#heavy cargo shuttle

[alphamecha-mkii]

Star Trek: Nemesis - Type 17 Heavy Cargo Shuttle Argo Concept Art by John Eaves

[pedroam-bang]

Andree Wallin - Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

[evilgwrl]

Super in love with your work it's amazing.

So I had this idea maybe you'd like? Just an idea: Do with it what you will

So reader is a coworker with Simon, and she's like super strong-willed, doesn't take bullshit from anyone type person, good at what she does and knows it, and Simon fucking loves that, loves a woman that can put someone in their place. He thinks it's just respect at first, but one day, he sees her yelling at some recruits and gets so turned on from the sight that he can't think of anything else.

Interested with what you might do with it or how you'd continue it if you decide to write it

Have a nice rest or your day either way

I love this!!

CW: Military inaccuracies, Ghost gets boners for you, sexual tensions and allusions to further smut but nothing graphic

They called you Hawk due to your impeccable eyesight. You were hard-headed with a vast efficiency to pinpoint a target miles away, your bullet already penetrating the air before others could even see it. You were a quick fit into the Task Force with a shabby sense of humour and ability to take control.

Working in a male-dominated industry should’ve scared you, but it didn’t. You were a whirlwind on your feet, easily able to toggle areas and courses without even a remote struggle. You thrived at what you did, constantly garnering respect from those around you. Maybe that’s why Ghost was so intrigued by you.

He tied it down to a “respect thing”, enjoying that a woman was able to put anyone in their place no matter the size of who she was dealing with. That’s why he was slightly confused at the growing bulge in his cargo pants.

Your face was contorted in frustration, tangled eyebrows furrowed as you yelped commands at a group of soldiers. Your hands were resting on your hips, a scowl on your face as you groaned.

“Private Matthews, did I or did I not say that you should never take your eye off an opponent?”

“You did, ma’am.”

“You will refer to me as Sergeant, private,” you snapped, “Get back in the ring and do it correctly this time.”

Ghost adjusted, turning his attention back to the group of soldiers before him, barking out his own orders, umber eyes occasionally darting over to you, entranced at how simple it was for you to command.

You were seated next to Soap, ass flush on the seat as you grumbled about how idiotic some people were, bragging about how certain you were that you were never there incompetent.

“Aye, lass, can’t all be like you, can we?”

You nudged the Scotsman’s shoulder, offering him a toothy smile as you went on to joke around. Ghost watched you as he approached, looking at the way your eyes were always high, never stooping to the ground with discomfort. You smiled as the Lieutenant joined you, missing the way his eyes racked over you.

“Bonnie here was just saying she could easily tackle you in a shuttle run, LT,” Soap joshed, earning you an eye roll.

“That so?” Ghost’s voice was naturally loud, a deep husk protruding from every word as he looked at you. You shrugged, tossing him a teasing smirk.

“Won’t know until we find out, will we Lieutenant?”

Ghost could feel himself straining again, pants tightening at your display of confidence before you excused yourself, muttering about hitting the gym to wear you out. Ghost was quick to follow, scoffing down the remainder of his food and rushing out a goodbye before heavy feet were trailing behind you.

You were clad in a loose pair of gym shorts, a well-fitted green singlet sporting against your skin as gloved fists pummelled a punching bag. You were quick, feet skidding against the ground as you huffed out shallow breaths.

“You have good form,” Ghost spoke, clearing his throat.

You turned around, hair swishing in a messy pony as you looked at him, brow raised, “Did you doubt me, Lieutenant?”

“Unsure. Never sparred with you, ‘ave I, Hawk?”

“You asking to spar with me, Ghost?”

He rolled his eyes as you walked up to him, a cocky smirk on your face as you got into position. You were both quick, entangled limbs battering against one another as you both ducked, blurting out expletives as your clothes moulded with trickles of sweat.

Ghost was practically mesmerised by the way you moved, somehow making sparring look elegant. The Lieutenant knocked you to your feet, your body crashing onto the ground with a slam as you groaned, staring up at him with irked eyes.

“Didn’t anyone warn you to take it easy on a lady?” You miffed; your face contorted with annoyance as you glared at him.

Ghost frowned slightly, taking in your pained expression before he was knocked between the ankles, joining you on the ground as you giggled out a laugh, clambering on top of him with a finger gun pointed to his head.

“Shouldn’t underestimate your opponents, LT, no matter how annoyed they look.”

Ghost let out a grunt as he flipped the two of you over, your hands pinned above your head. “Never underestimated you, sweet’art.”

Your bodies radiated heat, thick smog of tension pummelling into the atmosphere as your eyes interlocked. You licked your lip, forehead wet with salty moisture as you maintained composure.

“You gonna keep me like this all night, Lieutenant?” Your tone was sultry, wringing him in with every syllable as he pressed against you, growing bulge prominent against your clothed sex as you glanced down.

“Thinking about it.”

[marlynnofmany]

Monkey Chase

I stepped off the loading ramp and got a good view of the reason why we’d landed in the wrong part of the spaceport. A giant cargo hauler lay on its side, broken and bent — had a ship crashed into it, or had the engine exploded? I couldn’t tell from here — and large slabs of spaceship insulation gel sprawled everywhere. The hauler’s cargo, clearly. As I watched, three people with a hovercart tried to shove one aside to no effect, and another slab as big as a cross-section from my old apartment on Earth slowly peeled off from inside the remains of the hauler. It hit the ground with the squishiest thud I’d ever heard - the thing was the color of smoke, but dense enough to make the ground vibrate from here.

I whistled, then regretted it when the tentacle alien on the ramp beside me scrunched up at the sound. “Sorry,” I told Mur.

“Ow,” he said, uncurling his blue-black tentacles. “Was that a human swear? It’s sharp.”

“More of a ‘wow-look-at-that’ kind of noise,” I said. “But swearing would sure be appropriate. What a mess.”

“You said it. Glad it’s not our problem.”

Captain Sunlight came down the ramp to join us, regal as ever in the bright yellow scales that had given her the name. “Our client isn’t answering,” she said. “I’ve put in a request at the local medcenter to see if they’ve been injured in this crisis, but haven’t heard back yet. Anyone interested is welcome to join me in walking over to where their ship was meant to be parked.”

Three other crewmates followed her out of the ship: Blip and Blop in their flowiest silks that both matched their fin colors and also showed off their biceps, and Zhee with his purple exoskeleton as shiny as always. They all made quiet noises of dismay at the state of the spaceport.

(Well, Blip and Blop seemed dismayed. Zhee was looking down his nonexistent nose at whoever had been careless enough to cause such a mess.)

Mur waved a tentacle. “Lead the way,” he said to the captain. “Here’s hoping the ship isn’t buried under all that.”

“Yeah, it looks heavy,” I said as we moved out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a little ship could be crushed under that, especially if it also took damage from whatever kaboom happened in the first place.”

As we got closer, I made several observations in a range of importance. A medical shuttle was zipping off toward the city center while another appeared to be waiting around just in case; the medics were standing there chatting instead of tending to anyone. The gel slabs couldn’t be pushed, though they could be lifted with a big enough gravity platform. There was only one of those here. Cleanup was going to take a while. The slabs covered a large area of ground as well as a couple ship-sized lumps, turning the spaceport into a sea of smoky gray translucent rubber.

A small creature bounced around on it. People were shouting about that.

“What’s going on over there?” I asked.

Captain Sunlight sighed deeply and sped up. “I really hope that’s not our cargo.”

“Our cargo’s an animal?”

“Yes, among other things. I thought I told you, but I guess not; it was a last-minute addition to our load. Someone’s exotic pet.” She looked up at me with concern on her lizardy face. “How are your animal-catching skills?”

“Depends on the animal,” I said, squinting at the fast-moving thing. I was the critter expert on the ship, but I didn’t want to promise anything. “What species is it?”

“I’ll bring up the description in a moment,” Captain Sunlight said. “I think I see our client over there.”

She was right. The slender Frillian with a leash and an exasperated expression did turn out to be the person we’d come to meet, and the various spaceport officials on the scene had no any easy answers about how to catch his pet.

“Normally he comes running for food!” the client exclaimed. “But he’s got plenty to pick from here!” He pointed accusingly at the spill of fruit from a truck smashed open by a slab of gel.

“Oh, like that’s my fault?” said a Heatseeker who was busy gathering fruit. “Half my stock is ruined! Go catch your little menace and stop complaining.”

This led to a rant about how impossible the menace in question was to catch when he didn’t want to be — giving him a bath had to be done by trickery — and he was never going to come down from this playground full of food, and oh the man should have just paid for a transit that allowed him to bring pets.

Zhee muttered agreement at that last, but I don’t think the guy heard him. Spaceport officials offered calming words and a reminder that nets had been sent for.

Captain Sunlight asked one of them, “Is there an animal-handling service anywhere nearby?”

“Nowhere close,” was the answer.

She looked back up at me. “Any bright ideas? Here, I’ll show you the description.”

