're all good! How - how are you guys doing?"

Rex's voice came over the intercom before Kanan could reply. "We're doing fine. Are you sure everything's alright? The ship jolted just a bit, right now."

"Uh," said Ezra nervously. He looked at Sabine for guidance. She just waved him off, coughing into her arm.

"I'll call you back," he finished and cut the call.

Sabine crouched down, taking deep breaths. Ezra approached her cautiously, trying not to laugh at the scorch marks on her face and the messy hair sticking up in odd directions.

"So," he teased. "That seemed to go well."

She glared at him. "You want to do this? Be my guest."

Ezra grinned at her and held out his hand. After a moment, the glare faded and she grabbed it, hauling herself up. Together, they walked back to the engine bay; one of the vents was popped open, revealing the internal workings within. Sabine had been working feverishly inside it, making steady progress with the repair until she had accidentally overloaded one of the circuits.

Peering at it now, she made a disgusted noise. "Faulty wiring," she grumbled. "Typical cheap Imperial engineering."

"Fixable?" asked Ezra.

"Very," replied Sabine. "But it's going to take a few extra minutes. Need to bypass the old circuits and make new connections."

He nodded, pretending that made sense to him. "Better get at it, then."

"So helpful," said Sabine. "Just hand me the tools when I ask for them, goober."

Ezra handed her an electric torch and she resumed her work, leaning over the vent, eyes narrowed in concentration. He watched Sabine, admiring her skill and technique - not the first time he'd done so during their friendship, and it wouldn't be the last.

It never failed to amaze him how talented she was. There was very little Sabine Wren could not accomplish when she put her mind to it.

Ezra crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby bulkhead, basking in the sounds of her work. Despite the somewhat desperate circumstances, this was a relatively peaceful situation - at least, by their standards.

Sabine stuck an empty hand out of the vent. "Pass me the spanner."

Ezra complied. "Sabine," he said, suddenly feeling bold.

"Hmmm?"

"You ever think about the future? About what you'll do when this war ends?"

There was a heavy thunk from inside the vent, followed by a loud curse. Sabine pulled her head out, staring at Ezra with an incredulous expression.

"You want to have this conversation now? When I'm attempting to repair one of the most complicated pieces of machinery in the known galaxy?"

Ezra rubbed at the back of his head, feeling sheepish. "Things have been non-stop with us, lately. I think we should take the time to talk whenever we can, you know?"

Sabine's stare softened. "True," she admitted. "This is quiet as it gets with us, isn't it."

"Yeah," agreed Ezra. "And with the war against the Empire heating up, I don't think we'll get many more chances to just . . . talk."

Sabine nodded at the nearby control console. "Go to the control console and initiate the start-up sequence. I'm just about finished, I think."

Ezra did so. The hyperdrive computer began to run a diagnostics test, beginning to cycle through its programming. "Now, we wait," Sabine said. She sat down, her back against the wall. He walked back over to sit next to her, their shoulders touching gently.

They sat there together, just enjoying the gentle hum of machinery and each other's presence for a few precious minutes.

Then, Sabine said, "I suppose I'd go back home to my family. Help them with the situation on Mandalore."

Ezra glanced at her. "You don't talk about them often."

"There's a reason for that," Sabine said, heat creeping into her tone. She grimaced. "It's complicated, Ezra."

"But you still care about them," he pointed out. "You still want to go home and help them."

She looked down at her boots, scuffed with years of use. "Yeah. We didn't part on the best terms, but they're still family."

"That's good," Ezra said. "You have a goal."

"I guess," she replied. "What about you? I'm assuming you and Kanan are going to get started on rebuilding the Jedi Order?"

He frowned, rubbing at the back of his head. "Actually . . . no."

Sabine turned to him; her eyes were wide with surprise. "What?"

Ezra shrugged. "We talked about it once. Kanan isn't sure what's meant to happen next if we both survive this war. He says that if it's the will of the Force, it'll happen. Otherwise, we just follow our instincts and continue doing what we've always done."

"Which is what?"

He turned to her, his expression earnest. "Helping people, Sabine. Like Jedi always have done."

