#chronometer repair

[transingthoseformers]

Avatar of Death Optimus anon here to haunt your inbox~ excuse me for the lengthy write....

When Megatron wakes from his repair stasis, the first thing he lays optics on is red and blue. The colours of that mysterious bot on the battlefield.

He realises after an optic reset that was just his imagination. What a shame, he would've loved to talk with that delightful mind.

Megatron was cleared by Hook to resume his duties. He spends several cycles planning how to get that ghost bot back by his side. Ghost bot visited him whilst he was dying - it's not as though Megatron wanted to suffer another injury just for that. He contemplated using an enemy bot for that role but it would be too difficult to coordinate after. That might not even get the ghost bot to come hither. Running experiments was easy enough: shoot a bot in a specific area, wait around for the ghost to appear. So far, Megatron detected a presence but no visual confirmation yet.

Battles feel different now, Megatron finds himself scouting the scorched lands for the red & blue he witnessed that fateful cycle. The Decepticons are in need of energon, hence the current raid he's part of. Nobody's been critically injured yet, and it leaves a bitter taste in his derma.

He wants that ghost frame to speak again, say those intrigued words and tickle his processor with interesting points. Megatron gets his wish - not when he's critically wounded, but when he's trapped in a trench and gunfire is overhead.

A chuckle or two he picks up from above, and there's the mech in question; he stands proud and tall as though the war isn't ongoing behind him. Megatron sees the mech lean over the trench and he then slides down to his level.

Megatron wished he looked less scruffy, but was happy nonetheless to see Optimus.

You're a hard mech to catch, Optimus. Megatron would soon learn Optimus did actually notice Megatron's attempts at gaining his attention, but those mechs he shot were not due to pass. Hence why, Optimus would not appear.

Optimus appearing before him today was a special case, he thought Megatron should know better to not pull a stunt like that again. Megatron couldn't help but laugh, you don't typically see literal Death asking you to stop shooting willy nilly during wartime! And with such pouty faceplates too!

The overhead gunfire seems to come to a halt. Megatron is tempted to climb up for a scout but it's Optimus to who drags him back down. A single hand grasping his arm cannon is the sign Megatron needs to know to follow his otherworldly company.

The two walk the trench and talk. Megatron speaks volumes about his recent successes & how their plans of conquest are going. Optimus mostly digests the information & pitches in a few questions. Megatron doesn't think to ask where they're headed. Megatron's chronometer seemed to be working normally, his optics silently recorded the broad shoulders of the mech before him.

If he couldn't have permanent company, perhaps a recording would suffice.

Plus Megatron did have a plan: getting to know Optimus. It started with a question about Optimus' existence. Everything they spoke of after was under the watch of Megatron's internal recording equipment. They spoke of Primus, Optimus was granted form to aid the ones ready to join the Well. Optimus was only to offer passage & company, interference was not in his programming. He was forged like how the average mech was, capable of feelings & emotions - only without the freedom to act on them like others could, he had no chances.

Megatron felt a resonance at those words spoken. If Optimus wasn't what he was, perhaps they could've been side by side. Megatron placed his hand on Optimus' shoulder and offered:

Well now that you've met me, why not use me as that chance to live as how a normal mech might?

Interesting, interesting!!!

[enigmatist17]

Here I am after a 15+ year hiatus of a fandom I haven't written for since I was in high school lol

I figure the Bumblebee movie just follows the Bayverse, I'm not doing that stupid separate universe thing they did with Bumblebee/Rise of the Beasts

---

He had crashed on Earth's surface in 1990, battered and in a sorry state long before he hit the admittedly soft surface. Decepticons had intercepted the route sent out among the Autobots for a safe haven some millions of light years back, and honestly, he should have been much worse off after fighting and taking down three seekers.

Ah, the internal warnings screaming at him aside, it could have been worse.

After spending a solar-cycle taking care of the worst of his internal repairs, the newcomer to Earth headed toward a small town he'd flown over before impact, each step a chore to his battered frame that he could not wait to try and wash off. All momentum freezes when he comes across some sort of fenced-off area, filled to the brim with strange alt modes that were stacked with seemingly no organization to rust, something that tears at his processor as he scans the closest stack.

Ah, they were but shells...this he could work with.

The knowledge that these were not frames set up in some sort of gruesome mass grave helps him as he walks through the stacks, grumbling about most choices until something covered by stained cloth catches his optics. The shell underneath the cloth he carefully pulls off is a pleasing shade of dark navy, the narrow design pleasing enough that the battered shell is scanned moments later before the fabric is carefully placed back over it. Once he's out of the fenced-off area, it becomes clear his injuries chose to be ignored no longer, warnings popping up on his HUD display as his left leg suddenly buckles.

Well, how unfortunate.

Optics spot a lone building that could be a temporary safe haven, and with a beleaguered sigh, drags himself while his frame incorporates the alt mode he had scanned. The building seemed to be some sort of repair bay, tools he hadn't seen since fleeing Cybertron scattered about in quite ridiculous sizes, but he could think about that later as he let the familiar sensation of transforming into a new alt wash over, offlining in sheer relief.

---

There are tiny servos touching him, trying to get to his Spark chamber nononoNONO

There is a lot of screaming as he transforms, optics onlining despite the feeling of grogginess as the screaming thing moves away from the Cybertronian, which, thank Primus, lessens the grating on his audios. He still appears to be in the repair bay, his chronometer displaying he'd been offline for just over three solar-cycles, but the tiny creature hiding behind a table has most of his attention at the moment. It had stopped screaming by the time he'd gotten up and onto his pedes, left leg still weakened but stable enough to hold his weight, optics darting between himself and the door.

"I should warn you, you will not make it very far if you try to run." The being jumped at his voice, their optics widening in both shock and confusion as they froze, both beings in a small standoff.

"L-Look, uh, huge robot...thing, I don't know if you understand me or anything, but I'm not gonna hurt you." Despite the beings Spark, or whatever it was, increasing in tempo, it was doing its best to stare down the much taller being with a glare a certain medibot would have been impressed with. So, it appeared that it did not understand Cybertronian, deciding to break the silence by kneeling down and internally scanning the faint radio waves that seemed to cover this planet to download the language. Once satisfied, the mech leaned a bit closer to the being, who stood fast despite being clearly uncomfortable, and decided to try his hand at speaking once more.

"I doubt a being your size could harm me, but the sentiment is appreciated." The being blinked at the voice directed his way, before its face screwed up into something the Cybertronian could clearly distinguish as annoyance.

"...so the first alien I meet is kind of a dick? Typical."

"Typical? Have you met other Cybertronians then, or do you only shriek like a sparkling for your enjoyment?" The being stares at him before clapping a hand over its derma, trying to suppress a laugh, which it failed spectacularly at. "Ah, so it laughs."

"I'm not an it, I'm a he." The being crossed its arms when the laughter passed, eyeing him curiously. "My name is Raoul, and I'm what you call a human."

"Human? Interesting classification." The word is strange in his mouth, but he can think about it later. "My designation is Tracks, and I, as you heard an astro-klick ago, am Cybertronian."

"Tracks....huh." The human, Raoul, tilts his head, optics staring at Tracks with a strange intensity. "How were you a car a second ago? Better question, what the hell is an alien robot doing in my garage? And how come you didn't wake up until now?"

"Are all humans this...curious?" Tracks finally decided to fully sit down, his aching pede becoming almost too much to ignore as Raoul emerged from behind his table, still keeping a bit of distance from the large bot. "In answer, my trip to your planet was filled with more than a few hazards, and I merely came here to recharge before attempting repairs."

"Didn't answer my last question." Raoul clicked something within his mouth, grabbing a wrench before eyeing the Cybertronian. "Your left leg, still damaged right?"

"Indeed." Tracks slowly extended the taxed limb as Raoul approached him, exposing his plating to reveal the sore area, curious to see how the human might attempt the repair. "As to what awoke me, I felt you attempting to open my Spark chamber, something that was disconcerting, to say the least."

"Spark ch-oh! I was wondering what the hell I was lookin' at, sorry if I hurt you." Raoul winced, eyeing the damage with a frown. "Huh, for you being an alien and all, it's weird this just looks like a damaged rotor, which shouldn't be too hard to fix."

"If you have the parts, I can repair myself." Raoul paused for a moment before shrugging, stepping back, and eyeing a rack on the far side of the room.

"Mind if I watch? Not every day I get to talk to an alien...or any day, really." Tracks watched the human cross the repair bay, pulling out a crate filled with parts before rooting around. "So, were you always a Corvette?"

"What's a Corvette?" A quick scan through the information packets he'd scanned earlier brought up something called a car manufacturer, but Raoul could explain it in better terms. "If you speak of my alt, no, I scanned what was the best of the shells I came across to disguise myself."