While she unfolded a screen and brought up the information from this particular courier gig, I watched the jumpy creature carefully. He was close enough for a good look now, since he’d come back to snatch another alien citrus off the ground, making the owner yell after him.

My first thought was “monkey,” followed by “frog.” The animal was long-limbed and green, though with velvety fur instead of an amphibian’s shine, and had a tail that could hold fruit just as well as his hands could. Pointy nose, round ears, and the biggest eyes of anyone here except for Zhee. He could probably see a person sneaking up from behind. He was fast. And he was clearly having a great time jumping from one bouncy surface to another, making chattering noises and spitting citrus peel everywhere.

“It’s called a treeleaper,” Captain Sunlight told me. “Warmblooded, diurnal, omnivorous, and ‘a bit of a troublemaker.’”

Mur snorted. “Sounds like your species,” he told me.

“Just with a tail,” Zhee added.

“I wanted a tail as a kid,” I said absently, thinking hard. I’d just caught sight of a shipful of humans disembarking nearby, on the other side of the biggest pile of gel. They looked like they were in pretty good shape. One was already walking on the gel and laughing about the bounce.

I had an idea. “Excuse me, Captain. I think I see reinforcements,” I said, then ran off toward my unsuspecting kinfolk. When I got close, I took great pleasure in yelling, “Hey humans! Who wants to help me chase a monkey across a trampoline??”

They were all smiles and questions, then when I led the way to where they could see the monkey-frog jumping around with stolen fruit, they volunteered immediately.

“I’ll get the small cargo net!”

“Do you think the big gravity wands will slow it down?”

“Bet you a cleaning shift that I can grab it in a towel.”

“You’re on!”

I told Captain Sunlight that I had successfully recruited some animal-catchers, and she didn’t bat an eye, just suggesting that our crew gather similar tools from our own ship. Zhee and the twins rushed off while Mur stayed to yell suggestions.

The other humans were already venturing into the bounce zone. I hurried to follow, grabbing a fist-sized lime thing from the ground as I did. We made a wide circle before closing in.

The treeleaper saw us coming, of course. Threw a half-eaten fruit at one person and made a rude noise at another, then sprang up to ricochet between surfaces like an unholy pinball.

Thus began a merry chase.

It brought back memories of bouncy houses and birthday parties at the trampoline gym. The gel was tough enough to take an impact without doing more than denting briefly and launching a person hooting into the air, to rebound off another surface and hopefully not smack into anyone else in midair. There were a couple close calls. But that just made everything funnier somehow.

I jumped off one gel wall with and hit another with my shoulder, making the monkey-frog turn a 180 back towards a pair of guys with gravity wands. He tried to spring away to the side, but I threw my lime to bounce off a surface nearby, spooking him enough to change direction yet again. Somebody slid down a gel slab like a rubbery playground slide, yelping as that turned into a wild tumble. The animal didn’t know what to make of all the flailing and laughter. His hesitation was enough for the gravity wands to lift him partway off the gel, then when he stuck a leg out far enough to jump free, he was immediately bagged by a grinning lady with a cargo net.

Everybody cheered.

The treeleaper growled and tried to scramble free, but no luck. Somebody else caught up and helped tie the net off with a scarf. Everyone settled down to minimal bouncing, and many hands worked together to carry the bundle of ropes and disgruntled animal back to solid ground.

“You got him! Is he okay? He didn’t sprain anything in that net, did he? I hope he didn’t eat too much fruit. He’ll do that if given the chance, you know.” The owner was grateful and worried and relieved and talkative.

Eggskin had arrived from our ship with a medical scanner, and thankfully they could put everyone’s mind at ease about the state of our animal cargo. The treeleaper was fine. It had a stomach full of fruit and a bloodstream full of adrenaline, but all it needed was a nice nap in its carrying cage.

I considered asking why it hadn’t been in the carrier before, when the rented shuttle got its windows smashed, but I didn’t.

A small hand patted my back, as far up as it could reach. “Earning your keep once again,” said Captain Sunlight.

I laughed. “That was my pleasure.”

Another human lingering nearby asked, “Is there anything else that needs catching? That was great.”

“Yeah, you should sell tickets to this!” agreed another.

A Frillian in a port uniform said, “No, but thank you.” She paused, then added, “Hm. I wonder if that’s worth suggesting to the owner of all this insulation. It’s useless for its intended purpose now that it’s breached the sanitation shielding.”

I smiled. “It still makes an excellent trampoline even with footprints all over it. Lay those out in an empty field and charge people entrance, and they could make back a decent amount of money. You get plenty humans through this port, right?”

The woman who’d caught the treeleaper said, “We’re here early for a family reunion before the big festival, then there are three or four sporting events in a row. Let us know if that does happen, because we can get you a lot of humans interested in jumping on this stuff.”

I had to leave with the animal cargo back to our courier ship, so I didn’t hear how the rest of the conversation went, but I saw the official bring the representative of the hauling group over to meet the humans. He looked very interested in what the spokesperson had to say.

I grinned at the scene as I walked away: the intense conversation in front of the vast playground of bouncy surfaces. I wondered if we’d get a chance to come back for a visit when they got it set up properly.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[colibrie]

Uncharted Territory, part one.

All love and credit to @trilobitepunch, for the amazing art work,the listening ear, and the endless encouragement. You are amazing Trilo!

“I’ve got snacks!”

Mikeys cheery voice cut through the racetrack of his thoughts, shepherding Leo’s attention back to the bustle and hum of the fuel depot. His younger brother was skipping towards him, boxes of ration bars and a few brightly colored bags filling his arms to near bursting. 

“The selections not that great,” Mikey continued, cheeks puffing in annoyance as he reached Leo, hopping comically on one leg as he fought to open the cargo hatch with his toes. “But I did manage to finagle two boxes of the better rations out of the shop keep, aaaaaand she even threw in some of those sweet sticks I like!”

“The ones dad banned you from having because of that time you were literally bouncing off the walls?” Leo teased, leaning casually against the ship’s hull as he flashed a smirk at his baby brother. “Force help us all.”

“Leeeeo!” Mikey whined, beak wrinkling in embarrassment as he scowled affronted at big brother. “I was six! Don’t be a jerk!”

“Hey, as the only other person stuck in an incredibly small ship with you for the foreseeable future, I think I have a right to be concerned!” Leo goaded, reaching out to casually flip the fuel valve off as the warning chime sounded. 

“Just for that, I’m gonna hide the good rations from you,” Mikey shot back as the hatch finally opened with a soft hiss. “You get the spinach and spiva protein flavors, while I get the strawberry and chocolate.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you got strawberry?!” Leo squawked, arms flailing as he spun around, feet briefly slipping on the steel grating. “Hand em over!”

“No!” Mikey jeered, sticking out his tongue as he shoved the boxes and bags into the hold.

“Miiiikey.”

“Who’s the funny one now Leon?!”

“Your face,” Leo muttered lamely, pursing his lips into an exaggerated pout as he disconnected the hose. He projected a cloak of sulky energy, shaking his head with covert fondness as Mikey crowed in triumph and bit into one of his sweet sticks. He could let his little brother think he’d won this round. At least one of them deserved to laugh through this.

He blinked, and the world fell away once more.

Crimson blades reflecting off obsidian armor. The wall crumbling under his shell, like wet tissue paper. Screams of anger and fear as the darkness closed in, air cut off as something heavy twisted his lungs…

“So!” Mikey’s voice snapped Leo back once more to the fluorescently lit present. The smaller turtle had ducked under the shuttle’s wing and now stood at his side, oblivious to Leo’s lapse in attention as he worked with way through his treat. “What do we do now?”

Leo quickly turned away, scowling at the fuel hose as he wound in back into the holder.

“What do you mean?” he asked, proud of how even his voice stayed as he worked to get his face back into a casual smile.

“I mean, we’ve covered step one, right? We’re far enough away from home that no one will recognize us. We’ve got a full tank of fuel and enough rations to last two weeks if we play things right. What’s step two? How are we going to get Raph and Donnie back?”

“First off, we are going not talking about things where anyone passing by could hear us,” Leo chided under his breath, turning back to Mikey with a roll of his eyes.

“There’s hardly anyone around!” Mikey protested.

“And there are even less people around in hyperspace,” Leo retorted, flicking his fingers in a dismissive shooing motion, “so go start the pre-flight checks so we can get out of here.”

“Ugh! Fine! Be that way,” Mikey groaned, stomping away towards the cockpit with an energy only the youngest member of a family could muster.

Leo watched him go, sucking in a subtle breath through his teeth once his sibling was safely ensconced within the metal walls of the ship. He let his body sag for a second, leaning his temple against the riveted metal. Exhaustion seemed to press in from every angle, cheerfully reminding him of how large his sleep debt had grown in the week since they’d left their home and their father behind. How many nights his insomnia kept him awake, listening to Mikey’s squeaky snores while his thoughts raced at double time. Hours spent staring out the view screen as stars blurred past, fighting to keep his gritty eyes open as incomprehensible nightmares hounded the darkness behind his eyelids. What little sleep he had found was haunted by his twins’ parting words, repeated over and over like a tattoo beaten into his brain.