She smiled at him. "Such an Ezra response," she teased. "Should have expected it."

"Hey, I am who I am," he responded with a smile of his own.

Sabine's face became thoughtful. "So, what does that mean? Will you two be flying around the galaxy, putting out fires on different worlds?"

"I'm not sure," Ezra confessed. "I don't even know if we'll still be together at that point. I might want to go off by myself, see the galaxy on my own terms. Kanan says that Jedi did that after they were Knighted before taking on a padawan."

"Oh," said Sabine. She suddenly looked sad for a brief moment.

"What is it?" Ezra asked, concerned at the sudden change of mood.

"I just realized . . . we'll probably all separate, won't we? The Ghost crew. We'll all go our separate ways after the war's end."

"Ah," was all he said. He hadn't considered that. "It's a possibility. I can't say for sure."

She shook her head. "It was stupid to think we would all stay together forever."

"Not stupid," Ezra corrected. "It hasn't happened yet. It might not even happen, Sabine. Nothing's certain."

"I just . . . I can imagine Zeb leaving, Hera and Kanan going off on their own to start a family, but you - I don't know, I always thought you and I would stick together." The words came out in a rush, her voice quivering at the last bit.

He felt his heart twist at the melancholy in her voice. Ezra turned to face her fully, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Kanan told me how he decided to move forward with his life after the Clone Wars ended. Do you know how he did it, Sabine?"

She gazed back at him, her brown eyes curious. "How?"

Ezra smiled at her. "He chose someone to follow."

Understanding dawned on Sabine's face. "Hera."

He nodded. "Exactly." Reaching out, he took both of Sabine's hands gently into his own.

"I'll follow you, Sabine," he said. "When all of this is over. I promise."

She was silent, her eyes searching his. "You don't want to go home? To Lothal?"

"You are my home now," said Ezra. Sabine's eyebrows raised in astonishment.

"Along with everyone else on the Ghost," he added hastily, feeling a flush rise on his cheeks. She laughed.

"Thought you were going to go around and help people, like Jedi are supposed to do," she teased.

"Mandalorians are people, too. And I have a friend there who might need my help."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh, will she?"

"She's stubborn about it," Ezra continued, ignoring the warning glare she was giving. "But, yeah, she usually does."

Before she could respond with a suitably sarcastic reply, the lights in the engine bay went out.

"Huh," said Ezra. "Is that a good sign?"

"Uh, maybe," whispered Sabine, her breath warm in his ear. "Give it a second."

Ezra jerked back in surprise at her close proximity. "Sorry," she said, embarrassed. "It's dark."

The lights flickered back on - and suddenly, they were face to face; noses mere inches apart. Sabine's mouth widened slightly, almost as if anticipating . . .

Ezra could feel his heart-beat thumping loudly away in his skull. She was so close to him. So close.

The intercom buzzed. Kanan's voice came through. "We're reading all green on the console up here. Good job, you two. Get back to your seats and let's all go home."

And, just like that, the moment - whatever it was - between them ended. "Back to work," said Ezra, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Seems that way," Sabine replied. "But, Ezra?"

"Yes?"

She winked at him. "Let's continue this talk, later. Okay?"

Ezra paused, feeling his heart begin to race again. "Sounds like a plan," he said, grinning. And they walked back together, their hands brushing so close - so close.

*Author's Note: I found Kanan and Rex's relationship during Rebels intriguing, considering where they started. Wish we could have seen more of them together, becoming friends and bonding over their past experiences in the Clone Wars. I feel like they would have had a lot of deep, introspective conversations and this story is an attempt to illustrate one that I would have liked to see.

And, as always, I have to include our favorite duo. To juxtapose Kanan and Rex's talk about the past, I wanted the kids to focus on the future. My personal view is that Sabine, of everyone in the Ghost, would have the hardest time acclimating to the idea of their family separating permanently. I do believe that if things had turned out differently in the Rebels series finale, Ezra and Sabine would have stuck together, even with the others going their own ways; he probably would have helped with her family regarding Mandalore, and she would have returned the favor by helping restore Lothal.

[alexanderlightweight]

Omg could we get another part of maybe I’m the villain ? I love your writing!!