"Uh, shells?" Raoul grinned when he found a suitable replacement, his eyes going wide for the dozenth time as he watched Tracks just pull out a part of his leg like it was a regular Tuesday. "U-uh...did that hurt? Do you need anything? Holy shit man, people don't just pull out body parts all willy-nilly!"

"Do you not replace broken parts?" Tracks gave him a strange look, Raoul holding up the part as he watched the bot slot it into his leg with ease, some sort of whirring noise filling the air before fading. "Ah, much better."

"Well, uh, no, we can't replace parts like that."

"That seems like a serious design flaw, how would you repair yourselves in the heat of battle? You have repair bays, I assume, like this one?" The human blinked as Tracks closed his plating, standing up and onto his pedes with minimal resistance. "You have my gratitude."

"No problem man." Raoul let out a whistle as he watched Tracks take a few steps, components clicking and whirring into place. "Wow...you are officially the coolest car I've ever worked on."

"And don't you forget it." If a robot could look haughty, head angled up with a smirk, Tracks nailed it, which made Raoul snort. "What?"

"Y'know, I always figured aliens were gonna be all super advanced and serene or somethin', it's what I've seen on tv and whatever. You? You're not like any of that, save for bein' a massive freaking robot, you act...well, kinda like a stuck-up human."

"Is that so?" Tracks tilted his helm as he walked over to Raoul, crouching down so they were mostly optic level. "Interesting thing to state when you've been aware of an entirely different race for less than a breem."

"Don't know what that means, but I'm a simple guy, and I call it as I see it." Raoul shrugged, grinning up at the mech. "So...I have to ask, you up for a drive? Might as well show you the sights if you're gonna be chillin' on Earth for a while, and since I've got the day off, it'll be perfect."

"You wish to show off my gorgeous alt do we?" Tracks chuckled, earning a scoff from the human. "I do say I can't blame you, I have always been quite the sight for sore optics."

"Huh, Cyber-whatever you are have big egos, who knew."

"Cybertronian." Tracks vented before transforming into his alt, popping his left door open. "I am also an Autobot, or...what remains of them. It would be wise to keep that little tidbit to yourself, in case the wrong person overhears."

"What do you mean?" Raoul wasn't sure what the inside of the robot would feel like for a split second, before remembering that he'd been climbing in and out of the damn thing up until he woke up, and slipped in behind the wheel. "Are you uh, Autobots, like a separate group or somethin'?"

"Something like that." The mechanic bit the inside of his cheek as Tracks started up almost silently, the wheel and pedals moving in synch as the mech headed toward the open garage door, only to immediately hit the brakes.

"Hey, what was that for?!" The mechanic grumbled, the robot not answering as he presumably stared past the door.

"I was unaware acid rain existed here." Tracks' tone was airy, but Raoul wasn't too dense to miss the uncertainty that laced his words.

"Acid- no, that's just rain." Raoul gingerly opened the door and stepped out of the robot, hearing a shocked hissing noise as he stepped out into the rain with a grin. "See? Perfectly harmless." He watched the Cybertronian transform, crouching by the garage door but keeping away from the falling water as he watched it drench the human.

"You'll have to forgive my hesitation, any rain I've come across tends to be lethal." Slowly, Tracks extended one digit on his non-dominant hand, expecting the familiar burn and warnings that usually lit up his HUD the few times he'd been trapped out in the damaging weather during the War. It...was quite cool to the touch, and a single digit was soon joined by the rest of his servo, the cool water pooling in his palm as Tracks observed the strange rain.

"What's the verdict?"

"It is quite pleasant, similar to a cold refresher." He hummed, crouching to carefully shift out of the garage to fully stand out in the rain. "Is your rain always like this?"

"No, sometimes it comes down so thick you can't see a foot in front of ya; other times it can be warm, depending on the weather. If this is new for ya, wait until winter and it snows."

"Snow?" Tracks tilted his helm briefly before transforming, popping open a door for the human. "Come on now."

"How generous." Raoul hurried into the car, blinking at the warm air within the cabin. "Oh sweet!"

"This should dry your frame, I do not want the water to pool inside of me." The mechanic had to bite back a snort as Tracks started up, turning onto the road with a soft purr. "Where to?"

"Let's start with showin' you around town, oh buddy of mine, and then we'll see where you want to go from there."

"As you wish."

Not the strangest day he's ever had on a new planet over the millennia, but it's definitely one of the better ones as he lets Raoul guide him around the town. Tracks isn't sure how long he'll stay before seeking out Optimus Prime and any other survivors, but as he listens to his human prattle on about something called breakdancing, it crosses his processor that a small break might be in order before returning to his duties.

No one had to know.

[writeforfandoms]

Shatter Me 12

Find the series masterlist

We have a little calm between adventures. Also, gentle reminder that although Peli is mech's sister, it could just as easily be an adopted relationship.

Warnings: Continued anxiety, handling blasters and weapons, Grogu is a menace (affectionate), Feelings!

Word count: 1.6k

Eventual Din Djarin x f!reader

The days in flight passed quietly on the ship. You kept the kid–Grogu–entertained as much as you could, gave Mando his privacy to eat. There weren’t many repairs that actually needed to be done on the ship. So you had time on your hands. 

And Grogu was a lot of fun. You were still learning what his various noises meant, how he communicated. But he was fun. He loved clapping games and songs. 

Any excuse to make noise, really. 

But he was still a kid, and he did take naps. Not that you were doing all that well at keeping track of his naptimes - it was so easy to lose track of time on the ship, with the artificial lights. 

So when Grogu took his naps, you either rested, ate, or started to tentatively stay in the cockpit. Mando did look back at you once, the first time you settled up there without Grogu, but he didn’t say anything. And he didn’t kick you out. So you stayed.

The two of you were quiet every time. He was naturally reticent (although less so with Grogu), and you were still a little intimidated by him. Just enough to keep you from making easy conversation with him. 

Well. Not that you really made easy conversation with anyone, these days. 

But somehow that was okay. The quiet was okay. It didn’t bother you. And as long as you weren’t bothering Mando, you could just… relax. And just be. 

It was new. And strange. You weren’t used to giving yourself time. You were used to working until you dropped, or having things demanded of you. This almost limbo state was… different. 

But perhaps not all bad. 

You put the kid down for a nap one afternoon (you were pretty sure it was afternoon - you really needed some kind of chronometer around here) and then stood up straight and stretched, debating what to do with yourself. 

Boots on the ladder caught your attention, and you looked over to see Mando climb down into the hold. He nodded to you once and walked over to the weapons locker, inputting the code. The doors swung open. 

This time, you were in a perfect position to see inside. There were… a lot of weapons in there. A lot. Including your blaster. (You’d insisted Mando keep it in there after you caught Grogu trying to pick it up. Twice.)

Paying you no mind, Mando picked up the pulse rifle and sat on a crate, using another crate as a makeshift table. He started to disassemble the rifle with confident motions. 

Oh. He was going to clean it. 

You inched closer, curious despite yourself. You were sure he wouldn’t want you around for this, would very shortly tell you to head up to the cockpit or something to get rid of you. But you were curious. You’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be truly curious, to have your fingers itch to take something apart. 

“Sit.”

It took you a moment to realize that Mando was talking to you, and you warmed. “You don’t mind?” you asked, a little squeakily.

He shook his head, and so you sat down opposite him, watching him. He disassembled the rifle completely, the parts all laid out before him, before he started cleaning them methodically. 

“What–” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. 

He paused, lifting his head enough to look at you, visor as impenetrable as always. But less scary now than it had been. “Go ahead. Ask.” 

“What makes this one different?” You looked down at the parts spread out before you, picking out the ones that you recognized. 

“It’s a disruptor rifle,” Mando told you, gaze focused back on his work. “Disintegrates organic material.” 

You nodded slowly, frowning just a little. But some of the pieces didn’t fit. 

“That looks like a resonator,” you mumbled, touching the edge of the forked piece that belonged on the end. 

There was a soft chuckle from under the helmet. “It is. I modified the rifle. Added that.” 

“Oh.” You went quiet again. For a few seconds. Then you couldn’t help yourself, fingers hovering over one of the parts you didn’t recognize. “What’s this?” 

Mando paused, and for a moment you were terrified you’d overstepped. Again. Then he sighed softly and shifted in his seat, setting the piece in his hands down. Just as patiently as he had explained the parts of your new blaster, he went over every part of the rifle. He repeated the ones you weren’t familiar with. He even let you attempt to put it back together once he was done cleaning it. 

Honestly, as much as you disliked violence in general and weapons in particular, this was… fun. It was fun. 

Somehow, you weren’t sure how exactly, you even got Mando to tell you a couple of times he had used the rifle, both as a disruptor and to electrocute enemies. He’d used the electrocution setting on something called a Ravinak (you had no idea what it was, but it sounded terrifying). 