Find me. I need you. Find me. I need you. Find me. I need you. Find me, find me, find me…

I’m coming. I swear.

“Cmon Leon,” he muttered, pushing himself upright, shaking out his sluggish limbs and angling body towards the hatch as the engines hummed to life. “You got this.”

“Good job on the pre-flight munchkin,” Leo called, plastering a bright grin as he sauntered through the door. “Now outa my chair.”

“Doesn’t have your name on it,” Mikey supplied the rote reply, fingers tapping a happy beat on the consul. “I can launch us.”

“Not on your life brat,” Leo answered as he shoved his brother out of the pilot’s seat, snickering at the indignant squawk that followed.

The controls were comforting weight in his palms as he smoothly guided the ship up and out of station, the restless need to move in his soul settling slightly as velvety folds of the cosmos greeted them once more.

“Can we talk about things now?!” Mikey asked peevishly, flopping into the copilot seat.

“Sure. We can talk. We can talk about the stars, or the latest holo’s. Or where you put those strawberry ration bars. Or-”

“Leeeeeeeo,” Mikey cut in, drawing his brother’s name out in a sing-song tone that barely covered the hard edge reflected in his smile. “What’s the plan? I know you have one, you always do.”

“Of course I have a plan,” Leo hedged, careful to keep his eyes forward and smile easy as Mikey eagerly leaned in towards him.

Perhaps “plan” was a generous way to describe the looped track of findthemfindthemfindthem that had dominated his mind from the moment he’d stormed away from their father, drowning in a hurricane of disbelief and fury. He could not remember where he’d gone to wait out the remainder of that day, or what he might have done. He could barely remember sneaking back into the house to fill a bag with clothes, food, and a few meaningful trinkets. The need to move, to do, to fix things had simply been to great for rational thought to penetrate.

Finding Mikey waiting by the shuttle that night had been like a bucket of ice water to the face, the tempest of his emotions spluttering under his baby brother’s boundless spirit and unyielding will. Every smile, laugh, and hug soothed the embers further, calming the storm enough for clearer thoughts to fill his sleepless nights. Thoughts that wasted little time in confirming just how supremely stupid he’d been acting. Donnie and Raph out matched them in both strength and training, and if their last meeting was any indication, neither was likely to be open to simply talking things through. Mikey’s force abilities were fledgling, and Leo’s were inconsistent and unstable at the best of times. Following his feelings would have led him straight into an early grave. and now it wasn’t just Leo’s shell on the line.

Leo could admit, if only to himself, that he was still flying utterly blind through this. He did not have a plan. No clear course to retrieving those they had lost. But Mikey didn’t need to know that. Leo was nothing if not a proficient performer. Short a plan, he reached for his next best skill, improvisation.

“We are never going to match the people who have Raph and Donnie as we are now. They've proven they can wipe the floor with us,” Leo started as he sat back in the pilot’s chair, idly scooping up a spare gasket to roll through his fingers as he stared hard out the view screen.  

“What’s this “with us”? I seem to recall only one of us getting their shell beat,” Mikey answered with a proud smirk, only to let out another squawk as the gasket nailed him between the eyes.

“As I was saying,” Leo grumbled, “If we want to stand a chance of saving our brothers, we need to get stronger. And to do that we'll need a proper teacher.”

“But who could do that?” Mikey questioned, absently chewing on his lower lip as he cocked his head in thought. “All the Jedi are dead.”

“Splinter survived with two kids in tow,” Leo countered, smiling his most confident smile as he piloted them away from the fuel station. “If he could do it, I am sure there had to have been others who got out and went to ground.”

“Yeah, but… finding a random Jedi hiding in the galaxy… isn’t that is like finding a needle hidden in an ocean of needles?”

“You’re right,” Leo acknowledged, thinking hard. “But we aren’t looking for any random Jedi. We… are… going to find Master Karai. She was Da-Splinters Master. If anyone survived the purge, it would be her, I know it. We just need to find her somehow.”

“Oh!” Mikey perked up, sparks dancing in his smile as he reached out and unsteadily called the holocron to him with a wave of his palm. “We can use dads holocron and the force to find her!”

“Huh?!”

“If she was dad’s master, then he must have gone a lot of places with her. Places she might have gone to hide when the temple was destroyed. If we use the force to look through the maps, maybe it will tell us which one.” Mikey reasoned, tongue poking out between his lips as he tossed the glowing cube between his palms.

“A nice thought, but that's not how the force works Mikey,” Leo declined with a shake of his head.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“How come?”

“It just…doesn’t?”

“That doesn’t sound like a good reason to not try. The recordings of Master Plo Koon said that the force is in everything.”

“It is, but it is not like my magic tricks Angelo. It can’t just make things appear,” Leo tried to explain, struggling to dig back into hazy memories of temple classrooms and supreme boredom. “They told us Jedi masters could use it to pick out individual force signatures in a crowd, but only if they were familiar with the person or knew what to look for. I mean, not even Grandmaster Yoda could find someone all the way across the galaxy!”

“Master Plo also said the force has a will of its own. What if the force wants us to find her?” Mikey countered, staring hard at the holocron before looking up at Leo with hope burning strong and bright. “It led Raph and Donnie to us, I know it. And, I don’t think it would have done that if it didn’t want us to help them. If finding Master Karai is what we need to do that, then I just…I have a feeling the force will steer us in the right direction.”

“Mike…”

“What do we lose by trying?” Mikey coaxed, holding out the holocron.

“It’s…yeah, okay. Sure. Knock yourself out,” Leo sighed, looking away with half shrug.

“We. We can knock ourselves out. Because we are going to do it together.”

“Uh, no we are not! Do I need to remind you of all the reasons why it would be really bad for me to try to use the force? Particularly in a tiny ship in the middle of outer space?!”

“I don’t remember her. Not like you do. And you were the one who just said that a Jedi needed to know the person they were looking for. You don’t have to do anything big, just try to focus on your memories of her. What did she look and sound like? How did she feel in the force? Tell me about it, and I’ll handle the razzmatazz side!”  

Maybe it was the sleepless nights, or the lack of better options no matter how hard he scoured his brain for one. Maybe it was that he had never developed a full proof defense against Mikey’s “please” face. Either way…

“Fiiiine,” he groaned, engaging the autopilot with a flick of his wrist before flopping back in his seat. “I want it on the record that I am humoring you, because there is no way that is going to work. And I am calling the right to rubbing it in when it doesn’t work.”

“And I will be happy to make you eat an “I told you so” sandwich when it totally does.” Mikey replied, beaming. “Now let’s do this!”

Leo reluctantly swiveled the pilot’s chair to face his brother, knocking their knees together. Mikey released the cube, the device opening as it rose to float between them.

“Man, this is stupid,” Leo muttered, begrudgingly holding his hands out, palms turned towards the cube as though warming them on the world’s worst campfire.

“You’re being stupid,” Mikey replied absently, copying Leo from the other side. “Stop complaining and tell me about Master Karai.”

“What’s there to say? She was a dedicated Jedi. She was awesome with lightsaber combat and could be strict when it came to training.”

“How did you meet her?” Mikey coaxed.

“She volunteered to take shifts in the creche whenever she rotated back to the temple,” Leo replied, taking a deep breath to steady himself before reaching back into cobweb covered memories. “She could be a bit awkward sometimes, but she…she cared.”

Leo smiled faintly, eyes slowly losing focus as his attention turned inward, mind wandering further down the paths of remembrance.

“She was loyal to the council, but she never really followed their stances on not forming attachments. Even though she wasn’t in the creche often, she was one of the few people who took the time to understand the four of us. Our personalities and what we needed as individuals. You used to spend time between her visits drawing her all kinds of pictures, then you’d make her sit down and go through each and everyone of them. She’d give you her full attention, every time.”

“She sounds nice,” Mikey murmured, eyes falling to half-mast as he tried to reach for that fickle feeling of the force inside of him.

“She was one of the few that had the patience to understand Donnie, to see him for the genius he was. She never scolded him for things he couldn’t control. She tried to learn what set him off, and tried to get things that would help him cope when I wasn’t there, even though it was against the rules. And she was always there as a listening ear for Raphie. He always looked out for us, but Karai was the one he went to most with his problems. She could always tell when he was getting upset, and she’d take him somewhere to let him blow off steam.”

“And what about you?” Mikey mumbled, closing his eyes fully as something warm bloomed in his chest. Something that crackled like the brightest bonfire, filled him from head to toe with warmth. It swirled in his veins, happy to dance, happy to be, yet unhappy to be so alone. It stretched instinctively towards a distant, cloudy aura, a weak glimmer of deep blue lightning flavored with ozone and storm winds. Seeking, searching.

“She got me,” Leo trailed off.

Lightning blue flinched, shying away as the golden fire prodded it.

“What did she look like? What did she feel like? Do you remember?” Mikey mumbled, fire following some unspoken instinct to keep going. Between them the holocron began to rapidly cycle through maps.  

