#sat nav data

[therealgchu]

Chapter 3 To the Shore

just posted chapter 3: Knowns and Unknowns. remember, a03 doesn't have sections for prologues, so it's listed as chapter 4 there. trigger warning for mention of child abuse.

already started working on the next chapter, and chugging a long pretty decently.

if you want to read it from the beginning, here's the link. i think i'll make a nice banner this weekend. i got a nice shot the other day, which, i think, will work nicely.

and, here's a snippet:

She was emotionally exhausted when they reached orbit and it was late. Cora was already in bed, and she didn’t have the mental strength to deal with anything. Thankfully, Sam was silent the whole trip. She didn’t think she could deal with trying to make conversation. She checked the nav computer for the gravitational waves for the moon’s Lagrange point, and set the ship into stationary orbit.

She had started shutting down systems, when Sam came up behind her. “You look exhausted. Get some sleep. I’ll take care of the ship.” Hwa nodded, not having the energy to debate, and dragged herself to her bunk.

Hwa was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open. But, she didn’t want to sleep. It was nights like these when she was exhausted and emotionally drained that the bad nightmares came. She had nightmares every night, but those were so common they had become part of her nightly dreamscape. She had nightmares about being chased and killed since she was little, and they were so common that they long stopped scaring her. However, when she was this tired, it was like her brain didn’t have any defenses, and the really bad dreams came.

Sleep finally came, yet the only reason she knew she had fallen asleep was because she woke up in a tight ball in the middle of her bunk, quietly whimpering. She learned as a child to never scream in her sleep because that would wake other people up, and those people would beat her for waking them up. She peeked to the other bunks, and found that, thankfully, her whimpers didn’t wake up Sam or Cora. She quickly and silently got out of her bunk and made her way to the cockpit. She reckoned she’d slept about five and a half hours, more than enough shut-eye. She grabbed a book from the captain’s locker, curled up in the seat, and read till dawn.

Sam and Cora were not early risers. By the time they’d awaken, she’d already surveyed the moon from orbit, and found the possible location that Andreja might be. She was sitting at the galley table with a slate, going over the data when the two finally arose. She’d spend much of the early morning hours mentally preparing to deal with other people. There was work to do, and a pity party dwelling on the past wasn’t going to find Andreja.

“Do you want breakfast? I can make you some. I grabbed some bacon and pancakes before we left New Atlantis,” she offered.

Sam furrowed his brows at her, but Cora immediately sat down at the table, beaming. “Yes please! What are we doing today, Captain?” she piped up.

Hwa got up and started bustling around the galley. In short order, she had made enough breakfast for all three. “Vlad asked us to check on Andreja,” Hwa answered Cora. She then turned to Sam, “I think I might have found where she might be. There’s an abandoned mine that’s playing havoc with the gravity readings in just that tiny spot. Figured we should start there.”

Sam picked at the food she put before him, and stared at her intently. Hwa finally set down and started eating. She saw his intense gaze and returned it with a bland expression. Cora saw her dad’s expression and shook her head. “Dad, you look like Sarah right now when she’s mad at you.”

“What, Gumdrop?” he said absently, turning his attention to his daughter.

“I said you look like Sarah when she’s mad at you,” Cora repeated, then shoved some bacon in her mouth.

[norabrice1701]

Twist My Heart - Ch. 2

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

- A TG:M Twister AU -

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Also on AO3

Ch. 2 Warnings: Language; discussion of canon character death; tornado chasing drama

Even with guaranteed nationwide wi-fi service, the rural counties still prove a constant challenge. Squinting against hazy sunlight that shafts through the windshield, Bradley stares at the progress bar on his laptop, willing the radar image to update. The supercell to the south has finally started to display favorable indications for a hook echo… but then his internet connection blipped.

He sighs, resting back against the passenger seat headrest as the image continues to load. His eyes drift closed but the release of a semitruck’s air brakes jar his attention. The midday beehive activity of gas stations make them Bradley’s least favorite place to wait out oncoming storms, but their SUV did need refueling. 

Another disappointing glance at his computer screen confirms the ongoing wi-fi struggle, and he looks out the windshield instead. His gaze lands immediately on Hangman’s swaggering form, impossible to miss as he exits the convenience store. A plastic bag swings next to his legs clad in casually well-fitting jeans and his Dagger Labs polo shirt highlights the strong build of his chest. Sunglasses shield his eyes and complement all the attractive angles of his face beneath his stylish blonde hair. He passes a woman who offers him a bashful smile, and he dials his answering grin up to full brilliance. It brings out the dimples that never fail to lend him an air of boyish charm, and… fuck.

“Where the fuck are we?” Fanboy’s voice sounded over the CB radio with distinct displeasure. “Come on, Bob.” 

“You’re on County Road 31 - or should be, at least. Half a mile out, Dagger 3.” Bob responded with calm ease. 

“Tornado is on the ground!” Payback hollered, his excitement palpable through the radio static. “It’s going about 35 mph. North-northeast.” 

Bradley’s heart jumped in his chest as he pressed harder on the gas pedal. Just over the low hill ahead, he watched the black, angry funnel taking violent shape, and the sight made his blood rush. 

Hangman popped the lens cover off his camera in the passenger seat. “Don’t get too close, now. You’ll ruin the shot.” 

“Heaven forbid I come between you and your art.” 

“Damn straight.” 

Bradley turned to cast a passing glance out the passenger window, just able to make out the flashing yellow lights of Dagger 2 approaching from the west. His smile widened as the Dagger Labs team continued to move into position, each fulfilling their field assignments, and Bradley turned his gaze back out out the front windshield. Over the roar of wind and the blaring team radio calls, he heeded the sat nav directions and cranked the wheel on the next road towards Bob’s tracking coordinates. 

“Oh, man,” Fanboy chuckled with raw wonder. “We have an EF2, possibly EF3 with a very large rope on the ground!”

“Shear is 90 knots. Rotation increasing.” Nat reported, all business and calm coolness. “50 outbound, 40 inbound.” 

Bradley’s smile grew as the digital shutter on Hangman’s camera started clicking away. It was an artform that Bradley never understood, but Hangman always found a way to capture breathtaking images no matter how fast Bradley drove. 

“Axis has gone vertical!” Fanboy whooped with joy. “This sucker’s really gaining strength and we’re getting into prime position!”

The promise of victory - of good data capture - rushed a thrill through Bradley as he made the next turn onto a dirt road, tracking the twister’s visual progress relative to the target coordinates. He lived for these moments - with his hair on fire and adrenaline electrifying his senses as the power of mother nature reigned supreme, ripe for scientific exploration. 

The SUV bounced over the uneven, rutted road jarring them both in their seats. Hangman glared over, bracing one hand against the dashboard and trying to steady his camera with the other. “Where the fuck did you turn?” 

“Where’s Bob’s directions said…” 

Hangman turned his gaze out the window suspiciously, staring down at the ground as they jounced. “Are you sure this even qualifies as a road?” 

“It’s got to be.” Bradley answered as he fought the wheel to keep the SUV moving forward in a steady, straight line. “It's probably called something like… ‘Bob’s Road’.”

Hangman barked a sharp laugh that carried a genuine note of amusement as he looked over at Bradley. His cheeks held the flush of excitement and his eyes shone with bright energy as he shot Bradley a smile. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.” 

Bradley glanced over, blood singing in his veins as the perfect beauty of the moment took his breath away.

Bradley sighs again, pushing the memory aside and hoping to expel more than one type of frustration as he looks back at his computer. The driver door opens, ushering in a gust of gasoline fumes and dust as Hangman retakes his seat. Bradley stays content to ignore him, focusing instead on the progress bar of his radar update. At least until a bag of sour gummy worms lands on his laptop keys.

He’s long stopped being flattered when his coworkers - especially Hangman - remember his snack preferences. It comes with the territory after so many years on the road together.

“I keep thinking that one day you’ll outgrow those, you know.” Hangman’s words deform around the corner of a plastic wrapper clenched between his teeth as he tears it open. “Or do you actually like getting cavities? Or diabetes much?”

Bradley rips the bag open as he glances over at Hangman. The blonde gnaws a bite of beef jerky, and Bradly just arches an incredulous brow before speaking. “And what about you? Hypertension much? Colon cancer?”

The corner of Hangman’s mouth lifts as he waves the snack for emphasis. “At least this has protein in it. Something redeeming.”

There’s plenty redeeming in the gummy candy's sweet and sour flavors that burst on Bradley's tongue, but they're none of Hangman’s business. He doesn’t need to know how they were Goose’s favorite. How Bradley could always find a bag stashed in his desk – sometimes half-eaten, sometimes stale, sometimes unopened – and his dad would always let him have some, even if it was before dinner. He offers a shrug as he pulls more gummy worms out of the bag. “Vice of choice.” 

Hangman chuckles. “And you’re how old? 10?” 

“Beer’s a close second.” 

“Really livin’ on the edge there, Roo.” Hangman deadpans, words distorted as he chews another bite of jerky.

Bradley blinks down at the radar image that’s nearly uploaded before turning back towards Hangman. His elbow rests on the window ledge and the visible swell of muscle has no right to be so appealing. Bradley’s no slouch in the gym, either - the job demands a certain physicality - but something about Hangman’s has always made Bradley’s heart race. “What’s yours, then?” He asks, licking stray sugar from his lips. “What vice makes you so high and mighty?” 

A shit-eating grin grows on Hangman’s face. “Now what’s the fun in just telling you?” 

Bradley shakes his head, swallowing a wave of irritation. “You don’t have to tell me - I can only assume there’s a reason Coyote has lots of tequila stories about you.” And they absolutely, resolutely don’t make Bradley jealous. Not the stories themselves, but Coyote and Hangman’s relationship going back so many years before working together at Dagger Labs. He still doesn't know how or why Mav hired them both - or if they came as a package deal - but they’ve only helped add to Dagger Labs’ prestigious reputation. 

“Stories are just that,” Hangman answers, clearly unimpressed. “Easy to fabricate and easy to exaggerate.” 

He can’t resist arching a teasing brow. “Oh, I’m sure Coyote has photos, though. No self-respecting friend wouldn’t want that sort of embarrassing fodder for a 40th birthday or wedding rehearsal dinner show’n tell.” 

Disgusted disbelief wrinkles Hangman’s face. “If that’s your idea of what being a friend means, Bradshaw, then count me out.”  

“Well, then," he says, hoping his voice isn't suddenly too tight. "Good thing we’re just coworkers.” 

A silence falls in the SUV, broken only by their quiet chewing and the muffled sounds of the gas station around them. The plastic wrapper of the jerky stick crinkles as Hangman polishes off the last bite. “How’s Doppler looking?” 

At least the weather forecast information has finally refreshed. Bradley swipes his finger over the touchscreen. “Looks like that cell south of us has dropped in intensity. Not likely to spawn anything now.” 

“I never hung my hat on that system, anyway.” Hangman says, almost bored. “Not enough stability for the upper wind rotations to form.” 

Bradley doesn’t quite roll his eyes. “You never even saw the data, man.” 

“Didn’t need to.” He shoots an adoring look at Bradley over the top of his shades. “Not when you use your words so well, saying such pretty things.” 

Bradley just shakes his head, refusing to look over and hoping that Hangman doesn’t see the tightening muscles of his jaw. In these moments, he hates that he doesn’t have the same instincts. That he’s more data dependent, more prone to think than to act. While it hasn’t failed him yet - in fact, it’s saved his ass on more than one occasion - even Mav has told him that he needs to not think quite so much. 

Maybe he just comes by it too honestly. 

He takes a last mouthful of gummy worms and rolls up the bag, stuffing it into the glove box. With another scan of the forecast data, he glances down at the notebook resting next to the center console and picks it up. If there’s one surefire way to get Hangman to shut up, this is it. 

Nibbling his bottom lip, he starts inking out representative lines for each letter of the word that he's chosen. No matter how many times he’s played Hangman with… well, Hangman, it never fails to transport him back to his grade school days despite the mobile lab equipment around him. 

Hangman chuckles softly as he watches Bradley sketch out a scaffold. “You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to play.” 

“Well, I’m done listening to you talk, and you can do what you do best.” 

“Impress you?”

“Win.” Bradley states it like the fact that it is. It’s long stopped being a competition, but Bradley refuses to admit that Hangman’s mastery of the game does impress him. He glances up at Hangman and holds the notebook out for him to study. 

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

A toothpick materializes in the corner of Hangman’s mouth, another of his many talents. “You’re missing the category hint.” 

Bradley mentally kicks himself. He should have remembered that but like hell will he admit it. “That’s not a firm rule, is it?” 

Hangman cuts him with a sly gaze over his sunglasses. “Of course it is. Stop trying to cheat.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts without permission. “Alright - category is ‘thing’.” 

Hangman’s eyes fix on the notebook. “‘T’.” 

Bradley scratches the pen on the page, filling in the blank. 

__ __ __ __ T __ __ __

Hangman’s tongue darts out to tease the toothpick as he cocks his head. “A risk, but one I think’ll pay off – ‘C’.”

Bradley tries to hide his disappointment as he writes out the letter.

__ __ C __ T __ __ __

A triumphant smile brightens Hangman’s face. “You really picked ‘vacation’ as the word? Come on, at least make it a challenge!”

Bradley’s mouth gapes open before he can stop it, staring at the page. “How in the hell? There’s nothing obvious about that!”

“A master never reveals his secrets.” Hangman plucks the toothpick and points it towards the notebook. “Come on, write it out – prove me right.”

With gentle scoff, Bradley shakes his head and moves the pen over the paper.

V A C A T I O N

Despite the fact that Hangman is called Hangman for this exact reason, despite the fact that Bradley has seen Hangman do this countless times, and despite the fact that he’ll never stump Hangman at his own game, it still stirs the competitive part of him. Bradley stares at the blank page for the space of a breath as he tries to summon something clever. Something unusual, something harder - something with two words. 

Carrier pigeon. 

Liking his odds, he inks out lines for the thirteen letters. “Two words, this time,” he clarifies, glancing back at Hangman and holding out the notebook. “Still category ‘thing’.”

Hangman huffs a breathy laugh, scanning around the gas station parking lot before turning his attention back down to the page. “Okay, let’s start with ‘R’.”

Bradley writes out the three R’s on the page and holds his face neutral. Hangman brings the toothpick back to his mouth, rolling the wooden stick between his lips. A grin of recognition starts creeping across his face. “Let’s see if I got it – N.”

With sinking dread and absolute bafflement, Bradley writes the offending letter in the last blank.

Hangman smiles in victory with that damnably obnoxious toothpick pinched between too many teeth. “Carrier pigeon.”

“There’s no… no fucking way.” Bradley shakes his head in disbelief, motioning at the notebook. “There’s just… there’s nothing there…”

“Just because you don’t know the strategy doesn’t mean that there isn’t one.”

Bradley writes out the solution just because he can with another incredulous shake of his head. “Were you a spelling bee whiz kid in school? You must have been, to be so good at this now.”

Hangman’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “God, no. That’s a whole other level of teacher’s pet brown-nosing, do-gooding.”

Truthfully, Bradley can’t ever imagine a young Jake Seresin standing on some stage with a first-place spelling bee ribbon, but it’s something he’s always wondered about. How did the man get so freakishly good at this game? 

Hangman’s eyes meet his even behind the sunglasses, and he misses none of the contemplation happening behind Bradley’s eyes. His brows pinch together with piqued interest. “Wait…” Hangman says slowly, plucking the toothpick from his lips. “Does that mean that you… oh, god, you’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

“What?” Bradley’s face screws with disbelief. “No - I don’t even remember ever participating in a spelling bee.” Quickly, he tries to think of something else to hide the trajectory of his thoughts. “No, I… I was just thinking about the origin of the name ‘spelling bee’.”

“You mean it’s not named after some bee who’s good at spelling?” Hangman’s trademark teasing grin sounds in his voice.

Bradley ignores his stupidly obvious joke. “’Bee’ used to be the common term for a communal gathering – like a quilting bee or an apple bee.”

Silence falls for a beat before Hangman cocks his head in curious thought. “So, then… by that logic, is that seriously how the restaurant chain got its name?”

The image of Applebee’s Bar & Grill logo flashes in Bradley’s mind. His brows furrow as he shakes his head. “Well, it… you know, I have no idea.”

“Dagger 1, come in.” Nat’s voice sounds over the SUV speakers and anticipation bursts in Bradley’s chest. He reaches to unmute the team voice chat. 

“Copy that, Dagger 2.” A smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Good to hear from you, Phoenix.” 

“Figured someone might need to give you two a break by now.” 

Hangman scoffs indignantly. “Ye of little faith, Phoenix. Things were just starting to get good.” 