This is named ‘maybe I’m the villain’ because saeth said that magnus is delighted by the idea of being one of those villains with a pretty, soft cat on his lap.

thank you! ^_^ i hpe you enjoy!

lumine

— Alexander is shaking under his touch and he’s betrayed his own nature just by his response to Magnus’ own testing rumble.

Perhaps someone without the right knowledge would see Alexander’s large, silken ears and lush, thick tail and think his other form to be nothing other than to be a well-bred, competent housecat, but Magnus knows better.

Alexander is a born predator.

It’s just too bad that compared to Magnus, he is still only prey.

“These hunters the clave sent to me, do you know them personally?” Magnus asks and his voice is casual even as he releases Alec’s ears and summons a drink, his free hand falling to Alexander’s thigh.

“No.”

Magnus rewards the instant honesty with his talons kneading Alexander’s leather clad muscles.

“Do you trust them to listen to you in the field, little shadowhunter?”

Alexander hesitates and then shakes his head.

“If you can’t trust them to follow your orders in the field, then why should I trust them to obey my laws?” Magnus asks and Alexander bites his own lip, using pain to force away the instant answer that undoubtedly would have set him against the clave, verbally at least. Magnus decides to be generous, feeling content with the weight of Alexander on his lap and how soft his ears were under Magnus’ fingertips and claws.

“I will allow them entry—” Magnus decides finally, “but their presence will be tolerated only for so long as you remain where you are. The moment you leave my lap, Alexander, their permission is rescinded and their presence will be a deceleration of war. While I may allow you some leeway in regards to the rest of demands, this one matter is non-negotiable or our deal ends here.”

“The clave expects me to lead them.”

“The clave expected you to negotiate with me.” Magnus cuts in, not about to play these little games when they both know better. “If they can’t be guaranteed to follow your orders then there is no guarantee they will protect you. If you die, kitten, then what is to stop them from claiming ignorance to whatever you and I agree on?”

— Alec knows Bane isn’t wrong.

That’s the thing.

He’s completely accurate in a way that would horrify the clave, simply because it means that Bane is much smart and better informed than they give him credit for. Which, in Alec’s opinion, is stupidity, hubris and hypocrisy at the finest.

If warlocks are the biggest threat as the clave says — and out of all downworlders and even more so than seelies, they are — then they should be taken seriously at all times and respected as the actual threat they are.

However Bane isn’t aware of all of the information — first, that this is being used more as a scare tactic and less of a warning and second, that the clave wants him alive to breed — and Alec is loath to share that information with anyone, but especially Bane.

“I agree.”

Alec’s murmured vow seals between them like a barbed arrow hooking into his heart.

“Are these shadowhunters as competent as yours?” Bane asks and Alec can barely understand him through the strength of the vow, but even he can hear the compliment in Bane’s tone. “Even I’ve noticed the difference in efficiency and talent in New York since you’ve taken charge.”

The praise is nearly too much with the vow still open and pulsing between them and Alec has to do something.

His hands reach out without permission and tangle in Bane’s open shirt and his thoughts swim as he tries to answer, to be honest, to be good, to earn more of the thick, honeyed words that slide down his spine like molten heat.

“No.”

—

Alexander scoffs the word, listless as he blinks and tries to contain himself.

His ears are twitching languidly and his tail has slowly been curling closer as he himself settles more comfortably and heavily into Magnus’ lap. His fingers are long and calloused as they brush Magnus’ chest, seemingly unaware that he’s broken free the last three buttons of Magnus’ shirt.

“They’re Idris hunters.”

Magnus is told quietly, but no less judgmentally and that, Alexander seems to think, is enough of an explanation and perhaps it is.

“Then I can’t trust them not to die on my territory.” Magnus says with a sigh, “and that is a tedious amount of paperwork, kitten. Even as charming as you are.”

It’s not the truth, not really, but Magnus is ever hungry for more and he will take every bit that he can from Alexander. The praise — little as it was — seems to drape itself across Alexander and his tail curls around Magnus’ wrist delicately.

“A little death, in return for each that I have to deal with because of incompetence.”