“She was about my current height. Long black hair. She liked to wear two strands down by her face with the rest pulled back. Light skin, black eyes. She liked to wear long green robes while at the temple, and we used to love to pretend to hide in them. She was…she felt like your favorite blanket after a day in the cold, or my favorite cup of tea. Soft and reliable, and safe…”

Fire hummed. Lightning sparked, finding that tiny, barely mended gap.  

“She made us feel safe.”

For a moment, lightning touched fire. Something snagged, a loop of thread pulling tight. Mikey snapped his hands closed, holding onto it with everything he had. The holocron went still, washing the cockpit with a triumphant glow as it presented the chosen map.

“Omigosh it worked!” Mikey cheered, eyes snapping open to eagerly take in their new destination. They had done it! He had done it!

“Take that Le…Leo?”

His older brother was pale, beak scrunched and shoulders faintly trembling with pain as they curled inward. One hand covered his eyes, fingers digging deep into the sockets as the other hand clutched his chest. Sharp breaths whistled between clenched teeth as a slick of dark red rolled steadily from his nose. The impression of wind and ozone quickly fading away as Mikey scrambled out of his seat.

“Shell Lee, I’m so sorry! What can I do?!”

“It’s fine,” Leo mumbled, leaning away from Mikey as he pulled himself upright. Enthusiasm for their accomplishment fizzled out like a dying sparkler as Mikey watched, chewing anxiously on his cheek as he frantically ran through a check list of this brother’s symptoms.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Is anything numb? What’s your full name? Where are we? Who is the-“

“Whoa Angelo! Slow down. Kinda to the first, meh on the second, no on the third, and I don’t need a concussion check. It’s the usual stuff. Mainly just a headache.”

“You sure? The way you’re holding your chest-”

“Yes, I’m sure. Relax Angie, or you’ll start getting wrinkles to rival Splinter.”

The balm of relief coated his nerves as Leo relaxed back into his seat, expression shifting from a pained grimace to an indolent grin as he casually wiped his face with the back of one hand.

“Plus, I didn’t blow anything up this time, so score me some bonus points!”

Mikey huffed, gently shoving at his older brothers’ shoulder before pushing himself back to his feet. Headaches weren’t new. Headaches they could handle.

“Do you want a stim shot?” he asked, glancing at the ship’s small med kit.

“Nah,” Leo denied with a dismissive wave. “We’re better off saving supplies, just in case. I’ll just nap it off once we set coordinates for… the Yakai system?”

“Yeah, that’s what the holocron landed on! Do you know it?” Mikey inquired, leaning in to admire the holomap that still floated between their seats.

“No but look at it Mikey. There’s nothing there. Just an asteroid belt and some low-grade planets.”

“Sounds like the perfect place for a Jedi to hide out!”

“Low-grade means no organic life dumb dumb. Nothing lives there.”

“But there isn’t any harm in going to look!” Mikey rejoined, straining to lean across his brother towards the autopilot.

“Ack! Mik-sto-getoff! We aren’t wasting the fuel.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” Mikey chirped, beaming as consul chirped to indicate the successful input of the coordinates.”

“Ohmi-”

“Lets just go and have a quick look! If we don’t find anything we’ll do things your way from there. Unless you’re scared to admit I could be right…”

“…Fine. But not only do I get to rub your face in it for eternity, you’ll owe me. Whatever I want, whenever I want it.”

“I can’t wait. Now go lay down. Autopilot says six hours till we reach Yakai.”

Leo whined and grumbled as he was prodded out of the pilot’s chair, dragging his feet as Mikey herded him to one of the benches.

“You nap, I’ll fly.” He insisted, pretending to ignore the dark bags gathered beneath his brothers’ eyes when he pulled off the blue mask.

“It’s not flying if the autopilot’s engaged,” Leo sniped petulantly, laying back reluctantly when Mikey pushed on his plastron.

“Whatever you say. Nighty night bro!”

[bigairplaneblog]

Antonov An-225: The Biggest Airplane in the World

When it comes to airline airplane models, there's one that towers above the rest—quite literally. The Antonov An-225, known affectionately as "Mriya" (which means "Dream" in Ukrainian), holds the title of the biggest airplane in the world. This massive aircraft is not just a large airplane model in the figurative sense; it's the largest in every conceivable dimension.

The Antonov An-225 was originally designed in the 1980s to transport the Buran spaceplane, the Soviet Union's answer to NASA's Space Shuttle. But its capabilities far exceeded its original mission.

With its maiden flight in December 1988, the An-225 quickly became a symbol of Soviet engineering prowess, and later, an indispensable asset in global heavy-lift cargo transportation.

So, what makes the Antonov An-225 the biggest airplane in the world? Let’s delve into the details.

A Giant Among Giants

The sheer size of the Antonov An-225 is mind-boggling. This large airplane model has a measure of 84 meters (275 feet) in length, with wingspan size of 88.4 meters (290 feet). To put that into perspective, it's longer than an American football field and has a wingspan wider than a Boeing 747. The An-225 stands at 18.1 meters (59.3 feet) tall, nearly as tall as a six-story building.

This airline airplane model is equipped with six turbofan engines, each capable of producing 51,600 pounds of thrust. These engines, combined with its enormous wings, allow the An-225 to carry a maximum takeoff weight of 640,000 kg (1,410,958 pounds). This includes the cargo it carries, which can be up to 250,000 kg (550,000 pounds). This impressive lifting capability makes it the go-to choice for transporting oversized cargo, such as wind turbine blades, military tanks, and even other aircraft.

The Unique Capabilities of the An-225

The Antonov An-225's cargo bay is so large that it could fit 50 cars. The interior is 43.32 meters (142 feet) long, 6.4 meters (21 feet) wide, and 4.4 meters (14.5 feet) high, making it spacious enough to accommodate a wide range of oversized items. Unlike many other cargo aircraft, which load through a rear cargo door, the An-225 is loaded through the nose. The aircraft's nose lifts up, allowing direct access to the cavernous interior. This feature is crucial for loading extremely large and heavy objects that cannot be easily maneuvered.

Another notable feature of this large airplane model is its 32-wheel landing gear system. This complex system allows the An-225 to land on runways that would be unsuitable for other aircraft of its size, providing flexibility in the types of airports it can access.

The An-225 also has a range of 15,400 km (9,569 miles) when carrying a smaller load, but this decreases as the payload increases. Despite this, its range and payload capacity make it ideal for long-distance heavy-lift missions, and it remains a vital tool in global logistics.

A Record-Breaking Aircraft

Throughout its operational life, the Antonov An-225 has set numerous world records. In 2001, it carried the heaviest single cargo item ever transported by air—a 189-ton generator for a power plant. In another instance, it transported a 130-ton piece of machinery from Germany to Kazakhstan, marking the largest payload ever carried by an aircraft.

The An-225 has also been used in humanitarian missions, delivering supplies to disaster-stricken areas around the world. Its ability to transport large quantities of aid quickly and efficiently has made it an invaluable resource in times of crisis.

The Legacy of the Antonov An-225

The Antonov An-225 is not just a marvel of engineering; it's a symbol of what human ingenuity can achieve. Despite being over three decades old, this airline airplane model remains unmatched in terms of size and lifting capacity. Its continued operation is a testament to the foresight of its designers and the enduring need for such a massive aircraft in today’s world.

However, the An-225's future is uncertain. The only existing model has been in and out of service due to the high costs of operation and maintenance. There's also been speculation about building a second An-225, but financial and logistical challenges have stalled those plans.

Despite these uncertainties, the Antonov An-225’s legacy is secure. It continues to capture the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and the general public alike, reminding us of the heights—both literal and figurative—that human technology can reach.

In conclusion, the Antonov An-225 is not just the biggest airplane in the world; it’s a symbol of human achievement. From its origins as a Soviet space transporter to its current role in global cargo transportation, this large airplane model has set records and exceeded expectations. Whether or not it continues to fly for years to come, the An-225 will always be remembered as a giant among giants in the world of aviation.

[momojedi]

FAREWELL PAIRING: none

GENRE: Angst, Hurt/Comfort WARNING: The Bad Batch S3 Finale spoilers A/N: This is very self-indulgent/OC-based but I guess it could be read as an x Reader story. Its a bit of a way to offer my personal goodbye to the Batch if you will.

MASTERLIST | MOMOJEDI'S 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

"Ah, that must be the final one," I remark, brushing another unruly strand of brown curls from my face as Wrecker stretches beside me, the last crate safely stored aboard my shuttle. "Thank you, Wrecker," I say with heartfelt gratitude, though I wince as I notice him grimace slightly, his injuries from Tantiss still lingering. It took some persuading to accept his help with the crates after Omega's rescue, but eventually, I relented.

Wrecker's booming laughter fills the air, eliciting a subtle grin from me. "Don't worry 'bout it!" he exclaims, clapping a heavy hand on my back, nearly throwing me off balance before we're interrupted by approaching footsteps.