You didn’t have to ask about the next weapon. He pulled out a blaster (of unknown type, you weren’t exactly an expert on these things) and handed it over to you to disassemble for him. You couldn’t help grinning, examining everything closely as the pieces came apart in your hands. 

It felt good, to be learning something, to be practicing something new. You loved taking things apart and putting them back together again, and always had. It was why your father had showed you how to work on a speeder in the first place, to spare your mother the headache of keeping your sticky little fingers away from everything as a child. 

You didn’t even realize you were telling him all this until you heard soft laughter from under the helmet. You looked up, eyes wide, fingers frozen. Oh. Oh dear, he had a nice laugh. That you immediately wanted to hear more of. Oh, kriff. 

“And Peli?” he asked, nodding for you to go on. 

You finished taking the blaster apart and then sat back. “Oh, she took to mechanical work pretty quickly, but she didn’t feel the urge to disassemble the house in her quest for knowledge. She was just a general terror.” 

His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he started cleaning the parts. You looked down, grinning, feeling oddly bashful. 

Movement caught your eye and you spotted Grogu creeping over towards the still-open weapons locker as quietly as he could. You snorted.

“Grogu.”

He stopped and turned to give you a look that just screamed, “What? I’m innocent!”

“Nuh uh,” Mando said, turning and waving a finger in front of him. “No.” 

Grogu sat on the floor and pouted up at his dad, and you bit your lip hard to keep your giggles to yourself. 

“Here.” Mando scooped up the kid in one hand and passed him over to you. “Hold onto him until I’m done.”

“Sure.” You settled the kid in your lap, grinning. “Not that you were going to get into mischief, right?” You grinned down at the top of his wrinkly little green head. Grogu huffed and grumbled something at you, ears twitching. But he sat in your lap. “How did you learn to use all of these?” 

Mando shrugged. “Weapons are a part of my religion,” he said, putting the blaster back together. His motions were sure, unhurried, and more than competent. 

“So all Mandalorians know about weapons?” You tipped your head to the side, watching as he stood and returned the blaster to its proper place. 

“Yes.” He closed the weapons locker and then sat on the crate again, nodding to you. You let go of Grogu, who immediately toddled onto the crate between you and Mando. 

You leaned back a bit, just watching with a little smile as Grogu babbled up at Mando, little hands waving around as he tried to convey something. Mando hummed and murmured, “That so, kid?” Which only set Grogu off saying more. 

It was really, honestly… adorable. Just adorable. The way the two of them communicated, while imperfect, was clearly far superior to your own guesses at what the child was saying. And they had bonded. You could absolutely see what Ahsoka had seen. Grogu looked up to Mando like a father, it was clear in his gaze and how he preferred to be with the man when possible. 

Beeping from the cockpit interrupted you all, and Mando picked up the kid. You followed behind him, settling into your usual seat as Mando flipped a switch. 

“There’s our stop,” he murmured. The planet below looked nice, green and blue, with evidence of cities down there. “We won’t be here long, but you’ll have time, if you need to get anything.” 

You nodded, barely paying attention as you looked at the sight below you. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, unable to stop yourself from smiling. 

Mando hesitated, hands on the controls. Then he let go, leaning back in his seat. “I suppose so,” he agreed quietly. He made no move to take the ship out of orbit, and you greedily drank your fill of the beauty of it all. 

It didn’t escape your notice that the greens and blues reflected gently off the beskar, tinting the Mandalorian in the colors of the planet. And that? That was every bit as beautiful.

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 03 - Know Your Devils

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Kaidan and Joker meet devils they know, and devils they don’t. Jacob and TIM have a heart to heart.

Thank you, @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 3: Know Your Devils | Read on Ao3

27 October 2185, Serpent Nebula, Widow System, Citadel

Kaidan wakes up with a start in the dark of his temporary quarters on the Citadel, heart hammering, the pleading voice of David Archer still ringing in his ears.

(Please, make it stop!)

He exhales, grinding the heels of his palms against his eyes and then wiping the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand.

Rogue geth. Cerberus scientists playing god. David Archer, hardly more than a kid, strung up on a dais begging for help.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before getting out of bed. The chronometer reads 05:42, which isn’t much better than the 02:15 he’d seen before finally closing his eyes.

Not much point in giving sleep another try. The debriefing is scheduled for 07:00 sharp, and he still has some notes to put together.

A quick shower and a fresh uniform later he’s ordering coffee from a kiosk on the Presidium, blinking resentfully into the Presidium’s eternally bright afternoon lighting. To his surprise, a familiar face sits at one of the nearby tables, brooding into her own cup of coffee. At the sight of Kaidan, she pushes the chair across from her out with a foot.

“You’re up early,” Kaidan says, sliding into the offered seat. Muriel Aslany scowls at him over her nearly empty cup.

“Didn’t bother sleeping. Went for a walk instead.”

“A walk? We got here four hours ago.”

“It was a long walk.”

Kaidan grunts. “Where’s Pendergrass?”

“Tinkering with that geth electronic countermeasures mine thingy last I checked.”

“The damping mine?”

“Yeah. She wanted to improve on it. Didn’t like that you got singed.”

Kaidan rubs his shoulder, then shrugs it in a circle. The doc on the Ain Jalut had healed the burn, but the skin is still tender. He hasn’t let himself even think about the repair his armor is going to need yet. Too much else to triage, first.

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[literallyjustanerd]

Disparate Hearts (Herahsoka angst)

Ahsoka Tano deserves to be bisexual. That is all.

Summary: What she and Hera have, it’s not about feelings. It can’t be. Still, despite all her Jedi training in emotional repression, she can’t help how she feels when they’re together. The headrush she gets when she undresses Hera, or the catch in her throat when Hera laughs into the crook of her neck. Life is never easy in the Rebellion. Throw in some complicated feelings and a messy friends-with-benefits situation, and it's downright unbearable.

Word count: 2,628

Hera had come to her again last night. As always, Ahsoka had felt her before she’d seen her. Her presence blossoming in the Force at the edge of her awareness, a breeze on a summer’s day, bright, strong and clean, moments before the knock at her door. Still elbow-deep in wiring trying to repair her navicomputer, Ahsoka had opened the door with a flick of her wrist. Neither of them spoke as Hera crossed the cockpit, a familiar look in her eye. Ahsoka paused, then let go of her work. Hera had kneeled down beside Ahsoka, and the two of them locked eyes for only a fleeting, pregnant moment before Hera had leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Ahsoka’s.

Tonight, Ahsoka’s limbs feel like malfunctioning circuit boards. Heavy, stiff, lagging. Blood sluggish through her veins, yet restless and twitchy all the same. She shifts again, adjusting her meditation stance, but still she cannot get comfortable. The long journey to Hoth has left her drained, and knocked her sleep cycle out of rhythm. No matter how she tries, the peaceful fog of meditation eludes her. An exasperated sigh pinches her shoulders high. Master Obi-Wan would have reprimanded her for that, for allowing her frustration to overcome her to the point of physical expression.

Master Obi-Wan isn’t there.

Giving up for the night (or morning? She hasn’t yet adjusted her chronometers to Hoth’s time cycle) she rises on protesting legs and trudges to the kitchenette. She doesn’t know what she’s come for until she’s opening the cupboard door. At the back of her pantry, behind her waning rations, there’s a small, metal tin. A modest coating of dust obscures the planetary crest on its lid. Ahsoka leaves the dust undisturbed as she opens the tin and scoops out the tea leaves inside. Just enough left to brew a single cup. 

They’ve never talked about it. Ahsoka thinks that might be for the best. She’s convinced herself of it, anyway. She would rather not entertain the nagging thought that things are just easier when she and Hera both pretend there’s nothing there to talk about at all. It’s easy enough to ignore, most of the time, with everything else they have to occupy them. Ahsoka turns her head down to the countertop to see two empty glasses, still with fingerprints and blood-dark droplets haunting the rims. 

She looks away.

They had always been friends. Or as close to friends as their circumstances would allow, while Ahsoka was working under the Fulcrum alias and Hera had her hands full trying to run a rebel cell and raise two teenagers at the same time. They’d grown closer once Ahsoka had begun to shed the cocoon of her anonymity and join the fight more directly. Closer still after Lothal. Hell, Hera had asked Ahsoka to be with her when Jacen was born.

Steam billows upward to warm her breath as she pours the boiling water. From the corner of her eye, Ahsoka catches sight of a hickey on the ridge of her collarbone.

Closer. Too close? Not close enough.

Hoth is a miserable place for the rebellion to have moved. Ahsoka wraps both hands around the cup of tea, trying to stave off the chill that turns her fingers clumsy. The first sip goes down smooth, though she chokes on the memory it brings up. Gingerly, she reaches down to thumb away the dust on the tin, chest seizing with a dozen unbidden emotions at the words underneath.

