#Water Damage Claim Process

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[peachsayshi]

(minors / blank / ageless blogs dni)

their past relationships, and how it hurt them:

gojo - was used for his status, his money, his power. he’s a pretty trinket to wave around, a commodity. objectified by his past lover, who he showered with love hoping for an ounce of return but never received it. he was begging for love, hoping it would come but it never did. he had to walk away - he was losing his mind. it was the only time he saw his lover fight for him. plead and cry for him. tell him they loved him. but he knew it wasn’t for him. it was because of everything else they would lose in the process.

geto - saw how they fell out of love with him. when his walls crumbled down and they finally felt the cracks on this romantic’s heart. he told himself being vulnerable would make the relationship stronger, but instead he saw the warmth leave their eyes. he’s irreparable, he thinks. too damaged for anything true. he showed no emotion when they said that he was complicated, when they didn’t have the patience to understand him wholeheartedly. after that, he swore he would never reveal his weaknesses again. he would never be naive with his love - and so he’ll keep it to himself.

nanami & higuruma - knows that their commitment is their love. that’s what they believed and because of their devotion, they trusted too blindly. when their lover betrayed them by carrying on an affair so deep into their relationship (by then they were either engaged or married) they were completely taken aback; shocked, and panicked over what they possibly could have done wrong. they were told that they were too cold, and too analytical in a relationship. that there was no passion or fire. they never saw themselves as rigid, never considered that their genuine love would be the reason why everything fell apart.

choso - he knew it wasn’t working; his former lover was different and he couldn’t fit in their world no matter how he tried. he was the thrill, the escape, the outlet that they needed for a taste of danger. choso simply couldn’t handle the thought of walking away. they claimed they loved him but he’s never felt more alone and would rather this than the latter. his brothers would tell him it shouldn’t be this complicated, and he struggled coming to terms with that. walking away was heartbreaking, and he was left wondering if he might ever experience something real with somebody who mattered.

toji - had love, which makes it so painful. the feeling coexisted with his every need, like the air he breathes and the water he drinks. she was his everything, his world, and his happiness. tragedy tore them apart, an illness that neither of them could see. he fought against the fates, screamed at the heavens above for trying to steal what rightfully belonged to him. and in the end, he lost the battle. he was left with only grief and memories. a broken heart that would never heal the same again.

sukuna - was told he was hard to love. he never claimed to be a saint but he didn’t consider himself a brute or a beast either. navigating romance wasn’t his strong suit, but it’s not like he wasn’t willing to put in the effort. that he wasn’t willing to try. however, nothing was ever enough. nothing he ever did seemed to work. every attempt blew up in his face, so he eventually just stopped trying. what was the point anyway, if he was difficult to love? he might as well stop pretending like he deserves it.

[notaplaceofhonour]

See, this is what I’m talking about with hyperbolic & totalizing rhetoric both obscuring the actual problems and inevitably falling back on antisemitic libel.

At no point have I said the destruction or loss of life in any war isn’t excessive. But when war isn’t enough for you to criticize it, and it has to be “genocide” for you to care, you become more susceptible to filling the holes with hyperbole and misinformation. And more often than not, the hyperbole & conspiracy theories that are closest in reach rely on antisemitic tropes.

It isn’t enough that bombs are inherently destructive to human life & infrastructure, and that even “precision bombs” are not actually that precise; it has to be the worst, most total version of that thing—it has to be “carpet bombing”.

It isn’t enough to criticize the concept of civilian casualties as acceptable “collateral damage” in war; Israel has to be especially evil, so they have to be intentionally targeting civilians for the sake of it—thus the long and well-documented history of Hamas using civilians as “human shields” (even openly literally bragging about it), preventing civilians from escaping, and building military bases under civilian infrastructure, as well as the status quo of accepting civilian casualties in warfare, both remain unaddressed.

It isn’t enough that the destruction of war causes food and water scarcity, it has to be intentionally engineered. It has to be Israel poisoning wells.

And there it is: well-poisoning, an antisemitic libel nearly as old as—one could argue, an offshoot of—blood libel.

The claim that Israel is poisoning Palestinian wells is so baseless that even the source of that claim, Mahmoud Abbas, admitted his accusations were entirely baseless the very next day:

I’m pointing out that specific claim because it’s the easiest to illustrate just how baseless & bigoted it is. But it goes deeper than that: the same totalizing rhetoric and thought process that led this person to believe that antisemitic lie is also responsible for their willingness to attribute Hamas blocking escape routes to the IDF, to describe the bombing of military targets under civilian infrastructure as ”carpet bombing”, and that Israel is trying to exterminate the Palestinian people, despite so much evidence to the contrary.

I am not downplaying the loss of life & tragedy of this conflict or “mincing words” when I say this; I am not even denying the possibility that at some point more information may surface that suggests extermination was actually Netanyahu’s goal (though we are not there).

I am pointing out how this totalizing rhetoric, and the eagerness to believe Israelis are evil, genocidal monsters is impeding the left’s ability to accurately assess & address the root causes of that loss of life. I am pointing out how this goes deeper than just avoiding a checklist of antisemitic tropes. I am asking you to ask yourself, “What is making me so susceptible to believing Jews would poison wells or commit genocide?” “What bad habits am I engaging in with regard to my thought processes & rhetorical habits that makes me more prone to believing this?“

[xspeter]

steve harrington x fem!reader

• suggestive content but not really smut, angst, unrequited love (but not really)

• trying to get back into my writing flow so here’s a short little blurb for yall!!

—

Honestly, you weren’t sure how you ended up here again.

Steve Harrington’s bedroom is one that has become familiar to you— from the silky bed sheets to the linen plaid walls. (He claims he’d gotten the wallpaper when he was five and hadn’t gotten around to changing them.) And even though you know you’re capable of so much, you’d gotten into Brown University for Gods sake, you still found yourself here every weekend. In Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

It’s always pretty much the same; Steve calls you with that same sultry tone, asking what you were doing and if you’d like to come over, and you cancel whatever plans you already had and stumble over to his large, empty home.

You’re not sure why you do it— maybe it’s because the lingering taste of weed and mint ignites some hidden fire in your belly. Or maybe it’s the way he whispers flirty compliments in your ears, murmuring how you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. How he wanted to make you feel good. How he wanted you.

But, there is no better feeling than him. Him, filling up all five of your senses. Him, gently rocking into you like he’ll break you if he grips you too hard. Him, kissing you so sloppily that you start to forget where his tongue starts and yours ends.

But for Steve, this is just sex. It has always been just sex.

It’s not his fault you’d found yourself wanting more than that.

Regret always builds in your stomach when it’s over, especially when Steve cleans you up so sweetly, leaving soft kisses on your sensitive thighs. Did so good for me, he whispers, and you feel the familiar burn of tears building in the back of your throat.

Steve crawls up to lay next to you, making sure you’re tucked in and comfortable before turning his back to you and slowly dozing off.

You watch the rise and fall of his freckled back, his muscles softly rippling with every twitch of his body. The urge to reach out and hold him lingers in your fingertips, but you resist it, instead settling to just look.

Even though you know you shouldn’t indulge, you allow yourself to imagine what a life with him would entail.

Mornings filled with coffee and french toast, his hands wrapped around your waist as he kissed you goodbye. Weekends spent curled up on the couch, a blanket shared between you both as you laughed at whatever SitCom played on the TV. Nights spent much similar to this one, except ending with him holding you and whispering those three words into your hairline.

When your tear line begins to water you force yourself to look away, instead looking up towards the popcorn ceiling. Softly, you allow a sob to leave your lips.

Steve will never love you like you love him, you know that, so why was it so hard to accept?

Steve does his best to lay completely still, his heart heavy at the sound of your broken sob. It’s not fair to you and he knows that, but doesn’t he deserve to be selfish? After all the shit he’s gone through, doesn’t he deserve this?

He just hates that you’re hurt in the process.

Subconsciously, he hopes that you’ll find the strength to get up and leave him. He hopes that you’ll finally let go of him and find the person who will treat you how you deserve, who will love you unconditionally and love you openly.

But, Steve can’t be that person for you. It’s too dangerous, too risky. You would just turn up being collateral damage like everyone else he loved.