"There you two are," Hunter greets us, accompanied closely by Omega and Crosshair, with Batcher following cheerfully. "How's the packing going?" he inquires, to which I hum, glancing over my shoulder at the shuttle's cargo. "Wrecker just stashed the final crate," I reply with a smile, turning back to them. "I'll be departing shortly."

"Do you have to leave?" Omega's plaintive gaze meets mine, tugging at my heartstrings as she takes my hand. She's grown so much since our first meeting on Kamino during the war, barely reaching my chest then and now almost at my chin's height, the pang of guilt is palpable as I squeeze her hand before enveloping her in a warm hug. With a reassuring murmur, I offer her a smile. "I'll stay in touch, I promise."

"Don't forget about me!" A simultaneous squeal escapes us as Wrecker joins in, lifting us into a tight embrace before setting us back down. Then, the two engage in a playful scuffle with Batcher trailing behind. As I observe them goofing around, a lump forms in my throat. Despite the bittersweet feeling of leaving them behind, my decision remains.

"My father is still out there," I sigh, "I have to find him." The warm hand on my shoulder startles me, and I meet Hunter's hazel eyes. "Regardless of your choices, Pabu will always welcome you," he assures, gesturing towards his siblings. "as will we."

I beam at him, embracing him tightly. Hunter visibly tenses in surprise before he finally returns it. "Thank you," I quietly breathe next to his ear, barely loud enough even for him to hear, yet judging by the tight squeeze he offers, he understood. Then I turn to Crosshair. Despite my apprehension towards him, a curiosity and an un-Jedi-like attachment bordering on romance have always lingered when it came to him. "How's the hand?" I ask, nodding towards the stump of his arm. "It's ... it's healing," he responds with a frown, raising it to show me, yet I find myself drawn to his face, empathising with his internal struggle. I'd seen how he'd scanned his rifle after the mission. With his hand now gone, I can barely imagine how badly he must be questioning his significance as a soldier and sniper at the same time.

"I think you'll be fine," I offer gently, meeting his gaze. It's unusually soft as he watches me carefully, almost thoughtfully. Then, to my surprise, he brushes a stray hair from my face with his healthy hand. "I think you will be, too."

As my departure nears, I bid farewell to the island's inhabitants. Echo had departed to join Rex earlier, leaving me his well wishes. Before I board the shuttle, I halt.

"Oh, Omega!" I call, holding her back before retrieving something from my belt. With a sad smile, my eyes scan over it before I hand her the object. "Perhaps you'll find a better place for this." "Your lightsaber?" Her gasp catches my attention as she takes the lightsaber from me. For a moment, it feels as though a piece of me leaves with it and a peaceful rush fills me knowing a part of me will remain here. "Are you sure?" she asks, and I nod, finding solace in knowing it will be safe with her.

"Yes… I won't need it anymore. That chapter has closed," I explain, flashing her a knowing wink. "Can I trust you with it?" Omega grins. "I'll keep it safe. I think, I have just the spot for it."

Hours later, long after the shuttle has departed, the dim light of the sunset bathes Shep's and Lyanna's home, illuminating its treasures of the past. Tech's goggles catch the light beside Lula, with a silver lightsaber hilt resting nearby.

[valkeakuulas]

🎲 echo/hunter 👀

Not sure this is what you hoped for but here you go!

25. A Kiss That's An Accident

Hunter pushed the handles of the speeder bike forward, increasing the speed of the vehicle as he zigzagged through the heavy traffic, cutting from one lane to the other. The clone passed speeders and smaller shuttles alike, hearing the reactions of the multiple beings in multiple languages, although it had more to do with the fact that Hunter kept zipping past them with barely a foot between than his enhanced senses.

Regs often complained that Tech's way of flying was reckless but none of them had really witnessed Hunter on a speeder bike.

Speaking of the gundark, Hunter's comm came to life as Tech's voice carried through the helmet's audios.

-:Echo has engaged the guard earlier than planned and requires assistance.:- Tech informed. -:Dark blue cargo ships with silver decals.:-

Spotting the speeder, Hunter dipped three lanes down before righting himself, ignoring the way the engine screamed from the treatment.

He saw Echo fighting with a commando droid of some kind on the roof of a small cargo ship, the former ARC dancing around the heavy set droid with servos big enough that getting clipped by one would hurt like kriff.

Hunter clicked the comm on before tilting the speeder, ending up almost sideways. "Behind you, Echo," Hunter warned.

He saw Echo tense for a fraction of a second before he tucked and rolled to the side without hesitation just as Hunter rammed the speeder right into the droid. Jumping off the now damaged speeder, he landed on the shuttle into a crouch just as it and the droid disappeared into the traffic, plummeting down.

Echo, already back to his feet, gave Hunter a Look he felt even through two layers of buckets. "Show off," he just said when Hunter got to him.

"I'm not the one who decided to speed up the plan," Hunter pointed out with a grin.

He didn't get to find out what Echo's reply was because the shuttle beneath their feet shuddered, tilting to the left. They both lost their balance with Hunter lurching forward while Echo, who must've engaged the magnetic grips in his boots, stayed mostly upright.

That was good because Hunter lost his balance just enough for the front of his helmet to smack right into Echo's.

"Kark, sorry about that," Hunter swore as he quickly pushed himself upright, seeing no scrapes or anything on Echo's visor.

"Not the worst kiss I've experienced," Echo laughed as he pulled out the blaster and started to head toward the open hatch the droid must've used to get to the roof.

"Worst ki -- what do you mean? A kiss?" Hunter blurted, confused, and sudden wave of embarrassment hit him. "That was no kiss!"

Echo stopped to look Hunter over his shoulder and from the tilt of his head, Hunter read that the other clone was amused. "Alright, then how about we try again after the mission is over?" Echo suggested, smirking.

Hunter opened and closed his mouth, not that Echo could see that, as suddenly all he could think about was that Echo had just suggested they should kiss.

Before he could say anything, Echo turned around and hurried to the hatch, jumping down.

Hastily, Hunter followed after him, and as he stabbed another commando droid with a vibroknife, Hunter realised that rather liked the idea of Echo, competent and ingenious Echo kissing him.

Dispatching the droid, Hunter decided this mission needed to be finished yesterday.

He had a hot clone to make out with.

[niobiumao3]

Havoc Marauder Interior

Someone made a post about this a while ago but apparently they de-activated so it is possibly lost to the mists of time. Here is what I put together for myself as a writing reference. Image heavy, meta heavy.

Last edit: 2023/11/03

Edits: Replaced garbage text layout with actual ship overhead. Realized the two concept art images face different directions. This likely explains the magical moving jump seats. Also added discussion of a cargo hold. Added discussion of ship dimensions (specifically length). Replaced old guesstimates with numbers from Dawn of Rebellion. Added commentary about the magical seat.

I think people under- and over-estimate the Marauder's interior potential. Given its overall size and intended use (transporting about 10-15 troops plus assorted equipment and providing air support in a forward area), there's not much room left for creature comforts.

Except the Batch aren't 10-15 people, they're 5, and the shuttle is referred to as modified numerous times. This leaves plenty of room to make assumptions and freeform. So, as to what we have actual, visual evidence for from episodes and concept art, here is a rudimentary floor plan:

An important point about the two concept art images: they do NOT face the same direction. The top image faces to the aft/back of the ship, i.e. the tailgun. The second image faces to the fore/front of the ship.

Number key:

1: We know this is where the ramp and door are located from War Mantle and Metamorphsis.

2: We know about this upper storage area from Cut and Run

3: The access to the tail gun has changed visual from TCW s07e02 and various TBB episodes.

The Magically Appearing/Disappearing Seat

In Cut and Run we have this moment with Hunter and Omega, but in most other shots each of these consoles has only one seat (eg. Tech and Echo in prior frames). I think this is actually NOT a magically appearing seat. I think it's the other console seat, because I suspect they can be moved. I base this one this shot from Replacements:

That looks like a seat with a moveable base.

Obviously this is bad design for a ship which is doing barrel rolls and what-not, so I have to assume they're magnetically locked. Even if it is the same seat, in the shots right before that one above, Omega walks up and it's not in that space. So it's almost like the scene was longer and was shortened, and we missed a few frames of her or Hunter unlocking it and moving it over.

Meta Discussions

tl;dr: I think of the Marauder as a small fishing vessel or a van-conversion RV. You can put a lot into a small space if you get creative.

Bathroom I know the writers have made weird assertions there isn't one and omg they all smell gross from no hygiene but that makes zero sense. Soldiers are constantly under stress, they're getting injured, they need to stay clean when possible or they're going to get sick and die from a systemic infection in short order. Anyone who's glanced in the general direction of military history knows this. You can argue about clone expendibility all you want but the Batch minimally qualify in that regard, being Nala Se's pet project. Can you imagine losing one of them to a staph infection because there's nowhere for them to bust out some no-rinse antimicrobial soap or get their scalp clean? I'm not saying they'll be doing photoshoots in between missions (well maybe Hunter would ) but, come on. (And are you going to tell me Mr. Sensor Sensoria is cool with doing long hauls with 4 people who don't bathe? Just, no.)