Raada Farming Alliance.

There was a time, brief as it was, that Ahsoka drank this tea daily. Its deep, earthy flavour brings her gasping and thrashing back, nineteen years and a lifetime ago. A child, directionless and afraid, her days spent looking over her shoulder and reaching desperately at the past. Until she’d arrived on Raada, and a girl with a smart mouth and a defiantly gentle heart had dragged Ahsoka kicking and screaming back into life. Had slowly but surely turned Ahsoka Tano from a barely-surviving shell into someone who rose in the morning to stretch and make tea before starting the day.

The Empire had still come for them, of course. Raada had rotted from the inside out under its grip, and Kaeden had lost friends, family, along with her home. The evacuation had cost them dearly. Still, after Kaeden and her sister had been brought to Alderaan, she had found it in herself to send Ahsoka off with a parting gift - her favourite tea, grown on the farming planet before its soil had turned to sand and its people reduced to refugees.

“It won’t spoil, even if you forget about it,” she had said, as though she were speaking about something entirely different. Ahsoka didn’t know how she could keep talking at all through the electric shock where their hands touched. “It’s good now, but it only gets better with time.��� Ahsoka knows now that she had wasted an opportunity that day. Like a thousand more in the months before their farewell. Kaeden’s words to her on the day she’d been rescued from the Imperial compound are seared into Ahsoka’s mind, even all these years later.

“I could kiss you.”

The stifling, paralysing fear she had felt in that moment was not new to her. She had felt it before, whenever Bariss had sat too close to her in lessons at the Temple. And she had felt it since, on the night Hera had first kissed her. Wine-drunk and feeling far younger than her years, the two of them swapping stories under the stars on Yavin IV. Hera’s eyes catching starlight, her fingers combing soft through grass. The feeling of want like great waves crashing against a cliff of can’t. Or shouldn’t. 

But Hera had. She’d bridged that gap, and pulled Ahsoka across with her when she laced their fingers together and cupped a hand on her cheek. And like watching a comet dissolve into stardust, that fear had changed, turned to something greater. Something even more disorienting.

She had felt that before, as well. For a brief, beautiful moment all those years ago, Kaeden Larte, with her loud, singing laugh and hearthfire smile, had felt like that. She had felt like home.

And… Hera?

Ahsoka sips from her cup of bittersweet memories and lets her gaze wander to her bunk, eyes tracing the folds of the mussed, untidy sheets. She feels phantom breath on her neck, slow and even from sleep, and she steels herself against it. Her throat burns when she swallows down unsaid words, sticking like nettles in her throat. Whatever it is she and Hera have, it’s not about feelings. It can’t be. To break the silent pact the two of them have made now would be taboo. 

Still, despite her Jedi training leaving her perfectly adept at emotional repression, she can’t help how she feels when they’re together. Can’t help the headrush she gets when she undresses Hera in her bunk, or the catch in her throat when Hera laughs into the crook of her neck. 

She can’t help how she feels when she hears Hera sigh Kanan’s name as she reaches for Ahsoka in her sleep.

Stifling a groan, Ahsoka presses the heel of her hand to her temple. Even with the meagre warmth of the tea in her stomach, there’s no point trying to sleep, or even to train or meditate. Ahsoka throws on an overcoat, pulling the hood low over her montrals, and braces against the biting chill outside. Even through the hangar door, she can hear the wind howling like a swarm of Umbaran banshees, as unnerving as it is annoying. She’ll be glad when her business here is finished and she can get out as quickly as she’d arrived. It’s dark, the base lit only by the barest utility lighting. Just enough for the skeleton crew on night shift to work by. It reminds her of being aboard the Resolute, on the nights where her nightmares kept her from sleep and she would wander the halls aimlessly. At least back then, she would always eventually find her way to one clone trooper or another who was willing to indulge her with company and conversation, and not reprimand her for being out of her bunk past curfew. What she wouldn’t give right now, to find Rex on the bridge, or Fives and Echo in the armoury, or Kix in the medbay. Her memories begin to sour, as they always do when she lingers too long on the clones, and she looks quickly for something to fill the space.

Senator Organa is still expecting a report on her last operation. Hardly urgent, but it will suffice as a distraction. Her mind will be easily occupied enough trying to decide how much to divulge in her report, and which parts she will need to strategically leave out. The Hidden Path had to remain more than just a name, by necessity. Bail’s resources and connections were immeasurably helpful, but for now it’s still best if he doesn’t know all the details. Discretion is a virtue in these times.

Hera knew nothing of her activities outside of rebel command. Perhaps Ahsoka might feel guilty about that, if she wasn’t sure that Hera kept her just as far in the dark. It’s a given part of the strange, fragile dance they have fallen into. Both of them have secrets, neither knows the full extent of the other’s activities, yet they trust each other anyway. By choice, by ignoring every impulse to the contrary. By keeping themselves busy with things other than asking questions. It’s better this way, Ahsoka tries to remind herself. Better, safer to keep some distance. The thought rings just as hollow as it always does.

On the far side of the bleak, dim cavern, the makeshift comms centre stands, little more than a barely-insulated tent, some scrappy chairs and whatever long-range comm devices aren’t entirely broken down. Ahsoka expects it to be empty at this time, but to her surprise there is light leaking through the cracks in the tent. In the corner, bleary-eyed and hunched over a desk, Captain Alexsandr Kallus taps methodically at a datapad, blond hair falling in strands into his face, turned pale blue in the sickly neon light. In only a moment Ahsoka decides to enter anyway. She knows Kallus, in a roundabout way. Her successor as Fulcrum, an Empire defector. Not the kind who will bother her with questions or small talk. He doesn’t look up until Ahsoka sits at a few spaces down from him, the chair’s creaking protests bringing him out of his trance. “Workaholic,” Ahsoka smirks, with no real venom behind the word. The corner of Kallus’ mouth twitches, one eyebrow raising a half inch. As close to a smile as anyone could get from him. “Or,” he counters, “I’m the only one here willing to actually get anything done."

Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. Ahsoka sets up her own datapad and opens her unfinished report. They work in companionable silence for a time, and the quiet monotony gradually begins to ease the tension in Ahsoka’s chest. Soon enough, her mind feels closer to her own grasp once more. When Kallus rises, Ahsoka worries for a moment that she’s about to be left alone again, leaving space for her more unwise, tumultuous thoughts to claim her once more. But he returns only minutes later with two mugs of caf, setting one wordlessly down beside her before he returns to his desk. She gives her thanks in a simple nod, and drinks deeply, though she’s never liked the taste.

Passing on the Fulcrum name had never been in the plan. She had never intended it to become a legacy. But out of anyone, Ahsoka is glad that Kallus had been the one to take the mantle. She feels a certain kinship with the man. He understands the isolation that comes with the job, perhaps better than anyone else would. So many months, he had lived a half-life, feigning loyalty to the Empire. Ahsoka imagines he must know as well as any fugitive Jedi what it’s like to live without ever closing your eyes or taking a full breath

And, of course, it helps that Captain Kallus is just as much of a lonely, repressed bastard as she is.

The Empire and the Jedi Order aren’t so different in that way, she notes over another sip of acrid, burnt caf. Kallus had been through a long, arduous journey to make the transition from staunchly loyal Empire agent to fierce rebel. They had spoken about it only once, not long after he had finally made his escape. Ahsoka had shared, at least partially, her own experience in the Order, the questions she had come to ask, the contradictions and outdated doctrines she couldn’t justify in her mind. It seemed to resonate with Kallus. The greater mission always above the individual. The glorification of loyalty, the shunning of personal feelings. Whether by design or by happy coincidence, they kept their members too confused and ashamed of any new feelings to ever attempt to explore them.

She and Hera had been entangled for so long now. So many months of biting her tongue, snatching back her hand, wrenching her gaze away when all she wants to do is let it linger on Hera’s smile. So many months of second guesses and warring emotions. She wavers frenetically back and forth, sure in one moment that Hera feels nothing for her beyond camaraderie, and convinced in the next that she too can sense the presence of something deeper. For the past five minutes, Ahsoka’s fingers have been tapping out and erasing nonsense on her datapad, fidgeting idly while her mind wanders further astray. A familiar thought surfaces from the roiling depths: She should stop this. For her own good and Hera’s. It would be a mercy killing to the strange, unnatural thing growing between them. It would be simpler. Easier. She could make her peace with spending her nights with people like Kallus instead of entangled with a body that was too warm and too close and still out of reach despite digging fingernail-marks in her back. A promise, then. A resolve to turn Hera away the next time she appears, to resist the next time Ahsoka’s feet try to take her towards the Ghost. Perhaps this time, she’ll keep to her word.