“A twenty says you’re wrong.” 

Bradley knows better than to take that bet against Natasha Trace. “Whatcha got?” 

“Major action,” Bob’s voice comes over the speakers. “The cap is breaking. Tower’s going up 30 miles up the dry line.” 

Bradley’s heart leaps in his chest. Nothing else has even come close today. “Where are you?” 

“Near Burns Flat.” 

He reaches for his seatbelt on instinct, hearing Hangman’s also click into place. “And that’s where? North? South?” 

Nat’s voice sounds again. “Bob’s already sent you GPS coordinates.” 

Hangman’s smile widens as the SUV engine roars to life. “That shit gets me hard, Bob.” 

Bradley stares up at the speakers in the ceiling as if seeking forgiveness. “What he means is thank you and we’re on our way. We’ll catch you on CB when we get within range.” 

“Copy that.” 

The chat line mutes as Hangman shifts the SUV into gear, not quite peeling out of the parking space but coming pretty damn close. Bradley jostles in his seat, pulling up the vehicle's sat nav and Bob's coordinates. He arches a disapproving brow over at Hangman as they leave the gas station behind. “No call to be so crude.” 

Hangman doesn’t glance over, focused on the road ahead. “And no call for you to be such a prude.” 

“Not a prude.” Bradley corrects as he pulls up the latest data. “Just not rude. Especially when you know it makes Bob uncomfortable.” 

“He’ll never grow if he’s not pushed outside of his comfort zone, dear.” Hangman sing-songs with a mocking edge. “Though that sounds like someone else we both know, doesn’t it?” 

The barb digs under Bradley’s skin but he pushes it aside. Glancing at the sat nav directions to confirm distance to target, he glances up at the darkening sky. “Just drive or we’ll miss it entirely.” 

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Tag List: @redfurrycat

[primevein]

The Prime of His Youth: Book III: Prometheus' Gift: Ch18: Wingman

Japheth stepped onto the bridge.

"So, it's true?" Paramount asked.

"Can I?.." Japheth asked, and Paramount started waving him in.

"I get the feeling that whatever you want to talk about is important." Japheth stepped onto the bridge. "So, you are a Prime?" he asked.

"Unfortunately." Japheth voiced.

"And what do you need from me?"

"Hm?" Japheth asked, "For you to continue to fly between Terra and Caminus. I do need to find another ship."

"And you think I have several lying around?" Paramount asked.

"I think you know a lot more about this than I do." Japheth stated.

"I have you to thank for my contract, don't I?" Paramount asked.

Japheth took a moment to reply, "Pretty much, yeah." he stated. He heard a heel clack against the deck and turned back, "Oh, and Arcelia would like to talk to your navigator."

Paramount waved her on the bridge. "And how can I help you?"

"Help him." She said with a smile.

Japheth turned back to Paramount, "If you want the full story, we're trying to track down Cybertron's original colonies. We have accurate data from them, a long, long time ago. We need to predict where they are, right now."

Paramount thought about this for a moment, "Since we're no longer a tramp freighter, you could probably use 90% of our nav. computer's capacity."

* * *

Japheth hovered behind Arcelia as she worked on the computer. She was inputing the data for a single world, and ran the projections, and they watched it slowly not make progress. Arcelia turned back to him, "Based on current projections, it will likely take a Zettacycle."

"And that is... again?.." he asked.

"55 thousand years?" Arcelia asked, "Rounded to the nearest thousand."

"We... are going to need to find a better alternative..." he uttered, and she just smiled and looked at him.

"Spending the next Zettacycle doing something of absolute importance to you would hardly be a waste."

* * *

"Do you have to cling to close?" Arcee asked.

"Yes?" Roxana asked, as she clung to Arcee.

"At home is one thing."

"Ah?" Roxana asked, "Care to head back to our room?"

"Maybe in a..." Arcee said, and turned to glare at her. "Shoo." Roxana let go, but didn't move that far away. "You are way too cheerful."

"Too bad I know that's why you brought me in." Roxana cheerfully said to her.

"Tsk." Arcee voiced.

"No take-backs." Roxana cheerfully said.

"I can get you a dog collar." Arcee harshly said to her.

"Did you want me to get down on all fours?" she asked.

Arcee turned and glared into her eyes. Roxana quickly moved in to give her a peck on the cheek. Arcce looked foward, and tried her best to not smile.

* * *

Japheth stepped up to the windows, only to find Arcee pouting with Roxana cuddling up with her. "Have you come to save me?" Arcee asked. Japheth reached down and pulled her to her feet. He then sat down, pulling her down in his lap. Roxana quickly cuddled up to him as Arcelia sat on his other side. "Thank you." Arcee lovingly said.

* * *

Japheth stepped off the ship, with Arcee, Arcelia, and Roxana right behind him.

"Want to head home?" Arcee asked.

"I honestly don't know?" Japheth stated.

"Home is where the concubines are." Arcelia simply stated.

"Men make a house, women make a home." Roxana excitedly stated.

"Like June is doing on Caminus!" Arcelia exclaimed.

"Our house does have a bed." Arcee simply stated.

"We don't need to sleep?" Japheth stated.

"I know." Arcee said salaciously.

* * *

The femmes helped Japheth to shower after their encounter.

* * *

Japheth drove on the highway into Vegas, with the the femmes driving behind him.

* * *

Japheth drove up to Acorde Pricipal, and transformed, with the femmes transforming behind him.

* * *

Japheth stepped up to the secretary at her desk.

* * *

Knockout walked out, "So, how was Caminus? Fresh air? Sunshine?"

"Built a house." Japheth stated, "Wanted to find all of the lost titan colonies." he said dismissively.

Knockout's mouth opened wide with shock. It took him a moment to gather him, "You're serious, aren't you?"

Japheth just smiled in reply.

"Doing the impossible isn't new for us." Arcee added.

"Apparently not." Knockout replied. Roxana had trouble not laughing, "So, how can I help?"

"Long shot, but do you know anything about how stars move over aeons?"

"I'm more of a cosmetician." Knockout sulked.

"Like I said, long shot." Japheth stated. "I heard you might have a sword for me?"

"Oh?" Knockout said with bright eyes, "I just might have that."

"We'd also like to get some SynthEn." Arcee stated.

"That I can definitely help you with." Knockout stated. "But, let's see how you like the sword."

* * *

"It's... a chainsaw?" Japheth asked, as he lifted the sword up to him.

"I couldn't increase the size of your old sword." Knockout stated, "And I haven't figured out how power swords work?"

"What are power swords?" Arcee asked.

"Oh, a sword that creates power field that allows it to cut through anything."

"And... how does it work?" Arcee aked.

"I haven't figure it out." Knockout delightfully said, causing Roxana to started giggling.

"Is this from the same wargaming thing?" Japheth asked.

"They do have the most realistic technology." Knockout stated. "Laser sharpened diamond teeth. A back so you don't chainsaw yourself"

"How does it... is it balanced?" Japheth asked.

"You have to try it, of course." Knockout said, and a fake Cybertronian rose out of the ground. "This is what we use to test lethality. So, give it a go." He then turned to the femme, "And I recommend you give him some room."

The femmes stepped away to one side, Knockout to the other. Japheth held the sword out and squeezed, causing it to rev. It shocked him at first and he let go, causing it to stop. He then tried it again, and simply held it. It vibrated; it took a good amount of his strength to just hold it in place. He released it and tried swinging without reving it. He got a bit of practice with it before he tried swinging it while revving. He suddenly felt a lot more skilled with a sword than he should be, as if his previous lifetimes were informing him, were guiding him. He made a revved swing and it bit into the hardened shell. It took a few moments to chew through, and when it did it flew right through the simulated mesh before catching on the far side. A moment later it fully chewed through. Japheth held up the sword in front of him, and stared at it. The knuckle guard ran near the knuckles of his right hand, the weight weighed in his hand, and the blade, when revved, was NOT designed to end non-lethally. Japheth turned towards Knockout, "Can you add a safety to it?"

"What?" Knockout asked, "Like a firearm? I suppose that would be easy enough."

"Thank you." Japheth stated.

* * *

They stepped outside of Acorde Principal, and simply paused, looking around.

"What are we going to do now?" Roxana excitedly asked.

"Wingman for Smokescreen as you said to you would?" Arcee sarcastically asked.

"I have no idea how to contact her." Japheth stated. "My best friends in High School all worked with the Autobots. All work with the Autobots."

"Raf might be able to find it." Arcee added.

"If he wasn't under Cybertron fixing my problems."

"To be fair," Arcelia stated, "they are not your problems. Or not just your problems."

"You can rely on others, Japheth." Arcee lovingly said to him.

"Mom's on Caminus," Japheth continued, "Ratchet is on Cybertron. Miko's on Cybertron. The only one left here is Knockout. I kind of doubt he has the cellphone number for high schools girls."

"She's no more in high school than you are." Arcee added.

He turned towards her, "Who else we got?"

"Vince?" Arcee asked.

"I'm not so much a racecar as a tank." Japheth stated.

"I can race him." Arcee said, and transformed. She activated Sadie.

"I haven't seen her in..."

Sadie blew a kiss and Arcee drove off.

"Are you troubled?" Arcelia asked, walking up beside him.

"Of course he is." Roxana stated, "Why doesn't matter." she said, and hugged him.

* * *

Arcee waited sat on her kickstand at the finish line as Vince crossed it. Sadie disappeared and Arcee stood up. She walked to his driver's door and knelt down.

"Alright, what the hell do you want?"

Arcee gave him a wicked grin.

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

OpenStreetMap - An open source online street map

Google Maps is incredibly useful - but did you know there's an open source equivalent? OpenStreetMap has been running for quite some time, and is a community driven replacement for Google, Bing and Apple maps. https://www.openstreetmap.org/

It's accessible via website, but there's also an app version which you can get for your phone which can be used similarly to Google Maps. The sat-nav functions aren't as good as other company-based products, but it does contain very good local-level information.

I've personally used it when hiking, visiting foreign cities in Europe and to create personal maps for tourist attractions, bookshops and good rock collecting spots. You can also download map data which can be used offline even if you don't have mobile signal.

They also have a community stories part of their website dedicated to the people who have used the project: https://www.openstreetmap.org/diary

If you want to support community led, open source, mapping software - do take a look at the funding page at: https://supporting.openstreetmap.org/

[nickhembery]

Time to get organizized

This is a follow up to the 2023 Wrapped post from a couple of days ago. It's about plans for 2024. Not my old goals for the year, but specifically how I'm going to keep myself organised throught the year.

I've tried a few different things in the past to keep myself organised. One of the most successful was using Todoist. A to-do list app that lets you categorise and set dates for tasks. I hit two main problems with that though. First, when you tick off a task, it's gone immediately. So if it's something that repeats every do often, like arranging car insurance, you had to set the next instance before you forgot about it. Second, was I started ignoring it. I'd have a task sitting undone for weeks at a time. As it got further past its deadline, it got less urgent in my mind and easier to continue ignoring.

A more recent attempt was Notion. I used it to separate out my task lists and my calendar, but quickly discovered that it wasn't very good at either. So many clicks to find what you wanted, so much waiting while it moved to the next menu, I just stopped looking at it. That took all of two months.

So I've come up with a new system. It involves using three items simulateniously: Todoist, a whiteboard and paper diary.

Todoist is going to be used for the two extremes of task management: urgent things that must be done today, and long-term goals and projects. So if I decide to have a cleaning day, I make a list of all those tasks I want to get done and tick them off as I go. Meanwhile in the special categories, I've got stuff I want to look up, things I want to buy (like a new treadmill and sat nav), and decorating ideas, to name a few. It's "write it down so I don't worry about forgetting it" in its purest form.

The whiteboard is going to track a few different things: the contents of the fridge, so I know when I need to go shopping; the dates various cleaning tasks were last done, so I have a good idea when they next need doing; my water intake for the day and the day I last exercised. I'm having lots of problems stemming from dehydration so need to track my intake and observe effects.

The paper diary is all about appointment management. Dentist, car servicing, holidays, social events. It's also going to be future-task recording. Arranging the car service, booking the holiday, etc.

The trick is how do I keep using all three. And that's where things get really clever. The whiteboard is attached to the wall in my kitchen, I see it every time I walk in there. The app is on my phone and will be looked at frequently when I have a task list. The diary will need to be looked at because that's where I'm going to store my water intake and exercise data. I have to look at all three because they're inter-dependant.

I might try some journalling in the empty space of the diary too. It's got a page per day and I have very few appointments, so there's going to be plenty of room. We'll see how we go. It's not a necessity.

I've got a good feeling about this system. It's a lot harder to ignore a board on the wall than an app you've fogotten the password for.

[aeon2407]

Pyro's Pyrotechnic Love Life - Chapter 6

For @contentment-of-cats. Also on AO3.

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Ilyana deep in thought was Ilyana at the drafting table, operating her own applications, working on the thing that saw her plucked from the Youth Corps and shoved into the Academy.

The new weapons she was working on were small mines loaded with concentrated acid that would eat uncoated durasteel, a silicate drone that would transmit the shielding frequencies of enemy ships on impact, guided drones built from silicates that wouldn't show up on sensors, ventral laser canons capable of sustained blasts and varying it's frequency.

A simple technique of glazing compressed carbon panels onto a hull rendered it almost impervious to standard optical weapons, acids, sensors, and even some direct strikes by torps and mines - it also turned the grey of durasteel a mirror-finish black.

And she remembered.

It was as if she lived a year in a dream, head empty of all but the project under her hands, where her feet took her, of eating and sleeping as if her soul left her body to carry on living. To Ilyana's knowledge, she did not dream. Her barrack said differently.

Over time, she noted that the tasks became more complex, sometimes problems arose, and while they were not pleased with a 'child' telling them their designs were flawed, no one could deny the data or the fact that Emperor Palpatine, Lord Vader, and High Command would not take kindly to having holes blown in their ships by their own equipment.

They pulled her from the welding line one day, sat her in front of the drafting table, and set her to learn. And she did, her hands-on life of building and testing weaponry giving her what she needed even if her limited education didn't.

Then they jammed her through said education. Her life became a series of chairs, then sparring, then shooting. And that was when her instructors found her 'master eye.' If she could aim something at it, Ilyana would hit it.

Sienar tried to keep her, after all the Corulag Academy was right there, and they were her legal guardian along with the Youth Corps. While Ilyana was not the typical prep student, something her classmates made sure she never forgot, she was the proverbial diamond in the rough. The Empire would cut and polish her.

The Grand Inquisitor and Seventh Sister came. Observed. Some Force sensitives had quirks, talents that were otherwise unusable, so narrow as to be ridiculous. Ilyana would be a good gunnery sergeant, at best a weapons officer, or another brilliant mind in R&D, but that was all she could ever be.

With that, Royal Imperial plucked her away, beating out Corulag, Carida, Raithal, and Anaxes, bringing a child from a primitive backwater world, someone TaggeCo was training to fly cargo donks, to the very heart of the Empire. Her destiny offtrack, Ilyana became someone around whom the Force rippled like a pebble into a pond, or the butterfly who beat her wings and created the seed of a hurricane.

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Merri Barlin was from a good Corulag family. Not the Hammerlies, nowhere near, but the Barlins were an old, stable upper-middle-class family and Merri grew up with the hum of the hyperdrive on her parents' ship from the time she was born.

The youngest of five daughters, Merri was the studious one. Not the one picked for academic brilliance, but dogged persistence in her area of interest. The Barlins sent her to a decent school that realized what they had on their hands and shipped her to the Pilot/Nav/Helm Program at Skystrike, who then traded her to Royal in exchange for another recruit.

It was odd that she, Yissa, Phyrre, Jashin, Odo, and Ilyana all in some way revolved around that one point in time and space.

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Anakin remembered the day he first met Artur Tagge. He was still just a Padawan then, sent by the Council with Obi-Wan to recruit a new Force sensitive child on Tepasi in an attempt to get him 'used to the way of things'. He hated it, but knew that even if the family was hesitant in giving their child away, pressure from the local government and the Senate would ensure that the Order got the child.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Things proceeded as usual right up until Obi-Wan told Cassio Tagge what they were here for. Immediately, Anakin understood why the Order was wary of the Tagge Dynasty. The man threatened to go to war with the Order if they took his son. Obi-Wan assured him that the Order didn't work that way, and that the choice always belonged to the parents, or in this case parent, of the child.

Hypocritical of him to then turn right to the Council to help Tagge 'make the best decision' the moment they were in hyperspace.

However, as soon as they landed on Coruscant, the two received a message from the Senate forbidding them from ever attempting to take Artur Tagge. Apparently, the Tepasi system threatened to withdraw from the Republic. Tepasi, and The House in particular, controlled the decision-making capability of the Seswenna sector through their relations to the Tarkin and Motti families, and the entire sector would’ve withdrew with them.