Keeping you at this distance is the right thing, even if it hurts him— even if he fucking hates it. Even if he wants to turn around and pull you into him, tell you that he’s sorry, that he wants you, that he needs you.

That he loves you.

You hiccup again, sucking in a shaky breath as your lower lip trembles. In another world, Steve Harrington loves you like you love him. In another world, Steve Harrington didn’t have all this emotional trauma that keeps him from leaning over to kiss you. To hold you.

In another world, Steve Harrington is yours and you are his.

[mariacallous]

Imitation caviar invented in the 1930s could provide the solution to plastic pollution, claims Pierre Paslier, CEO of London-based packaging company Notpla. He discovered the cheap food alternative, invented by Unilever and made using seaweed, after quitting his job as a packaging engineer at L’Oréal.

With cofounder and co-CEO Rodrigo García González, Paslier and Notpla have extended the idea, taking a protein made from seaweed and creating packaging for soft drinks, fast food, laundry detergent, and cosmetics, among other things. They’re also branching out into cutlery and paper.

“Seaweed grows quickly and needs no fresh water, land, or fertilizer,” Paslier explains. “It captures carbon and makes the surrounding waters less acidic. Some species of seaweed can grow up to a meter a day.” Best of all, he says, packaging made from seaweed is completely biodegradable because it’s entirely nature-based.

Paslier noted an amazing coincidence—Alexander Parkes invented the first plastic in Hackney Wick, the same part of East London that, 100 years later, Notpla calls home. Since Parkes’ first invention, waste plastic—especially tiny particles known as microplastics, which take hundreds or thousands of years to break down into harmless molecules—has been wreaking havoc in ecosystems across the world.

Plastic pollution is proving especially damaging in the marine environment, where tiny beads of plastic are deadly to the vital microorganisms that make up plankton and which sequester 30 percent of our carbon emissions, “without us having to build any new fancy technologies,” Paslier says.

Notpla’s plans to replace plastic began with a drink container for marathons. This is, in effect, a very large piece of fake caviar—a small pouch that contains juice or water that athletes can pop in their mouths and swallow when they need rehydration. “We wanted to create something that would feel more like fruit; packaging that you could feel comes more from picking something from a tree than off a production line,” he says.

Paslier showed pictures of two postrace streets—one where refueling came in plastic containers and one where it came in edible Notpla. The first was littered with plastic bottles; the second completely waste-free.

The next step was takeout food containers. Even containers we think are cardboard contain plastic, he says, as grease from food would make plain cardboard too soggy. Working with delivery company Just Eat, Notpla has pioneered a replacement for the per- and polyfluorinated substances (PFAS), the so-called ��forever chemical” plastics that currently line cardboard takeout containers. It has even found a way to retrofit its solution into the old PFAS plant, so there was no need to build new factories.

The company is developing soluble sachets for detergent pods, ice-cream scoops, and even paper packing for cosmetics. And there’s plenty of seaweed to experiment with, Paslier points out. “You don’t realize it’s already available massively at scale,” he says. “It’s in our toothpaste, it’s in our beer, it’s in our reduced-fat products—so there’s an existing infrastructure that we can work with without having to build any additional processes.”

[vm-haunts]

Crossover Headcanons: Worldbuilding Edition

A collection of DPxDC headcanons from myself and various posts, in no particular order.

Green stuff

Dionesium is, or is one of the main decay byproduct of, ectoplasm. It is the defining element in Lazarus water.

Lazarus water is a naturally occurring compound that amplifies certain effects of ectoplasm. Concentration of ectoplasm in the waters is surprisingly low despite the appearance.

College trio as the Doctor Three. Who lead the study on dionesium in Gotham University at some point.

Talons created by the Court of Owls are a special type of liminals, and communicates within themselves via a dialect of ghost speak.

Realms stuff

Infinite realms, or pockets within it, had been observed and accessed before, by different civilizations under numerous different names.

The Kryptonians used the realms as a means of banishment, which they called the phantom zone.

GIW stuff

GIW is operating under All Purpose Enforcement Squad (APES), headquarters in mount Rushmore.

Anti-ecto Acts is a set of old laws dating back to civil war era, only brought back into practice in recent years.

Liminals have significantly higher chance of activating metagene. May or may not be causing the metagene mutation in the first place.

Anti-ecto Acts might be intentionally exploited as a backdoor to meta protection acts.

Ring stuff

Pariah Dark's ring of rage turned into the phantom ring after Danny officially claimed it. It enhances all emotions of the owner equally.

Danny lost his ring at some point and it became known to the lanterns as the phantom ring.

In the hands of realm ghosts the phantom ring glows green regardless of the emotion it is enhancing, as ghosts are beings of pure will. Otherwise it is black with a faint white glow. (Can't believe this one matches up, I love lore stitching)

Balance stuff

Danny bears both Life Force and Death Force in equal amounts. His only way to accessing them is channelling a mixture of the two to power his ghost wail.

Ghost Wail infused with both acts like a simple sonic attack. But if powdered only by death force it's functionally the same thing as Void Wind, which 'negates the power and immortality of the gods. Enabling it to shut down any form of arcana used against it'.

Dark Danny only process death force as he no longer have a human side for balance. His death infused wail could be how he destroyed the world without much interference from magic users.

Danny's Wail can be infused with only life force instead, which would eviscerate ghosts. Possibly only possible when he is in human form.

Glitchy stuff (not really DC related)

Dark Danny's attack on Clockwork's tower created some pretty severe glitchs in time (ha) across all of the living realms.

As the clocktower take damage some universes collapsed together, and some timelines became contradictory and paradoxical (typical comic reboot am I right?😅)

After Dan finally calmed down he becomes the ultimate errand boy for clockwork. Showing up an fixing things he broke under the guidance of the ghost of Time.

Stranger stuff

Dan got sentenced to Life (literal) in an alternate ending of glitch in time, which capped his destruction and eventually calmed him off.

Reformed Dan is doing social services as penance, in the DC multiverse he goes by the alias of Phantom Stranger.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

alternatively, Techno having nowhere else to go so he tries to sneak into a hybrid community. He knows he'll get kicked out at best if they know he's human. So, he disguises himself as a hybrid and prays it lasts long enough that he can get into a better position and escape before they figure out (or at least with minimal damage). Small problem: he intended to keep his head down the whole time, but actually a lot of them are super friendly and curious about the new comer. The closer he gets to them the more complicated and convoluted the lie becomes, because suddenly he cares less about avoiding notice and more about them liking him.

And it works, until one day, when Philza confronts him for being human. Techno scrambles for a lie, desperate to keep his friends, but can't think of one, falling silent as Philza accuses him of being a human spy trying to infiltrate the community. Panicking, Techno bolts, and suddenly all of his friends are hunting him down. No where is safe, not the air or water or nether. All of them are desperate to capture him, some furious for his deception, others terrified he's going to destroy their community.

And Techno...wasn't he already planning to ditch this place from day one? It's fine, right, this was part of the plan. For months he'd been fighting the impulse to show them his real self, and now he knows that instinct is correct. They didn't like Techno, only the guy he pretended to be. So why does it still hurt so much to leave? They despise him, don't they? And don't they have every right to?

Or, for the funny route, he thinks he's a master manipulator spiraling in a web of lies, but everyone has known since day one and think his sheer bravado is funny enough to keep him. Their little prods at the facade is because watching him fall silent for like 10 minutes to think up an absurd lie is really really funny.

OUGH, okay, okay, I'm picking up what you're throwing down (with some small adjustments for taste perhaps).

Techno is a human, but he's an outcast. He figures a good way to live in peace while also being somewhat protected is to live on the very outskirts of this hybrid commune he's discovered. Right on the edge, so he's technically within the border (and the safety it provides), a place barely any humans know about and those that do shy away from it because of The Crowfather's claim to those lands. Techno knows he won't get away with living there as a human, so he pretends to be a hybrid.

A bunny hybrid to be precise.

They're mostly humanoid-looking anyway, and Techno makes himself a convincing set of ears + tail. He dyes his hair pink. He builds a little cottagecore cabin and hopes that he can keep his head down. Obviously, this does not work as well as he'd hoped, since the commune members are curious and nosey and also super friendly and start worming their way into his heart. They also know bunnies normally live in big warrens with lots of other bunnies so they're worried Techno is lonely all the time and don't want that :( they're trying to help! They're trying to be good friends!