Beside her, the sound of an incoming comm draws her attention. Kallus blinks down at his wrist a moment before his eyes drift back into focus and he answers, turning away from Ahsoka. Nonetheless, Ahsoka can still hear the tinny voice through his commlink, thickly accented and gravelly from sleep. “Kal? Darlin’, where’d you go? ‘S the middle of the night. I swear, if you’re kriffing working right now…" It takes a beat for Ahsoka to realise that the soft hum Kallus gives is a laugh.  “I’m sorry, love. Couldn’t sleep.” “Well, we’re both up now. Come back to bed, yeah?” “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

Ahsoka recognises that voice. Captain Orrelios? Well. Seems she’s the only lonely, repressed bastard around here after all.

The transmission ends. Ahsoka pivots her gaze back to her datapad just in time for Kallus to look to her, giving a shrug and a somewhat apologetic smile before gathering his things and leaving her. The silence is heavier now, too heavy for her to bear for long. She doesn’t make it ten more minutes before she’s retreating back to her ship, questions circling her head that she wouldn’t dream of asking aloud.

Two days later, Hera finds her again. Ahsoka doesn’t hesitate a single moment before letting her in.

[fionajames]

You asked for asks and here you go!

Can I pleeeeeeeeeease get a Rex x reader with the prompt #3 on the 50 dialogue thing (“it’s three in the morning”)

Thank you so much! Love your work! Sorry, I’m in my Rex phase right now 😭

3am - rex

YOUR AMAZING

TYSM SO MUCH

OFC WE ALL HAVE THAT PHASE

TYSM FOR YOUR COMPLIMENTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rex laughed again as he watched you squeal as a spark flew off of the droid you were attempting to fix. You shot him a playful scowl as you screwed the piece of metal covering on, watching the droid’s eyes light up. It beeped excitedly and gave your hand a nudge - almost like a cat - and scampered off with thankful beeps, the door closing behind it. 

“Ready for bed now?” Rex called out, not giving you time to respond as he pulled you into his bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I just wanna-”

“Nuh uh,” he cut you off, placing a kiss on your lips too. He grinned when you smiled, both of you love-struck. “You promised.”

You glanced half-heartedly to your desk where your own droid - BD-4 - was in pieces. You pouted upon laying your eyes on his head, eyes empty and dark. Rex pulled you down to the bed with him, beaming when you let out a short laugh. “Fine!”

                                     - 

Hours later, you woke up with a groan, turning over in your sleep. You glanced at the chronometer, unable to make out the numbers as you turned to your sleeping boyfriend. The blonde Captain was sleeping so peacefully you knew you couldn’t disturb him as you clambered out of bed quietly. 

Gathering your tools and the parts of BD-4 in your arms, you shuffled out of your room and down the hallway, shivering at the eerie silence as you grinned giddily. Reaching the mechanics room, you placed the parts down - wincing when they clattered - and turned on a lamp.

For an hour, you worked in silence, oil smudging on your fingers as you replaced some of the wires and parts in your droid. He’d been almost completely destroyed when you’d had to evacuate the ship and had crash-landed, but there was no way you were giving up on your beloved BD.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you worked, unbothered by the amount of oil and grease smudges covering your skin and face - which happened when you tried to brush away the sweat. It was getting so late - or early, really - that your eyelids were drooping and becoming so heavy the world was blurring.

And yet, you worked on.

That was until the door swooshed open and a figure moved to stand next to you. “Cyar’ika, it’s three in the morning,” Rex grumbled as he crouched beside you. He used his finger to tilt your chin to him, forcing your eyes to meet his. He looked so tired, and playfully annoyed, but concerned too. “I know you want to repair him, but can’t you wait until tomorrow?” Rex pleaded. “You’ve barely slept this week and I’m worried.”

Your heart fluttered at his concern before smiling softly. “I guess I can,” you mumbled and Rex grinned proudly. 

“Good,” he replied, before standing up. 

He reached down and pulled you up into his arms bridal style, kissing your head when you squealed. Rex walked you out of the room and down the hallway, back to your bedroom. He placed you on the bed and grabbed a dampened cloth, cleaning the oil and grease off of your body. When he was down, he turned off the lights and clambered into bed beside you. “Goodnight, Cyar’ika.”

“Goodnight, Rex.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED

REMEMBER GUYS: REQUEST STUFF

im lowkey totally not highkey obssessed with rex too so this was a blessing!

[thefreelanceangel]

🍀- Around when does this oc get up in the morning?

Dawn and dusk don't particularly matter in Everkeep. Hours belong to the chronometers, not to the sky. And it's by those chronometers that Manx measures her day, having only seen a dull, dusky afternoon in the world outside her home city.

With the large social network she maintains, Manx spends a lot of "late nights" catching up with friends, introducing business contacts to each other, taking someone out for an alcohol stick and showing them the latest fiddle toys in shop windows. She employs several people for the air-wheeler repair and modification shop that she owns, but Manx herself rarely rolls into the shop before the fourth hour.*

If she's sleeping in her own apartment, Manx takes a leisurely path to wakefulness, usually with a good ten hectos* standing motionless beneath a heavy shower, two energy drinks downed in quick succession, and then at least two kilos* at her vanity while she goes through her intensive skin care routine.

She can get up, dressed, and out the door very swiftly, in under five hectos* if pressed, and does it when she's spent the night with someone she's not interested in small talk with. But, by and large, Manx takes her sweet time.

* for Solution Nine, I'm fiddling with using metric time, as there's no day/night cycle for Everkeep residents to structure their life around.

[union-combine]

Greetings citizens of the Union and beings from beyond! Welcome to Union News Central, I'm your host Bluglakkag Flublabbak. Hello! And we have breaking news! We don't have all the information yet but...

Long-range sensors across the Union started flaring up, all reporting the same thing... A star in Union space went supernova. It wasn't just any system either, it was the NIL-057 system, a minor star system in between the Aidon System and the Nillor System known only for its few mining stations.

What makes NIL-057 important is that it was the current location of the Black Banner Khan's fleet. The fleet was preparing for an assault on the Nillor system, repairing their ships and stealing minerals from the local mining stations to fuel their efforts. It's believed they would have made a move on the Nillor system if the Battle of Nufef went in the Khanate's favour, but since it did not, they decided instead to wait and rally with the Twin Star Khan.

The CBI has provided us with limited sensor data leading up to the system's destruction. It's quality is quite poor and there are missing chunks of data, as it was recorded by a mining station's sensor feed, but we do have a somewhat clear picture of what happened out there.

At 31:63 Union Standard Time, an as of yet unidentified vessel appeared in the system and the Black Banner Sects moved to engage the vessel. We're unsure what happened next as the sensor feed scrambles and its internal chronometer malfunctions. The feed returns, the star has gone super nova and the Black Banner fleet has been completely destroyed, Kurualtai included, with the inner most planet and its associated mining station... get... consumed by the supernova... Oh dear...

Shortly after, a fleet of what may have been Gogan, possibly Academy ships, and the Kurualtai of the Twin Star Khan appeared in the system. The joint force attacked the unidentified vessel and by the time the supernova... dissolved... the central planets, the unidentified star-destroying vessel was destroyed.

At this point... the feed stops as the mining station was disintegrated by the supernova. We can only guess what happened to the joint attack force, but its unlikely they survived the supernova.

Naturally... travel to and through the NIL-057 system is now off-limits. As for the long-term consequences of the supernova... NIL-057 is ten light-years away from the Aidon system and fifteen light-years away from the Nillor system, meaning we have much time to prepare and minimise the disaster ahead of time. Meanwhile, be mindful when travelling through the Aidon-Nillor corridor and keep an eye on local cosmic weather reports to avoid at-risk systems.

No... no doubt you're... experiencing mixed feelings, viewers. I know I am... On one appendage, two Khanate fleets and their Khans can no longer terrorise Union citizens. On the other appendage, 3,281 Union workers were present in that system, from the miners on the stations to the crew aboard cargoships... I... I need a moment, can we cut?

[all-the-things-2020]

All Our Future Prospects -Chapter Two

Summary: Claire and Ezra settle in on the transport and she learns a bit about his past.

Rating: PG

Claire woke up to the sound of Ezra tripping over a loose cable on his way to the lavatory. He mumbled a few choice curse words before shutting the lav door as quietly as he could.

“I’m awake,” she said when he emerged a few minutes later. “You don’t need to try to be quiet.”

“Sorry for waking you, birdie,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “Should have cleared the path to the lav before we bunked down.”

Now her own bladder was clamoring for attention, and she folded back her blanket, bracing for the chill across her shoulders as she sat up. “It’s okay,” she said. “Probably would have woken up soon anyway.”