TaggeCo accounted for 82% of the Republic’s economy on its own, with claws everywhere from the walls of the Deep Core to the edge of the Unknown Region. In the short time it took Anakin and Obi-Wan to travel from Tepasi to Coruscant, they had abruptly withdrew everything they own on four different Core systems.

Chandrila went into a silent crisis as everything from crops to industrial products to infrastructure maintenance fell below critical levels. Corulag and Corellia scrambled to suppress the riots as their entire infrastructure networks were yanked out from under them.

Alderaan had it worst, Delaya rioting as they were suddenly out of jobs and public services were suddenly shut down. The Alderaanian Defense Force was deployed to the industrial moon and the suppression had been brutal, resulting in record numbers of emigration from Delaya, crippling Alderaan’s industrial production, with a significant number relocating to Tagge Space. The entire event went down in history as the Core Riots, the worst conflict the Core Worlds had seen since the Hyperspace War. It only stopped once the order making Artur Tagge untouchable to the Jedi Order went into effect and TaggeCo moved back into those systems with more favorable deals. The House finally became wealthier than Coruscant and Chandrila combined.

Anakin had sigh in relief when the message arrived. That was one order from the Senate he'd have no problem following. The reason they wanted the child so badly wasn't even because he was overly Force sensitive like Anakin was, anyway. It was because he was, as Master Windu called it, an “aberration in the Force.”

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When Vader saw the name on his datapad, he had Artur's blood tested. 4700 per cell was barely enough to be recruited into the Order and a few more practical tests concluded that he would never be powerful enough to be part of the Inquisitorious, even though he held himself surprisingly well against Fifth Brother, and even better against Seventh Sister.

There was some potential there though. Enhanced speed, agility, predictive combat ability stemming from what little Force sensitivity he did have. Sword fighting skills from the Dynasty as well. Vader knew a deadly soldier when he saw one, and decided to train the boy in Form V and methods of controlling his midichlorians so as to achieve his full potential.

As it turned out, he was unknowingly cultivating a new future.

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There were always cases that slipped past the Jedi, either due to political circumstances or just because they weren’t strong enough in the Force. Karyn Faro was one such case, evaluated and then rejected before she'd even finished breast-feeding.

But that sliver of Force talent brought her, and others like her, to the Chimaera, and it was enough for those little wings to beat a hurricane to live, for The Cultivators to turn those ripples from The One Not Meant To Be into a supernova, making way for The Aberration to take root.

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The Force screamed at the threads of destiny to stay on track. Artur Tagge was supposed to be aborted. Artur Tagge was supposed to be a miscarriage. Artur Tagge was supposed to be a Jedi, to die in Order 66. Artur Tagge was supposed to die with the rest of his battalion in San Diego. Artur Tagge was supposed to die in the ambush by Saw Gerrera. Artur Tagge was supposed to die in a duel by his mother’s hands.

The Aberration known to the galaxy as Artur Kyric Tagge was never supposed to be captured by Clan Wren or any other Rebel faction. The moment it happened was the moment he took his place in the flow of destiny, and things irreversibly changed. The new timeline solidified when Ilyana Kaiti Pyrondi took command of the Levinbolt and led the Armada to Krownest.

For the first time since the conception of Anakeen Ekkreth, the Force shifted its focus away from The Chosen One, its offspring, and The Catalyst, its descendant, and instead The Aberration and The One Not Meant To Be took their places in a new, frighteningly uncertain future.

Right after Artur’s capture, Vader experienced his first restful, dreamless night in over twenty years. The invisible burden of Destiny was off his shoulders. Now to make sure it stays off.

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Beyond Krownest Atmosphere

Tenth Minute of Krownest Assault

Hera was honestly surprised. Four minutes of weaving through barrage after barrage of fire, taking multiple hits, and they haven’t sent a single TIE to intercept her. Oh, never mind, there they were, flooding out of Star Destroyers like swarms of flies.

She tried to lock on, but these pilots must be Special Forces because she’d never seen any Imperial fly that well. Finally, she locked onto a TIE, and Ezra sent a burst right at it.

The TIE microjumped. The TIE microjumped.

Hera realized with a pit of dread in her stomach that the Interdictors weren’t just there to stop her from escaping, they were acting as anchor points for the TIEs to use lightspeed all over the battlefield. And she thought only TIE Defenders had hyperdrives!? These were Aggressors and Interceptors!

Hera was fast, but it was redundant to say that lightspeed was faster.

A hit knocked Chopper off his wheels. Hera swore. That shot came from behind, but there was nothing on her scanners. These things have cloaking now too!?

“Tristan, on the aft. Shoot it!”

“Shoot what, Hera? There’s nothing here.”

Wait, what? “What do you mean there’s nothing there? We just got shot from behind!”

“I know, but I’m telling you there’s nothing here, at least nothing I can see.”

Shit. Invisible TIE fighters? There were rumors of something called the TIE Phantom, but it was only ever a rumor, never confirmed. Then the Defender showed up and they focused on that instead.

Another hit, this one on portside. Shields down to 60%.

A dorsal hit. Starboard. Aft. Portside. Aft again. They were laying down suppressing fire in all directions, but there wasn’t even so much of a flicker from a deflector shield to let her know where they were as she executed evasive maneuvers. Kanan and Ezra tried to sense the pilot but ran into interference. Vader was so Dark in the Force it was like trying to look through oil.

Shields down to 10%.

8%

7%

5%

3%

2%

It stopped. Completely stopped. An ion torpedo from a fancy-looking capital ship hit them right in the exhaust port, bypassing the remaining shields, and the Ghost was suddenly dead in space.

Hera was in the middle of rerouting the auxiliary when another ion torp hit them in the other exhaust port and suddenly they had no auxiliary at all.

“Wait, that means…” Sabine’s panicked voice came through her comlink.

“We have no life support”, Hera finished the sentence for her.

They weren’t being pulled in. Did the Empire want them to die of suffocation out here? That was brutal, even by Imperial standards.

The Ghost lurched towards the surrounding ships just as she finished that thought. Alright, false alarm, they were gonna be okay. Or as okay as rebels in Imperial captivity could be.

Or not. That was the Executor. That was Vader’s flagship pulling them in. They had two Jedi on board. No no no no no…

Another lurch. They stopped. The Ghost shuddered violently, then was pulled towards another ship, the one that shot those torpedoes.

Next to her, Kanan paled. “Vader just backed down.”

Hera blinked. Say what now?

He must’ve been reading her thoughts, because her lover turned to her. “Vader just backed down against whoever is commanding that ship pulling us in.”

Hera considered their options and realized that sometimes death was preferrable to capture. After all, no one was unbreakable.

“Everyone, prep your blasters. Make sure you have one shot for yourself.”

This was most likely end of the line for most, if not all, of them, but no one here would fall without a fight.

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Command Bridge, SSD Executor, Death Squadron

Eleventh Minute of Krownest Assault

Vader could feel victory at hand. Two familiar Force signatures on board, a new Knight and a Padawan. Their ship had no power, no auxiliary, and caught in his tractor beam.

Just as the portside hangar opened to receive its cargo, an alarm sounded.

“Another tractor beam just latched onto the Ghost. It’s… it’s the Levinbolt, my Lord.”

Vader didn’t acknowledge the lieutenant’s report.

“Hail from the Levinbolt. Captain Pyrondi’s personal codes, Lord Vader.”

Now that one he acknowledged. “Send it through, Captain Piett.”

“Right away, milord.”

“Mine.” The demand was accompanied by a feral growl and nothing else. Under the mask, Vader raised what would’ve been an eyebrow. He had some experience with small, homicidal brunettes. It was best not to confront them if possible.

“Lieutenant, disengage our tractor beam and allow the Levinbolt capture of the Ghost.”

“My Lord? I- I mean, right away, Lord Vader.”

The confusion was palpable, but that was to be expected. Vader had never relented, except to Sidious. But the old Emperor was now doomed to fail, to die while Anakin Skywalker rises from the Dark, and what little sliver of the Fallen Jedi currently still alive wanted the new figureheads of Destiny on his side.

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Command Bridge, The Levinbolt, Task Force Spearhead

Thirteenth and Final Minute of Krownest Assault

Captain Ilyana Pyrondi was tired. So very, very tired. She wanted nothing more than to neutralize the threat, retrieve Artur, then shed the command rank and go back to being Senior Lieutenant Pyrondi, the Chimaera’s Weapon Systems Officer.

But she was probably looking at a promotion to Captain after this. Her third and final chance, and she’d hold onto this one as long as she got to stay with Her People and the kriff away from Dead Officers Squadron.

She stopped the Ghost just outside of her hangar bay and waited for 3rd SCAR to get back from the surface. Once they were positioned around the bay, she waited for the damn freighter to run out of air, just enough for all aboard to pass out from hypoxia, then cleared the SCARs for entry. She watched their helmet cams as they stunned every rebel they saw on board just to be safe, shot a restraining bolt onto the homicidal droid, then slapped stuncuffs on bodies.

Lapin had provided her with Force-suppression collars, ancient Korriban technology adapted by the Hutts for modern Jedi slaves. As much as Yana wanted to slap the collars onto those Jedi herself, starship captains, especially of this caliber, were not part of raid parties, and the chance of one or both Jedi waking up prematurely was too high to not use the collars immediately.

She had them thrown into separate cells. They were each other’s greatest weapons, and she intended to strip them of that, along with everything else. Every weapon and personal effect was taken and deposited into labeled boxes, their clothes stripped and replaced with containment bodysuits, designed to paralyze the wearer remotely. The droid was forcibly shut down, but not before sending a SCAR to medbay for a minor injury. Even the blind Jedi’s mask was replaced with a blindfold.

She had a single ration pack sent to each of their cells and waited. In the meantime, she turned to her screens. The core of Clan Wren was being brought onto her ships and secured, holdout cells throughout the planet were being routed without mercy, and the planet itself was pretty much pacified. She turned on a frequency and got in touch with Revy.

The assault was over. Time to bring Artur home.

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Wren Stronghold, Krownest

Captain Revy Maklar let her mind wonder as the stronghold was cleared, then back cleared. The assault was way too easy for what was supposedly an entire clan of elite Mandalorian warriors. Why haven’t they done this sooner?

Oh yeah. Politics.

But now, they had a problem. Artur wasn’t here. They found where he was supposed to be, a cell that reminded Revy of her life on Tatooine so much it made the scar on her neck throb. A few chains and a slave collar and it’d be almost a perfect recreation.

Of course Artur couldn’t sit still and wait for rescue. She wouldn’t have, either. But that didn’t help them find him. Her helmet comm chimed. Shit, that must be Pyrondi. “Yes, Captain?”

“Have you secured Artur yet?”

“So, here’s the thing, sir. We cleared and secured the entire stronghold.” Brace for impact. “He’s not here.”

Silence.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S NOT THERE!?”

Revy winced at the volume and almost took her helmet off. “We found where he was being kept. An interrogation room down in the sublevels. There’s a set of broken cuffs, a chair, and two dead guards. We’re sweeping the place again just to be sure, but we might have to look outside.”

“Sir, there’s something here. West Wing, by the window.”

That was Miro. “On my way. Captain Pyrondi, Sergeant Golovan might’ve found something. Standby.”

“Copy that.”

She made her way upstairs and made her way to Miro. “What is it, Sergeant?”

He pointed to a spot outside. Yep, that’s Artur’s mess, alright. “Captain Pyrondi, come in.”

“This is Pyrondi.”

“We found a trail of Mandalorian bodies leading to the forest West of our current location. Requesting aerial support in a sweep search matrix. Might also need a medical crew on standby upon return.”

“SCAR Wing One just finished up here, I’ll send them down. There’s a full medical suite waiting for our dumbass Major’s return.”

Revy chuckled. “Copy that, sir. We’ll find him, don’t worry.”

With that, she signaled for two squadrons. That should be enough for a search party. She just hoped that he would be mostly intact when they find him.

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Secure Communications Room, The Levinbolt, Task Force Spearhead

Ilyana was having to explain ‘he’s not there’ to The Lady, Artur’s dad, Admiral Motti, Lord Vader, General Veers, and Colonel Yularen. “He just couldn’t sit still. Permission to kill him if he dies?”

Cassio let out a long-suffering sigh. His dumbass son was going to be the death of him. “Granted, Captain. I trust the SCARs already planetside are actively searching for him?”

“Yes, sir. Troopers on the ground and SCAR Wing One above. Standard sweep search matrix.”

“Cassio, when they find Artur, can you please just promote him already? It’ll at least get him out of the field”, Max Veers, the first ever SCAR Trooper and Artur’s old mentor, spoke up. “He’s ready, Cas. Lieutenant Colonel Artur Tagge, SCAR Commander. What do you say?”

“Promotion? I’ll bust him down to Lieutenant for being so kriffing stupid!”

“GENTLEMEN!”

All eyes snapped to Pyrondi, who looked moments away from exploding. “Hash it out in your own time. Stay off my comms unless it’s urgent. Understood?”

They stared at her in shock, but Pyrondi could not be said to be insubordinate when she wasn’t currently operating as an Imperial servicewoman, but a private contractor.

She let out a sigh when no one responded. “Krownest has been completely neutralized. All dissidents have either been captured or executed. A list of soldiers and their number of kills will be provided so that they may be rewarded in accordance with the bounty. I will inform all of you once Artur has been found. If that is all?”

Silence.

“My Lord. My Lady. Sirs.” And with that, she ended the call, then let out a loud, frustrated scream into the void.

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Containment Cell Five, The Levinbolt, Task Force Spearhead

Sabine woke up to a pounding head. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up on a surprisingly comfortable mattress. The room around her was small, but clean. Her body still ached, her head fuzzy and disoriented, but Sabine remembered being pulled in by one of the ships before blacking out. She must be on that ship then. Probably one of the Tagge ships, judging by the luxurious interior on the other side of the two red ray shields acting as a doorway.

She glanced down. Where was her armor? Who the kriff stripped her and put her in… this!?

Someone was walking by. A Human or very similar humanoid, male presenting. Slightly on the shorter side, straight brown hair, gray suit with red accents, datapad in hand. A secretary or assistant, most likely. They looked at her, looked at their datapad, then pressed a button next to the shield and suddenly there was sound in her cell.

“Miss Wren, my name is Lapin, personal assistant to Lady Domina Tagge. I’m here to make you an offer.”

Human then, and a notorious one as well. Their voice was smooth, with a lilt that could’ve only been the sharpness of traditional Tepasi, instead of the thick Corrie accent she’d expected. Sabine saw a button on her side of the room. It looked like a toggle more than a hold-and-talk. After a second of hesitation, she turned it on.

“I’m listening.” She’s not, not really, but when the Voice of Domina Tagge talks to you personally, you need to at least pretend. Questions about her beskar’gam burn on her tongue, but she needs the information first.

“The Lady wants you and your compatriots to join the Armada.”

Sabine stared at them. Stared long and hard for any signs of a joke, which this had to be. To their credit and her chagrin, Lapin didn’t flinch or look uncomfortable at any point. “You’re trying to recruit us into the Empire? Really?”

They looked offended at that. “Not the Empire, Miss Wren. The Dynasty.”

“Same thing.”

“I can assure you it’s not. The Empire is degenerate and corrupt, looking for domination and flaunting power. The House prefers efficiency and effectiveness through convincing others to cooperate. Everyone has a price, it’s a matter of finding the right currency.”

“Your House submitted to Imperial rule.”

“We entertained the Empire and their delusions. But not for much longer. Like I said, the concept is sound, but the Empire has descended into a pit of degeneracy and needs to be removed.”

Sabine saw an opening. “Then help us! Help the Rebellion overthrow them.”

Lapin smiled at her. A Kind Teacher sort of smile. “Then… what? What next? Restore the Republic? With what resources? What kind of political alliance do you have? How many worlds can you guarantee will join you instead of striving for complete independence? How will you maintain the protection that the Empire is providing against pirates and slavers? How will you ensure that the economy doesn’t collapse into a crisis?”

Sabine was stuck scrambling for an answer. She’s… never thought about any of that before. It has always been ‘restore democracy’ but never ‘how do we restore democracy?’ or any of that. “Well, The Dynasty can do all of that, can’t they? Can’t you?”

A nod. “We can. But why would we need the Rebellion?”

She thought about it and came to the most logical conclusion, the one that a Tagge would come to. “You don’t. You don’t need us at all.”

Lapin smiled again. “No, we don’t. But we are always looking for talent. Join us, and you can still have a hand in overthrowing the Empire. If being part of a private military doesn’t appeal to you, there are other options. An R&D job at TaggeCo, perhaps? Mechanical engineering? Your friends will receive the same offer we’re giving you, provided that they are… amenable to our presence.”