But that much aside, anyone who's ever been in an RV, a commercial airliner, or a modest-sized sea vessel knows you can cram a bathroom into a tiny space. Yes, you're going to be spinning in circles doing things, but the benefits of a spot to clean up, manage waste, and tend to injuries far outweigh any other use of that area. So regardless of what the writers say, a transport without a minimal refresher (to use the SW term) is counter to the ship's designed use. It has to be able to accommodate Wrecker, of course, but in the end it can double as storage when not in use. There is zero reason to not have one. Added to this, we now officially have a length for the Marauder, which is 30.3 meters (see below). RVs which are 1/5 of that size have bathrooms. You're going to tell me the Marauder doesn't?

If nothing else, since the TCW episodes and the beginning of S1 have pointed to them going on extended deployments with long hops between stops, they're going to need one or constantly be handling waste in much less efficient and sustainable ways.

Added to all of this, it's specifically called a modified variant of an Omicron. We're probably meant to think this means 'Tech would like to fly faster than the GAR and ship engineers think is reasonable for a shuttle' but IMO it extends to changes like this as well. So, there's a refresher in there, feel free to choose a spot. Right across from the fold out racks is a good candidate because in most imagery it's just weapons storage, and there's an entire upper-deck space which you could use for that.

Galley Definitely not one of these. The Batch are eating rations any time they're not on Kamino. You can make an argument they (and all clone units) have cook kits for improvised eating in the field; in the Batch's case I suspect that's a given, as they'd just start doing it because who's going to stop them? Additionally, the sheer amount of rations you would need to carry around to feed Wrecker would be ridiculous. (Remember when Wrecker talks about never being full in S2E13? I feel like this is an indication they did and still do, in fact, have to improvise a lot of additional caloric intake. Hunter probably thought Cut and Suu's farm was a genius idea. 'Grow your own food! Wrecker will never be hungry again! Fucking incredible.' Then Tech got the ship impounded.) I think you can argue for one being added, like with the refresher. Do they actually need those weapons racks anymore? Definitely no. But, it's not on there by default.

Beds As you can see in the concept art above, there are at least 3 racks that fold out from the wall on the port side. They're at a minimum wide enough to accommodate Wrecker, they may also be long enough for him to not need to curl up (unclear because in this shot from Bounty Lost his knees are bent and he's hugging Lula):

Three is a weird number since originally there were four of them. I figure the options here are:

The pilot/copilot/second row seats all look 100% more comfortable than the racks. We actually see Tech sleeping in one, at one point, so this has actual evidence to support it.

It's war time, they're never all asleep simultaneously. Someone is always flying the ship or on watch.

The floor is in effect the same as a rack, arguably preferable as you can't fall off it in the event Something Happens while you're out. So, one of them might actually be ON the floor sometimes.

They're not really intended to sleep on the ship for extended periods, but narratively we're lead to believe they have, many times, and needed to make adjustments to it as a result. Notice how quickly Wrecker whipped up a bed for Omega? IMO, not the first time they've done something like that--they did it for themselves first.

Cargo Hold Based on that screenshot of Omega above and the below shot from Cut and Run, the 'hold' of the ship is actually a storage area overhead, running the length of the ship. In that shot above of the rack, there are a series of yellow rungs which imply you can climb up somewhere on the port side. This is probably alternate access to that same overhead storage space.

In Cut and Run we see Echo, Omega, and Tech hide in it, coming back out from a slide-open hatch:

Given Tech's height this is probably somewhere around 1.5m high.

We can be reasonably certain the hold isn't under the ship, or at least storage there is minimal, due to a couple of things:

In all instances where the hyperdrive has been pulled, it's under the ship on the belly, and takes up a reasonable amount of space. Eg., in Retrieval, here's a bunch of stuff which has been pulled from the ship:

In instances where they're working on the ship from the outside, like in Cornered, the sides and belly never have panels open which contain empty space unless the ship's hardware have been removed to reach something:

So, the cargo hold is probably that space on the top from Cut and Run. It doesn't have much room; reasonably speaking, the area with the weapons and sleeping racks was probably a cargo hold as well, they just converted it to a more general purpose area. (So IMO this is a stronger argument for putting a commercial airliner-style bathroom in place of the weapons racks, particularly once they bail on the Empire.)

Dimensions - updated 11/3/23 Dawn of Rebellion has a Bad Batch section, and indicates the Marauder is 30.3m in length, 36.65m wide (presumably with the wings extended, and 12.41m tall (this probably includes the central stabilizer).

I will edit this to update it as we get more pictures. Since the toys that I know of have no basis the show from an internal perspective I didn't include anything from them.

Image sources:

All screencaps by me. Use at will.

Marauder underlay

Bad Batch Concept Art, Marauder Interior

[heliopauseentertainments]

The Conduit

Requested by @jariktig

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: General

Relationships: Megatron/Trypticon

Characters: Megatron & Trypticon

Warnings: Canon Blending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Pre-Relationship, One-Sided Relationships, Vignette, Migraines

Summary: In which Trypticon and Megatron both seek to use the other to their own ends.

Notes: Canon compliant with Course of Treatment, but not explicitly canonical. May contain spoilers.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

In this shape, the stars drifting lazily around him, he might as well have been asleep as they orbited a small, unremarkable, rocky world. Navigation, propulsion, and weaponry all functioned without his need to get involved, unless he decided to.

The door for one of his shuttle bays opened automatically when a ping came in from a returning shuttle. Perhaps it bore resources extracted from the gray surface below. That didn’t matter to him.

The shuttle bore something all the more precious to him personally. He refused to leave his post without its contents. He had even shut down his engines, on the off chance the crew tried to move him before the shuttle returned.

Some of his kind might have gotten bored with the passive role of vessel.

Trypticon would have disagreed with them… were any of them yet around to disagree with. It had been so long since he had seen one of them; perhaps he was the last. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

Since he had been dug out of his stone blanket, his coffin where his more diminutively-sized kin had forgotten him… Trypticon had taken a new approach, observing and learning the alien universe he had awoken into. Until such a time as he could use that knowledge for his own benefit and take his rightful place as a warlord of their people, poised to conquer the stars.

The vastness of space was cold, punctuated by small points of heat scurrying around inside his metal frame. Crew. Residents. Only marginally his responsibility, yet each of which he recognized by weight and gait alone. The one he was interested in was missing. All of the others remaining were pointless.

The shuttle flew close, ready to cross the threshold into the bay.

He had no sensation from the inside of the shuttles when they were outside of his frame. They weren’t part of his body, accessories at most. Yet crossing the atmospheric retention forcefield of the shuttle bay provided more of a connection.

As the approaching shuttle pushed through, Trypticon’s sensors found the heat signature he had been missing, that he had been waiting for. The most precious cargo of all.

He had never had a cityspeaker. They had been in short supply in his relative youth. And with the changes in language since he had gone to sleep under the rock, he understood only some of the speech of his new crew. Even if his long-corroded vocalizer still functioned, they wouldn’t understand each other.

Perhaps he could… coax one into taking up the role somehow. He didn’t quite understand how it worked, but if he wanted to eventually accomplish anything from his long-term goals of conquest to even short-term needs like intimacy, he would need a functional link to the ant-like mechs who dwellt within his hull.

And he knew just the one. The one whose hand had first touched his hull, gracing it with the first warmth he had known ever since he had sunk into what had seemed like an endless slumber.

The familiar point of heat returned, a heavy and sure gait as the crew’s commander stepped off the shuttle.

Trypticon bombarded him with radio transmissions, demanding his attention. A flood of fervent, urgent signals.

The commander shouted, perhaps at Trypticon, perhaps at the crew. It was difficult to tell. The words were meaningless to him, ghosts of familiar sound shapes that didn’t quite match to anything he knew.

It hadn’t worked. Again. For whatever reason.

He would have to keep trying. He had all the time in the world.

--

As soon as he was alone in his quarters, Megatron turned the lights off and removed his helmet. The removal of a few sensations only marginally relieved the pounding in his processor. It did little for the nausea writhing in his fuel tank, but a small improvement was still an improvement.

Shuttering his optics against the pain, he eased himself to the floor where he sprawled out, supine on the cold metal.

He had only just returned to the ship.

The uninhabited world below the Nemesis had yielded some energon deposits, along with minerals that could be refined into energon. His shuttle had just brought back some samples for analysis, yet as soon as he had stepped off the vessel, his processor had decided to implode into yet another migraine.

The medics aboard, the hacks that they tended to be, had yet to find a cause for these recurring episodes of pain. Megatron had refused medication. He would not be weakened by something as petty and banal as physical pain.

He had experienced pain in some capacity his entire life; pain meant he was still alive. Pain meant he could still fight.

This pain—that came on occasionally in the past few thousand years—was just newer; that was all.

It meant nothing; it was nothing.