Techno tells them he has a leg injury, so that's why he can't jump as far as other bunny hybrids. He makes sure to never eat meat in front of them. He does everything he can to keep up the ruse.

Except sooner or later, something is going to happen to make it fall through. You could have somebody find out and confront him, but I'm also very partial to a dramatic reveal because he's saving/helping somebody else and him getting hurt in the process. Maybe somebody else is in danger and Techno's instinctive reaction reveals he's a human somehow? I'll workshop it.

Whichever the case, Techno is found out. And he panics. The commune members are shocked, they feel betrayed. A few of them might genuinely be a little pissed he was hiding this or accuse him of being a human spy. But most of them are just confused. Techno bolts, because he's scared they'll kill him or kick him out. They follow - partly out of worry (Techno did get hurt in whatever prompted the discovery), partly because they just want answers. Maybe one or two of them are angry and scared that he'll rat them out to the humans and would stop that at any cost.

Techno does not get away. He's hurt and exhausted and outnumbered and he's only human so he can't outrun a bunch of hybrids forever. I like the idea that one of the 'weaker' hybrid members catches up to him first (maybe Tommy or Tubbo) and Techno knows he can take them in a fight. He could defend himself, hurt them, and have that be an additional distraction that'll allow him to get away. But he can't bring himself to do that. Eventually he gets caught by them (maybe after getting hurt some more during the failed escape because I'm evil and enjoy Techno whump so much) but they don't kill him like Techno expects them to. They want to know why the fuck he lied to them in the first place.

And that's when it all gets revealed. How Techno was an outcast among his own kind. How badly they treated him (those scars he played off as being caused by hybrid hunters suddenly gain a whole new meaning for the commune members). How he only wanted to find a place he could be safe and he never intended for them all to care, for them to become friends with him, for his lies to become this serious. How he never expected himself to actually feel at home with them.

Obviously, this would lead to a happy ending. Some of the commune members probably forgive Techno almost instantly. A few of the others might be a bit peeved at him for a while because of the deceit, though they can kinda get why he lied in the first place. They say Techno can stay to heal and Techno accepts while fully expecting to be kicked out as soon as they know he won't drop dead out alone in the wild. Except by the time Techno is healed, basically everybody has already agreed they're fine with him staying :D

[torchickentacos]

Im here for your opinions on roundworms and parasites.

THANK YOU! Your enabling is always appreciated (and I think I have a pokemon ask from you that I lost in my drafts like six months ago????? I'll go find that later!) Here are some of my parasite opinions. Under the read-more because, re: last post's tags, this is not what most of you guys signed up for 😭

My main opinion- worms are, by far, the most interesting type of parasite, even amongst other endoparasites. Exoparasites are largely boring. Sorry to any tick or leech enthusiasts out there. Amoebas (and other protozoan parasites) are just okay. They were more interesting in season 2 of House MD than they are in real life, imo.

Guinea worms (draculculiasis) are maybe the most disgusting type of endoparasite, but thankfully they're incredibly rare. I'll keep it not-revolting but the removal process is disgusting, and not much gets to me but that does. When I was in vetmed classes back in like 2018-2020, I was the person who wanted front-row seats to literally everything, and despite that, guinea worms make me viscerally uncomfortable... but very fascinated. Heartworms are pretty high up there, too, and roundworms do get an honorary mention.

Not really an opinion but I need to know what kind of worm RFK JR has. I have been so darkly fascinated by this for months on end. It's PROBABLY neurocysticercosis, but what if it's something more interesting???? I have never wanted to see the full medical work-up of a politician more badly. I periodically check to see if there's any updates in the brainworm department. ALSO, it didn't actually eat his brain. I'm not a parasitologist but I'm like 95% sure that any worms that would have a presence in the brain would not actively feed on any organic tissue in that sense. It's probably a cyst caused by a calcified tapeworm larvae that damaged surrounding brain tissue. There was probably no actual ingestion of brain tissue despite claims and headlines. BUT IF THERE WAS, I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT. But nobody has a concrete answer.

If we want to talk about non-human parasites, then horsehair worms are a fun starting point! They infect insects and cause the insect to seek out water and drown themselves, and then the worm escapes in the water as part of the worm's life cycle. If you've got a strong stomach, go look it up on youtube. It's vile but SO interesting. The Green-banded broodsac is also a lovely little freak. It invades snail's eye stalks and pulses bright, strange colors to attract birds. The bird eats the snail (and the worm) and the worm uses the bird's droppings to scatter its eggs. It's some real freak of nature type shit and I love it.

Also not really an opinion, but I learned very quickly as a child that telling the other kids fun worm facts is not a great way to make friends, but on tumblr it works just fine!

[baambastic]

Woo Be Upon Ye:

Medieval fantasy TimKon AU where Kon is a half-dragon prince of the realm who elevates commoner Tim to the Royal Guard on a whim. Also has Bart as an apprentice mage, Donna and Cassie as Themiscyran ambassadors, many of Tim’s school friends as Royal Guards, Wildcat as a mentor, the Daily Planet staff as the royal council, and more! Planned as part one of a four-part series.

Bernard Dowd vs. The World:

After hearing Tim’s many, many, many stories about his friends, Bernard realizes that almost all of Tim’s guy friends were hitting on Tim at multiple points. Failing to convince Tim of this, however, Bernard makes it his mission to obtain written testimonies from as many of said friends as he can to support his case. Such friends include Superboy, Danny Temple, Sebastian Ives, Lonnie Machin, and more.

Two for the Price of Them:

In this AU, Tim’s 100th cloning attempt is a success, and so clones of both Kon and Bart are created. Partway through the artificial aging process, however, an agent of N.O.W.H.E.R.E. (overhauled from the same metahuman-abduction organization from the New52) attacks. Tim is forced to go on the run and off the grid with the two clone babies.

The World Didn’t Stand Still:

When Kathy Branden plugs a Phantom Zone Crystal into her teleportal and visits the Phantom Zone, she comes back with a young Krytonian boy, Chris Kent, who claims to be the foster son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Effectively taking pre-boot Chris from after his debut story and transporting him into post-Rebirth continuity. Part of a planned trilogy of fics centered on Chris. Guaranteed that they will not end with Chris getting punted into the Phantom Zone for an unknown length of time.

The Dichotomy of Lor-Zod and Chris Kent:

In post-Infinite Frontiers continuity, Lor-Zod begins getting flashes of a life before his own, of a life where he was family to the loathsome Kal-El of the House of El. Lor’s father, Dru-Zod, convince Lor that his affliction must be the machinations of the Justice League’s Martian Manhunter, a psychic attack meant to weaken New Kandor for invasion. Along with Non as a chaperone, Lor-Zod goes on a quest to hunt the Martian Manhunter, though he’s really on the path to restoring his pre-boot history and identity, and all the internal conflict that comes from the contradictions between his two selves. Effectively how I would approach reconciling the current iteration of Lor-Zod with Chris Kent. Guest-starring Martian Manhunter and M’gann M’orzz.

The Cola Caper:

Upon hearing the devastating news that an embargo on the island nation of Santa Prisca will halt the distribution of Zesti Cola in the United States, Dick and Tim go on a mission to infiltrate Santa Prisca and abscond with as much Zesti as they can, and maybe even the secret recipe if they’re lucky.

Stray Little Tiger:

A Billy Batson-centric fic placed in a Stray!Tim Drake AU. Selina Kyle, on her way home from a caper, comes across a lightning-struck boy in an alley. Clearly homeless and in need of help, she decides to take the boy in until he’s healed, though the lightning seems to have severely damaged his vocal cords. She doesn’t know that this boy is Billy Batson, that he’s Captain Marvel, or that there’s something deeply wrong with the Rock of Eternity. This story is told mainly from Selina’s POV, with occasional sidetracks to Tim’s POV, but never Billy’s POV. Identity shenanigans, found family, magic problems, and more.

A Single Word Spoken:

A girl in the shape of a weapon is brought to Fawcett City, where she fulfills her purpose for the first and last time.

The girl who can no longer be a weapon hides from her wielder in an old subway and finds herself transported to a place of great magic.

There, the girl who wishes to be more than she was made to be finds a Wizard, who sees the girl for her heart and not for the blood staining her skin.

The Wizard teaches the girl a name.