Charmingly, Alexander seems to have no understanding of what Magnus means and Magnus is met with confusion.

“You want me to kill for you?” He asks, cautiously but not upset by the idea and Magnus wants to know who taught Alexander to so readily step into the role of a weapon.

“I want a far different pleasure than true death, kitten.” Magnus murmurs and he spreads his thighs just enough that Alexander falls closer to him and Magnus can shift his hips up to make his point clear. “For each death I suffer the tedium of paperwork for, you’ll pay me back with my pleasure.”

Pure shock followed by want and hesitation pour across Alexander’s face and Magnus croons deep in his chest even as he viciously yanks on the open vow between them.

“Agreed.”

It’s more of a whisper than anything but Magnus lets it go because Alexander is breathless from the weight of the vow as six promises ties themselves to him, waiting to be called.

“Good boy,” Magnus murmurs absently, pretending he wasn’t waiting to see the way Alexander reacted. To catalog how he shakes at the praise and surrenders more to Magnus.

“Allowing so many nephilim through my wards while still keeping them up is not how I intended on expending my energy tonight. Especially when there is no time frame for how long they'll take.” Magnus makes it an idle remark, instead of carefully calculated and he takes a sip of his drink and enjoys the feeling of Alexander’s tail unconsciously tightening on his wrist.

“Do you need my energy?” Alexander is quiet, sides still shaking even as his brow furrows and he tries to figure out how to get ahead of Magnus this time.

As absolutely tempting of an offer as it is, that will be saved for another time.

Tonight, Magnus wants to play.

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for March 5, 2018; #156.

Prurient & The Rita “Side A”

Russell Haswell “Coventry”

Ames Sanglantes “Clinical Chaos”

Aaron Dilloway “Inhuman Form Reflected”

Ex-Models “Buy American”

Muslimgauze “Azzazin (Untitled 6)”

Kazumoto Endo “Shinjuku Kahki Pants”, “14:18:45″

Maurizio Bianchi “Maidanek”

Bill Orcutt “Collective Action”

Total “The Very Witch Of Fuck”

V/Vm “All Night Long (Butcher All Night)”

Sightings “Black Peter”

Latrine Psychology Guild “Track 02″

Ryke “VII”

Trepaneringsritualen “A Black Egg”

Genocide Organ “I Don’t Wanna Die”

John Wiese “Decelerator”, “New Wave Dust”

Boredoms “Super You”

Killer Bug “Masked Porno Star”

Ramleh “Weird Tyranny”

Military Position “Poor Fools”

Sun City Girls “Fresh Kill Of A Cape Hunting Dog”

Pan Daijing “Sex”, “Come To Sit, Come To Refuse, Come To Surround”

G. Jupitter-Larsen & The Haters “War Of The Worms”

Brume “Untitled”

Con-Dom “How Welcome I Death to Who I Have Nothing More To Do Than Die”

Monte Cazazza “To Mom On Mother’s Day”

Lasse Marhaug “Feed Feel Pt. 2″

Death Squad “Kontrol”

Bonus noise broadcast.

[historicrad39a]

1. The Raid

Sector -300 +145, +36 full rotations and 8 deci-rotations - ~287ly from Ka’Lagrath space

Ka’Laxi was standing on the bridge of the Eclipse. His ship was the flagship of the 1st raider fleet tasked with raiding the a system under the control of a small interstellar alliance.

The Ka’Lagrath didn’t have what could be considered a proper invasion fleet - their navy was comprised of several smaller raiding fleets. This was inline with standard naval doctrine of the time - fighting a massive war hundreds of light years away from your supply lines was seriously difficult. Thus, standard naval doctrine was extremely simple: Raid civilian or softer military targets, Take hostages, and extort the ever living hell out of the enemy civilization in exchange for the hostages. What few interstellar nations existed at the time all used similar tactics.

Ka’Laxi had many orbital “laps” worth of experience. He was considered to be the best of the best, he had effectively bullied several neighboring nations into giving up resources, territory, and even independence itself. Today would be no different, this small interstellar alliance was comprised of two neighboring species whose home worlds were only some 20 odd light years apart. This occurrence was considered extremely unlikely, as in most instances of this occurring in the past, only one nation had FTL capable craft - and habitable planets were desired enough as to make Xenocide the obvious choice.