Rather than considering lying on the floor to be succumbing to the pain, Megatron had determined the most appropriate description was that he was taking the opportunity to consider available strategies from a novel position. He was using this posture to isolate his thoughts and consider new possibilities, yes.

This was not weakness. He was not weak.

The ache pulsed through his circuits in waves like the pain itself was somehow echoing off the inside of his cranium.

At least this raggedy vessel, a comatose titan they had serendipitously happened across, had the space to allow him a measure of privacy to sort through these sensations. It was far more difficult to bear when forced to sit on the bridge with Starscream complaining in one ear and Soundwave attempting to propose reasonable alternatives in the other.

He cast his arm over his face, a further barrier in the dark.

The wall next to him shuddered, an aggravating habit resulting from this ship’s construction.

Tremors and trembling appearing suddenly where there oughtn’t have been any movement were common enough. Perhaps stemming from the titan’s dreams. Nightmares, maybe. If the distinction even mattered.

Megatron reached out with his unoccupied arm and smacked his fist against the vibrating wall, not hard enough to dent.

“Stop.” The trembling remained, amplifying the ache in his head. He wondered at times why they didn’t just scrap the old titan for parts and leave what they couldn’t use then buried as a resource cache for later. “That’s enough!”

He smacked the wall again, the juddering halting abruptly.

The pressure in his head grew, like tiny hammers pounding against each nanometer of delicate wiring with the ire of a scorned a lover seeking to exact as much suffering as possible.

With the increased pain, his thoughts became a haze. The sensation of pain itself blurred and blossomed out into a fuzzy halo, distant and separate from his body. Almost bearable. As though he had accumulated enough agony to enter some sort of trance.

A voice he didn’t recognize whispered incoherently, words he didn’t understand.

Megatron must have been imagining it, a hallucination brought forth by his failure to ignore the ache.

The voice, deep and old, continued to murmur in a language he didn’t recognize. Occasionally what almost sounded like a familiar word cropped up.

And the cloud of pain collapsed, crushing the whispers, and ringing his processor like a temple’s bell once more. The ringing summoned a rising wave of nausea that he only just barely managed to suppress.

The wall shook again, the floor underneath his back joining in. The jostling only made him feel like his internal components were rattling around inside his frame.

Would not one thing aboard this ship obey him? He smacked the floor with his palm, once more demanding stillness from the Nemesis.

The metal beneath him ceased trembling but seemed to begin to warm, soothing the pain, a strange comfort.

Megatron must have been imagining it.

It, like everything else, was all in his head.

[alphamecha-mkii]

Zeta-class Heavy Cargo Shuttle by Isaiah

[bits-and-babs]

Hi, I just read your rules again and saw that this request needed to be sent on non anon, so I’m sending it again.

💿

For Commander Mills and the shower prompt please, or it could be a waterfall too. Thank you so much for taking requests 🖤

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 — 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒

summary: grief threatens to consume you far quicker than the creatures that inhabit the moon you have crash-landed on. Mills does everything he can to stop it.

pairing: Commander Mills (65 Movie) x f!reader

word count: 1k

content: 18+ MDNI. Injury, trauma, vague descriptions/mentions of PTSD. Survivors' guilt. Sad sex (?), sort of a hurt/comfort thing. Heavy petting, p in v sex. 

➛ mills masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

Cuts seep deep crimson down the length of your forearms, the ichor dripping from your fingertips and into the freezing cold water at your feet. It dilutes, the scarlet cloud swirling amongst the crystal clear river before drifting away with the current.

Closing your eyes slowly, you tilt your head back into the bruising flow of the waterfall as the plummeting stream bludgeons your skull and shoulders. It hurts, your aching body battered and beaten in the crash that had claimed the lives of the cryogenic cargo you had been attempting to shuttle across the universe. You’d lost count of how often you’d been flung into the steel walls- or had you blacked out? You weren’t sure.

A shaky breath rattles in your lungs as you try to expel the pain that sits heavy against your heart. Abandoned on this planet, surrounded by creatures lusting for your flesh with no promise of assistance, you’re beginning to feel utterly hopeless.

“Hey,” a soft, gruff voice murmurs in your ear, lips pressing against the soft cartilage shell as hands swallow the curve of your hips. You lean into that touch, cling to its scarce comfort. The calloused fingerprints circle the arch of your hip bones in soothing circles, soft mouth places open-mouthed kisses across the length of your shoulder. “You’re disappearing again.”

Clearing your throat weakly, you nod your head, chewing on the raw surface of the inside of your cheek. “I’m-… I’m trying not to, Mills.”

“I know,” he urges you softly, skimming his hands across your bare skin. It’s cold to the touch under the stream of the waterfall, but Mill’s proximity sparks heat, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. “I know. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Mills struggles to conceal the concern that laces the casual tone of his request. He’s been worried about you since the crash, scared that the grief, the guilt of being the only other survivor, and the brutality of the planet would swallow you whole. You’d catch him checking on you in the middle of the night, scared you’d… given up.

“I just-“ you choke, emotion roiling in your stomach like the bubbling surface of the water battered by the falling stream. Mills squeezes you tight, letting you know he’s here to hold you together as you shatter. “I just need you. Need you closer.”

You don’t have to ask twice. Mill’s arms encase you, pulling your back to his naked chest ever so gently. Tears stream down your cheeks, mixing with the freshwater droplets that drip from your hairline. He doesn’t mind as you sob into his kisses, plush lips pressing delicately against your own as they tremble. Gentle words of encouragement pour from his mouth like a free-flowing cup of wine, overwhelming, sweet affirmations that still leave a bitterness coating your tongue.

You’re doing so well. I know it’s hard. We’re getting out of this together.

Sinking your fingers into the soaked strands of midnight hair at the base of his neck, you push his head closer to you and smother his proclamations of survival with a heated kiss. Mills returns your hunger, groping at the soft expanse of your flesh with heavy hands.

The guilt drenched you, makes you feel colder than the cascade of the rapids above you. You can feel the press of Mill’s heavy cock twitching at your back; note the swirling arousal that blooms beneath his touch as he sweeps his thumbs across your pert nipples. You’re alive.

Fuck, you’re alive, and it feels so good. Mill’s beard brushes at your cheek as his tongue lathes against your own. You cling desperately to him, afraid that you’ll wake from this blissful dream and return to consciousness, plummeting down to earth in the steel coffin of the ship.

“I’m here,” Mills pants heavily into your mouth, sweeping his palm up the inside of your thigh, “You’re here with me, Sweet Thing.”

You sob weakly, reaching out to grasp onto the rocky cliff face with a trembling hand. “Please, Mills. Please.”

Begging for everything and nothing and for mercy, you let out a blissful wail of relief as Mills sweeps his blunt cockhead against your soaked pussy lips and into your aching cunt.

It’s this. This moment. When you have to suck oxygen into your lungs and focus on the pace of your breaths. The sting of his cock stretches you open, and the distant groans behind your head as the roar of the falls drown him out. You don’t have room to think of anything else, can’t consider the chaos and the carnage that killed off your cargo-

“Mills,” you choke out as he rocks heavily into your hips from behind, slamming hard against the surface of your cervix. It’s a dull pain, breeding pleasure beneath the throbbing sensation as he rocks into you. His palm cups over your breast, squeezing the malleable flesh and pinching at your nipples.

It sparks heavily in the pit of your stomach, the increase in pace causing the slap of his balls against the curve of your ass to sound over the crashing water. You whimper loudly, tilting your head against his shoulder and revelling in how he takes your earlobe between his teeth and groans into your ear.

“Come on,” he hisses softly as your walls squeeze around him, “Come on, I know it feels good.”

The devastating agony of loss melts away as the ebb of your orgasm throbs at the surface of your being. You nod mindlessly, all sounds caught in your throat when his fingertips brush at your clit, and you threaten to cum.

“Yeah? You’re gonna give me everything? I’ve got you, Sweet Thing. I won’t let you go.” He whispers, and it’s so gentle that it shakes your soul.

join the taglist:

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[astromechs]

I know it’s late af since June it’s almost over but if you’re still accepting the smut prompts, here you go: Jyn and Cassian fucking in some tight space on that ship on the way to Scarif because I just know it happened

anon, i am so thankful for you, you and my 2 am binge of listening to the smiths singlehandedly broke me out of writer's block ❤️ also, yes, readers, definitely mind the explicit rating hgfjdks happy pride to these lgbts also on ao3!

Jyn has always hated being trapped on a ship in the middle of hyperspace.

Even in scattered memories of the days before she and her parents had settled on Lah’mu, when she’d once traveled with her mother to all sorts of planets for exploration, the journeys had always made her nervous. Restless. The first time, her chest had tightened and her throat had closed to the point that she could hardly breathe; it’d only been when her mother had found her, terrified in the cargo hold, and had held her close until the ship had landed, that everything in her had started to ease. It’d gotten somewhat better after that, but even so, she’d needed at least a hand to grip onto in order to combat the panic that would come for her.