Cassandra speaks her first word.

And in so doing, she speaks power.

Also featuring Cass navigating the anachronistic Fawcett City, befriending Billy Batson, codependency issues, an old man who’s also a Bengal tiger, ancient grudges, a different old man who’s barely qualified to give Cass life advice, and more.

Fake it For the Win:

While on a cruise, Tim and Kon decide to fake being married in order to compete on an onboard game show for married couples. When they actually win, though, they have no choice but to keep up the act for the rest of their trip. Fake dating to real dating, with a focus on comedy.

Crossroads of Fate and Eternity:

JLI-era fic with a couple of canon-divergent indulgences. Kent Nelson, helped by Khalid Nassour, decides to take Billy Batson under his wing as a student of the mystic arts. Magic lessons, Tower of Fate and Rock of Eternity shenanigans, Bromfield family stuff, an ancient entity and an ancient demon, philosophy, and other such tidbits.

A Little Ways Along the Family Tree:

When a villain travels through time to the future and accidentally takes Robin with him, Damian Wayne must team up with Mar’i and Jake Grayson to defeat the villain and return Damian to his proper time.

A High-Speed Romantic Tryst on an Open-Water Murder Shack:

When a couple of thugs steal a houseboat belonging to one of Tim’s marina neighbors while he and Bernard are hanging out, the two of them give chase in Tim’s own houseboat. Comedy, crack treated seriously.

[fernsproutxx]

another one¿¿ yes another one.

this is like half a year old and just today i found it and thought “what if i color it” lmao. it is unfinished though (as shown by the side profile one).

tbh this was mostly made as an excuse to draw him covered in flowers, but the au goes like this; he basically never got out of the boarded up room, and fazbear’s frights never happened. with time the ceiling got water damaged and caved in a little, letting a bit of the outside elements in and claim the rest of the decaying corpse that was left inside, hence the “ammonium”, which is part of the nitrogen release process that decomposing bodies make which enhances plant growth. it’s a really interesting subject on how death brings back life in this never ending cycle.

[gamergoblingurrl]

Flood relief for a friend

Within one day my friend lost it all - her home, car and workplace. The water took it all.

While traumatic, Aga's situation is shared by hundreds of others, struggling in the aftermath of floods sweeping Poland. The relief movement is in place, but with so many people in need the waiting can be long, adding to the already difficult situation.

Right now Aga and her family need basic human necessities - shelter, food, clothes and drinking water.

Hence comes my plea - help me raise funds to move Aga and her family from the temporary flood victims' shelter, which is no place for a young family, to a safe abode, with enough money to provide food and clean clothes. Her workplace has been lost to flood too and currently, she has no source of income - with the massive scope of the damages caused by the floods, processing any insurance claims for damages they have caused will take months at the least.

https://gofund.me/46e9478b

I am looking for good people to help my friend and her family in her hour of need, any amount counts and will make a world of difference.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 8

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Please note new TWs in red!!! Reader is Mando's bounty, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, hurt/comfort, discussions of slavery and indentured servitude, power dynamics, trauma

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

It had all happened so quickly, your brain was having a difficult time keeping up.

The long, silent walk from the Razor Crest into the city, the anxiety and the fear flaying your nerves until they were raw.

The strong, steady grip of Mando’s hand on your arm, keeping you warm and upright.

The moment your gaze landed on Orron, the feeling of time standing still. The sinking numbness that cloaked you like a shroud at the sensation of his pale blue eyes on your body as he examined you, the stabbing sharpness of his fingers in the hinge of your jaw.

The endless, burning pit of fury roiling in your stomach as that bastard dared to look Mando in the eyes and claim that he had any right to your labor, to your life.

The cortical tracker sinking its awful metal prongs into the meat of your neck had been painful, of course, but it was familiar, and something about that made it easier to process. What you weren’t certain you would ever understand, however, what had your mind racing and your joints feeling like water, was the sight of Orron being escorted out of the office with three purple cloth bags, heavy with credits, clutched in his wiry hands.

It was over. You never had to go back to Chardaan again. You never had to see him again.

25,000 credits. An unthinkable sum. And Mando had just…handed it over. Without a single thought or protest.

How would you ever be able to repay him?

“Are you all right?”

Mando’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts like a hot knife through butter, pulling your awareness out of yourself and back into the present. Swallowing heavily, you nodded, ignoring the shooting pain the motion caused. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” You hardly recognized your own voice. You sounded breathless, confused, small.

The bounty hunter didn’t seem convinced by your reassurance. “Let me see your neck,” he said, curt but somehow still gentle. With a delicate touch, as though you would break if gripped too hard, he cupped the uninjured side of your face in his hand and turned your head so he could see the damage left by the cortical tracker. He appeared to study you closely for a few moments, his helmet cocked to the side, his visor impassive as always, but when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost relieved. “You’re bruising. Badly. But the puncture wounds are small. We’ll stop by the medical clinic and pick up some high-grade bacta topicals on the way back to the ship. We’ll make sure you get healed up.”

Your throat dried and your heart sped up at his word choice. “We.” Were you a “we” now? Did you want to be?

Before you could think on it further, the other man in the room, the one called Karga, spoke up.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s going on here, Mando,” he grumbled. “As I’m sure you can imagine, I try not to make a habit out of taking back bounties.”

Guilt festered in your gut at the admonishment, but as the Mandalorian dropped his hand from your face and turned to confront his Guild agent, you saw nothing in his posture that looked like shame. In fact, he looked more determined than ever.

“I gave you my word that the exchange would be completed, and it was. The bounty transferred custody, and payment was given,” he asserted.

Karga frowned at that response and folded his arms across his broad chest. “You’re scraping by on a technicality, and you know it.”

Mando inclined his head in a single nod, wordlessly acknowledging the older man’s point. “But I did not break my word.”

It became clear to you then that the conversation between these two men that you had overheard from the cargo hold a few days ago had not been some kind of standard check-in. They had been discussing you. Had Mando been planning this? Had he known when he brought you here that you wouldn’t be leaving with Orron?

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, the Guild agent shook his head, a humorless smile twisting his full lips. “No, I suppose you didn’t.” He sank into his high-backed office chair with a groan and a shrug. “Well. It looks like our business is concluded for now. The two of you are free to go, I suppose.”

It appeared, however, that the Mandalorian wasn’t quite finished.

“Have you given out your remaining bounties? The ones I left behind last time?” he asked.

Karga’s gaze was hard as he stared back at the bounty hunter. “No, I haven’t.”

“Would you consider giving them to me?”

“Ordinarily, yes. Without question,” the older man replied. “But…as your Guild agent, after the stunt you just pulled – ”

“This was an exceptional circumstance,” Mando interjected. You felt your cheeks flame at that, and you looked down at your feet, guilt and pleasure warring with each other in your chest.

He had called you exceptional. The descriptor made you want to melt into the floor and grin in equal measures.

Karga, however, appeared skeptical.

“You know I can resolve them faster than any of the other hunters in this sector,” Mando added. “You’d be able to move on, focus on your…political career. Focus on Nevarro.”

The Guild agent appeared to consider the argument for a moment, running his fingers across his short, white beard as he glanced meaningfully back and forth between you and Mando. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you. A bounty hunter’s charity case? A friend? Something…more? What assumptions was this man making, this man you had never met before today?

Did you even want to know?

With a heavy sigh, Karga seemed to come to a decision. Opening another one of his desk drawers, he produced five bounty pucks and five tracking fobs, spreading them out evenly on the desk in front of him. “Fine,” he said, his voice resigned but not displeased. “But I want all of them in carbonite this time, understood? This may be my last batch of bounties, but I’m still a professional. And so are you.”

If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that you could hear the Mandalorian release a quiet breath of relief. In a handful of long strides, he crossed the room and scooped the pucks and fobs into his hands and tucked them away in his innumerable utility pockets. “I understand,” he replied, low and serious.

A small, genuine smile quirked the corner of Karga’s mouth at that. “Good. Now…as your friend? That was some quick thinking, Mando. Well done.” The man’s gaze had transformed from aggravated to fond, and you felt your regard for him soften a bit in turn. “Dealing with slavers is the ugliest part of our business. I’m glad to see that this one wasn’t allowed to win today,” he continued.