Ezra had kicked the cable out of the way, so she had no problem navigating the short walk to the lav, even in the dim light. On her way back to bed, she glanced at the chronometer on the computer panel.

“Five hours,” she yawned. “I need at least eight.”

Ezra chuckled from beneath his blanket. “Five hours is a pleasant night when you’re out prospecting,” he said. “I’ve managed on less, although I agree that eight is much more satisfying.” He let out a long, contented sigh. “I must say, at least we’ll be assured of getting all the rest we need. No shipboard duties, no tools to clean, nothing to repair … just a comfortable bunk and plenty of time to dream.”

She snuggled back under her blanket. “Nice if it was a little warmer, though,” she said. It wasn’t exactly cold in the capsule, but it was chilly.

“We could always share our warmth, if you’re amenable to that,” Ezra said hesitantly.

“Let’s keep that option in reserve, shall we?,” she replied, her heart pounding. “I’m not in the habit of … sharing warmth … with people I’ve just met.”

“Fair enough,” Ezra said. “Sweet dreams, little owl.”

And just like that, he dropped the subject. In the silence that enveloped them, Claire concentrated on calming her breath. Ezra’s rather polite proposal had put her on alert, her body coursing with adrenaline. The problem was, she didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement. And she was even less sure if she was grateful or disappointed that he’d let the matter go so easily.

It was ridiculous to think about sharing a bed with a man she barely knew. If they’d been in danger of hyperthermia, of course, it would be a matter of survival, but they were perfectly safe. There was no need to share the blankets or anything else. Still, as she began to relax, she wondered how effectively Ezra was able to hold someone close with only one fully functioning arm. Her mind was still mulling over the details when she drifted back to sleep.

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

Other than eating and sleeping (and the daily radio check from the transport crew), there wasn’t much to do in the capsule. Ezra filled the hours with his stories. Some were from his own rather eventful life; others were things he’d heard second or third hand from those he’d encountered during his travels. Listening to him was soothing at first, since he didn’t expect any response from her. With Lillian, she had always had to be alert, scrabbling in her mind for an answer to a question or a lie to cover up the fact that she had no answer.

After a while, though, Claire started to feel guilty about letting Ezra do all the talking. She wanted to contribute to the conversation, but her life, in comparison to his, had been narrow and boring.

“You don’t have to keep me entertained, you know,” she said one day.

“I’m entertaining myself as well,” he replied. “Although, I wouldn’t mind a story or two from you, if you’re so inclined.”

She snorted. “I don’t have any stories. Unless you want to hear about the time I had to take an exam with a fever of 38 degrees and my parents were more upset about the 75 percent I scored than anything else.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

“Not all stories have to be exciting,” Ezra said. “Some of the best stories are about small things, the inner workings of the human psyche, the relationships between people, the quiet battles fought within ourselves. Take great literature, for example. When we think of Hamlet, we think first of his great soliloquy, not the sword fight at the end. It was not the clash of armies that won the day in The Lord of the Rings, but the humble friendship of two hobbits who put one foot in front of the other, and the madness of a third, who ended Sauron’s ambitions.”

“Those are still more exciting than my life,” Claire said. “I went to school, got into university, signed a contract with FlanCorps. That’s it.” She paused. “As far as my parents are concerned, I’m a success. I’ve achieved far more than they ever did, and that makes them happy.”

“But you aren’t happy,” Ezra said.

“No,” she admitted. “But I’m safe, and that counts for a lot, don’t you think?” How many times had she heard of childhood friends who had thrown caution to the wind, followed their whims and dreams, only to end up living paycheck to paycheck, never knowing how long a given job would last, without the safety net a corporation contract provided? She remembered days when one of her parents would come home to announce they had lost their job, the lean and hungry days that followed while they searched for a newone, anything that would bring in a bit of money. For a while, her mother worked three jobs, sleeping only four hours a night, while her father worked a day here, a day there. And all the while, she herself was studying as hard as she could, until her back ached from hours in the uncomfortable wooden chair, her eyes exhausted from reading in dim light on a cracked old tablet.

“I’m sorry, what?,” she said, realizing Ezra had said something while she was lost in her ruminations.

“I said, safety isn’t everything, little owl,” he repeated. “Some of the best days of my life were also the most dangerous.” He chuckled. “They certainly have given me my best stories. Which reminds me ….” He launched into a story involving a jealous husband hunting down a business associate who had been using Ezra’s name, but Claire only half paid attention. Ezra might have better stories than she did, but she wouldn’t trade her safety for anything. Her life might be dull in comparison to his, but it was hers and she’d earned it through years of study and mental hard work. Better the predictability of a corp job than the uncertainty and risk of an uncontracted life.

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

Claire was running. It was dark and her footsteps echoed weirdly. Sometimes it felt like she was in an immense chamber; at other times, if felt like she was in a narrow tunnel. Something was behind her, she could feel it, but she couldn’t hear it. Her heart was pounding, her lungs burned and her muscles screamed at her to stop but if she did, it would get her.

Suddenly, she tripped over something hidden in the darkness and fell full length onto the ground, which felt like roughly carved stone, sharp and pointy and decidedly unfriendly. She felt the hot breath of her pursuer on the back of her neck and she tried to scream, but her throat was frozen. No sound came out. Then a hand (or paw) fell heavily on her shoulder. She screamed again and flailed out with both arms.

“Holy moly, little owl,” Ezra said, rubbing his jaw. “You pack a hefty punch for a scientist.”

Claire sat up, her heart still pounding. It had been a dream. The hand had been Ezra’s.

“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I’m so, so sorry. I was having a nightmare … I thought you were … I don’t know what it was but …”

Ezra laid his hand on her shoulder again, very gently. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I should have known better than to grab hold of you while you were in the throes of such terror. I should have shaken your foot or something.” He lifted his hand and rubbed his chin again. “I forgot that owls have talons.”

At the word “talon,” a shiver went down her spine. Whatever it was she’d dreamed about, it had claws.

Ezra sat beside her and pulled her fallen blanket back up around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

As his arm hesitantly settled around her, she felt tears sting her eyes and she let her head fall onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “For waking you up. And for hitting you.”

Ezra chuckled. “I said it’s okay. We cannot control our unconscious mind and in the depths of the night, our psyche can create some truly frightening and irrational things.” He rubbed his hand gently up and down on her upper arm. “Are you good to go back to sleep, or do we need to sit up for a bit?”

She almost lied and told him to go back to sleep, but it was nice to be able to relax, just for a moment. “Can we stay up a little while?”

He nodded. “Of course, little owl.” He scooted back on the mattress so his back was against the bulkhead and tucked her closer under his arm. “Let’s get comfy and I’ll tell you a nice bedtime story.” He’d had to let go of her to adjust his position, hampered by the lack of his right arm.

“Can I ask you a question?,” she asked. “You can say no if you don’t want to answer, I completely understand,” she added quickly.

“Ask away,” Ezra said. “I will only answer that which I feel comfortable sharing, you know that.”

She nodded. “How … how did you lose your arm?”

He sighed. “That is … an interesting story,” he said slowly. “I would be willing to share it with you if you tell me what you were dreaming about that made you clock me like that.”

She recounted her dream. When she finished, she felt Ezra nod, his chin tapping lightly against the top of her head. “A worthy reason for striking out at me,” he said. “I forgive you completely. Instincts are a powerful force, and yours work admirably well. Fight or flight; those are the choices when confronted by a terror like that. You tried flight and when that failed, resorted to fight mode.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry for hitting you,” she said. She felt more than heard his chuckle in reply.

“Water under the bridge, birdie, water under the bridge. Now, you inquired about the loss of my arm.” He stiffened just a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“You don’t have to,” she offered, but he shook his head.

“No, I said I would share if you did, and you bared the inner workings of your unconscious mind. This is nothing more than plain facts.” He launched into the tale, but with none of his usual colorful asides and flourishes of phrase.

He had been prospecting in the Green. His associate was killed in an encounter with another prospector, who was unfortunately wounded and exposed to the spores that filled the atmosphere. Ezra performed a mercy killing, unaware that the man’s young daughter was nearby. Both now alone, Ezra convinced the girl that they needed to work together to get off the moon before the last run of the shuttle service. But Ezra suffered a wound to his arm that was infected with the spores. He needed medicine from the inhabitants of the moon, but they were unwilling to trade. He and the girl managed to get off the moon, but Ezra’s arm had to be amputated.

“And there you have it,” he said. “I lost an arm, but I saved a child, so in the end, the balance sheet came out even.”

“What happened to her?” Claire asked carefully.

“Well, no one questions much out in the edges of space,” he said. “People go missing all the time. The government doesn’t care, and neither do the corps. We could have reported her father’s death, and she could have been put into the care system, but we didn’t, and she wasn’t, and everyone assumed we belonged together, so we carried on. I found a nice residential school on Galadon and we had a bit of aurelac we’d managed to scavenge on our way, so she’s there, living the life a teenaged girl should be living. And I’m out here, trying to earn enough money to keep her there.”