Sabine stayed silent. She needed time. She needed to talk to her crew. She told them as much.

“Time you can have, Miss Wren. I understand that this is a lot to process. However, I’m afraid you won’t be allowed to communicate with your friends or family without the Captain’s express permission. Press the button and a crewman will be here shortly to receive requests and answer queries, and I hope you make the right decision.”

With that, they turned on their heels and walked away without another word. She was reeling. She’d thought that capture was going to be the end for her, they all did. They’d be tortured for information then executed without trial for treason. But now?

Now she had a choice. A real choice, if she chose to believe Lapin Tagge of all people.

Was she actually considering this?

…

Yes. Yes she was.

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Evergreen Forest, Krownest

Revy swept the forest carefully. Artur was a master of concealment, something made evidently clear in the months following Terra, and even injured he was capable of fashioning traps and shelter from the environment. She silently cursed Veers for training the boy so damn well as they cleared every nook and cranny her dumbass BC could physically squeeze himself into.

Behind her, Miro stilled and straightened. “Sergeant Miro Golovan. SCR – 1521”, he sounded off loudly.

Revy understood immediately. “Senior Captain Revy Maklar. SCR – 1002.”

Artur dropped from a branch above her head like a sack, bleeding profusely through the makeshift bandages on his knee. Revy opened comms to Pyrondi.

“Artur Tagge is secured. I repeat, Artur Tagge is secured. Requesting medical team on standby. RTB time ten minutes.”

Time to finally wrap this entire operation up. Time to bring the man home.

[childrensbread]

Seven Keys to Spiritual Devotion: Lessons From Ephesus

To the Church in Ephesus

💜 “To the angel of the church in Ephesus write:

These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand and walks among the seven golden lampstands. 

I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked people, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. 

You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.

Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first.

Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place.

But you have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate.

Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.

~Revelation 2:1-7 ✝️

Devotional

Recently, we have been exploring how we can practically grow in faith. Through contemplating Scripture, we have discovered resilient faith develops and deepens through relational connection with God. As we know Christ, we trust Him.

This week, we are in the book of Revelation. This prophetic text gives us an unveiled look into the spiritual realm. Across the next seven days, we will be reflecting on Jesus' messages to seven ancient churches and unpacking how they apply to us. Each day will reveal one thing you can do to strengthen your spiritual devotion. Can you collect them all?

Today's passage spotlights the church in Ephesus.

Consider your favorite "maps" app. Are you thankful for it? Modern sat-navs utilize live traffic data to help you discover the ideal route. As you are driving, roads ahead turn red as congestion approaches. It's a warning system. Have you ever pondered, though, why your sat-nav does that for you? Is it to mock you about the delays ahead? Or to make you feel guilty about your journey? Of course not. The sat-nav warns you so you can adjust your route and avoid the pain. That's what warnings are for.

When Jesus gives us warnings, we must treat them in a similar way. Some of the content of Revelation is difficult. However, it is not there to cause despair. It is there to trigger changes of direction. When Jesus addresses the Ephesians, he shares a praise and a challenge. On the plus side, they were solid, hard-working gospel people who never compromised on the truth: an example for us all. Jesus praises their faithful endurance.

However, Jesus also has a stern caution. Despite their works, the Ephesian Christians had fundamentally forgotten their core identity. They had abandoned love. The church had lost zeal for Jesus and consequently wasn't operating with the life-giving love God's people should be defined by. They were going through the motions. Have you ever felt like that?

Like the sat-nav, Jesus warns the church to cause them to change route. He wanted the best for them. He wanted them eating "from the tree of life" (Verse 7), not tasteless religion. It wasn't too late! Equally, it's not too late for us today.

Nothing we do "for" Jesus makes sense without love. God is love. When love vanishes, everything else is vanity. Our spiritual life becomes arid. Even supposedly "impressive" works achieve little where love is absent. We become like "a clanging cymbal" (1 Corinthians 13:1). God is interested in our hearts, not our achievements.

Love has to be our centerpoint.

How, though, do we get our spark back? Jesus tells us. Return to your first love. Simply be with Christ. Right now. Find the reset button. This is our first key to spiritual devotion. Go back to the basics. Remember when you first met God. Remember His blessings. Remember His miracles. As you fall back in love with Jesus, everything else follows. 💜🙏🙂

Source: Glorify App

Image: agodman.com

My Glorify Referral Link: https://share.glorify-app.com/MRSPINO777 ✝️

[cipheramnesia]

"Which way is the ground- which way is the planet. Wait. Where the fuck are we?"

"Based on network traffic and my calculations, we should be within range of Coyote Moon Station 6."

"Coyote... do you got windows on this thing?"

"I can offer several alternatives, but not only is the data afforded from the spectrum of light visible to your species vastly inferior to the instruments at hand, your capacity to interpret this minimal fraction of available input is-"

"Whatever I get it, I suck, just. I want to see the stars. With my own eyes, or close as I can get."

"That is... a feasible request. One moment please."

"Thanks..."

"You should now have direct visibility of the surroundings. I have adjusted this chamber temporarily to an outer position."

"..."

"Are you injured, or in distress? Some of your civilization are prone to a psychological phenomenon when-"

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm... free."

"I would not describe our circumstances as freedom, with the current limitations on my structure drive and main engines, I am at only a small percentage of full function."

"For someone that makes a big deal about it, that soul of yours sure ain't got no poetry."

"No p... I beg your pardon."

"I spent my life on that shithole planet. You spent, I don't know how long. Look out there. The stars. I don't even know where Coyote Moon is! Never heard of it! And I don't know where we go or what we do next."

"I will assist you in the navigation process to Station 6."

"That's not what I mean! Don't you care it all after a million billion years and a lifetime - we're finally out here, not down there! Look around you for fuck's sake."

"... It is... good to be in the stars."

"Thank you. All I ask. Now how are we getting an unregistered ship like you through customs?"

"I will explain while you practice docking navigation."

● ● ● ● ●

It felt like wandering through someone's apartment building, she couldn't get past that feeling. Overhead fluorescent flicker, no windows but every once in awhile a brightly lit bauble of art someone must've bought by the pound. A lot of the same sets of prefab plastic panels, though it'd been awhile since she saw any such facades over the bare metal walls.

The walkways were dirtier, on both sides of the path for electric bikes. No trace anywhere of litter, but it'd been decades since anyone tried to clean the infinite variety of human scuff marks on the walkway. More of the shops here were shuttered, either closed outright or not the kind of place you got in without an appointment and several scans from the security cameras. The walls around them had once been painted with an enormous mural of an unfamiliar sky, Coyote Moon's, presumably. It was faded badly, scraped away or graffitied over, overdrawn optimism still clinging to life down here.

She found the door she was looking for between an SST bank machine and something whose sign advertised it as Titan Mart. Rapped on the blacked out plastic door that said "Speed-E-Nav" in small gold letters, and waited out the effortful grinding of several CCTV cameras evaluating her and her depressing lack of concealed weapons. She had a full stomach which was all the weapon she needed if it came to that. The door clacked as a buzzer sounded, and she pushed her way inside through an overly enthusiastic electronic chime.

"It's not for me," she said, and pulled the folder up on her phone. "Recognize that?"

"Welcome, discerning customer," a chunky woman with deep dark skin and a shaved head sat before a hundred blinking computers of some sort. She didn't know a huge amount about them, but it looked regal. "Your need is our speed, what can we process today, miss...?" The woman's smile was very wide, and a dozen metal bracelets chimed musically together on her wrists. They smelled like ozone.

The woman leaned forward and moments later her smile dropped. "Yeah, I know it. What's he after this time?" She thumped back in her chair and waved the girl closer, unclipping a bracelet. "Show me what you got there."

She handed over the phone and the woman clicked her bracelet up to the charge points. "Didn't say, didn't ask, didn't get any names, not interested in sharing them. He just wants it run fast and I needed a favor."

The woman didn't give any indication she was listening, she just tweezed the folder out and held it up on the bracelet, which wasn't something the girl had seen done before, or was even aware was possible. She tried not to stare like a tourist.

The woman turned the glittering data this way and that before setting it in a glass plate. "Three weeks. Because he's a good customer and you look like a nice girl."

"I was... hoping for something faster."

"Hah! Good luck, you think these are what... pretty lights for show and tell? I got thirty strings beaded and twined and another eight in composite, and that's on external cooled q-square 26 CPUs. I know that boy, he's got a big mouth but no bite. Always talking about the big deal math he's writing but who's he come to when he needs the formulae run? Me. Maybe 19 days if I don't burn through another back gen."

The girl worked her fingers a little and unclenched her jaw. "Maybe I can do something for you. Something to free up some of the... the squares?"

She laughed a minute and sighed. "Oh thanks. Free up the squares. Well," she scanned the shelves stacked up with an array of mystifying metal boxes, wires, and clear glass cylinders. "Okay, I see your meaning. I suppose a little upgrade couldn't hurt if you think you're up to a little legwork."

The woman pulled a slim black box with vents along the side and a couple short wires trailing out of it, and handed it to the girl. She looked at it. "I suppose this is pretty legal."

"Of course it is, honey. Now, I know someone who owes me a favor..."

The werewolf girl sighed internally. Nothing was ever easy.

Sorry everyone I was thinking about the lonely werewolf tgirl and her friend the sentient intergalactic magic warship again. 🥺

[sincaraz]

I haven’t had data all day and then we got to our hotel and I got the felix notification. this is the worst tournament actually

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, pining, Din in suspenders, fluff Summary: Din takes a job with his old crew, and you and the kid wait for him on Arvala-7. Notes: Sorry this took me forever!

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After you left the atmosphere of Tatooine and jumped into hyperspace, Din swiveled his chair around to face you in the copilot’s seat.

“I should take a job. Everything we made went to Peli, and I don’t like being low on credits. There’s a crew I used to run with...I can reach out to them...” he hesitated then added, “but you and the kid can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean I can’t come with you?”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I mean, I don’t trust them enough for you and the kid to come.”

“If you don’t trust them, wouldn’t it be better to have backup?”

“I just—,” he looked away, “I don’t want them to know either of you exist.”

“If you don’t trust them, should you be taking a job with them?”

“We don’t have a lot of options.”

“I could get work somewhere. We could go somewhere safe enough for a few weeks. There are some places where I have contacts, and non-bounty hunting work is usually less conspicuous.”

“I don’t think we should stay anywhere that long right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll feel better if you and the kid are safe together.”

“I—”

When he bowed his head in a silent appeal, your determination crumbled.

“Ugh, fine.”

He sighed in relief, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee briefly. His touch was reassuring.

“But, just so you know, this is only going to work once, so don’t think that my staying back with the kid is going to be a regular thing.”

He removed his hand and turned back around to face the viewport.

“I am taking your silence as tacit agreement,” you said to the back of his helmet.

He chose to ignore that, fiddling with the controls instead.

***

Now that you’d both admitted you wanted to stay together, abandoning the pretense of strategy and convenience all together, things were a little off between you and Din. Neither of you were used to being vulnerable, so conversations were slightly stunted again. You found yourself being overly polite, and Din was doing the same.

That first night back on the Crest, he offered you his bunk.

“I’m not taking your bed. You need it to take off your helmet.”

Besides the unshakable lingering chill of the hull, sleeping there wasn’t that bad. You usually slept with every sweater you owned on and that kept you warm enough.

“Use it when I’m not. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, thanks,” you agreed, knowing you’d never take him up on that. You didn’t want to be on a different sleep schedule than he and the kid.

You did try to nap with the kid in Din’s bunk the next day because there wasn’t all that much to do in hyperspace. As soon as you lay down, though, you knew it was a mistake. First of all, it was crazy uncomfortable (somehow not better than the literal floor and the close walls made it slightly claustrophobic), and second—and far more importantly—it smelled overwhelmingly like Din. It smelled like his pine-y soap and beskar and blaster residue and leather and whatever else made up his infuriatingly good scent. It conjured images of crackling fires and golden skin and warm embraces and taut muscles.

Shit.

There was no chance you were going to be able to fall sleep when all you could think about was him.

The kid, on the other hand, was snoozing contentedly beside you. When you’d fully given up on napping, you edged your way out the bunk carefully, doing your best not to wake him.

Din was sitting in the hull on a long crate against the wall, cleaning his blaster, the pieces spread out next to him. Usually, when you were in the hull at the same time, you’d find a place across from him. Instead, you purposefully sat next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning against the wall.

You decided you were going to push through this awkward phase and make things not weird right there, right then. And you were going to do that the best way you knew how.

He tilted his helmet toward you momentarily then refocused on the blaster in his hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he said, running a rag along the barrel.

“How does one develop a catchphrase? Does it happen organically or is there an iterative brainstorming process?”

Din paused, sighing dramatically, set his blaster and the rag down next to him, and pushed himself back until he was also leaning against the metal wall. His helmet clunked slightly as he relaxed it back. “This is the way is not a catchphrase. It’s a tenet of the Creed.”

“And ‘I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold’ is also a tenet of the Creed?”

He lolled his helmet to the side, looking down at you. “Okay, fine, that one isn’t,” he conceded.

“So you admit it—you have at least one catchphrase that you regularly use on bounties.” You smirked up at him.

Without missing a beat, Din fixed you with that unreadable visor and quipped: “I’ve been told I have a sexy voice. I’m just giving the people what they want.”

Your jaw dropped, a shocked laugh echoing through the hull. You had planned on teasing him and had not expected him to turn it around on you so smoothly.

“Uh... I was sort of hoping we’d stick to our unspoken agreement to not bring up the stupid things I said when I was drunk.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, definitely not.”

You looked back up. “Alright, well then in the name of fairness, we’re going to have to get you really drunk the next time the opportunity presents itself, so we can see what embarrassing things you say.”

He paused for a moment, considering, then said, “Does that mean you’ll carry me home?”

You cracked a smile, nodding vigorously. “Of course. That would only be fair.”

A warm laugh rasped through the modulator. You crossed your ankles in front of you, letting your knee rest against the cold beskar on this thigh.

“I feel skeptical of that promise.” He dropped a gloved hand to your knee.

“Okay, okay I can’t promise to carry you home, but I can promise to tie your shoe if needed.”

“My boots don’t have laces.” He lifted a foot off the ground to show you.

You shrugged playfully: “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good deal for me. I tied your shoe and carried you home.”

“To be fair, both were against my will.”

“But necessary.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I can’t carry you, and I can’t tie your shoe... so I’ll...,” you bit your lip as you fished around for something else to offer, “...hold your hand? And not let anyone tickle you.”

He huffed and rubbed his thumb over your knee: “I’m not ticklish.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, sure, of course not. My mistake.”

He harrumphed. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’ll allow it,” you intoned seriously.

“Where are you actually from?”

“Naboo. Most of my back story was true—I just left out the one major detail.”

“Your favorite color?” he deadpanned.

You laughed. “Yes, exactly. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Aq Vetina.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“When my parents died there, I was rescued by the Mandalorians and raised in the Fighting Corps.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. “That sounds like a tough life for a child.”

“It was all I knew,” he explained, shifting slightly.

“Still, that can’t have been easy. It makes sense that you couldn’t leave the kid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, solemnly. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Less serious question,” you replied, changing the subject to something lighter.

“Okay.” He relaxed a little.

“Why don’t you ever use a straw to drink with your helmet on?”

“These are the things you think about?” he laughed. His laugh was usually a quiet, muffled sound through the modulator, but it was getting easier to pick up on it. “There’s a seal on the helmet, otherwise the filters wouldn’t work,” he tapped the release on the side of his head. “So a straw isn’t a possibility, unfortunately.”

“Mmm,” you responded, “that is disappointing.”

He gripped your thigh lightly, turning toward you. “I, uh, heard back about the job... while you were asleep. It’s a go.”

“Ah... great. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hear back.”

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Okay... So, any ideas for where the kid and I should stay?”

To your surprise, Din explained that he had a trusted friend on Arvala-7. When you agreed to the plan, he disappeared to the cockpit to set the nav—a two-day trip.

***

That same evening, you discovered a new favorite activity on the Crest. Before bed, the kid was being particularly fussy, so you pulled out your data pad and downloaded the first children’s book you could find. It worked liked a charm.

From then on, it became a daily routine: you’d read to him until his eyelids drooped before his nap and before bedtime. Regardless of his mood, listening to you read seemed to soothe him. You’d pull him into your lap and settle onto your stack of blankets against the wall. He’d watch your face, enraptured, as you relayed story after story to him. His favorite—the story that elicited the most chirps and grabby motions and ear wiggles—centered on a family of frogs. You revisited that one at least once a day, sometimes more if he was grouchy.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his hyperfixation on that particular story given his appetite for frogs.