“That man had no honor. He got better than he deserved,” Mando growled. You watched as one of his gloved hands balled into a fist seemingly of its own accord, the black leather of his gloves straining against his knuckles.

“Yes, well, I appreciate your…restraint,” Karga said with a strangely knowing chuckle. Meeting your gaze for the first time, he added, “And you! The very best of luck to you. Perhaps we shall meet again, hm? That is, if you decide to stick with our Mandalorian friend, here.”

The Guild agent’s words left you mystified. If…I decide?

“T-Thank you,” you stammered.

Am I…staying with Mando?

___

“Mando.”

“Yes?”

“We have to talk about what happened back there.”

The moment the two of you had departed from Karga’s office and emerged back into the town center, your thoughts had begun racing once again. Without a word, Mando had taken off down the winding street, clearly expecting you to follow him. You did so without protest, feeling as though you were moving on inertia alone, and he had led you to a blue-painted building two blocks away. The faded white text painted on the battered, durasteel door read “Community Clinic” in Galatic Basic.

You had watched, silent and wide-eyed, as he traded a not insignificant amount of his remaining 5,000 credits for two tubes of top-shelf bacta gel, and while you had felt as though someone might have shoved cotton in your ears while you weren’t looking, Mando had listened intently to the droid behind the med distribution counter as it outlined the application instructions in excruciating detail. He had placed the tubes in your limp hands then, murmuring, “Stick those in your pocket” before heading back out into the city.

Now, you were trailing behind him a couple of steps, seemingly following him back to the Razor Crest. Your mind was buzzing as though it were full of winged insects, the bacta in your pocket felt shockingly heavy against your leg, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the events of the last few hours.

Your split lip stung. Your jaw and cheekbone throbbed with the beat of your heart in the shape of Orron’s backhand. Your neck felt impossibly stiff, and you could sense the crust of dried blood on your skin.

You were free. Finally, after all these years, you were actually, definitively free.

Except…were you?

“Mando?” you said again.

He nodded then – you watched the back of his helmet bob up and down in acknowledgement, and you almost breathed a sigh of relief. “We will,” he replied, his voice soft and cautious. “But you’re injured. And I don’t trust Halcard to leave this alone. Let’s get you healed and get back into hyperspace. Then we can talk.”

Something like a smile passed over your lips. “You don’t have to worry about him coming after me,” you reassured him. “If there’s anything Orron loves more than control, it’s money. After what you just paid him… I’m sure he’s already long gone. He wouldn’t have wanted to give you a chance to change your mind.”

“You may be right,” Mando agreed. “But I’d rather not risk it.”  

The tension gripping your chest loosened a bit at the protective edge in his voice. Even if you were now indebted to this man, you appreciated his concern for your well-being. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for you in that way, and although you would be lying if you said that protectiveness didn’t chafe a bit against your desire for independence, a part of you wondered whether, in time, you might get used to it. Might grow to welcome it.

Your thoughts remained fitful for the rest of the journey back to the spaceport, so much so that the sound of the blast doors opening and the gangplank extending from the rear of the Razor Crest caused you to jump, startled. Mando wordlessly gave you a once-over, concern evident in his body language even though you couldn’t see his face. However, before you could assure him that you were all right, your eyes landed on the small, green figure drowning in brown robes waiting right at the top of the gangplank.

Grogu squealed the moment he saw you, his little arms immediately stretching out, his three-clawed hands grasping for you, his smile toothy and wide, and you could feel your face crumple as tears flooded your eyes. You were up the ramp in an instant, sweeping the boy into your arms and cradling him close as you choked back a sob.

“Hey, kiddo,” you murmured wetly, your tears soaking the collar of his robes, your voice shaking. You pulled him from you gingerly, holding him out a bit from your body as your gaze eagerly traced over his little round face, his wing-like ears, his wispy white hair. “It’s so good to see you.”

Just a few short hours ago, when you had exited the Crest, you had been certain that your paths would never cross again. You had already mourned that last cuddle, that last giggle, that last shared meal. Holding him again, it felt as though a part of your heart that you had lost had been restored to your body. You could feel it snapping back into place in your chest, as real as the feeling of the boy’s coarse robes under your fingers.

And that seemed to be all your overwrought nervous system needed to open the floodgates that had been tightly sealed over the last few hours. The grief at the impending loss of your freedom, the fear and anxiety at seeing Orron, the pain of his abuse, the relief and the joy and the hope – all of it came bursting forth in that moment. With a whimper, your knees weakened under you, and you sagged against a cargo bin, Grogu still clutched tightly in your arms as you wept. You felt a tiny, three-fingered hand reach out and touch your cheek in comfort, and you smiled through your tears.

It wasn’t until you felt the vibration of the gangplank retracting back into the ship that you realized that Mando was now in the cargo hold with you, standing back a respectful distance, watching silently. Grogu turned and gurgled at him in greeting, and you sniffed heavily, dragging the back of your sleeve across your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you said instinctively, your face burning with embarrassment.

He shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize,” the Mandalorian replied. His voice was soft, gentler than you had ever heard it, and it made your chest ache and your breath catch in your throat.

The two of you gazed at each other for a moment, the image of your face reflected in the blackness of his visor. The silence hanging between you felt weighty, significant, but before you could think of something to say to break it, Mando seemed to make a decision himself. With two slow, measured strides, still holding your gaze, he crossed the cargo hold to stand before you. From your position atop the cargo bin, you could feel the warmth of his body radiating mere inches from your own, his thighs very distinctly not touching your shins where they hung over the edge.

Then, slowly, carefully, like a farmer approaching a spooked animal ready to bolt at any moment, the bounty hunter reached out his large, gloved hand and delicately brushed your cheek and the edge of your jaw with the backs of his fingers.

You swallowed audibly, your eyelids fluttering shut at the contact.

“Be generous with the bacta,” he rasped. “Don’t just focus it on the puncture wounds – get the surrounding muscle, too. And your face, or that will be swollen and bruised by morning, too.” A lingering tear fell from your eyelashes onto your cheekbone, and you felt him sweep it away tenderly. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in the cockpit when you’re ready.”

Your heart was beating a tattoo on the inside of your ribcage, but you managed to offer him a nod. “Mm hm,” you murmured. Your voice was suddenly a higher pitch than you were used to, almost a whine, and you felt your flush deepen. You couldn’t handle this right now – this rush of want suddenly warring with all of the other emotions currently rioting inside your body. You needed him to leave.

Thankfully, he made good on his promise not a moment later, pulling his fingers away from your skin and climbing up the ladder without another word.

Grogu watched you with wide, knowing eyes as you gathered yourself. The well-worn fabric of your boilersuit sleeve was abrasive against your skin as you wiped your tears, only adding to the ever-increasing sources of discomfort on your face and neck. Sitting the boy down on the cargo bin beside you, you pulled one of the tubes of bacta topical from your pocket with shaking hands and offered him what you hoped was a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay. I got hurt, but your dad got me medicine,” you explained, showing him the tube. You felt a bit of pride that your voice only trembled a little now. “It will be all better in no time.”

The bacta gel was translucent, viscous, and cold to the touch, and it smarted where your wounds were raw – your split lip, the puncture wounds in your neck. Everywhere else, though, the places where you could feel deep, throbbing bruises already forming, the cooling sensation was heavenly, and you found that you hadn’t really needed Mando’s encouragement to apply the gel generously. By the time you had coated every surface that hurt, nearly half the tube was gone.

As you sat there in the cargo hold, giving the miracle gel a few moments to start taking effect, you could feel the turmoil begin to rise in your chest once again. Of course, you were thrilled to be out from under Orron’s thumb – that much you felt confident about. And of course, you were filled with joy at being reunited with Grogu. The two of you had grown incredibly attached to each other over the months you spent on the Razor Crest, and parting with him had felt like ripping away a piece of yourself. But all of that happiness didn’t seem to be enough to stamp out the confusion, the apprehension, the unease around what this new development meant for you.

It didn’t change the fact that Mando had paid more money than you had ever seen in your entire lifetime for you.

Did he…expect something from you now, in exchange? Would he want you to pay him back? Could you ever hope to do that?

As you mulled this over, uncertainty sitting heavy in your abdomen, you felt the telltale vibration of the engines turning over, the rapid ascent of the Crest through the atmosphere, and a moment later, the stomach-dropping lurch of a jump to hyperspace.