Claire bit her lip. She sensed there was more than Ezra wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t want to press him further. “Thank you,” she said. “For telling me about it. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugged. “It was bound to come up sooner or later,” he said. “Even I’m going to run out of stories at this rate. Are you good to go back to sleep, or do you need to sit up a bit longer?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I’m sure you want to get back to sleep.”

“Don’t lie to me, birdie,” he said firmly. “I’m not going back to my bunk until I know you’re good.”

It wasn’t very comfortable, propped up against the bulkhead, but Ezra was warm and his arm around her felt safe. “Maybe a little longer,” she admitted.

“A little longer it is,” he replied.

They sat in silence, until Claire felt her eyes begin to droop. Her head fell against his chest, and she fell asleep to the slow, steady beat of his heart.

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

She woke to find herself tucked back in her blankets. Ezra was in his own bunk again, snoring lightly. How he’d managed to extricate himself from her and get her under the blanket without waking her — and with only one arm — she couldn’t fathom. She was a fairly light sleeper, always the first one to wake up when there was a weird noise in the dorm room at university or when one of her roommates was sneaking back in long after curfew.

She curled up on her side, facing away from the bulkhead so she could see the shadowy form of Ezra in his bunk. She trusted him, though she didn’t know why. All his wild stories framed him as a bit of a scoundrel, and he played the part well, but knowing that he had taken in an orphaned girl and was out there risking his life prospecting with a missing limb just to pay for her schooling convinced Claire that deep down he was a good person.

Back in university, there had been many discussions about what qualities constituted a “Good Man.” A lot of the girls put money at the top of their list, of course, but kindness, intelligence, and a sense of humor were always up there as well. Ezra certainly didn’t have any money, but he ticked the rest of the boxes. He even ticked the “nice body” box, which made her face hot. She hadn’t seen much of his body, hidden away in a bulky landing suit, but he was handsome in a rugged sort of way and that little patch of blond hair …

Get a hold of yourself, Claire, she thought firmly. He’s a nice guy, but this is only temporary. He’ll be gone soon, off to find another way to make money, and you’ll be sent off to your next assignment. You’ll never see him again. And you’ve only known him a few days anyway. You’ll forget easily enough.

She hoped she was telling herself the truth.

[quarktrinity]

quark watches star trek season 1 episode 19

wait is this actual literal earth

some military dude just called the enterprise a UFO. which. i guess it is?

ok some gravity shit happened, i think they mightve accidentally time traveled

yep this is actual literal earth

yeaaaaah they time traveled

wow theyre in the late 1960s. what a coincidental era

us military hates the enterprise

haahaahahhhaa theyre putting the military pilot in a tractor beam

dude got beamed up. this must be the weirdest day of his life

kirks kinda flirting with this pilot dude

pilot dude surprised that they have women on the ship

why are they taking this dude on a tour of the ship, again? that seems unwise

spock warns kirk about time paradoxes. they might have to kidnap this guy

why does the computer sound so horny

oops theyre kidnapping this guy

why did they bring him up in the first place. that was stupid

spock says this dude being taken out of history wont change much. weirdly offensive tbh

sorry pilot guy we cant let you go back to your wife and kids. space time

uh oh we cant repair the ship in the 60s. crazy

kirk gets his computer into not flirting with him via death threat

pilot guy is proving to be a Problem

spock says nevermind youre important you have to have your historically significant son

spock underestimates earths ability to dismiss the supernatural as mundane

pilot guy suddenly more cooperative now that he knows hes going to have a son. ok

just caught a weird marking on the camera lens

time to erase military records!! wheeeeee!!!

military record room weirdly unguarded

lets gaslight the other military dude

oh shit other military dude just got beamed up

this is so wacky and silly

...do they actually say "chronometer" instead of "clock". is that a thing. thats so stupid

i can tell kirks shirt wont be ripped in this episode because i can see the outline of an undershirt

captain kirk fights the us military

the military guys are kind of pathetic ngl

sulu rolls a nat 20 on stealth

lets gaslight the other other military dudes

oh no wait sulu just got beamed up ok

"how did you get in?" "i popped in here out of thin air"

behold the Food Generator

spock once again to the rescue

spock strangles a man

were solving the time travel problem with more time travel

the enterprise got uncomfortably close to the sun

weird image to see a dude beamed into his own body

oh shit

ok good theyre fine

[moonwatchuniverse]

100 years ago... LtCmdr Rupert Gould best selling book 100 years ago, Royal Navy LtCmdr Rupert Gould (1890-1948) published his famous book " The Marine Chronometer " (preface December 1922 - 1923) but we didn't have to wait a century for a worthy reprint as in 2013 the ACC Antique Collectors' Club brought out their 365 pages version... and again in 2016. A truly amazing book with extra chapter full of great color photographs as both reprints almost sold out immediately. October 5th, 2023 will be the 75th anniversary of the passing of LtCmdr Rupert Gould, a Royal Navy officer who safed, cleaned and repaired John Harrison's Marine clocks, naming H1 to H5. More recommended reading: Time Restored: The Harrison Timekeepers and RT Gould, the man who knew (almost) everything (2006 Oxford Univ Press). (Photos: MWU & Nat Maritime Museum)

[starres-stuff]

OC emoji asks!

🍧⭐️💚

🍧 SHAVED ICE

Vi: The only item that she has left from her childhood is a hand-stitched doll made for her by her Grandmother (on her Father's side) and it has seen its better days. She has repaired it several times over and keeps it in a special locked box at her cottage. It's rare she brings it out and she almost never shows it to anyone else, though there are those she might. Dimitri: It doesn't matter where the Sharlyan is or what he is doing. He always carries with him his adopted Father's pocket Chronometer. This was his gift when he first started at the Studium and is a heirloom piece that has been passed from generation to generation.

🌟 GLOWING STAR

Vi: There are many thoughts that go through her mind when she watches the night sky. Some of these pair with her tarot readings and the constellations represented by the cards, some leave her wondering about life thousands of years ago and some are of the future. She has always star-gazed alone, it has been her guilty pleasure as she sits with her journal and records where certain stars are on certain nights, but she would let her partners sit with her both at the same time or one at a time (depending on who is home that night) whether they wished to just be silent and watch while she worked or talk for hours about the heavens above.

Dimitri: Has never had much interest in the stars, and has found horoscopes and card readings to be silly in general since life is always shifting and the future cannot be set in stone, a great deal of these thoughts come from being an Occult Investigator and Professor of Occult Studies (his own major at the Studium). He prefers to be bound in reality, with his feet firmly on the ground, and often finds people's preoccupation with magic and aether dangerous and frivolous. He has no love for witches, mages, sorcerers, or whatever else they wish to call themselves.

💚 GREEN HEART

Vi: Being wrapped up in someone's arms and held is one of the best ways to comfort her, kisses to her temples or forehead, soft words of assurance or just letting her sit in your lap are other ways as well that help her feel secure and loved in a tough time. Dimitri: Putting a hand on his lower back, head on his shoulder, feeding him (he has a voracious appetite especially when he is upset), or just sitting there beside him as he pinches the bridge of his nose can make him feel comforted. He is a very simple man after all grand gestures make him suspicious, it is the small things that capture his heart.

Thank you for this ask!! I really enjoyed the questions you chose for them a lot!!

For everyone else reading this check out the original post and consider reblogging it yourself! Keep the game going.

resource: Original Blog Post

[letsquestjess]

Cards on the Table

Summary: Vault decides to take Cam up on his offer to play some sabacc while waiting for ship repairs.

Word Count: 830

Warnings: Gambling.

A/N: @anxiouspineapple99 Thank you so much for lending me Cam! I had a lot of fun writing this 😊💜

-- -- -- -- --

The chronometer on the wall ticked away the seconds, and Vault swore it was mocking him. Another minute gone, it taunted until he could almost hear the wires crackling as it churned time. 

The shuffled clack of crimson and white armour reminded him he was being observed, by brothers no less. Cross-armed, muttering, betting against him as they sipped their steaming mugs of caf. He had been foolish to become entangled in Coruscant guard games. If his squad discovered he had deviated into gambling while getting their ship repaired, he would be condemned to scrubbing latrines until his hair turned grey. But his expertise was in logistics, and Cam’s persuasive wager had only fuelled his eagerness to showcase his abilities. 

‘Just one game to pass the time. The scans will take a bit,’ the guard had said thirty credits ago. ‘Nothing worse than hanging around here with nothing to do.’

In a whirl of courage, he threw caution to the opposing wind and played all his cards, remaining steadfast and certain in his choice. His expression quickly dropped into disappointment as Cam confidently laid down a perfect match and claimed his winnings. 