Based on this information, the two species were thought to be pacifistic in nature. In other words: easy pickings. With this in mind Ka’Laxi was confident that the Alliance fleet - a fleet comprised largely of training vessels at that - would surrender almost immediately upon the beginning of the engagement.

“Exiting Rift-space now,” reported one of the officers.

“Very good,” Ka’Laxi replied. The haunting nebulae-like appearance of Rift-space was interrupted by a tunnel of streaking lights that gave way to real space as the Eclipse decelerated to sublight velocities. Before them was an average G-type star orbited by several planets. Orbiting the closest planet - about 51 light seconds away - was what was thought to be a military installation for training new naval crews. Why the alliance would put their training camp 72 light years from their home systems was unclear, but all that mattered was that the target would be soft.

The Ka’Lani drive reactivated, and by bending space around the ships, the fleet would make pace to arrive at the station in about 1 deci-rotation (~3hrs).

One Deci-rotation later, and the fleet was about to arrive. The destination lock activated, and the fleet was ‘dropped’ about 30km away from the station. An alliance ship immediately hailed the fleet. The Ka’Lagrath weren’t able to fully decode the language(s) used by the alliance, but they knew enough to “negotiate” with them. But unfortunately, of all the words used in the ship’s hail, the Ka’Lagrath only knew one: “business.”

“Begin attack,” Ka’Laxi ordered. The two pods either side of the bridge opened, revealing the end of the launching rail of their main rail gun armament. A deep, whirring noise built up for a moment before being released as the slugs from the two main guns fired towards the station. 5 seconds later, the left-hand wing of the station exploded violently - evidently they had hit the station’s fuel storage. The alliance ships seemed to get angry - they began hurling canon and plasma rounds in the direction of the fleet.

Had they not realized that plasma rounds are ineffective against most naval ships? Ka’Laxi wondered. In any case, while they weren’t initially expecting the Alliance to start fighting back, it wasn’t entirely unexpected either. All they had to do was destroy a few more ships and they would most likely surrender.

Interestingly, in the chaos, two Alliance ships immediately fled to Rift-space. Ka’Laxi was unsure if this was simply cowardice, or if they were attempting to get reinforcements. Whichever it was, it wouldn’t matter. Once they had hostages, no amount of ships would be enough to stop them.

The alliance ships got aggressive. One by one their comrades’ ships were forcibly and violently depressurized, and they had nothing to show for it - despite being outnumbered nearly 9 to 1, not one of the [species]’ 15 ships had so much as had their paint scratched. The alliance ships seemed to realize this, as scanners indicated that their plasma rounds were getting hotter - implying that the alliance ships were dumping more power into their weapons.

“Fools,” Ka’Laxi muttered, “when will they realize that they cannot so much as scratch us?” He let out a long sigh, “continue the attack.” One might almost feel bad for how poorly the Alliance was being beaten, yet they refused to give up. Ka’Laxi admired that tenacity, even if in the end it would be for naught.

“Sir?” An officer chimed.

“Yes?” Responded Ka’Laxi.

“Scans indicate that engine exhaust temperatures are rising on the alliance ships,” the officer reported.

“Are they attempting to flee?”

“N-no, they seem to be-“ the normally red face of the officer went blue as it drained of blood. As Ka’Laxi looked at the sensor array, his face, too, went blue.

“They’re… charging straight for us??” As if operated by a single mind, all 105 remaining alliance ships turned in unison towards the fleet and began to charge at them. The ship’s speed rose, three hundred, four hundred, even five hundred meters per second. At this rate, the Alliance ships would be on top of them in around 50 seconds.

“Intensify forward firepower!!” Ka’Laxi barked. The Alliance’s weapons were ineffective at range, but there was no guarantee that would remain the case in close-quarters combat. Ka’Laxi was baffled by the Alliance’s actions, getting in close to your opponent was suicide in a naval battle - by most standards, even 25-30km was way too close, and within 5km was considered suicide. But at present, the Alliance ships were eighteen, no, seventeen kilometers away - and they showed no signs of stopping.