You made up your mind then. You tucked the half-empty bacta tube back into your jumpsuit pocket, and you slid down from your perch on the hard, gray cargo bin. Gathering Grogu to your chest, you dropped a brief kiss onto his wrinkly brow for strength. You couldn’t live another moment with this kind of ambiguity, especially not with the blossoming softness you could feel taking root in your heart for the Mandalorian. It was more than you could bear.

___

The sight that greeted you when you entered the cockpit was one so familiar, it was almost painful. The glow of the instruments and control panels, the bright, streaking light of the stars filling the view window, the way it all reflected off of Mando’s beskar. You bit your lip and settled into your preferred co-pilot seat, nestling Grogu in your lap like you had a hundred times before. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this felt completely different than it had in the past. And you couldn’t leave that hanging any longer.

“Where are we headed?” you asked, your eyes trained on the back of the bounty hunter’s helmet as he faced forward.

“Trandosha,” he replied. His competent hands moved over the controls, monitoring your speed, your pitch, keeping an eye out for any objects in your path, making minute adjustments to avoid them, always thinking three steps ahead. Most people these days preferred having a flight computer or a navigation droid do that kind of work for them, but he seemed to favor a more manual approach. You loved watching him fly. He was a natural pilot, like you.

“What’s on Trandosha?”

He shrugged, mirrored starlight arcing over his pauldron. “Picked one of the new bounties at random,” he said simply.

You paused at that for a moment, blinking in the darkness. “So…that’s it?” you said, a hint of incredulity making its way into your voice.

You watched as his hands paused on the control panel, hovering in place. You had his attention, but still, he did not turn to face you. “What’s it?” he echoed.

“We just…go back to how things were before? Like nothing’s changed?” There was more than a hint of suspicion in your tone now. You sounded almost accusatory to your own ears, but you made no attempt to censor it. Your mind had been steeped in confusion and insecurity since the moment you had watched him hand over all those bags of credits, but it seemed to you as though Mando had no such compunctions about his decision.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied. Unpretentious, unbothered.

How could he be so casual about this? Did he give no thought to what this change might mean to someone like you?

You scoffed, disbelieving. “What I want? What do you want, Mando?”

That did it. The Mandalorian turned in his chair, swiveling around as best as he could to face you, meet your gaze. He studied you for a moment, taking in your rigid shoulders, your flushed face, your grip on Grogu’s body as you held him close in your lap. “I’ve upset you,” he said, not a question but rather a statement.

You sighed heavily, your body sagging, softening under his stare. “You haven’t upset me…” you said quietly. “Well, you have, but – ” You groaned, hiding your face in one of your hands, bracing your elbow on your knee. “I think I’m just confused.”

The bounty hunter remained graciously silent as you gathered your thoughts.

Eventually, the question that emerged was, “What you did back there… I never would have asked you for that, you know that, right?”

Mando nodded once. “Yes.”

“Because that was…that was an absurd amount of money. That was almost every credit you earned over the last two months. And you just…dropped it. Just like that!” You could hear your voice getting higher, your heart starting to speed up.

Still, the bounty hunter appeared unaffected. His low, rasping voice crackled calmly through his helmet vocoder as he replied, “The kid and I don’t need much to get by.”

“Maybe not, but still…” You trailed off, the root of your insecurity suddenly staring you in the face. Before you could stop yourself, before you could pause and examine in further, it was spilling out of your mouth, meek and fearful. “Mando, I’m not worth 25,000 credits. I’m just…I’m not.”

At that, the Mandalorian drew back slightly, leaning back in his chair and cocking his head to the side in a gesture that you had learned indicated confusion. “Of course, you are,” he insisted. He sounded completely taken aback, almost angered by the implication.

You could feel the burning sensation of a flush rising in your cheeks at his vehement disagreement, but you fought it back, tamped it down. You weren’t done. Now that you had found the words to express your fears, you didn’t seem to be able to stop.

“Well, since you…bought me, what are you planning to do with me?” you demanded. “Do you want me to…work on your ship some more? Be Grogu’s nanny? Something…something else? Am I supposed to call you ‘sir’ now?”

“What? No, no, nothing like that.” If Mando had sounded angry before, now he was downright offended. He leaned toward you, his hands braced firmly on his thighs, his knees spread wide, almost startingly close in the cramped space of the cockpit. “Let me be…perfectly clear,” he continued, slow and deliberate. “As far as I am concerned, I did not buy you. I bought your freedom. It’s yours to do with as you wish.”

And just like that, it felt as though all of the wind had been taken out of you. You felt yourself deflate, sag in your chair, loosen your tight grip on Grogu’s little body as the bounty hunter’s words hung in the recycled air. I bought your freedom, he said. Your freedom. The word echoed in your head, your mind suddenly blank. He couldn’t be serious.

“W-what?”

Mando appeared to take in your utter confusion, and he sighed your name, soft and gentle. “I expect nothing from you. You owe me nothing,” he said. His voice had lost its edge. He was no longer offended, only sincere. “Your life is yours. You get to choose what you do next.”

You swallowed thickly, tears threatening to prick the corners of your eyes once again. “So. So if I want to…go back to where you found me, go back to waiting tables in a cantina, you would let me?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I would take you there myself.”

You pushed. “If I wanted to go back to Nevarro, settle there instead?”

Again, the Mandalorian nodded. “Of course. I would introduce you to the marshal. She’s a friend of mine. I would ask her for recommendations on places for you to stay.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, something dangerously akin to hope welling up in you as the possibilities for your future expanded before you for the first time in your adult life. “What if I wanted to go to Coruscant? Would you ferry me all the way to the Core?”

At this suggestion, Mando finally seemed to hesitate. But still, he said, “I…prefer not to travel so far inward. My ship draws too much attention there, and I’m wanted by the New Republic. But I would take you to a spaceport and help you book passage there yourself.”

You gave that revelation a moment to settle, gave yourself a moment to process what he was saying. He would really let you go. After all the time he spent toting you around the galaxy from hunt to hunt, all the effort of keeping you safe for months so he could turn you in, all the money he paid to cover your so-called “debts” and release you from Orron’s grip, he would actually allow you to leave – all you needed to do was say the word. You understood that now. What you didn’t understand was…

“…why?”

“Because everyone deserves the freedom to choose their own path,” the bounty hunter replied simply. “And you have a generous spirit. Especially now that I have seen where you come from…it is a great strength, to remain kind in the face of such hardship.”

You lost the battle against your tears in that moment, and you immediately dropped your gaze to your lap. Grogu cooed at you sweetly, reaching out and stroking your long, braided hair in a clear attempt at comfort. You offered him a weak smile in return, but you didn’t trust the steadiness of your voice to speak.

You had never seen yourself as strong before. Or, at least, not in the way that others were strong. Not in the way Mando was strong.

“However…”

You snapped your head back up to face him once more, uncaring for the moment about the embarrassment of the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Mando held your gaze as he spoke, his voice confident, genuine. “In the time you spent on the Razor Crest, you have proven to be an…invaluable asset. The ship is in the best condition she’s been in in years, you’re a good pilot, and I trust you with the child. I would happily offer you a job, a real job, here – as a member of my crew.” You felt your eyes widen in shock and your tears cease. After a moment’s silence, during which he must have interpreted your reticence as displeasure, he quickly added, “You’ve seen the lifestyle I lead, so you know that the pay would be…irregular, but it would be generous. And it’s a dangerous line of work, so you would have to work on your combat abilities for your own safety. But. If you want it. You have a place here.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, biting down as you considered the offer. “Is that what you want?” you asked, hesitant.

The Mandalorian shook his head immediately, hardly allowing you to finish your question. “Like I said. It’s not about what I want. The choice is yours. I will make sure you end up wherever you decide to go. Do you want to stay?”

You allowed yourself a few moments to reflect on it, and your eyes dropped down to Grogu, busying yourself with tidying his downy hair, straightening his collar. When you first escaped from the shipyards, your only goal had been just that – to leave. You had given little thought to where you might be headed when you boarded the freighter that unknowingly ferried you to freedom. Your plan had been to stay concealed as long as you could, and at your first opportunity, abandon the freighter and melt into the crowd. You hadn’t been looking for adventure or even another ship builder who would compensate you fairly for your talents. You just wanted the opportunity to choose. So you chose a mining planet, a waitress job with horrendous hours, a busy hostel that smelled like old fish – because you could, and it’s what you could afford.