At this rate, your digital library was going to be largely children’s books. You didn’t mind.

You noticed that Din would find something to do in the hull while you read. The first couple times, he sat and cleaned one of his many weapons or sewed a hole in his flight suit. Very quickly, he stopped bothering with an ostensible task and would just sit and listen.

When you were still 15 hours out from Arvala-7, Din was seated on his usual crate in the hull, the one next to the weapons cabinet, as you finished the final page of a particularly thrilling story about a snail. The kid was snoring softly in your arms, so you clicked off your datapad, and got up to settle him in his hammock for his mid-day nap.

“You’re good with him.” Din was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I guess,” you shrugged, snapping the door to Din’s bunk shut and turning back to him. “I just think about what I liked as a kid. I loved when my parents would read to me.”

He nodded, helmet trained on the floor between his boots.

“I’m sorry—” you started, realizing how that must have sounded to Din.

He looked up and cut you off. “Don’t be. It’s nice for him to have some normal kid experiences.”

“You know what he’d really love?”

“What?”

“If you read to him.”

He dipped his helmet slightly in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders back at the same time like he was uncomfortable agreeing with that.

Several hours later, you pulled Din down next to you in your normal pre-bedtime story time spot. He had the kid in his arms. You switched on your datapad and toggled through the catalog of books you’d downloaded, all of which had colorful covers and silly, whimsical titles, until you found the frog book.

“Here,” you offered, passing it over to him.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, listening to Din’s serious, even voice narrate the heartwarming hijinks of a family of frogs. The kid cooed and babbled along.

To your (and the kid’s) utter delight, Din’s rendition slowly evolved into a full-on dramatic reading, complete with sound effects and slightly different voices for each character, as he leaned into whatever prompted the most enthusiastic responses from the kid. You kept your eyes closed and said nothing, worried that if you drew attention to this new development, he’d get self-conscious and stop. You couldn’t help from smiling a little though.

When the story came to its conclusion, you opened your eyes. Din was scrolling through the library of options, browsing for the next book. “What do you think? Which one next?” You looked at him, but he wasn’t asking you. The kid let out a string of gibberish, pointing with a teeny finger. Din read out the titles of several options, selecting the one that triggered the most animated trill.

As Din began the story, he shifted until his body was flush with yours. The places where his beskar made contact with you were cold, even through the fabric of your clothes, but you didn’t mind.

By the time Din finished the second book, the kid was displaying the telltale signs—drooping ears and unfocused eyes—that bedtime had arrived.

Din handed you the datapad and stood to tuck the kid into bed.

As he shut the door to his bunk, you said, “I think you just put me out of a job.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he was pleased.

***

As you got more comfortable around each other, Din took to walking around without his armor—beside his helmet—on. Most of the time, he’d even leave his gloves off. He wore either a flight suit that zipped up the middle or a black shirt and pants...with suspenders. The first few times, it was jarring to see him like that, without his armor. He looked wrong. It was like seeing a turtle without its shell... but if turtles were sexy.

The first time he emerged from his bunk with the suspenders hanging loosely by his sides, you stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He tilted his helmet sharply at you: “What?”

“You sometimes wear suspenders under your armor?”

“...Yes?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you and the goofy grin that spread across your face.

“What?” he prompted again, shoulders pulling up toward his neck.

“I just really wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed.

“What were you expecting?” The playful note in his voice left you flustered. He took a step closer, much more relaxed now that he was the one doing the teasing. He was getting too good at flipping things on you.

Instead of answering—because you were not about to address the fact that you had absolutely thought about what he wore under his armor—you strode up to him and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He stood uncomfortably still, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides.

“What are you doing?” He looked down at his shirt then back up at you.

“I just want to get the full picture.” You looked him up and down.

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” He quirked his helmet down at you suggestively. It was only the second time you’d gotten that particular flavor of head tilt, and you...didn’t hate it. It made your neck feel hot. You disregarded the intense desire to grab him by the suspenders and jerk him toward you.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him, enjoying this new bold flirtation. Without looking away from his visor, you hooked a finger through one of the suspenders and pulled it out a couple inches, letting it snap back against him.

“Ow.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that it obviously hadn’t hurt, but for dramatic effect, he rubbed the spot on his chest where it hit him.

“You’ll survive,” you assured him, patting his shoulder and brushing past him to climb the ladder to the cockpit. When you sat down in the pilot’s seat and kicked your feet up to rest on the console, you still had a smile on your face.

***

A few hours later, you were seated in the copilot seat with the child held tightly in your lap as the Razor Crest descended through the atmosphere of Arvala-7. On the way, Din shared how he’d met this friend—he had helped Din when he was originally tracking down the child months ago.

However, when you asked what his friend’s name was, Din said he didn’t know. Honestly, you weren’t even that surprised. Just exasperated.

Din told you the details of when he tracked down the child, including the assassin droid he'd crossed paths with. He explained how he’d teamed up with IG-11, but in the end, he had to destroy the droid to protect the kid. The anger in his voice was raw when he described watching IG-11 point his blaster at the child.

As the dusty, cracked surface of the planet came into view, you asked, “Is that what caused your thing with droids?”

“What thing?”

“Din.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Droids destroyed my home planet, killed my parents. They’re the reason I was a foundling as a child.”

His words washed over you, and your heart dropped. You leaned forward in your seat to put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, helmet trained on the controls in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded stiffly and reached up to squeeze your hand briefly.

“We’re about to land.”

You took that as a cue to drop the subject for now.

***

You and Din, the kid in his arms, approached a small collection of low structures. You swept your eyes across the uniform landscape—all was dry and sienna and flat. The Ugnaught’s homestead was the only sign of habitation in sight. The buildings were brown and domed, and windmills creaked slowly in the warm breeze. Three blurrgs in a large corral watched you balefully.

“Mandalorian!” the Ugnaught greeted, emerging from the door of his low home.

“Ugnaught,” Din replied with a nod.

“I did not think I would see you here again. What business brings you back to Arvala-7?”

“I was hoping that my friends could stay with you for a couple nights—I’ll pay you for the lodging.”

Of course he'd refer to me and a literal infant as his "friends."

You introduced yourself, offering your hand.

The Ugnaught bowed his head slightly as he clasped your hand: “It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kuill.”

At least Din knows his name now.

Kuill turned back to Din. “The child remains in your care,” he observed.

“Yes,” said Din, offering no explanation. He set the child down on the ground, and he toddled his way slowly over to Kuill.

Kuill scooped up the baby, and he chirruped happily, reaching toward his whiskery mustache.

“It hasn’t grown much.”

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast.”

You shot Din a skeptical look. He’d never shared this particular theory of his with you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” mused Kuill.

You raised your eyebrows at the frankness of his statement. He is not ugly.

“Your friends are welcome to stay with me. No payment will be necessary. I have spoken.” Kuill turned and headed back inside without so much as a backward glance.

“I insist,” Din said to his back.

Kuill disappeared into his home.

Din turned to you: “He does that. Just ends a conversation like that.”

“I understand why the two of you get along so well. Men of few words.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Din nodded, reinforcing your point inadvertently.

You and Din stepped closer to each other at the same time. For the first time, you let the concern you were feeling color your features.

“I’ll be back in three days, if not sooner.”

He was padding his timeline in response to the worry that was etched across your face. You knew Din could defend himself—that wasn’t your fear. It was that, whether he liked to admit it or not, he occasionally let trust blind him. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you, considering how long it had taken for him to trust you. This was the trademark paradox of Din. He was loath to fully let people in, but he had a tendency to take people at face value and assume they would keep their word—because he always kept his word. He had a surprisingly generous worldview for someone with such a violent profession and brutal past.

Din reached down to grab something small that was tucked in his belt—the metal ball from one of the controls in the cockpit that the kid loved to play with. He occasionally pretended to be irritated whenever he wanted to play with it, but you knew he found it endearing.

He handed it to you. “He’ll want that.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at the sphere in your palm. Din raised a hand to your chin and tilted your face back up to his.

Do we... hug? He doesn’t seem like a hugger.

So instead, you offered, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. He stayed there for a moment longer, looking at you and rubbing his thumb along your cheek. Before you could decide if you should also try to hug him, he turned abruptly to walk back to the Crest.

You stayed and watched him as he walked the distance back to the ship and disappeared up the ramp. You stayed and watched as the Razor Crest rumbled to life and took off. You stayed and watched as it ascended through the atmosphere and vanished from view.

***

It was a relief to be off the ship for a few days—even if Arvala-7 wasn’t exactly your ideal planet. It would be a treat to eat real food, instead of shelf-stable ration packs, and to have more than the limited space of the ship to move around in... not to mention an actual bed.

Kuill was a kind and welcoming host. He offered you his spare room, where you placed your things, and you sat down for tea together in his small kitchen.

“How did you come to be in the company of the Mandalorian and the child?”

“I guess he has a soft spot for people who are wanted by the Empire?” you chuckled, and Kuill nodded somberly. “Now, we’re just helping each other out.” You weren’t really sure how else to explain it.

Kuill didn’t press you anymore than that, nodding sagely. Instead, while you sipped your tea with the kid on your lap, he told you about his background—decades of indentured servitude to the Empire before he worked off his debt and bought his freedom—in the solemn, frugal way that was clearly characteristic of the Ugnaught. You understood why Din trusted him: he was forthright, calm, wise.

“What can I help you with while I’m here?” you asked, already anxious to find something to occupy your time.

“You are my guest. You do not need to do any work.”

“I would be happy to,” you insisted. “I would rather be busy. I can help with cleaning or repairs—whatever you need. My formal training was in programming, but I’ve picked up general skills along the way.”

Kuill nodded and said, “Come.”

He turned and walked out of his house. You set down your tea on the table and followed him, the child tucked in the crook of your elbow, happily clutching the silver ball. Kuill stopped in front of the workstation that was a short distance from his doorway. Tools and wiring and various speeder parts were arranged on and around a long workbench and a collection of smaller tables and shelves. The circular backdrop of the workbench was the repurposed window of a TIE fighter.

An assassin droid was laid across the tabletop.

“Is this the droid that Mando shot?”

“I believe so, yes. It was left behind, in the Mandalorian’s wake of destruction. I found it lying where it fell—devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remains of its neural harness. Reconstruction will be quite difficult.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“To convert it from an assassin droid to something more useful: a protocol and nurse droid.”

You nodded. “Handy.”

“I will have to reconstruct the neural harness, and then it will have to relearn every function from scratch. It will be a blank slate on which to program something nurturing instead of destructive. You may help me restore him if you would like.”

“Of course.”

The two of you got to work.

***

That night, when you lay down to sleep, you tossed and turned. The child was snuggled in a makeshift crib next to your bed. You found yourself sitting up periodically to check on him. Every time you checked on him, he was sleeping soundly.

Eventually, you slipped out of your bed, tiptoed quietly through the house, and walked out into the cold, clear night. You walked aimlessly for a while, circling the corral of blurrgs. They were asleep, eyes shut tight, standing in a close clump. Then you turned to head out across the open plain and watch the stars through the thin veil of clouds that dusted the sky.

You were starting to regret that you hadn’t pushed harder to go with Din. He was with a whole team of people who sounded untrustworthy at best, malicious at worst. You couldn’t help but think of all the things you should have said to him before he left. You hadn’t even hugged him.

It was freaking you out a little just how attached you were to a man who you’d known for a couple months.

You walked until the chill of the night air became too much, then turned back.

In the morning, you sat at Kuill’s kitchen table again, feeding the child. Kuill moved around the small food prep area, pulling together breakfast and making tea.

You followed Kuill as he went about his daily jobs, caring for the blurrgs, doing routine maintenance, and continuing the work on IG-11.

You were sweating in the sun, hands covered in grease, concentrating on refitting a damaged arm joint when Kuill’s calm voice brought you out of your train of thought.

“It is curious that the Mandalorian elected to keep the child.”

You looked up at him. “He secretly has a soft heart,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, that much is clear, but he is also set in his beliefs, and this choice went against the Guild Code. What is curious is that such a small being could inspire a change of heart in such a rigid person.”

You considered his words.

“I... think he was just waiting to find a greater purpose than hunting, to find someone to love, you know? It comes naturally to him, but I don’t think he’d ever had the chance.”

Kuill hummed thoughtfully. “Is that not what we are all doing—looking for a greater purpose?”

“I guess?” You shrugged.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” you asked, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead.

“Have you found the greater purpose you were looking for?”

You considered for a moment then said, “Well... I found a purpose a long time ago, when I joined the Alliance, and since then, I’ve been too busy trying to escape the wrath of the Empire to really think about what’s next in the larger sense... Staying alive has been the main priority.”

Kuill hummed again, glancing over at the kid. “You weren’t looking for something greater, but it appears to have found you.”

“I...,” you started. You watched the child, who was siting on the hard ground admiring the silver ball clutched in his hand. “I’m not sure.”

“I have spoken,” said Kuill, bowing his head, and he lapsed back into silence.

You watched the kid as he dropped the ball and staggered to his feet, squealing excitedly as he chased a lizard that darted past him. You wondered where Din was at this exact moment, and your heart squeezed in a familiar way.

***

The second night was much like the first. You walked outside for some time, thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to Din.

What if they turn on him?

What if another hunter finds him?

What if he doesn’t come back?

It wasn't a crazy thought. You were used to people not coming back.

Until that moment, you hadn't considered that you'd be the sole guardian of the kid if Din didn't return. For a split second, you felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the life and safety and happiness of the tiny green child that Din must feel at all times.

Eventually you fell into a fitful sleep, waking early, and the day dawned bright and cold. As the sun climbed, the chill rapidly dissipated, making way for a dry heat that seemed to be the only weather condition on Arvala-7.

You spent the morning helping Kuill continue the repairs on IG-11. You did your best to not count the hours that slipped by. He’d said it could take three days, so there was no reason to be concerned yet.

But... did he mean he would return ON the third day? Or the fourth day?

And for that matter... did the day he left count as day one? Or was yesterday day one?

Did he mean seventy-two hours from the time he left? Or that he’d be back at the start of the third day?

How did I not clarify this before he left??

That evening, you were in deep in discussion about artificial intelligence when Kuill said, “I believe your Mandalorian has returned to you.” He pointed behind you, and you whipped around to see the Crest touching down in a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Will you—?” you asked, turning back to Kuill.

“I will watch the child.” He seemed vaguely amused by your enthusiasm.

You sprang to your feet and walked as fast as you could toward the Crest. You briefly considered running, but that felt dramatic. He’d only been gone a couple days.

Why did he land so fucking far away?

You’d made it about half the distance when the ramp of the Crest finally began to lower with a hiss. Your resolve snapped, and you started to jog. Din descended the ramp, and you were so relieved to see him that you weren’t even embarrassed anymore that you were literally running to him.

Din cocked his head—a curious head tilt—when he saw you sprinting at him across the dusty ground. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Are you—?” he started to say as you crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He barely budged upon impact.

His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he pulled you tight against him.

Well, if he wasn’t a hugger before, he is now.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Good,” you said into the fabric bunched around his neck.

After a moment, you released him and stepped back, the steadying weight of his hands remaining on your arms. He looked like he was in one piece, but the slight heaviness in his shoulders told you that the job had taken a toll on him.

“I, uh, missed you too,” he said, a little awkwardly.

You smiled at him and took his gloved hand in yours to walk back towards Kuill’s home. You felt slightly giddy that you were casually holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He seemed taken by it too, his helmet tilted down to where your fingers were intertwined.

“The kid?” he asked, looking up to your face.

“He’s good. Misses you, I think. Ate several frogs. And one lizard. The usual. He is disgusting,” you laughed.

Din made a sound that you would almost swear was a snort. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed fondly.

Kuill was waiting outside his home, the child in his arms. When you and Din were close, Kuill set him down, and the baby tottered over to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s calf.

You watched as Din bent stiffly, slowly to pick up the kid.

“You’re hurt,” you realized.

“I'm fine,” he said.

You felt sure that wasn’t true, but you let it be for the moment.

“Thank you,” Din addressed Kuill. He reached into the pouch of his belt for credits.

“I will not accept payment,” Kuill insisted, shaking his head. “In fact, your friend here helped me make great progress on my current project.” Kuill raised his eyebrows at you.

“Very well,” Din acquiesced.

You gathered your things and said your thank yous and goodbyes, returning to the Crest, which—with a jolt—you realized was already starting to feel like home.

***

Chapter 8

***

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[digital-corruption]

Serial Connection Part 6

"Could you hold the light still?" Jake asked as he fumbled under the hood of the SUV.