At a distance of 5 kilometers, several Alliance ships broke off, and began a gentle dive away from the formation. The Alliance ships were not even firing their weapons at this point, they simply allowed the 1st raider fleet to score numerous hits and destroy multiple vessels without fighting back.

Before he realized it, the Alliance ships were swarming his fleet - flying by at hundreds of meters per second as they surrounded them on all sides. Ka’Laxi didn’t even have time to think before-

BANG

The entire ship shuddered. The hull squealed and screamed as if in agony while the lights repeatedly flickered.

“Report!” Ka’Laxi barked. His officers did not even have time to respond before another resounding bang shook the entire hull. He could hear the screeching noise of metal on metal, something on the Eclipse was being torn apart. The lights flickered one last time as the power died for good. All that remained were the red emergency lights, radio, and a rudimentary radar.

“N-Numerous Alliance ships have made contact with us, and the other ships are reporting the same,” one officer reported. They are ramming us? As Ka’Laxi recalled, ramming was used in the early days of Naval warfare on his home planet, but as technology advanced, ramming became an outdated tactic. Ramming in modern Naval battles - those set in the vacuum of space - were completely unheard of. Getting close enough to ram was suicide, yet the Alliance was doing just that.

“We’ve lost contact with the engine room!” Another officer reported, “the entire engine room seems to just be… gone,” he continued.

Ka’Laxi’s eyes widened as he saw one of the Alliance ships right in front of him - charging at full speed.

“Brace!” He yelled, but he was too late. The bridge let out a massive groan as it shuddered from the impact, and everyone in it was thrown to the ground. The reinforced glass windows were fractured, and several appeared to be leaking air. But Ka’Laxi was unconcerned with that at the moment. He, along with anyone else who was presently conscious, were all focused on the window in front of them.

He could see into the bridge of the Alliance ship. On it, he could see individuals from one of the two species that comprised the Alliance - those who called themselves “Humans” - running around frantically. They didn’t even evacuate?? Ka’Laxi was in shock. These things were reckless - they were monsters. Ka’Laxi was terrified of them.

The Alliance ships that had previously been maintaining contact with the Eclipse suddenly broke away. Ka’Laxi hadn’t the time to speculate as to why, before he heard the sound of screeching metal followed by rushing air before-

Silence

Ka’Laxi was disoriented, his body was tumbling freely in perfect silence. He tried to take in a breath, only to find he could not. Then he felt pain - one side of him was boiling, while the other was freezing. Blood vessels near the surface of his dark-red skin burst, spewing his red blood into countless tiny droplets.

Below him was a hunk of metal that had been split in half - one he barely recognized as the remains of his flagship, the Eclipse. Surrounding him on all sides was a perfectly dark sphere with innumerable pinpoints of light. He had been ejected from his now devastated craft, and he was tumbling endlessly in the vacuum of space.

His consciousness began to fade. But before it did, he saw one last sight - engines. The engines an Alliance ship expelling bright white exhaust. Unlike his own ship which had been utterly destroyed, the Alliance ship appeared to suffer little more than cosmetic damage.

They had lost. More than that, they could never win. If the Alliance so wished it, the Ka’Lagrath would go extinct - wiped off the face of the universe. They had been Naïve.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Ka’Laxi’s consciousness faded - never to rise again.

I hope you enjoyed this story. It’s my first time publishing something I’ve written so I’m nervous about posting it, but if even one of y’all enjoyed it, it’ll be worth it. I have more ideas set in this universe, so if people like it, I’d be willing to write more about what happens after this ill-fated raid.

I’ve been Rad, and thank you for reading :D

Read the next entry here

[cantareincminor]

The Dross - Part 3

Looking back, I am surprised at the wandering nature of some of my discarded writing from Orpheus. I guess hindsight is 20/20, as the whole story is set in stone now, and most events and conversations ended up serving a definitive purpose. Maybe if I had kept some of these discarded sections, I still would have found a way to make the story work, or it might have acted like a butterfly in the time stream and altered major plot events later on.