There hasn’t been a hand to hold hers in a long time — not since her mother had been killed and her father had left her behind, and she’d spent an entire night curled up in a cave, terrified as the rain had battered relentlessly on the ground above and trickled down below. Saw would’ve never been one to offer anything for comfort, much less his hand, and with him, she’d quickly had to adapt; beyond him, totally alone in the galaxy, she’d had no choice. Still, between transports to places she’s long since forgotten, between being locked in one prison cell or another, between continually being forced to adapt, she’s never lost her profound discomfort. Her profound distaste.

She’d tried, for a while, to stay in the cockpit with Bodhi, K2, and Cassian, felt like she’d owed it, somehow, but there’d been a point when sitting still, looking at the same monotonous view of hyperspace, had been too much. Without a word, she’d pushed herself up from the floor, climbed down the ladder to the cockpit, and begun to wander aimlessly — but in a shuttle as small as this one, there hadn’t been much room to do so.

It’s not as if she’d been stupid enough to not know that, but there’s knowing something and there’s facing the reality of it; she hadn’t had to go far to achieve the latter, for the realization of it to hit her like a blow to the chest, stopping her in her tracks, back against the wall, and bringing out some vague, childish thought that hasn’t been possible in well more than a decade to wish for her mother.

Her hands had started to shake as she’d taken the chain holding the kyber crystal out from under her shirt and wrapped her fingers around it — and so far, they haven’t stopped. So far, all she hears other than the sound of her own breath and pounding heart is the hum of the shuttle as it continues to barrel through hyperspace and toward… she can’t say she knows what.

That’s all she hears. Until —

Footsteps, which fall heavy, and come steadily closer.

Jyn’s eyes snap open, head turning toward the sound as she quickly tucks the kyber crystal back under her shirt, safely against her chest.

At first glance, there isn’t much to read in Cassian’s face, because his expression is as neutral as he often makes it. But in his eyes, there’s a different story; she sees a weight there, as oppressive and heavy as anything sitting inside her right now. A reflection that she, somehow, understands completely.

That brings her voice back, raspy from lack of use — at least enough to ask:

“How long?”

“An hour,” he tells her, then, as if reporting some mundane fact with no stakes for life or death, “if the calculations are right.” They both know, of course, that the calculations wouldn’t be anything but right, so Jyn can read the unspoken that’s lurking just underneath: If we don’t run into any problems.

To say that this is all a risk is definitely, obviously, an understatement. There are so many ways this could fail, well before they even reach Scarif. Forging airtight scandocs would’ve taken well more time than they have, so all they can rely on is Imperial slowness, Bodhi’s knowledge, and more than a fair bit of luck.

(There are so many ways this can, and probably will, fail.)

She drops her gaze and lets out a breath, long and slow — which does nothing to ease the tightness in her chest, the way her throat threatens to close, or the tremor in her hands. Still, she flicks her eyes up again to meet his, steady.

“Okay.” She doesn’t say anything else, because there’s nothing else to say to that — and he just nods his acknowledgement, for the same reason.

Any conversation that could be had is done; any reason for both of them to still be standing here has long since faded with it.

And yet — they linger, and somewhere along the way, both because of his steps and her own, they come closer, until there’s barely any distance between them at all. Until she’s acutely aware of what’s been added to her space: the sound of his breath, matching hers. His presence, warm and alive, a sharp contrast against everything cold, mechanical, and monotonous around them. Something she could reach for, something she could hold; it wouldn’t be far. It wouldn’t be hard.

She’s not thinking about being trapped on a ship in the middle of hyperspace, suddenly. That’s parsecs away from her mind compared to the way that her heart pounds against the walls of her chest, compared to the way she’s drawn in, like she’s caught in his gravitational pull. Something sparks to life under her skin, something ironically warmer and more alive than she can ever remember feeling, considering what they’re headed for as soon as the stolen Imperial shuttle they’re on drops out of hyperspace.

Because, yeah, in an hour, maybe, in more if they’re lucky and less if anything resembling luck has gone to total shit, the odds are good that they’re going to die.

And Jyn thinks: fuck it.

Cassian absorbs the force of her when she stands on her toes and crashes into him, far from gentle when she captures his mouth with hers. For a moment, he otherwise goes still; it stretches on long enough that something in her considers pulling back, but then she feels his lips part under her, feels, more than hears, the noise that escapes them — and that consideration is dust. His hands are rough when they reach for her and bring her flush against him, gripping her so tightly that she can feel his fingers leave impressions on her skin, even through her clothes.

They’re perfect.

So is the way they stumble, completely lacking any grace, toward a nearby compartment just barely big enough to fit two people, separated from the rest of the shuttle by a sliding door she activates with a fumbling hand. And so is the way they practically fall inside of it, still clinging to one another, teeth knocking and messy kisses tasting of blood.

It’s dark and cramped in here with the door shut behind them, and the air is thick with their sweat. She has no range of motion with the way her back is pressed against the wall and she’s surrounded on all other sides by Cassian. More trapped than she’s ever been — but it’s a trapping she wants, to the point of aching in her core; the noise that leaves her, too loud to be decent on a shuttle full of people, is a testament to that. His lips find hers again, though, muffling it before it has a chance to travel far, and in this moment, she’ll take that silencing.

She’ll take anything he has to give. Life has taken so much from her, and here, just before what is likely the end, she’s going to fucking take something back.

And he has so much to give, as it turns out. There’s no time to protest the loss of his lips on hers because he’s turned them to her throat, finding a spot on her skin there that has her eyes fluttering closed. One hand slips under her shirt, cupping her breast and rolling a thumb over the nipple, while the other somehow manages to unfasten her pants, sliding them down just far enough to tease between her legs. Through the haze steadily enveloping her, it occurs to her, at least a full minute later, that she should be working on his.

Her hands are clumsy, fumbling, but they get the job done — and she’s rewarded with something that sounds like a sigh against her neck. She reaches up, tips his chin with her thumb until he’s lifted it away, and leans in to kiss him once again, messy and desperate; fingers trace the line of his jaw and wind into his hair, and she holds onto him, as he holds onto her.

“Jyn,” he rasps between them when they break apart.

She opens her eyes, lets them adjust to the dark enough to make out what she can of the man in front of her. There’s a thoughtful sort of hesitation in what she’s able to see, as if he has to wait for his order. As if he has to… confirm with her. Most people don’t stop when things get this far, in her experience, and —

A deep-seated part of her, buried near the cave in her mind, can’t help but be touched by it.

But the rest of her knows they don’t have time for that; the shortness in her voice, more urgency than irritation, says as much. “What are you waiting for?”

He follows his order with no further hesitation, sinking inside her, filling her. Moving against her as she arches her hips into him, and —

Already so close, it doesn’t take long for either of them to find the release they’re looking for.

In the aftermath, the time they have left before they reach Scarif continues to dwindle. Soon, they’ll have to leave this moment they’ve created and go back to the others; they’ll have to ready themselves to fight, as much as anyone can when so much is so uncertain. But Jyn will take just one more thing: a last stretch of time being held in his arms, warm and safe like what she can remember of home.

Maybe when she dies, if she’s lucky, she won’t be so out of her mind that she’ll forget how this feels.

At the end, it’s not just a memory to take with her. His arms are around her when the blast comes for them, warm and safe, home, and after so much of her life has been spent drifting with no tether, she’s lucky enough for that feeling to be the last thing she knows.

[lonestarflight]

"Illustration of Ares V Launch Vehicle With Call Outs" by NASA/Marshall Space Flight Center

"The NASA developed Ares rockets, named for the Greek god associated with Mars, will return humans to the moon and later take them to Mars and other destinations. This is an illustration of the Ares V with call outs. The Ares V is a heavy lift launch vehicle that will use five RS-68 liquid oxygen/liquid hydrogen engines mounted below a larger version of the space shuttle external tank, and two five-segment solid propellant rocket boosters for the first stage. The upper stage will use the same J-2X engine as the Ares I and past Apollo vehicles. The Ares V can lift more than 286,000 pounds to low Earth orbit and stands approximately 360 feet tall. This versatile system will be used to carry cargo and the components into orbit needed to go to the moon and later to Mars. Ares V is subject to configuration changes before it is actually launched. This illustration reflects the latest configuration as of January 2007."

Date: December 5, 2006

NASA ID: MSFC-0700063

[apod]

2023 May 14

To Fly Free in Space Image Credit: NASA, STS-41B

Explanation: What would it be like to fly free in space? At about 100 meters from the cargo bay of the space shuttle Challenger, Bruce McCandless II was living the dream -- floating farther out than anyone had ever been before. Guided by a Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), astronaut McCandless, pictured, was floating free in space. During Space Shuttle mission 41-B in 1984, McCandless and fellow NASA astronaut Robert Stewart were the first to experience such an "untethered space walk". The MMU worked by shooting jets of nitrogen and was used to help deploy and retrieve satellites. With a mass over 140 kilograms, an MMU is heavy on Earth, but, like everything, is weightless when drifting in orbit. The MMU was later replaced with the SAFER backpack propulsion unit.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap230514.html