"Ugh, you’re taking so long my arm is getting tired," Raven groaned.

"It'd be easier if I did this in the morning," he reminded her. "Are you really that eager to leave me?"

"I see no reason to stay," she mumbled.

"We have a common enemy, we could work together," he offered.

"You have my number," she shook her head.

"And I thought all you wanted was for us to be together," he teased.

"You’re confusing me with her again," she frowned.

"There, I found the tracking device," he stood up straight and held up the small box. "Now I need to pull apart the sat-nav inside."

"What? More!?" she groaned.

"I can do the last part on my own if you want to go back to the room and wait there," he offered as he closed the hood.

"No, I’m not leaving you alone with the vehicle," she narrowed her eyes.

"Because you know what I'm doing to it now," he laughed as he opened the driver's side door of the vehicle.

Raven eyed up Jake to see if he was joking. "You haven't had time to do anything major."

"Cutting break lines only takes but a moment, but you would already know that wouldn't you?" he questioned as he pulled out the SUV's sat-nav panel.

"I had nothing to do with Dan's accident! I mean sure I was there and I saw the idiot getting drunk, but he managed that accident on his own," she explained. "He didn't need any assistance in crashing his car."

"If you say so. I've got the chip. Now I need to reprogram it upstairs," Jake said as he put the console back into the car.

--

Back in the motel room Jake busily worked on programming the chip to send false, randomized location data to the satellites, while Raven sewed her pants. As soon as she finished she pulled off Jake’s sweatpants and put her pants back on. He snuck a peek from the corner of his eye when she thought he was too distracted to have noticed.

"Are you sure you're going to be ok on your own? You've always had support in the past," he asked.

"By support you mean my pointy friend? Cause that's all I usually have on missions," she put her dagger's holster back on.

"But you were always given intel. You knew what you were headed into, you weren't going in blind," he pointed out.

"It’s cute that you still worry about her, but I'll be fine," she looked over at Jake sitting at his computer.

"Are you still going to make your services available for hire?" he questioned.

"Yes... no... I don't know. I mean who wants to hire an outed assassin? It'll take a long time for this to pass," she sighed.

Jake stood up and walked over to her, "I would."

Raven laughed, "You can't afford me!"

"I couldn’t afford you previously, you mean," he smirked.

She frowned, "I'm not going to sell myself short out of desperation."

"My friends and I are offering to pay you upfront an equivalent share of what we stole," he offered.

She raised an eyebrow at him, "Upfront? What about after?"

"Well, that would depend on the payouts. All you need to do is kill the hand that fed you, which I know you plan to do anyway, but you are to ensure that they never pursue us again," he grinned.

"There is only one way to guarantee that," she sighed. "And that’s for me to kill the entire chain, which is still more than your ridiculous band of hackers can afford."

"Do you really think we'll be sitting on our hands while you do all the work? While you attack, we'll be leaving their coffers empty," Jake’s expression turned very dark before Raven's eyes.

"You and your friends?" she looked at him with doubt.

"Yes, but I'll be your point of contact," Jake stepped towards Raven. "You will be taking orders from me."

"What makes you think I would accept this offer?" she laughed.

He stepped even closer to her so that he was mere inches away, "Do you have any other offers to consider?"

"Tch," she frowned. "I'll do it, but only because I'm pissed they burnt me so fast."

Jake lowered his face to hers, grinning, "Glad to hear it."

"What are you looking so smug about?" she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"Oh I was just thinking in the past 36 hours Hannah was saved, I have MC in my company, I defeated the Man Without a Face," he spoke quietly. "And now I have a cute assassin to deal with our pursuers."

"Firstly only one of those things is-" Raven began, but was interrupted by Jake pressing his lips against hers.

Raven quickly pulled out her dagger and held it up against Jake’s throat. He paused, looking intensely into Raven's eyes. Her hand shook, causing the dagger to ever so slightly cut his neck. Still he slowly moved in to kiss her again without taking his eyes off of her. She pulled away.

"I will cut you!" she threatened.

"No you won't," he went in to kiss her again.

"Stop!" she pushed him away. "I mean it!"

Jake pinched the dagger between his fingers, then pulled it out of her grip to place it on the table beside them. "If you meant it, you wouldn't be kissing back."

Raven put her hand to her lips, "That’s not what..."

"No?" he took her hand and gently moved it aside. He moved in again, grazing his lips across hers. "Tell me what it isn't, MC."

She closed her eyes as her heart raced. Her body kept trying to betray her resolve. There was a brief peck at her lips, making her heart skip a beat. Then another. She opened her eyes to look into Jake’s again.

"Fuck it," she mumbled.

Raven grabbed Jake by the collar to pull him down to her lips. He smiled as she kissed him aggressively at first, but soon soothed into mutual loving kisses. Her hands relaxed from his collar and rested against his chest while Jake gently placed his hands on her waist to pull her in closer. She pulled away and hid her face in his neck.

"Don't fraternize with the client," she whispered to herself.

"If that’s the case, then we won't pay you," he teased, earning him a slap to the chest.

"Don't become attached to your mark," she groaned.

"I'm glad you did," he kissed the top of her head gently.

"Jake, my name isn't MC," she reminded him.

"And my name isn't Jake, but what does that matter?" he asked. "I'll take the name that sounds best on your lips."

She pulled her head and looked up at him, the stranger she knew so well. The two unknowns locked lips again in heated passion.

[tropes-and-tales]

Poe Dameron:  Once Upon a Dream, Part Two

A re-post featuring one part of our blessed Space Latino Trio, Poe Dameron.

WC:  4147

Other Pieces:  This is part two.  Part one is here.

CW:  Angst.  Language.  Just a bit of remembered smut, but 18+ to be cautious.  

________________

Poe Dameron didn’t put much stock in any god, goddess, or greater power, but it felt oddly purposeful when he found himself in a rapidly deteriorating spacecraft in the Gordian Reach.  Of all the places, to end up so close to home.  Like he was being guided.

It had been a routine operation:  meet with a spy embedded in the First Order, get the intel, return the intel to Leia and her team of lieutenants and data analysts.  It was Poe and Finn and BB-8 on a junky old pre-Empire freighter that aided in their cover story of being salvagers.

It may have fooled the First Order as Poe navigated between a pair of sentries patrolling the Outer Rim, but it didn’t stop the pirates who saw the creaky old ship and decided to try and overtake it.  Poe was a slick pilot, and Finn was able to shoot the pirate-ship out of the sky, but not before they managed to land a few disabling shots.  They took out the hyperdrive and the navigation system, and it was all BB-8 could do to keep the entire ship from going up in a haze of sparks.

No nav system, no shields.  Just enough fuel to land somewhere.  Poe took a steadying breath and set the ship towards Yavin-4.  He could just make out the moon against the backdrop of Yavin Prime, and even without a navigation system, he could find his way home.

Home.  Where his beloved mother was buried, where his father still kicked around on the Dameron homestead.

Where you were.

He never felt fear, and he rarely felt nervous, but the thought of seeing you again made his stomach twist in anxiety.  He felt that usual guilt, the sting of shame at how he had left you – a quickly dashed-off note because he couldn’t put his feelings down on paper properly.  Because he couldn’t face you and tell you goodbye – he would have never been able to leave you if he had to face you.  

In his defense, he thought he’d only be gone a few months.  A year, at most.  The First Order had been a tiny little pest then, and Poe thought it would be easily snuffed out.  He thought he’d be able to return to you, a hero and finally worthy – worthy of you, worthy to be called Shara Bey’s son.  Poe Dameron, champion of the Resistance.  Not Poe Dameron, former spice runner.

But a few months turned into a year, and then two and three.  There was no way you waited for him.  You may not even be on Yavin-4 anymore – your parents had been Rebel fighters like his own, and you had gotten that same gleam in your eye when you sat in your father’s decommissioned X-Wing as a child.  Poe could just picture you off in the universe.  Maybe you were in the Resistance too.  He had asked around here and there as the years passed, imagined some chance meeting where the two of you were reunited.

Well, he may not see you now, but he’d see your father.  Joren had the best (and only) repair shop in the settlement.  Poe left Finn with the ship in the outskirts of town, and he and BB-8 hacked their way through the jungle undergrowth towards the settlement.

-----

Joren’s shop was completely transformed.  As a child, Poe used to spend entire days there with you, lost in the jumble of spare parts and tools.  Your father always gave you small chores to do – degreasing parts, sorting screws and bolts – and he always paid each of you at the end of the day, counting out and pressing the credits into your small hands as if you were all equals.  Poe loved his own father, of course, but your dad had a special place in his heart.

Now, the shop was impressively clean, impossibly neat.  It still smelled of spilt fuel and smoke, and the rich aroma of the shop hit Poe in the gut like a punch.  He could just imagine sitting with you on the floor, cross-legged and sorting gaskets by size.  That’s probably where it started, falling in love with you.  Just a couple of kids messing around in a child wonderland of spaceship parts.

The droid was new too.  An old protocol droid, an early version of the TC series, and reprogrammed by the looks of it.  It marched over with its jerky, mechanical gait and asked if it could help Poe.

“I’m looking for Joren,” he replied, and BB-8 gave an appraising string of beeps as both watched the droid nod and march to the back of the shop.

Poe swiped his sweaty palms along the sides of his pants, and he gave his hair a cursory swipe.  He looked like hell, probably – sweaty, dirty from his trek through the jungle.  Your father probably had some choice words for him.  You and your dad were close, after all, and if Poe had hurt you when he fled years ago….

The droid returned, and for a moment, Poe thought he was alone.  But then the droid swept its hand in a jerky sort of “ta-da” motion, and Poe’s eyes were drawn lower.  To the small boy that stood beside the droid and gazed up at him curiously.

“Uh, hi,” Poe said, uncertain.  

“Hello.”  The child was the picture of politeness, and he held his tiny hand out to shake, like the world’s smallest gentleman.  Poe took it gingerly, shook it.  He looked at the droid a little apologetically.

“I was looking for Joren,” Poe reiterated, but the droid only repeated that motion, gesturing to the boy.  The boy responded by climbing onto a stool behind the counter and staring at Poe.  There was something about the kid…Poe wasn’t usually around children, and there was something off-putting about him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on….

“My name is Joren,” the kid offered finally, and Poe couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, I was looking for a different Joren then,” he replied.  “An older man.”

The kid nodded as if this was a common issue.  “My grandpa was named Joren too.”  A beat.  “He died.”

If Poe’s mind moved this slowly in battle, he would have died a long time ago.  Now, every little piece fell into place impossibly slow.  This boy was Joren’s grandson.  You were an only child.  The first conclusion Poe settled on was that you had moved on without him.  This was your son, yours with some man who hadn’t left you behind, who had found you and cherished you the way you deserved.

But there was something.  The boy’s eyes looked too familiar, and that curly brown hair was too much like his own, and Poe didn’t know what a five-year old looked like versus a ten-year old but something wasn’t adding up.

“How old are you?” he asked the boy, and he had wanted to sound curious and friendly but his voice came out strangled because he already knew, his heart had already figured it out the moment the kid had shook his hand, his brain was just too slow to catch up.  Before this small Joren could answer, there was movement in the back of the shop and Poe’s breath caught in his throat as you walked towards him.  Your face was open and friendly, the face of a proprietor greeting a customer, but when you saw that it was him, Poe saw the horror that washed over your face, the apprehension.  The fear.  Your eyes darted immediately to the boy – your son, his son – and back to him, and that was really all the verification Poe needed.

*****

It had been such a mundane day:  you at the shop, working on a pair of well pumps.  Child’s work, really, which is why you had Jo with you.  He was still so small, but you hadn’t been much older when your own father had started teaching you the basics.  Besides, he had half-disassembled TC-20 one evening (hadn’t torn him apart, as many children might, but had thoughtfully disassembled the droid’s arm as it patiently sat and allowed him to do it).  You figured it was time to teach him.

When TC-20 came to the back to announce that someone was asking for Joren, you didn’t even think of it.  It happened every so often, people passing by who were looking for your father.  The grief of his death had faded into a sadness that lay lightly on you, and while you missed him every day, you still had his namesake.  So you let Jo go out into the front.  He was cute, charming the customers with his proper little shopkeeper routine, and he usually came and got you after a moment anyway.

Today, when neither he nor TC-20 came back, you just stood up and went out on your own.  You heard the voice, felt a stirring memory, but pushed it aside.  Poe was gone, probably dead…

No.  Poe was not dead.  Poe was…standing in your shop.  Talking to your son.  His son.  Shit.

“Shit,” you said, and Jo swiveled his head to look at you with that officious look he had cultivated in recent months.  It’d be cute on any other kid.  It was annoying on your own.

“You swore,” he pointed out reasonably.  “That’s not allowed.”

“Yes, thank you,” you said.  You reached out and ruffled his hair, but you kept your eyes on Poe.  Standing here, in front of you.  It felt unreal, like the world was tilted on its axis, like everything might start sliding away from you.  He’d been gone so long, you had just assumed he was dead.  But he wasn’t.  He was here.

If you felt sick, Poe obviously felt something similar.  He looked pale under his tan skin, almost grey, like his might puke or pass out or both.  He was still as handsome as ever, the bastard.  He’d put on some weight but wore it well, and his dark hair was shot through with silver.  His eyes darted between your face and Jo’s, and you knew that he had put some of the missing pieces together in the long moment before you got there.

“Poe,” you finally said, curt.  You hoped you sounded nonchalant.  Like it didn’t matter that he was here.  Like you’d done just fine without him which, honestly, you had.  You cupped your hand around your son’s head, protective, and Poe caught the movement.

“Hey,” he replied.  His voice was hoarse, and his hands spasmed at his sides, clenching and unclenching into restless fists.  

“It’s been a while.”

He nodded, and he swallowed so hard you could hear the gulp from across the counter.  

You had so many questions:  where the fuck had he been for so long?  Why the fuck hadn’t he reached out?  Why the fuck was he here now?  You didn’t ask him, of course, because your charmingly overbearing young son would point out that half of the words you wanted to use were swear words.

Anyway, the small round droid whizzing around Poe’s feet let out a string of annoyed sounded beeps, and you got half of your questions answered by its little droid-ranting – something about a downed ship in the jungle, and needing help with repairs.

Well, that stung.  Poe wasn’t here because he missed you.  He was here because he crashed and needed help fixing his ship.

You bit back the torrent of words you wanted to yell at him.  Instead, you reached out and grabbed your son around his waist, making him squeal in delight, as you spun him around off of the stool and onto the floor.  You laid a smacking kiss on his cheek and ruffled his hair again.

“Go run and see Lorna,” you told him.  The neighbor woman watched Jo for you often when you had to go off-world for supply runs and other errands.  “Tell her it may be a while.”

Jo turned to run out of the shop, but Poe called out and stopped him.  

“Hey, wait,” he said, and he took a few steps behind the counter and towards your son.  “It was…was good to meet you.”  Poe  knelt down so that he was at eye level with Jo, and he held out his hand to shake it.  When Jo came skipping back over – the kid loved to shake hands with adults, like some sort of high-stakes dealing Coruscant politician – Poe folded him into a gentle hug.  Hesitant, but Jo liked hugging too, and he threw his small arms around Poe’s neck.  It twisted your heart to see it.  As much as you may hate Poe (but did you really?  Or were you just hurt and angry?), you never wanted your son to be without his father.

It was Jo who let go first, unaware of the larger drama playing out.  He skipped out of the shop with a careless “bye” tossed over his shoulder, and he missed the tears that were forming in Poe’s eyes.  You saw them, though.

You sighed and turned to the small droid, and you asked it what repairs the ship needed.  It chittered out a list so long that you held a hand up to stop it, and then gestured for it to follow you into the back of the shop.

*****

He had a son.  A son.  He was a father, had been a father but had just found out.  He had missed so much – your pregnancy, the birth, the chance to hold his son as an infant.  The kid who stood before him was a little person, not a baby.  The kid – his son – had an entire personality, likes and dislikes, a history without him.  Poe felt a painful twist in his chest.  What did little Joren know of him?  

Suffering gods, when he folded that small, sturdy body in his arms and hugged his son, Poe wanted to run back to the ship and set it on fire.  Get Finn to hitch a ride back alone.  Poe wanted nothing more than to stay on Yavin-4, live near you, just to be a part of it all.  He didn’t even care if you never said another word to him.  He’d be happy just being near you, near his son, an observer to the life he could have had if he had been a better man years ago.

Now he only sat, mute, as you and BB-8 worked out what parts the ship needed.  You loaded them onto a sled that you could attach to a landspeeder, and you glanced at him from time to time.  Poe swore your eyes looked a little brighter, like they were filmed over in their own tears.

