#thermal screening systems

[sw5w]

Zam Lines Up Her Shot

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:15:45

[randofics]

Thermalis

🎶 Maroon5- she will be loved

Ultra Magnus x reader

18+

-------

Magnus was using his thermals to look over a malfunctioning piece of equipment when your entrance caught his attention. Your vibrant figure stood out against the cold blue of the concrete floor. Even the breath puffing through your nose and mouth had a fleeting heat.

It got colder inside during these winter desert nights. Cold enough for you to constantly wear your old high-school hoodie and leggings.

To his surprise, you weren't wearing the hoodie. Instead, it was tied around your waist, leaving your top half covered in a tank top. He observed your heat signature as you climbed the metal steps to the platform, curious at the way heat seemed to radiate from your belly, chest, and head. Your limbs were a bit cooler, and your fingers even cooler than them.

You noticed him staring and gave him a small smile. "What is it, Magnus?"

Shaking his helm slightly to clear it he hummed in question back at you. "I noticed you staring, so what's up?"

"Ah apologies y/n I noticed you weren't wearing your hoodie."

"Oh yeah, Rachet had me working on some of his equipment earlier. The cooling system was malfunctioning, so I had to wriggle inside where it was still hot to repair a few things. Made me sweat like a racehorse." He nods, remembering his own tech troubles. "I may have a similar problem with this equipment here."

"Really? Well, I can take a look if you want?"

"That would be much appreciated, thank you." He held out his servo for you to hop into and brought you over to the malfunctioning machine. Popping open a side panel, you lay on your back to slide inside all the way to your waist. Magnus observes your arms, moving about as you look over the wires and cables inside. The flashlight between your teeth slips in your concentration and smacks you in the forehead before rolling further inside the machine.

"OW... I sworney! Get back here, ya stupid flashlight!" Magnus quirks a browridge as you feel around for the familiar cylinder of your light. You shift your legs from their side laying position to propped up and spread as you reach further inside. Having forgotten his thermals were still on, the hot signature between your thighs drew in his optics.

He somewhat understood why your torso would be so hot but down there? Cybertronians were usually cold there. As you finally grabbed the light and continued your work, Magnus was staring off into space. His processor wandering. He couldn't help his curiosity in how that warmth would feel against him but remembered that organics were wet and squishy inside. At first, the thought kinda grossed him out, but the longer he thought about it, the stronger his curiosity became till he finally steered his thoughts towards you.

He hadn't been thinking of you specifically, at least not at first, but now he was thinking of how you would feel on his spike. The raunchy thoughts caught him off guard. He shook his helm to dispell them, clearing his vocalizer. A blue blush crossing his faceplate. He needed to distract himself with work. Walking over to his data pad, he turned it on, trying to busy himself with "paperwork."

He couldn't stop his thoughts about you. He wondered how much your temperature would change as he worked you up and how plush your body might be in his servos.

"Something wrong, big guy?" He gives you a strange look. You feel a bit shy under his gaze and trip over your words. "Magnus? Wh-what is it? Why are you... staring at me like that?" He kneals, and you take a step back.

"Your heat signature."

"What about it?" He clears his vocalizer standing straight again. "Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"Okaaay... I'm finished with the repair." He gives you a curt nod, turning back to the screens covered in cybertronian script. "Thank you for your assistance, y/n." Shaking your head, you walk away, not realizing the mech has his optics on you.

He silently watches you leave, finally switching his thermals off so he can see everything in normal color.

-------

The next hour or so was very unproductive for him. He just couldn't stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, he gave up deciding that a night drive would calm his racing processor. But as fate would have it, he wouldn't be alone.

You jogged into the main room, calling to him as he got ready to transform. "Magnus! Magnus! Wait up!" He qwirked a brow ridge as you huffed from running. "Do you... mind dropping me off at my place?"

"Is Bumblebee unable to?"

"Yeah, he's busy helping Optimus." He nods, transforming in front of you. His driver side door pops open, and you step up inside. With your seatbelt secure around you, he drives through the tunnel.

Raindrops hit his windshield as he passed the giant hidden doors. Puddles had formed in the almost hydrophobic desert soil as an unusual hard rain poured from the heavens. He didn't need to use his wipers, but for the sake of blending in, he turned them on. Several cars passed in the opposite lane, almost backed up for some reason.

You looked farther ahead and spotted the flashing lights of police vehicles. You could see that the road ahead was blocked off by barricades and police cruisers. A large section of road had collapsed in the rushing floodwaters, and no one would be getting through anytime soon.