Chapter 20 was the sparring scene between Twilight and Yor, a major step in the two of them figuring out something was off about the other. Initially it did not start off with Yor's POV in the gym, however. I was going to continue Twilight's reactions to Anya being upset at school in Chapter 19, but it started to go nowhere and lose momentum, both plot-wise and in building tension toward the inevitable clash and identity reveal.

Scene below the cut.

That afternoon at school dismissal, he made sure to stand in a highly visible spot so Anya could see him as soon as she came out the door. Sure enough, her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she ran to him as fast as her short legs could carry her. He lifted her up and enfolded her tightly in his arms, holding her longer than he normally would. 

“I missed you, Anya,” he said. He knew it would sound strange to her, as he seldom expressed any emotion in her presence. 

Anya’s eyes widened and she drew back to look into his face, her little hands clutching the sides of his head. “Papa…I missed you too! I’m so happy to see you!”

He smiled a genuine smile, the type he reserved only for her and Yor. “Let’s have some fun while it’s still light out. What do you say we go to the park? There’s a traveling carnival passing through.”

“Yes!” Anya crowed. “But…what about studying? Professor Henderson said we have to work hard for final exams.”

“Don’t worry about that, Anya. I’ll help you study later. Or,” he said as a look of distaste crossed her face, “Mr. Authen will help you study with Spy Wars reenactments. Maybe we can win a prize at the carnival and give it to him as a thank you gift.”

“Yes! Papa needs to win all the prizes!” She scrambled down from his hold to get in the car, her sad mood seemingly forgotten. 

Later, with an unreasonable number of stuffed toys, a goldfish in a bag, and a half-eaten stick of cotton candy, he drove the drowsy girl toward City Hall so they could pick up Yor from work. He again made sure to park where she would notice him before heading toward the bus. While Anya half-dozed in the back seat, he quietly exited the car and leaned against the side, tapping his fingers against the car door with unusual jitteriness. This should have been nothing out of the ordinary. He’d picked up Yor from work before, had even invited her out for lunch when her workday allowed. But now that things had changed, their relationship accelerating and decelerating at the same time as he wrestled with what was best for Yor, he was prone to feel and act nervous around her.

He finally saw her come down the stone steps, walking beside her superior, an older gentleman with thick glasses and a refined, stately demeanor. Somehow he caught sight of their car and his presence first, pausing their conversation, and Yor naturally followed his gaze to her husband. Twilight’s heart skipped forward as a radiant smile bloomed on her face, and she bid her manager goodbye as she hurried toward him.

A loud whistle from one of her coworkers took her by surprise and caused her to stumble and turn around. Camilla, Millie and Sharon had just come out the door behind her, and the blonde woman held two fingers between her lips with a menacing grin. Sharon merely rolled her eyes and walked on as if fed up with their antics.

Yor turned back toward him with a blush and walked more slowly, looking down at the ground until she reached him. 

“Hi,” he said softly, taking her bag from her. “Good day at work?”

“It was alright. Thank you for coming to pick me up. It’s…it’s a pleasant surprise,” she said uncertainly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was obvious she was flustered by her coworkers’ hawkish eyes on the two of them. Twilight could not care less.

He opened the passenger door for her and gave her a quick peck on the temple as she went inside. Enough to satisfy the hens for now, while still safe enough not to embarrass Yor.

Holding hands as they drove home, he told her about the fabricated events of his day at Berlint General and how he was able to leave work early to surprise Anya with a fun afternoon at the carnival. If Yor had noticed any changes in his parenting approach, she hadn’t yet asked him directly about them. He knew she was pleased that he hadn’t been pressuring Anya to study recently, and had instead been spending more time on the things she enjoyed, simply allowing her to be a kid.

[usafphantom2]

Tap photos ☝️

though only around 300 saw combat. Like most late war Luftwaffe projects, the aircraft would ultimately make little difference against overwhelming Allied air superiority.