“What can I say,” the engineer shrugged as he rolled a credit between nimble fingers. “Luck of the shuffle.” He expected Vault to slump back like the others he played, resign himself to defeat and perhaps even comment on his skill, but instead, he flung down another jingling cluster of credits. 

“Deal again,” he said, a competitive glint lighting up his eyes. 

“I thought you were supposed to be an intelligence clone,” a broad-shouldered Corrie guard pointed out. “You’ve lost every match.”

“Other type of intelligence,” Vault corrected. “Many make that mistake. Besides, I’m going to win this one.” 

Cam flicked a loose curl from in front of his face. He couldn’t decipher if Vault’s drive came from sheer determination or a cheerful disposition, but regardless, he looked forward to facing an eager challenger.

Swinging his legs down from the playing table, he settled his elbows onto the scratched wood and grinned. 

* * *

The locks to the Mantle Squad barracks clacked and discharged the door with an obnoxiously resounding thud. Vault had intended to make a quiet entry, but when he caught sight of Hayze poring over a technology magazine, his shoulders drooped. “Hadn’t you gone out with the others?” he sighed. 

“Hello to you too,” his preoccupied squadmate grumbled, remaining fixed to the pages. “Did you get the ship sorted?” 

Vault gave a small “yes” as he rummaged in the drawer beneath his bunk, retrieving the armour cleaner and a soft cloth. The potent chemical scent invaded his nostrils the moment he opened the tin, and he hastily got to work scouring the dirt and mending blaster dents. Hayze’s intense glare felt like a laser beam piercing into his skull. Coughing and tensing his shoulders, he attempted to evade the silent suspicion. 

“You’re never usually this quiet,” Hayze remarked, shoving the magazine aside. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Vault.”

“Hayze.”

The clone at the central countertop straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. Normally, his brother would return and talk non-stop, and the absence of his usual lively chatter made him wonder what was wrong. 

“I may have had a fun little game of sabacc with a Corrie engineer when I went to get the ship fixed,” Vault explained. “And I may have lost.”

“How much did you lose?” 

“About fifty credits. Give or take.”

With a heaved breath, Hayze rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered a curse. Despite his irritation, he remained measured, resolved to gather all the facts before criticising his foolishness. Rumours had reached him about the bets made by Coruscant guards and the cunning strategies they employed to secure their wins. Vault’s losses cast a shadow over the squad, and it would be a challenging task to restore their expert reputation. “Was it an all-in bet or…?”

“No,” Vault replied, elongating the word in a bid to stall Hayze’s inevitable lecture. “We played for about two hours.”

“And in those two hours, did you not think that perhaps you should back out and take a minor loss to your pocket?” 

“Yes.” 

Hayze already knew the answer, but he wanted it confirmed. “And you carried on?”

“I did.” 

A disgruntled crease bowed his brother’s neat eyebrows. Leaving his armour on the workstation, Vault hurried to the central table, forearms on the surface and a plea in his hazel eyes. “Please, please, don’t tell Vesper. Or Commander Viren. She’ll be so disappointed.” 

“I won’t mention it, but you have to make me a promise, right here and now,” Hayze said sternly. 

“Anything, as long as it doesn’t involve money because… well…” Vault rubbed the back of his neck and his face contorted into an apologetic smile. 

“Next time, take me along with you,” Hayze told him. “I know a thing or two about sabacc, and I could beat any of those Corrie guards blindfolded.”

[ltcommanderandroid]

@inluck asked: Here, I think this is yours.

There was a gap of an unknown period of time in Data's internal chronometer. It couldn't have been very long, at most a few seconds, as the dust as still settling after the explosion, flecks of grey floating down onto a grey world... It was then that Data realized that his visual processors' chromatic sensors had been damaged and relegated power to repairing them.

He sat up, each motor system reporting back that he was whole, with the exception of those in his right hand, which was concerningly silent. The reason why was provided 1.2 seconds after, as his detached hand entered the periphery of his malfunctioning vision, offered out to him. "Ah, thank you," Data said, taking it and holding up his abbreviated arm to slip the hand back into it's connectors. A flex of his fingers proved that no major damage had been done. "I was wondering what had happened to that."

[regard-luxury]

Chrono24 Apparently Plans Ipo

Sure there are the forums, which I do make the most of, however there is not a method to sell instantly on them. Value Your Watch will definitely be my marketplace of alternative, however I can’t argue the domination that Chrono24 does at present have. Fortunately, I am not as restricted as I was once chrono24 a pair years ago. I will certainly be utilizing both sites, but shall be driving as a lot of my traffic as attainable to my Value Your Watch listings. Turning our consideration to Value Your Watch, we can see that on login, we are taken to our dashboard.

They have an editorial workplace in Berlin, a location in New York City, and a house in Hong Kong. They service watch fanatics in over 100 different countries. The CB Insights tech market intelligence platform analyzes millions popular watch brands of knowledge points on vendors, merchandise, partnerships, and patents to help your team discover their next know-how solution.

And whereas it presents a seductively elegant and delicate dial, it is also Superlative Chronometer licensed and waterproof to a depth of fifty metres (165 feet). High curiosity and low manufacturing has resulted in a swollen secondary market; the Chronomètre Bleu has persistently traded for plus or minus six figures for the last 12 months. Journe, the brand, went forward and announced a fairly significant price increase to start 2022 – something that has become a bit of a development within the new year. Journe catalog is – and in my opinion, the Chronomètre Souverain Havana deserves a closer look. It was "about time" that legitimately rare, attention-grabbing watches carried out that way, he informed me.

He expressed that we're simply now starting to see sure watches mirror their potential true value – a Cartier London Crash, with perhaps a quantity of dozen examples recognized to exist, is one such watch. He completed by saying that anybody lucky sufficient to buy a Crash earlier than the present spike in worth received a "reward" – in different words, this collector doesn't think the Crash will, ahem, crash anytime quickly. I lately had a conversation with an skilled watch collector in regards to the excessive prices top 5 watch brands we're witnessing at public sale for watches produced by Cartier London within the 1960s. I bought an Omega Constellation which appeared nice in the photos, learn nice within the assurances about quality, but carried out miserably from the get-go. I sent the watch to Omega for repairs and came upon the guarantee had been invalidated by unauthorized third-party repairs. I really have waited for greater than a month for the dealer to take duty but they don’t even instantly answer their cellphone.

Note that the situation of your watch is key to its worth. So if you have any documentation detailing service or repairs of the watch, grasp on to them. Valuable collectibles from childhood include greater than motion figures and classic board video games — and having a number of of the proper objects in your old toy chest could presumably be value loads of money. Think again to these toys that everyone needed, similar to Teddy Ruxpin, Strawberry Shortcake, Transformers and My Little Pony.

Rolex certified pre-owned watches will only be bought by approved dealers, beginning with Swiss retailer Bucherer after which others subsequent year. They can't cut up the cost over two cost types top watch brands on the website. I needed to call to place some on a wire switch and the remaining on my bank card. I had to await the wire to go through and then give them my bank card.

[olaqueenbeeofastrology]

#JudithRipka

☀️

#fashion 🏠hold names

@longines #14k #gold

@rolexwatchesused-blog @rolexwatches

#gem #garnet

🛒🛍️

#vintage #CrownTrifari

@wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys @wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys @wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys

@betseyjohnsonjewelry

#gemstone sw

@guess

👇☀️

3️⃣lbs #gold #14k #silver #925 💍💲

Mixed

@givenchycode

@wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys @wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys @wsj @money @gemstone-network @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @watchestobuy @watchesparadise @bestbuy @biglots @target @watchrepairlondon @vintage @watchrepair @vintagewatchesdepot @vintagewatchesandjewellery-blog @gemstone-network @baldassarreted @gemstonesilverjewelryus @gemstones @jewelry @fashion @crystalgems-blog @youtube @google @yahoo @bing @twobigblondes @consignmentcouture @christiesauctions @sothebys-pe-blog @sothebys @qvc @qvcuk @twitter @tv-moments @variety @thr @taylor13 @lizzo

@youtube @yahoo @google @thr @variety @instagram @yellowtaxi @lyft @twitter @tumblr @yahoofinance @money @fortune @forbes @wsj @dalailama @uscopyrightoffice @wholefoods @olaqueenbee @olavay @instagram

@vogue @ebay @thr @variety @nytimes @seattletimes @latimes @time @google @forbes @etsy @tvguide @pbs @nytimes @tissot @raymondweil @luxurywatchguy1 @calibercrown @rolex @nytimes @google @money @bestbuy @walmart @biglots @tiffanyandco @covergirl @essence @bet @mtv @bbc @cnn @espn @nba @wnba @nfl @revlon @goldmansachs @macys