"Ugh, that's just great! Now, how will I get home?"

"You could accompany me for a drive while I find another way through?"

"Ok, if you're alright with it?" You watch the lights on the radio flash as he speaks. "I have nothing better to do at the moment." He makes a u-turn following the other vehicles through the translucent sheets of rain. A few minutes down the road, he turns onto a dirt one. You can feel his shocks taking the brunt of the worn potholes as he slowly drives through them.

Mud cakes his tires and undercarriage, making it hard to get a good grip on the road. The detour was proving more and more fruitless by the minute. He grunted as his tires spun in a particularly deep wallow. The mud had practically drained from under his tires, leaving him on top of a shelf of mud. His weight now off his tires put pressure on his undercarriage.

In cybertronian, he cursed his steering wheel, turning left and right as he tried to gain enough traction. With that not working, either he partially transforms using different parts to drag himself forward, eventually escaping the deep mud.

"That was deep! I was beginning to wonder if I should call for a wrecker."

"I doubt Bulkhead or Wheeljack would've been much help." You let out a chuckle at his misunderstanding. "No, I mean a wrecker like a vehicle recovery truck. They're mainly used for semi recovery." He grunts in recognition, continuing down the road.

The lights of a main road shine up ahead, and you breathe an unconscious sigh of relief when he rolls onto the asphalt. It's obvious, however, just how much mud is stuck to his tires as he unevenly drives down the road. As you continue looking forward, you spot an empty car wash.

"How about we stop at this car wash so I can spray you down?"

"Agreed, my tires aren't getting enough traction with this mud." He pulls into the semi sized wash bay and cuts his engine. The old car wash only has one working light in this bay, leaving it washed in a dim greenish-blue. Stepping out, you take the pressure washer in hand, immediately starting on his tires. The mud washes away relatively quickly, and before you know it, you're kneeling down, trying to spray his undercarriage clean.

The yellowish lights of an older pickup truck shine across you, and Magnus as a man pulls into the small lot. He parked next to the air pump, stepping out onto the glossy wet pavement. The rain had finally settled down quite a bit.

As you continued your spraying, the man was clearly watching you as he stood there a moment. He suddenly called out to you, gaining your attention. "Hey ma'am! Do you need some help?"

You wiped water from your face as you stood to face him. "No sir, I'm fine, thanks!" The man started walking over when you turned your back to him. Alarms rang in Magnus' processor, so he switched on his holoform. Opening the driver's side door, he stepped out, making eye contact with the approaching man. Immediately upon seeing Magnus, he turned on his heels and walked back to his truck to put air in his tires.

Boots hitting the concrete drew your attention. You were met with an older man, probably in his late forties, his hair just beginning to grey and dressed in battle fatigues. He was clean-shaven and standing with his hands behind his waist as a general would.

"That you Magnus?" He only nods, watching the man as he finally gets back in his truck, driving away. Magnus turns to you as you finish spraying his undercarriage clean. "That feel better?"

"Yes, thank you, y/n." Noticing your slight shivering, he turns on his thermals again. You're a tad colder than you were back at base, and clearly, the spray of the hose dampened your clothes. The cool breeze didn't help much either. After spraying a clean path to his passenger door and cleaning your shoes, you step up inside again.

Glancing at his surroundings, he steps up into the driver's seat. Pulling forward, he drives into the dark, secluded rear of the car wash to park. As you rub your arms in an attempt to get warm, you give him a confused look. His seat slides back as far as possible, and he pats his lap.

"You want me to get in your lap?"

"You're cold, aren't you? It's the least I can do for that wash down." You bite your lip as you think it over. Caving, you clamber over to him, straddling his legs with your hands on his chest. Gently and a bit unsure of yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lay against him. His holoform is warm to your surprise but not as much as a human. You nuzzle into his neck, closing your eyes at the comforting feeling of his presence. Arms wrap around your back, and you let out a content sigh, relaxing your muscles.

He feels your body loosen as your breath tickles his holoform skin. He wraps his arms around you and lets himself relax as well.

-------

A few minutes pass, and you can't help but fidget a little with his uniform buttons. "What are you doing?" His deep voice close to your ear sends a shiver down your spine. And you can feel your body react to him. Gently, you press your lips against his neck, taking him by surprise.