Now, you were being presented with the chance to choose again, and this time, the galaxy was at your fingertips. You were no longer on the run, no longer in hiding. You had transport to wherever you would like to go. You could pursue any dream you desired. And yet…

You ran your gaze over the tiny, green child in your arms, felt the warmth of his little body snuggled against yours. You recalled the sensation of the Mandalorian’s hands on your face, your neck, your wrists, the rugged softness of his leather gloves burnt into your memory like a brand. The deep rasp of his voice accompanied by the hum of the twin engines you had grown to know like the back of your own hand echoed in your mind.

Was it possible to be homesick for a place, for people that you hadn’t yet left?

You looked up again, into Mando’s visor. “Yes. I want to stay,” you said.

You were certain that if you could see his face, you would find the bounty hunter smiling. “Then you are welcome here as long as you wish.”

[moonsfireflies1993]

Why Panama is on Strike

From afar the Panama protests look like maybe a bunch of hypersensitive eco-fools or maybe like those people who think throwing paint on museums is making any difference instead of going directly to the companies. 

The reality is that Panama is protesting way more than just the “contract”. But, let's start with the contract. 

First, the company can own Panama by owning land property of the Panama state" inside or outside the 17,000 hectares from what was licensed.” This means that the ANATI (the National Authority of Land Administration) HAS to give it to the mining company with no setbacks.

The mine puts danger around 8 countries of Centroamerica with already reported 200 environmental damages

If the company wants to own private lands that are located inside or outside of hectares of the land that was licensed. The company can own the land and pay nothing in exchange, with no questions.

The contract was done with random permits without the proper process of acquisition. 

The contract promises to give Panama a very small quantity of payment to Panama when Panama already spends millions of dollars on the state. This means the company will give Panama less money than what Panama already invests in the country. So we are selling parts of Panama for less than what we already invested. 

Panama's government is allowing a foreign company to NOT pay 70% of their taxes during the first 10 years of copper extraction. 

The community of Donoso (where the mine is located) says they see tons of copper trucks going out every week and at the same time they complain they haven't seen improvements in their community. Ejm: railroads, electricity.

The company threatens with an international lawsuit of millions of dollars if Panama doesn't sign the contract. But if the company fails to comply with the contract, claims it will only pay 70 million dollars (Which is less than what they make extracting copper from the mine).

The contract has a clause that makes an actual law. The contract will reign according to the laws of Panama, except if a law looks inconsistent. In other words, if Panama makes a law that prohibits mining or a law that obliges them to pay taxes, because of their contract it will not apply at all because of that clause. 

The joke was that the president signed the contract in less than 3 hours.

Now, going to the other complaints of the population. Panama already has tons of issues and complaints that are not resolved. These issues have put the whole country on the verge of exploitation.

In September, there were massive protests in several parts of the country because of the sexual assault of the minor Madeleine at the hands of the National Juvenile Assembly. To keep it short. Every year the country makes a national juvenile assembly and this kid was from outside the city representing her district. She ate and drank with each political party and told a classmate to check on her because her water tasted like medicine. The kid hours later was attended by an ambulance with no notification of this to her mom. After this, the kid was behaving erratic and paranoid with a location on her phone that wasn't at the hotel in Panama where all the kids were. The other claims of the event were that all the minors had those dinners with the political parties representatives and on those tables were "Gringos" (foreign European or North American people). Why those kids were sharing tables with gringos in the first place?

When the kid arrived from the trip, she was in a catatonic state and with constant PTSD attacks. There's still no justice or any trace of who were the ones who committed those crimes, and even no accountability by the MEDUCA (The Ministry of Education of Panama).

It is not the first time since such an event happened at the hands of the state. In 2021, we had another state scandal when it was reported that one of the deputies ( Arquesio Arias) of the national assembly raped several women in the indigenous Kuna Yala region. Of course, you can imagine he was dismissed from the charges and when that announcement was published, one of the victims tried to kill herself and got into the ER.

Then there are the deputies who name some of their relatives to the state payroll and don't even work in the state but take tons and tons of money monthly. Meanwhile, the oncologico hospital keeps getting shortages of injections and gloves.

Panama is considered an international hub, one of the richest countries of Latin America and still we struggle with poverty and access to vital things for the population, why? Because people of the state and international companies steal the money, they sometimes build roads and bridges and the costs are higher to the price from the real costs of those constructions, for example, the Odebretch scandal. They charge lots of money, so they can bribe some of the money to both parties (the construction company and the one who is soliciting the construction.

But then again bribing is part of the panamenian culture as we say "juega vivo", bribing the police, the hospital, and the system is all about money and taking advantage of situations as they come even if it is illegal.

Is funny we are all fighting for water, Well my friends here where I am with the famous "Panama Canal" that provides us with most of our income as a nation while having lots of rivers and geographically we are surrounded by both the Pacific and the Atlantic Ocean, having all of that I get shortages and cuts of water for more than 6 times a month.

This week, the IDAAN (the company that provides water to the whole nation), has been making shortages all week. My family and I have been saving water tanks each day because of the shortages. I keep joking internally that I have a toxic relationship with the IDAAN since we kind of got used to this and the irony is that while the entire country struggles with the shortages they still sign a contract that will even affect the water flow to the Panama Canal in the long term.

The protests are not just because of the damage to nature is that the government sold us to a foreign Canadian company that has shareholders from the US and China to exploit us leaving us with nothing.

My biggest worry right now is that our current president is sick, the whole country knows he has cancer and during his last speeches, he has been looking like a corpse with now rumours of him leaving the country to intern himself to a hospital in Houston Texas. If he dies then probably the vice president has to take charge, but he has been missing since the protests and people HATE him. So yeah, Panama is on the brink of chaos and if that happens .. well

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map Pt. 5

The storm rages around you, battering your small vessel as the massive sea monster rises up out of the water in an effort to claim you as its supper. After several tedious days (weeks? months? you're pretty sure it hasn't been years) at sea with little to do, this certainly breaks up the monotony, though perhaps not in the way you'd prefer.

It speaks to your character that, when presented with this terrible threat, you neither ran nor hid away, but chose to face it head on. In fact, one could go so far to say that this has become a defining moment in your life - for when faced with the sea's wrath, you chose to be Brave and face it head on. Yet you also chose to be Compassionate, for when given a choice of weapons to face the sea monster, to left the harpoon behind, and chose instead the net in hopes that this conflict might find a nonlethal resolution.

Terror attempts to seize you, but you power through it and throw your net high at the looming beast bearing down at you. "A net? Are you serious?" the monster laughs. "I'm not a school of tuna, you know-ACK!"

Your aim is true, and your net drapes over the less serpentine bits of the monsters anatomy, quickly tangling her hair and limbs together as she splutters, "What the hell? Why is it so... so tangly?" She thrashes wildly in an attempt to tear free, and in the process her enormous serpentine tail swings back and forth around your boat, all while the waves do their best to toss both of your around for good measure.

One especially large swell pushes her forward as another rocks your boat in her direction. You watch helplessly as the monster crashes headfirst into the deck of your boat, her head smacking into the wood planks with a loud thud just as your boat rams into the belly of her serpent tail. The now-unconscious sea beast begins to slip off your deck as her now limp tail is tossed and turned by waves that finally meet no resistance from it.

You could just let her go, and watch as the unconscious, partially immobilized monster disappears beneath the waves. But you already resolved to end this without death, and you're not turning back from that now. Grabbing the netted part of her, you heave and lift with all your might to pull her further aboard, eventually getting her to the entrance of your boat's cabin. Unfortunately, the waves pick that moment to strike your boat again, making your hands slip as you drop the unconscious monster's human-ish body down the stairs.

She... she'll probably be fine. You assume sea monsters are made of hardy stuff.

Most of her coils are now on your boat's deck, and the few parts of her tail that hang off have become so entangled with your boat's sides and she is essentially safe and secured. With your unwary passenger taken care of, you finally return to your steering wheel and ride out the storm.