The Me 262 possessed several features that would be used in postwar jet fighters, such as swept wings, heavy nose armament and full span wing slats. Its chief advantage lay in speed - it was over 100 mph faster than the P-51 Mustang - so hit and run attacks were often employed against Allied bomber formations. The Me 262’s engines, however, needed careful throttle control to avoid stalling, making fast acceleration and deceleration difficult. It was particularly vulnerable on takeoff and landing, a fact that Allied fighters took full advantage of.

Fighter versions of the Me 262 mounted 4x30mm cannon and, later, 24 R4M rockets on underwing racks. A hit from any of these would usually be enough to down a bomber, though pilots had little time to aim as they flashed through Allied formations. The type is believed to have shot down up to 500 Allied aircraft for 100 losses, an indication that it may have posed far more problems had it been available sooner.

As a fighter-bomber, the Me 262 could carry two bombs on undernose racks, while retaining two cannon. It proved ill-suited to the role, lacking an effective bombsight and having poor downward visibility, and though regular missions were flown from late 1944 they achieved little. In addition, a number of aircraft were lost to Allied flak, particularly in attacks on airfields. Other Me 262 variants included a small number of reconnaissance aircraft fitted with cameras and some radar-equipped 2-seaters used as night fighters on an experimental basis.

Pictured:

1) Messerschmitt 262 V3 prototype takes off under jet power for the first time at Leipheim, 18th July 1942. Note the original conventional undercarriage and an Me 321 glider in the background.

📷 thisdayinaviation.com

2) Flown to U.S. forces at Frankfurt by a Messerschmitt test pilot on 30th March 1945, this aircraft was unpainted due to bomb damage at its assembly plant. It crashed the following year during testing in the United States.

📷 defensemedianetwork.com

3) Two seat night fighter equipped with Neptun radar, captured at Schleswig in May 1945. It’s unclear how many combat sorties were undertaken by night fighter Me 262s, though some sources claim several RAF Mosquitoes were shot down. The ‘FE’ serial number on the rear fuselage was applied to aircraft selected for evaluation in the U.S.

📷 defensemedianetwork.com

4) One outlandish Me 262 variant mounted a 50mm cannon in the nose for use as a bomber destroyer. Two prototypes conducted flight testing, but this configuration was never used in combat. The aircraft pictured here, captured at Lechfeld, crashed while being flown to Cherbourg for shipment to the United States.

📷 key.aero

[thecathulhu]

Thinking about games that aren't actually turn based but they might as well be. Generally this is accomplished by letting the player pause and issue orders to their units while paused.

However, I know of at least one game that does this not by extending timescales, but by condensing them.

Children of a Dead Earth is a sim/game about "realistic" spaceship battles. The mechanic of interest here is that the movement is orbital, anyone who knows KSP is familiar with this.

For those that are not, most space games work by just letting you fly all over the place with no penalties, and a neat auto-deceleration feature. So getting from point A to point B is just pointing at point B and holding down the acceleration then letting go and automatically coasting to a stop as you arrive within weapons range of point B.

How CoaDE works however, is by actually simulating the orbital mechanics involved. If you fight over Mars, both fleets are actually orbiting Mars. You cant just point at the enemy fleet and burn, you have to look at your orbits and plan a burn (or series of burns) that will cross your orbit over their orbit when they are actually in that part of their orbit.

Because of the dedication to realism, everything is modeled to scale. If you want to get to the other side of a planet to get a guy, it's going to take multiple burns over the course of hours or even days. Thankfully the game comes with a handy fast forward feature so you can skip the travel time between burns and encounters.

A notable feature of this feature is that it will automatically revert to real time when the enemy does something. Launching missiles, changing their course, etc.

So the flow of a battle goes: Take stock of the situation, make a plan, chart the requisite course, then fast forward, to be interrupted by your enemy's response, which you respond to, and so on and so forth. Until you get into weapons range and fast forward is disabled and both sides shoot at each other until one ship is exploded or rendered dead in the void.

Making it play like a turn-based 4x with realtime battles a la Total War, but at no point does it go below realtime speed, even when in the orbital map.

(Technically you can pause any time, but the five minutes it takes you to plan mean nothing when one orbit can be days or even months, so I don't bother. And the orders you can issue in battle are very simplified, so pausing doesn't grant you any benefits there either.)