He sucks in a synthetic breath as you place more tender kisses on his skin. "Would it be alright if I switched holoforms?" You pause, leaning back to look him in the eyes. "You have a different holoform?" Now you were curious, would it be this human with different clothes or something else? "I can project a holoform of my true body as well as this human form."

Perhaps he wanted to do this in his true form rather than some human version of himself. It was understandable. You wouldn't want to do something intimate in another body either. You smile and nod, letting him know you were ok with it and his holoform morphs before your eyes.

That familiar blue, red, and silver body sits under you as solid as ever. When you shift in his lap, you brush against his modesty panel, sending a small jolt of pleasure through your nerves. His servos land on your waist, and you press your forhead against his in a sign of affection.

"What would you like me to do next?" His question has you smiling, giving him a soft chuckle. "Just do what feels right, Magnus."

"Mmh, alright then." He takes your jaw in his servo, pulling you in for a kiss. It's gentle at first, both of you unsure about yourselves but slowly you get into a rhythm of sorts. His glossa ran over your teeth, asking for entry, which you obliged. His denta clashed against your teeth as the kiss grew frantic. Subconsciously, you scooted forward, sitting right on his modesty panel. His servo gripped your rear, lifting you slightly as you heard feint clicks. When you sat back down His modesty panel wasn't there anymore instead replaced by a spike of sorts. Rounded and pliable like some kind of silicone covered metal. It was dark charcoal grey with feint blue lights running along it.

A mad blush covers your face and ears as you look back up at him. He also looks nervous and can't keep eye contact with you. "I apologize y/n I didn't mean for that to happen." For once, you can hear nerves in his voice. He's normally so calm and collected much like Optimus.

Gaining confidence at his nervousness, you give him a peck on the lips, sliding off his lap. You strip in front of him all the way down to bare skin. His glowing eyes scan your body in awe as you gingerly slip back into his lap. "You're gorgeous. I don't know any femmies that even come close to your beauty." You almost tear up at his compliments.

He lets his servos roam your skin as he moves to kiss your neck. Small sounds escape your throat as he caresses your abdomen and deftly touches your spine. You position yourself on his spike, moving your hips back and forth to gain some pleasure. He groans in your ear as you rub yourself on him. Your slick leaks on him lubricating him for the next step.

When he breaks away from your neck, you kiss him again and sit up on your knees above him. "Are you certain you want to go through with this?" Your gaze is dark with arousal as you nod to him. You split yourself open, gently aligning him with your entrance as you finally sink down.

He hisses, cursing in cybertronian at the feeling of you around him. You let out a pitiful whine as he stretches you, filling you perfectly. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself as you both stay still for a moment. Relaxing your muscles, you slip just a bit further down to the base of him as he grips your hips tight.

When he attempts to move, you wrap your arms around his neck, gripping one of his ear finials. He moves his servos to your rear, lifting you up only to thrust back into you. Moans quickly flow from your lips as he gets into rhythm. A growl escapes him as he leans forward, getting out of the seat. With you he shimmys to his back cabin, laying you on the folding cot.

He gets on top of you and moves the pillow under your hips before slipping back inside you with a pleasured groan. You let out a gasp when he plunges back in, the different angle providing new pleasure. As he thrusts harder, you lock your legs around his waist and claw at his back plates. You can feel the coil inside you tightening as your muscles squeeze around his spike.

"Magnus... Harder!" Immediately, his hips snap harder into yours, and you feel your coil about to snap. It's only when he whispers to you something in cybertronian gripping the meat of your rear that it finally snaps. You call out his name as your body tenses, waves of white hot pleasure running through you.

He continues moving through your high, letting possesive synthetic growls slip through his vocalizer. An almost inaudible hiss of air meets your ears as your mind clears a bit, and you suddenly feel his girth increase inside you. It stretches you just a bit more, and you already feel another orgasm slowly creeping up on you.

Magnus isn't slowing down yet either as he lifts one of your legs to gain a better angle. His lips attacking your neck again as he chases his own release. His denta nip at your skin, and his glossa runs along your throat, making you shiver.

You feel his arms around you as he suddenly picks you back up, taking a standing position. He thrusts up into you, letting out what you can only guess is cybertronian dirty talk. Nonetheless, it works, and you know you're close to another release. Chanting his name like a mantra, you claw at his back and grip his finials.