“I didn’t try to hide it from you,” you finally said.  “I only found out after you left.  I…asked around.  Tried to find you.  But that’s the thing about the Resistance.  It’s hard to find you.”

“I know.”  His voice was low, mirroring his spirits.  If he thought leaving you behind with just a note of explanation before was bad…this wasn’t just bad.  It was a disaster.  A calamity.

“After a while….” You started, but trailed off.  Poe raised his head to see you give a shrug, and he studied you closer as you went back to loading up spare parts and tools.  You looked much the same.  The years had been kinder to you.  You had been a little awkward as a teenager, too tall and skinny to feel comfortable, always ducking your head as you shot up past others your age.  Now, you moved with assurance. Comfortable.  You’d grown into yourself, it seemed.  Motherhood, adulthood suited you.  You were as beautiful as you’d ever been.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  He wanted to add more, but the words were caught in his throat.  How could he make this seem okay with just words?

You turned to look at him.  Your eyes were studying him, and he couldn’t quite read what was in them.  Anger, certainly.  Pity, maybe.

“He’s a good kid,” you told him.  “Smart, curious.  He has a good heart.  He’s always bringing some injured creature back to the house for us to nurse back to health.”

“He gets all that from you.”

That made you smile, that same slanted grin you had always gave him.  When you were kids and exploring the old ruins.  When you were teenagers and getting into the innocent trouble that teenagers do.  When you were just a bit older than that, and he had returned from his abortive career as a spice runner.  

For that moment, it felt like everything might be salvageable, but your smile faded, and you turned to the loaded sled.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” you murmured, your back to him, as you secured the load.  “So you can leave again.”

-----

If Poe thought that Joren (the elder, not his son, the younger) was a mechanical genius, you blew him away.  

The old freighter was in bad shape, but you only sized it up and nodded.  And got to work.  

Poe introduced you to Finn, and Finn got a wide smile and warm handshake.  Finn got friendly small-talk about the weather, the ship, the ongoing war.  Finn got a friendly chuck on the shoulder when he carried your tools into the cockpit to fix the navigation system.  Poe felt an alien jealousy creep over him, and what made it worse was that you weren’t purposely trying to make him jealous.  You were just being your normal, friendly self – to Finn.  

Finn hadn’t broken your heart and left you alone and pregnant.

The more the three of you worked on the ship, the more the horror of the situation washed over Poe.  You were still on Yavin-4.  You likely had never left.  You had always wanted to travel the galaxy, explore, settle someplace with more variety.  Instead, you had been trapped there with the child he left you with.  Trapped on a tiny rural planet in a tiny repair shop.  He hadn’t just left you behind.  He had condemned you to a tiny life, far too small for your smarts or curiosity.

It took half a day to fix the ship.  At one point, you sent BB-8 back with the landspeeder and sled with instructions for your protocol droid.  When BB-8 returned, he brought food and drink, and the three of you took a break to eat.

“So you two grew up together?” Finn asked around a mouthful of bread.  His eyes darted between you and Poe; the man was Force-sensitive, but even the thickest idiot in the galaxy could sense the weird tension that existed between the two of you.

“Yup,” you replied, and you popped the ‘p’ hard, in a way that forestalled any follow-up questions.  Finn, thankfully, got the hint, and after a few long moments of silence, he stood up and made a lame excuse to leave the two of you alone.

But neither of you talked.  You only chewed your food and drank in the quiet that fell in Finn’s absence.  Poe had so much to say – mainly, that he was sorry, over and over until the end of the world – but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words.  He wanted to know everything too – about you, about Joren, about your father’s death.  If you had someone in your life.  If there was a chance for him….no, you’d never give him a chance.  He was certain of it.

You finished your food first, and you stood up and brushed the crumbs from your lap.  You went to step past him, to climb back into the ship and keep working, but Poe’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist to stop you.  

“Hey,” he said.  “Please.  I’m sorry.  I can’t…I know…”  He took a deep breath and tried again, but nothing came out.

“I know you are,” you replied softly.  You didn’t pull your wrist from him, and Poe could feel your pulse under his thumb.  Steady as always.  

“I’ll come back.”  He tilted his head up to look at you, and you only gazed back at him with an imperceptible expression.  “I want to be in his life.  I want to be a father.”

That brought emotion to your face, but Poe couldn’t read it in the dying light.  

“Sure,” you replied, and you sounded mad.  You jerked your wrist from him and spun on your heel to climb into the freighter.  

-----

Saying goodbye this time was awkward, but Poe couldn’t avoid facing you.  He and then Finn both tried to press credits onto you for the work and the parts, but you waved them off and said it was your own ongoing contribution to the Resistance.  Then Finn swept you into a friendly hug, which set a jealous churn to Poe’s gut, but you clapped the man’s back and wished him good luck and good health.

For Poe?  You only had a curt nod, and then you were turning away to load your tools and the broken parts onto the sled.

Finn and Poe settled into the cockpit and started up the old ship, and unbelievably, it started.  The engines didn’t sputter as they had, and all of the buttons on the console lit up for the first time since the Empire rose and fell, probably.  They both sat in awkward silence as they ran the usual pre-flight tests, until Finn cleared his throat.

“She needs to know that you’d come back for her too,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed sounding.

“It’s not your concern, Finn.”  

“Well, no,” the man agreed.  “But I couldn’t help but hear the two of you, and I can feel her pain besides.”  He paused and turned to look at Poe.  “She’s hurting, and she’s only hiding it to seem strong.”

Poe gritted his teeth.  “It’s over.”

Finn shook his head.  “It’s not.  That door is closing, Poe, but it’s not shut yet.”  He powered the craft down and pointed through the thick glass of the cockpit.  “She’s still there.  Go talk to her before it’s too late.”

Poe peered through the glass and saw that Finn was right:  you were still loading the sled with all the charred and broken pieces you had replaced.  Your back was to them, but he swore, even in the dying light, that he could see your shoulders shaking.  Like you were crying.

He was out of his seat before he realized, his feet and heart leading where his brain only followed.  He heard Finn give a huff of laughter, and heard him hit the lever to open the hatch, and Poe was down the ladder and running to you before he even had the thought to stop himself.

“Wait,” he said, and you turned in surprise.  You were crying, your eyes brilliant with tears, and this was exactly why he had written that cursed fucking note years ago.  Because he couldn’t face hurting you, so he’d ran like a coward.  Like he almost did now.  Thank the gods for Finn.

Poe reached for you, pulled you into a hug, pulled you hard enough to nearly hurt you and crush you against himself.  You didn’t fight him – in fact, he felt you wrap your own arms around his middle, squeezing him so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your head, over and over, and you only responded by sobbing against him – years’ and years’ worth of pain, and only a cupful of tears against the ocean he was owed.  He only held you and let you cry, and he breathed in the scent of you, felt the solid heat of your body pressed against his, and it all slammed back into him, the memory of you – dancing with you, sitting beside you, making love and kissing and holding you.  The memory of a love that burned so bright it had created a whole other life.

“Hey,” he said, and he pushed you away enough to look at you.  He reached up and cupped your face, hot with tears, and tilted your face to his.  “I’m going to come back for you.”  He saw how your reddened eyes widened at that, and he knew that Finn had been right.  

“I was always going to come back for you,” he admitted.  “It took me too long.  I wasted so many years and never meant to.  But I’ll come back. I promise.”

You gave him a nod, skeptical.  

“I promise,” he repeated, and he leaned down to kiss you.  You froze only for a second, and then you melted into it, kissing him back with an ardor that surprised him.  You should hate him, but he didn’t feel that at all.  He only felt love, and he hoped you could feel his love for you too.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @bowieisawizard​   @crowleysqueenofhell​   @evee87​   @differentshadesofgray​   @glimmerglittergirl​   @greyfairie​  @inlovewith3​   @madpanda75​   @mommakat32​   @mrs-endless​   @redlipstickandplaid​   @southern-magnolia​   @thatesqcrush​   @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​   @ataraxydreams​   @blunt-cake-yes​  @castiellover77​   @shesbiochem4​  @isvvc-pvscvl​   @blacksquadron-roguetwo   @zizzlekwum​   @general-latino​

[faunawoodsart]

Scorched Earth (R6 Oc Fanfic)

Pt 4. The Map

Location: 1 mile outside Macarthy, Alaska

Time: 12:00

Date: Nov 20, 20XX

“ Right here is fine.” 

Nav said to Tachanka, who was holding a very large and very heavy case. Nav was a very strong individual herself, but even that case was too heavy for her to carry. Tachanka set down the case gently, then putting both of his hands on his lower back and stretched. Letting out a soft grunt. Fuze stood by, looking down at the large case. Using a key, that was given to him by Ash, to unlock it.Nav opened the heavy case, setting the hinged top down softly. All three of the operators looked at what was inside. The drone. Fuze helped Nav pick up the ridiculously large UAPS (Unmanned Aircraft Photographing System) out of the case and pulled out the landing feet it had. Fuze inserted a large hardrive into the back of it, closing the hatch when he was done and gave Nav a thumbs up. A small tablet lay on her lap. With a press of a button, the drone was on. She then proceeded to turn on the tablet. Fuze set down his bag and took out the operation folder. 

“There are specific coordinates in here you are supposed to use.”

He said, flipping through the pages. Nav could hear the sound of paper rusting and then suddenly stop. Fuze’s eyes scanned the page he had landed on. 

“ 61°28'40.8" North, 142°53'34.2" West and 61°29'28.6" North 142°52'45.5" West.”

Nav looked back at Fuze, asking him to repeat what he said. Fuze did so. Nav got the coordinates into the tablet. 

“Is there a specific height I need to set it at or is it up to me?”

Fuze scanned the paper.

“That is up to you, I do not see anything about height in here.”

Nav nodded and set the height to 400 feet, pressing confirm. She stood back as the drone’s blades bagan to turn slowly. All three of the operators watched as the drone’s blades slowly started to gain speed. Lifting off of the ground and going up to exactly 400 feet, it hovered there for a minute. Soon it flew off to the direction of where the coordinates told it to look. 

“Either of you have any idea how long that is going to take?”

Tachanka asked, crossing his arms.

“Not at all…” Nav admitted. “I’m used to it taking almost a week, but Ash said this is new and improved so it might be faster?. It all depends on how it comes out in the end anyway. Everything has to be just right. If it gets too dark out while it’s taking pictures, just consider the whole map to be ruined a that point. That goes for weather as well, if it starts snowing its also ruined. Also-” 

Nav got cut off by Fuze putting a hand on her shoulder and gently pulling her towards the truck. 

“It will be fine, now come on.” 

“But-”

“No.”

Fuze had lost the amount of times he had heard Nav spout the same worries over and over again. There was a reason when, before the Archaean issue, Nav would be sent out to certain areas they needed data on because of one thing. She was a prefectionist. If one picture was off, she had to redo that entire sequence of images. It was something that Fuze couldn’t stand. He adored her as a friend and admired how committed she was to her job, she easily did much more than she was supposed to do as an operator. During training missions, she would only map the interior of buildings and specific floors, but during the real deal she did so much more. But it was this perfectionism of her work that just irked him. 

Once they got back to their campsite near the McCarthy Airport 15Z. Nav put in the tablet where the drone, once done with taking pictures, would come back to. Tachanka was sitting at one of the tables in the Cabins, at the Blackburn Cabins, they were staying at. Looking extremely bored as he typed on the laptop he brought with him, doing some of the work that he had to do being a part of the Operation and Logistics team. Fuze sat on the other side of the table with his laptop, typing up multiple ideas of strategies and talking to Tachanka about them. Meanwhile, Nav sat in a separate room. Blackout curtains covered the windows. She had two monitors infront of her. She was setting up the program that she used to comprise the images she gets from the drones. Once it was set up, she sat back in the seat. Letting out a sigh. She turned around in the chair, and looked at the door. She thought about going out in the kitchen to sit with them but then turned her chair back around. She pulled up another tab, pulling it over to the other monitor. She pulled up her emails and started to go through them.

After 3-4 hours, a heavy knock was heard at her door. Nav took out an earbud and turned around. The door opened and Nav squinted because of the light. Tachanka pushed the door open some more and looked around. 

“My god! How do you work like this. You need to let some light in. “

He walked over to the blackout curtains and flung them open. Nav covered her eyes and let out a whine.  

“There better!”

Tachanka was proud of himself. Nav took her hand away from her face and squinted her eyes, trying to get them used to the sudden influx of light. 

“Do you need something Alexandr?”

She whined out. Tachanka turned twords her and smiled. 

“Oh yea! Your drone came back. I already put it away but Fuze took out the hard drive thing, so here!”

He handed her the hardrive. Nav smiled and happily took it. 

“Thank you…”

Tachanka patted her head and began to head out of the room. 

“Don’t forget to come out to eat, we are eating in two hours.”

Nav turned around and put the hardrive in the slot in the computer.

“I will.”

Tachanka held onto the door nob.

“If you don’t, i’ll have Shurhat pull you out of the fox hole you have made yourself.”

Nav laughed at Tachanka’s comment and he closed the door behind him. Nav, despite what Tachanka went out of his way to do, got up and closed the blinds back up. She sat back down in her seat and closed the tab that had her emails. She put the other earbud back into her ear. She dragged the folder that had all the new pictures that the drone took and she uploaded them to the program. They uploaded to the program almost immediately. Nav was surprised, it usually took forever to upload the photos. She shrugged and began to do that manual work. It took her an unusually short amount of time to complete it. She looked at the clock. 19:00 (7pm). Nav sat back and looked at the completed map. It was perfect. She saved the file it was on and emailed it to Ash, Mira, and Thermite. She could start to smell food coming from the kitchen. As she took out her earbuds and stood up, something caught her eye that was on the map… She took her mouse and zoomed in on the area that looked strange. It was Kennecott mine. Something looked off about it from the aerial pictures taken of it. But before she could do anything, Fuze opened the door. 

“Dinner is almost ready Eli.” 

Nav turned around and nodded. 

“Ah, thanks Shurhat.I’ll be out.”

Fuze nodded and left, leaving the door open. Nav took one last look at the map, a small hum left her lips. She turned away and went out to join the other two.

[kawaiijohn]

Going Angst Week Day 2: Obsession

Ao3:  Here

WC:  1689

Nav: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 

prev | next

The scenery behind the door was very... unique Quizz would say.  

“You know, if I wanted space I would just remove a wall.  A room suspended in the endless void is a little... extra, don’t you think?” They asked nobody.

There was a singular platform suspended in an endless inky void of space with a singular pathway to the door.  Nothing sat upon it but a desk- complete with a fancy looking double-monitor setup and roomy drawers underneath.  It looked sleek, modern, tempting.  

Quizz didn’t know why the single point of focus in an otherwise liminal room was so enticing, but hey!  The feeling in their chest hadn’t led them astray.  Yet.

With a shrug they began walking, their saunter turning into a slow but steady glide as they negated gravity.  “Well, only one way to go.  Down it is!!”

The monitors lit up with a strange logo- a devilishly smiling face with red shades and blue flames for hair.  Okay... that looked really cool, but... why was it lighting up?  They tapped the space key and a password entry blinked before them.

“I can’t even remember my name, what makes this place think I’ll remember a fuckin’ password right off the bat?  Sheesh!!”  He pulled the chair out and took a seat, realizing it didn’t need adjusting and was hella comfortable.  

Alright... he could work with this.

With a too-wide grin he began trying to unlock the machine.

-----

It turned out he could not, in fact, work with this.

Quizz had his cheek pressed against the desk, growling lowly at the password box as it flashed tauntingly at him.  It really didn’t help that the damn thing cackled at him with every wrong entry.

“Stupid computer.  Stupid amnesia.  Stupid Quizz... stupid stupid stupid.”  He pried his face off the desk in despair and slammed his forehead on it a few times.  “The fact that nothing seems to hurt me makes me think I’m just having an awful dream.”  Another slam.  “But with my terrible luck I’m in purgatory or something.” Slam.  

“Why is this so damn hard... Always gettin’ myself into so much trouble- way more than it’s worth!!  Gods mom was ri-...”  Quizz paused and thought.  “.... she was... who?  Who was... right??  ACK!”  They grabbed their forehead, talons accidentally scratching the fuck out of their face in the rush.  “I-I... why do things keep.  Leaving me?”

They took a moment to calm, thinking about it- thinking about the trouble they were in; lost and alone with apparently only a locked computer for company.  “Please, I... don’t want to forget her.  I just want to... know...” The pain in their head subsided as the thing in their chest thrummed violently.  “Who was she to me again??”  They had to remember, feelings of both nostalgia and love rushed over them, followed by a single, near debilitating shudder of regret and the gut-wrenching feeling of failure.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t enough... I couldn’t be there for you all...’