As thunder roars, lightning flashes, and the wind, rain, and waves all conspire to destroy your fragile vessel, you face a far greater fight than that with the monster. What follows is something of a blur, as the adrenaline racing through your veins, the increasingly dark sky clouding your vision, and the sheer chaos of the world around you all blends together in the most anxious and terrifying moment of your life so far. The longer it lasts, the more certain you are that you won't survive it.

Then... it's over. You don't actually know how you made it through, not fully, but you wake up with your hands still clutching the steering wheel of your ship, which, upon one glance outwards, seems to have landed safely on an island. You step out and see a clear, blue sky, sandy beaches, and several tall palm trees in the distance. You're safe, for the moment.

There are several things to attend to, so you consult your compass.

[soaps-mohawk]

Hii, how are you doing? I haven’t seen anyone else ask this and I looked through the list but since it’s a newly brought up topic, I don’t think it’s been addressed yet.

So, the pack bonds are fraying, but what happens when they snap? Is it like “You’ll experience pain with your bond until you either fix the issue or sever the bond”, or does it just silently break and leave the pack with nothing holding them together? Can they re-claim the members of their pack (or attempt to, at least).

Clearly my brain has loved this chapter because I feel like there’s always one chapter I obsess over, and this is it.

Have a good one! Drink water, especially during heatwave.

-🌙

I touched on this very lightly when I talked about purposefully breaking claims, but it's kind of the same concept on a base level.

So, if bonds fray beyond repair and break (which can happen naturally or can be done purposefully) it is painful in the sense of the emotional pain which in turn can cause physical pain. We've seen the guys talking about that pain in their chest, and 'mega has mentioned it before as well. That's not so much like an actual physical pain as it is just the emotional pain. Like if you've ever experienced loss or have been so emotionally distraught that you feel a sort of heaviness in your chest, it's that kind of thing. When the bonds break, it leaves a very empty feeling behind. An emotional numbness akin to a deep depression except they'll carry that their entire lives. There's no fixing that.

When bonds break, it's a grieving process. It's like cutting ties with someone for whatever reason knowing you can't ever go back and fix what happened. There isn't any fixing bonds once they break, which is why the guys are trying very hard to not let the bonds fray that much that they're at risk of that happening. Their bonds breaking with each other would only spiral the pack out of control to the point that all of their bonds would break, including 'mega's. It would be most painful for her, though, as we've seen in John's inner monologue in Chapter 35, omegas are the ones that kind of hold all those bonds together in the center of the pack.

When those bonds break, omegas will basically fall apart. Even if they keep the bond with their alpha, it causes permanent damage to them. It is like losing a loved one, and they might as well have died (that's a bit different situation if there's literal death though) because there's no gaining those bonds back. It's the same thing with alphas severing the claim on an omega. Can it be survived, yes. Will it cause permanent emotional distress for the omega? Yes.

It's not likely they'd seek out another pack since it can be very hard to build bonds with others once they've had previous bonds break. Often those who have experienced a pack falling apart will go back to their families and family packs since those are bonds that are very hard to break, and often can't be broken. That kind of stability is needed and can help heal to a point. If the bond between alpha and claimed omega breaks, then the same goes, they'll go back to family and be taken under the care of an alpha or beta family member. If they have no family then there are care centers specially designed for omegas with broken bonds. They usually don't live very long after if they don't have family, and the situation is rare enough that it tends to be pretty short-term care.

Sorry about the very late response to this one but I wanted to make it not a rambling mess....so i hope it's not that and actually makes sense.

[mariacallous]

CUT DEEP into the innards of the southern front, Ukraine’s first underground hospital feels like something out of a James Bond movie. State-of-the-art gadgetry begins with admissions. Wounded soldiers arrive directly from the battlefield: in cars, ambulances, quad bikes, or whatever else can carry them. They are assessed and colour-coded into modules by urgency: “red zone” cases for immediate operations, “yellow zone” for other treatment. Alongside an operating theatre, enclosed in steel barrels several metres below ground level, is an intensive care unit. There is a ventilator, and even a laboratory for blood tests. The centre is set up for sophisticated operations: bone repair, soft tissue reconstruction, and even arterial bypass surgery.

In military jargon, this is a “role 2” facility, the second of four treatment tiers from frontline triage to tertiary hospital care. Doctors move people on if they can. Those stable enough are whisked off to “role 3” facilities, approximately 30km away. The rest are treated and stabilised here, a little over 10km from the contact line. The hospital’s immaculately joined wooden beams—chosen over concrete to soften shrapnel in the event of a Russian strike—project a deceptive warmth, like being in a Scandinavian sauna. The drones and glide-bombs that terrorise the skies outside make clear that this is not a place to relax. Ukraine’s medics are here, underground, not by choice. Like the soldiers they treat, they are among the hunted.

Evhen, the underground hospital’s chief medical officer, grunts at any suggestion that Russia might follow the Geneva conventions, which forbid targeting medical units. “They don’t even know what it means,” he says. To the Russian military, doctors are “force multipliers”—they patch up soldiers and send them back to fight, take a long time to train and are hard to replace. Ukraine now tells its medics to remove any markings that might set them apart. “If you put a red cross on a car, you’ll be fired on within 15 minutes.” The goal is still to get wounded soldiers from the frontline to a role 2 treatment unit within an hour, but drones drag out the process, often for hours. The delays often mean life or death; limb or no limb. Leave a tourniquet on for more than a few hours, and tissue damage is irreversible.

Ukraine believes survival on the battlefield is the key to regaining the edge in a war that has become largely attritional. The underground hospitals are a key part of the puzzle, says Roman Kuziv, the 35-year-old doctor who helped design them. A technocratic planner with experience of working as a surgeon in Europe, Dr Kuziv has quickly risen through the Ukrainian ranks: from local hospital chief to medical commander of the entire eastern and southern front. He lets data guide him to new standards and protocols. War pulses through the monitors in front of him. He claims the medical data give him “80% of the picture” about what is happening on the battlefront. Where units are well organised and where they are not. Where morale is good and where it is not. He makes a call to commanders whenever he spots a problem.

Swiping through images on his smartphone—a surreal blend of family photos and flesh wounds—Dr Kuziv reveals the brutal injuries and hard choices his teams face daily. He pulls up a photo of a man with a gaping hole in his upper body, alongside a kidney sliced in two, and a 30cm slab of missile metal that had been lodged deep in his midriff. “Did the man make it?” Remarkably, yes, he did. Another soldier, this time with a deep gash across his back, part of his spine missing, internal organs spilling out. That soldier survived initial surgery in the underground hospital, but died two days later. A third clip shows a soldier in his 30s, convulsing violently as he tries to drink a cup of water. What was up here? “Hydrophobia,” the commander says. “An extreme aversion to water.” In short, the soldier had rabies, caused by a single bite from a cat, and it was too late to save him. The army saw a handful of such cases before culling wild animals in the area.

Almost three years of war have brought Ukraine’s army doctors a mountain of unexpected challenges. Drones have largely rewritten the rulebook on battlefield wounds: the numbers are rocketing, and the attacks are more persistent, more targeted. The “golden hour”—NATO doctrine for evacuating a soldier to proper care within 60 minutes—has become something closer to fiction. Chemical weapons have returned to the field, too, with the re-appearance of agents like chloropicrin, a poison gas first seen in the trenches of the first world war. The gas, used to flush out Ukrainians from their trenches and foxholes, attacks the soft tissues of the respiratory system. At higher doses, it kills.

The demands have seen Ukrainian military medicine develop in quick time. Today’s setup is unrecognisable from seven years ago, when Dr Kuziv first began working with the army. The commander regularly tracks Russian social media to gauge how well he is doing. He’s usually happy with the comparison with Russian front-line medicine. “It’s the second world war over there.” But the demands and need to stay ahead are relentless. The ministry of defence has just approved another 20 of his “role 2” underground hospitals, which are being co-financed by an industrial sponsor. The commander is also working on an overhaul of “role 1” facilities, front-line triage units. According to his futuristic vision, these will be accessible underground by a system of mechanical elevators.

There have been mistakes, thousands who could have been saved. But Russia’s war without limits would test the resources of any military medical service, Dr Kuziv insists. “All-out war gives you one or two months to study and adapt.” NATO countries should be thinking about how they would cope, he says. “Honestly, they are not prepared. They wouldn’t know what’s hit them.”