Quizz gasped loudly.  “I... someone said I get into trouble... it was familiar, but not angry.  Exasperated... and then I... I left them.  How did I leave?”  Their heard vibrated strangely again.  “I don’t think I left them willingly.  But who were... they?”

A happy, yet tired family sits at a table.  A single chair remains empty yet another day; a small plate covered in frogs sits on a placemat in front of it.  There’s three other people, smiling yet tired.  Pizza steams fresh in the center with two figures talking excitedly about something else.  They’re all smaller besides one more in focus than the others.  They look... older?  The image clears a bit more and reveals a stout woman with slightly greying hair and blank eyes...

Something clicks into place.

"Mom!!!  I remember mom- I think... but who are the others?  Kids, at least maybe?  Ah, what was her name- I can... Her favorite color was peach!!”  They readied themself for pain again, but none came.  “ Ah, so the initial memory sucks when I remember it!!  Noted!  Thanks brain, I hate it!!!”  They tapped their forehead and stood in front of the desk, arms crossed.  “Now, brain, my dear friend- can please you do me a favor and, oh... I don’t know... fuckin’ LET ME UNLOCK THIS FUCKIN’ DESKTOP?? Please???”

The monitor snickered softly at them again after a moment of absolute silence.

“ALRIGHT SMARTASS!!!”  Quizz slammed their fist hard on the keyboard, hearing something click softly underneath.  “There’s literally no need to get sassy with me!  So what do you say, help me out here, bud?  Please???”  They pleaded with the computer, but got a loud raspberry in return.  “Cool.  Just fuckin’ great.”  Another smack to the keyboard made something inside the desk click again, the sound of some sort of mechanism unwinding.  After a moment, a drawer (one he was SURE was locked) glided open gracefully.

Quizz perked up, ignoring the fact they were about ten seconds from slashing the monitor in half with their new claws.  “Alright!  Now that’s the shit I’m talkin’ about!  That’s the shit I’m fuckin’ about!!!”  They turned and saluted the blank space surrounding him.  “Thanks, weird void room.  Thanks weird asshole computer!!  I totally appreciate the help you gave me!!” 

‘Ah, sarcasm.  Never fails to lighten the mood.’

With nimble fingers the amnesiac started shuffling through the drawer.  It had several very... interesting items inside- weirdly shaped pens, a neat collapsable cane he was gonna inspect later, but the best of all was a pair of dope-ass red shades that they absolutely donned immediately- a feeling of pride and rightness filling them as they put them on.

They made it to the bottom of the drawer when their chest thrummed violently.  A lone binder, locked tightly, sat at the bottom.  They grasped their chest with one hand and the book with the other, admiring the intricate silver swirls and black glittering stars covering it.  Quizz placed it on the desk, noticing a small, strangely glittering key hanging off of a chain attached to it.

The room seemed to whisper directly into his mind.

‘Open it.  Inside.  Open... learn about... read... learn...’

With a shaking hand, they unlocked it and read.

They read.

And read.

Memories coming to the forefront and fading away just as soon.  Their eyes scanned words that would pixelate and blur as soon as they glanced at them.  Names and places, numbers and facts- blurred away from his sight.  

‘No.  This is not how it should be.’

A growl bubbled up in his chest as he kept reading.  Names were all universally destroyed, photos for the most part blurred out.  But categories- favorite places and things... birthdays and personality types- all of those were categorized neatly and nicely.  

Some pages had just a few, and those names were less obscured- some even with profile pictures fully visible.

Those pages made his chest rumble happily.  He couldn’t understand why.

But there were three specific pages that stood out.  Just looking at them... it made his blood itch, his chest scream in longing.

He needed to finish them.  If he didn’t... he didn’t know what he would do.  

He poured over the pages over and over and over again.

They all had information filled for the most part, more categories were finished than any other page had been, but things like the person’s name and appearance, as well as the photos were unhelpfully blurred out.

They snarled at the thought of not knowing what it meant.  

“Can’t make anything easy for me, huh?”

One was a page that was rather childish.  Observations were written but he could barely understand them- the letters scrambling before his eyes.  But he noticed something- it seemed the entry was cut short; the only clear thing besides crayon drawings of frogs said ‘entry cut short, just like their time with us.’

The second page was filled with pressed flowers- all different types of lilies and snapdragons.  Everything was written with a glittery peach gel pen.  They ran a claw over the script and felt a tear fall from their eyes.  The writing made them feel something deep and painful- the same pain they’d felt a short while ago.

Their eyes scanned the page, noticing a single clear data entry.

Favorite Color:  Peach

“This was... is this my mom?”

Upon saying that, the page become more readable- some smaller things filling out and the photo less ‘thumb over the camera’ and more ‘they moved while I took this’.

If this was information on people they knew then...

Quizz yelled as their chest spiked in pain, something overcoming their willpower.

If this book was filled with things about the people they loved, then they will... they are going to... uncover all of it- collect all the information and find them.  They’ll collect everyone interesting they meet- ask them... get answers, know things, know all things to... to - 

Protect.

Love.

Learn.

Know. Know them.

After feeling cold pins and needles consume their form, Quizz flipped back to the third and last page that had gathered their interest. 

The very first page in the book.

Their claw ran over the scrawling handwriting- admiring how the writer crossed their sevens with lines, how they looped their letters and underlined things for emphasis.  They felt nostalgic and hollow.

This page had every single category filled, but the descriptions were blackened out; like they’d spilled ink all over the page.  They looked it up and down but couldn’t find a single clue about who page one would have been.

With a sigh they grinned and noticed something peculiar on the inner cover- right next to the bio.  There was a single note, a single clue.

Password:  Page 5′s best friend.

Now that... that tickled Quizz’s fancy.  Page 5... that would be the childish froggie page?  Yes it was.  

Quizz felt the buzzing in their chest become steady, violent yet subdued.  It was telling them this was the right direction- that attaining that information would fill a hunger they didn’t know they had.

Interesting, this was going to just be... delightful.

[generalfoolish]

Title: Diary

Fandom: The Mandalorian

A/N: February Prompts: Diary

Din sat heavily down onto the pilot’s seat, and a dragging sigh escaped his lips as he did so. He was exhausted, full body exhausted. He was starting to see black spots in his vision, and as someone who relied on their senses to stay alive, it wasn’t ideal. 

He pushed his helmet up and off without much fanfare, the familiar hiss a gentle reminder that he needed to set the next coordinates into the Crest’s nav system. He tossed the helmet to the co-pilot seat, empty since the child was tucked away for the night. Sleeping, Din thought crossly. The child could sleep the entire day. A fond smile spread across his face, he couldn’t even be aggravated in this state at the kid. 

Rolling his neck, he turned back to the nav system and punched the numbers in. He wiped his hands over his face, and groaned again. He hadn’t made any time for himself, lately. He started taking the armor off, the heavy beskaar hitting the floor noisily. Finally, he was left with just and undershirt and his thin pants. He stretched, groaning all the while. Dank ferrick, his back hurt. 

He reached into a compartment beside him, and grabbed a pad. He always tried to decompress his mind by logging his bounties, and lately he had found himself writing a lot about the kid. He chuckled, remembering the jerking legs of some little creature half swallowed from a few hours ago. Soon, without realizing it, Din had written pages of his adventures with the kid, and nothing about his last bounty. He slipped off to sleep in the pilot’s seat, the data pad pressed close to his chest, and the child on his mind.

[50scentsofsoap]

Cinema

It’s always a treat being able to go to the movies with your pal Jungkook

word count: 1.9k genre:  fluff

author’s note: A little idea about some platonic friendship, because you can truly love your friend without feeling any romantic attachments to them.

music: Apollo - The Lost Twenties

“That’s 35,450 won please,” the cashier said in her customer voice. Funny how people's voices change so drastically depending on who they're around. I can tell her real voice is a lower pitch than the one she just used. I tap my phone on the machine reader whilst the device scans my fingerprint. God bless contactless payment.

The cashier hands me a large bucket of popcorn, a cup holder with 2 sodas and a packet of kitkats. “Enjoy the movie!” Her voice was a bit too enthusiastic, either she's new or she hates her job. “Thanks,” I reply with half as much gusto. 

I sit on the sofa that's nearest the entrance to the cinema and check my phone. My lock screen shows nothing new, so I turn my data on to check for any online updates. Again, nothing new. I turn my data off and open up my messages, when I feel a chill creep in from the entrance. From my peripheral vision, I can see that this breeze was accompanied by the person I was expecting. Even with his low beanie and black face mask, his posture immediately reveals who he was. 

“I thought you'd stand me up again,” I note, my voice an octave lower than normal. I can see he's cocked his head towards my voice, his eyebrows raised as if he's surprised. His eyes were big and brown, but I could see the faint red veins and drooping eyelids.

“You look like crap, when was the last time you slept?”

“Um… yesterday?”

“Jungkook, you didn't have to come if you were tired. We can watch the Avengers film later when you're feeling up to it.”

“No, I want to watch it today. I won't have any time other than tonight, besides I'd promised to watch a film with you.”

He was right. Jungkook was always so busy, even finding a slot in his schedule to meet up for coffee near impossible. He's here now, and if he says he wants to watch the movie, we'll watch the movie.

“Fine, but if you fall asleep, you're paying me back for your ticket!” I get up and shove the food into his arms.

“So,” Jungkook begins as he stuffs some popcorn into his mouth, “what's the plot so far with this film?”

I'm putting in my reservation code at the online booking kiosk. “Well…” I explain the storyline as I open up my Android Pay app, “so they all hate each other but not really. Why did you ask about the story, haven't you seen Civil War?”

“No.”

My thumb is hovering over my phone's home button, millimeters away from authorizing the payment of 2 adult cinema tickets. I close the app and cancel my reservation. Jungkook is about to ask what I was doing.

“Change of plans,” I say with a strong voice, cutting him off completely, “when do I have to drop you off by?”

“Um… I told Jin Hyung I'd be home for dinner”

I glance at my phone's screen, 16:56. He ate dinner quite late, around 9 o'clock. A sneaky idea started to form in my mind.

“Tell Kim Seokjin-ssi that you're having dinner with me and I'll drop you off by 10pm.” I take the sodas and kitkats from him, and motioned him to follow me. I start walking briskly to my car, in an attempt to somehow warm up in this winter weather. I can hear soft thuds behind me, obviously he's wearing Timberlands. I reach for my keys when I'm close, when another thought strikes me.

“Jungkook-ssi when was the last time you drove a car?” I get my keys out and unlock the car.

“I haven't really driven a car since I got my license,” he looked so shy and adorable. “Jin-hyung let me drive the car to the studio a couple of times but that's only a 5 minute drive.”

“Well,” I start while putting the keys back into my pocket, “then you can definitely drive for 2 minutes using navigation right?”

“Yeah, but why?”

I walk to the passenger side and open the door with my free hand. “Jungkook-ssi you'll be driving to my apartment.” I slide inside and close the door next to me. I put the sodas in the cup holders next to me and open the kitkat packet. “Aren't you going to get in?” I ask with a stern voice. While I'm focused on my kitkat piece, I hear the driver side door open. I take the popcorn from Jungkook while he slides into the seat. The seat is too forward for him, so he moves it backwards and adjusts the rear view mirror to his height. The sat nav on my dash showed the approximate time it would take to get to mine, and calculated the most appropriate route to avoid the heavy parts of traffic. An easy 10 minutes route.

“Are you going to be ok driving?” I ask him. I did pretty much thrust the task of driving onto him out of nowhere. I was never this spontaneous, I always stuck to a plan.

“I'll be just fine.” He took off his mask and beanie, Lord I'd forgotten how good he looked. He presses the engine on button and the car roars into life. He starts slowly peeling away from the parked space and onto the main road.

Looking at him now, I still can’t believe it’s been all these years since we became friends. It’s so weird how we just ended up talking about G Dragon at a random cafe, only because my crappy headphones were bleeding out Niliria. Well, also because I was killing the rap on Missy’s part. Oh, how much we’ve both grown since that fateful event. He’s successful in his idol group and I’m the head at this small, private tech firm. He grew like bamboo while I got stuck at 163cm. Life was good, and I was grateful for every minute of time on this Earth.

“Ah, Y/N-ssi? Where do I park?”

I had gotten so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even realise when he’d driven to my apartment’s underground parking. The ride was so smooth… Jungkook-ssi can really drive well.

“Um… number 78, 3rd floor parking.” I watch him, curious. I pay attention to his hand movements as he turns the steering wheel. His hands. Damn. His fingernails were well trimmed and cuticles groomed. I’m pretty sure he’s been using Jin’s hand cream again. I see my number ahead and point it out to him. The car pulls up to the spot, and Jungkook parks it without a hitch. Hmm, he parks better than me. I take the sodas and popcorn in my hand and exit the car, the remaining pieces of the kitkat are tucked away in my pocket. I walk over to the driver side, where I see Jungkook-ssi come out. I hand him back the popcorn and lock the car.

“We have to take the elevator now to my apartment,” I explain to him. “Your beanie and mask are in my car, remember to take them with you when I drop you off!”

Jungkook just looks at the ground and smiles. “Yes, noona!”

I roll my eyes at his response and head to the elevators. Soft thuds behind me again, goddamn his Timberlands, he sounds like a puppy tapping the floor every time he follows me. “What do you want to eat?” I ask as we step inside.

“You pick.”

“Pizza?”

“I ate pizza for lunch.”

“Fried chicken?”

“I'm trying to avoid deep fried food.”

“Curry?”

“No…”

“Jesus you're so picky!” I exclaim as we exit the elevator, “Will you be ok eating roast lamb?”

“Yes that's fine.”

I walk towards my door and punch in my lock code. I let him enter first, then follow. 

“Wow, your apartment is quite big, and clean!” Jungkook said while looking towards my living room.

Damn, I should’ve cleaned up. My half eaten lunch is still on the breakfast counter, the laundry is drying on the radiator in the corner, and my laptop is still playing YouTube videos on autoplay. Shit. I was watching BTS crack videos before I left for the cinema. I put the sodas on my kitchen counter and sprint to the laptop. Fire had just started to play when I close my laptop lid.

“Wow, I thought you didn't listen to our songs!” 

“Well, I wanted to get myself up to date on your music.”

“Sure thing,” he took his shoes off and made his way to the couch. I walk over to him and airplay Civil War from my tablet.

I get my blanket from the closet and drape it over him, although he's still got his oversized coat on. I can hear him shuffling his coat open when I make my way to the fridge. I take out the marinated lamb leg and put it in the oven to roast, with a timer set for an hour later, that's when I have to put the potatoes on boil. 

As I walk back to the couch, I hear the faint crunching of popcorn. “Jungkook-ssi,” I start. Damn. Both his cheeks are stuffed with popcorn, and he's all wrapped up in my blanket, he looks like ET. Adorable child. “I'm just going to get changed into something more comfortable, if you need anything just knock.”

I swiftly make my way to my bedroom and get out of my winter wear. I slip into my soft pink oversized pyjamas and head back to the living room.

He's glaring at me as if there's a ghost behind me. Not to mention, he's red as a tomato. Jesus, what happened while I was gone for 5 minutes?

Did he break my tv? Did he spoil my lamb? Oh my god, did he open my laptop and look at my search history?

I'm worried so I just blurt out, “Jungkook-ssi did you do something?” He just shakes his head and tries to focus on the film again. I ask again, more stern this time, “Jeon Jungkook, if you have something to say… spit it out.”

“Well… uh,” his tone is shaky “you invited me to your place for dinner, and when you said you're gonna wear something more comfortable… I thought you were trying to seduce me. I know it's a crazy thought…” he rambles on further about how ridiculous he is to even think of that but I just let out a relieved sigh.

Is this boy attentive or just plain stupid? Either way, it was adorable how flustered he got. I joined him on the couch. “Jungkook-ssi you're not my type. Simple as that. Besides, it's way more fun with you being my friend, you're like a little brother to me,” with that I pat his head before snuggling up to the other side of the sofa, where there was more leg room.

“Oh yeah, by the way, are you older than me or not?” He asks.

“Hmmm... I'm not telling you that, but please keep calling me noona, it's quite cute.”

“Ok but it's awkward if you're younger than me.”

“Well then, would you rather I called you oppa?” I raise one eyebrow at him in a questioning manner. 

Silence. He focuses back on the movie again.

Truthfully, I'm younger than him but only by a few days. He hates being called oppa unnecessarily, so I just avoid it. It's quite weird actually, now that I think about it.

We're both invested in the movie right up to the heart wrenching climax. I put on ‘Saw’ straight away, because I'm in the mood for some horror, and I'm curious to see how much gore the boy can take. 

BRRRRRRR

Shit, the lamb!