"I'm close y/n!" You can't respond only letting moans flow from your lips. With a few more thrusts, he lets out a hiss cursing in cybertronian again as he releases inside you. Heat fills your womb as you squeeze him like a vice. Your legs tighten around him in an attempt to pull him further inside you. You can feel your walls pulse around him as he gently thrusts into you to ride out your high.

Breathing hard, you give him a sleepy smile touching forheads again in affection. He sits back in the driver's seat, letting you lay against him. "Can we stay here for a bit?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way." Wrapping your arms around his neck, you close your eyes. "I love you, Magnus." His spark swells with joy at that. "I love you as well, y/n."

[meshla-cyarika]

The Tip of the Iceberg

Pairing: Imperial!Crosshair x Imperial!reader

Word count: 4,073

Tags/warnings: descriptions of injures, lieutenant Nolan deserves his own warning, angst, hurt/comfort, love confession, sfw, cuddling virtually naked to prevent hypothermia

Summary: You and your Commander are sent to the planet Barton IV to neutralise raiders that are stealing imperial supplies. You're on the edge of deserting the Empire as it is, but this mission finally tips you over the edge…

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

It was supposed to be like any other mission.

You had arrived on Barton IV with Lieutenant Nolan, a batch of troops and Commander Crosshair. You and Crosshair go way back. You had met at the end of the war, when you were assigned as his Captain. You originally thought his snobbish behaviour was from the chip, like the rest of the clones, but after a while you realised there's more than that. There's more than hatred in his eyes.

The two of you share some sort of understanding between each other. You've both lost everything and you both seem to stand out. When you had been with your battalion during the war, there was no separation and they treated you like one of their own, but now you feel like you stick out and that you're the only one that doesn't understand all of this like the others do. Apart from Crosshair. He's like your oasis in a desert of despair.

"How long have you been here?" You found yourself asking Hexx and Veetch, the only troops under Commander Mayday's control. You had stopped engaging with clones as much as possible a while back, because it hurts too much to see the same hollow shell of a man again and again and again. There's something about these troopers, something familiar. Their mannerisms and speech aren't modulated like the rest of the clones.

"Nearly a year." Hexx answered from where you were standing around one of the last working radiators.

"Mayday has been here longer." Veetch chimed in.

"Why are you all here?" You inquired.

"Fucked if we know." Hexx scoffed and your neutral facade nearly shattered in surprise at his words. Profanities are rare enough for clones nowadays, but to say something like that which could been interpreted agaisnt the Empire is like blasphemy.

"Hexx." Veetch had hissed out through gritted teeth.

"Well, I guess we're all in the same boat then." There was something more to your words, something cryptic. Whether either of them picked up on it, you do not know.

《》《》《》《》

The raiders came out of nowhere.

There had been an overbearing alarm ringing through the entire base and all troops available rushed outside, including yourself. It was just a blur of shouting and blaster fire to you. What you distinctly remember is helping Veetch drag an injured Hexx to cover and a group of thugs stealing a cargo crate.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Lieutenant Nolan yelled. "Get after them!"

You quickly glanced around and noticed all of Mayday's men, including himself, had been injured and the troops you came with we're too far away from the pirates to make a decent chase. You locked eyes with Crosshair and both of you held a silent conversation, before taking off in the direction the raiders fled in.

《》《》《》《》

Currently, Crosshair and yourself are tracking a trail of blood through a cave system. A storm seems to be rolling in fast and you're just about sixteen minutes away from the outpost. You're starting to wonder if it's worth the hassle. Then again, if Nolan raises his voice at you, you might just rip his throat out.

"I don't know how long we should be out here." You speak up, eyeing the percentage in the corner of the screen of your helmet that informs you how much power you have left in the thermal suit under your armour.

"Scared of a few pirates, Captain?" Crosshair says back and you're about to retort, but a loud click! silences you both. You're unfortunate enough to have heard that sound hundreds of times. Landmine. All your muscles tense and your breathing stops. You spare a glance down at Crosshair's shoes and see his right foot ontop of a slate of metal hidden beneath the snow.

"Pressure mine." You observe.

"I noticed." Crosshair hisses back. You holster your blaster and crouch down to get a better look. "Do you know how to disarm it?"

"Oh, don't worry," you peel off your helmet, "I only failed explosive technology twice." You lightly blow the snow off the top of the mine.

"What crimes have I committed to deserve being trapped on a landmine with you?" He sighs and you look up at his visor with a cheeky grin.

"I haven't seen a mine exactly like this before, but it's a Mon Cala make and they keep all their pressure mines virtually the same." You pull out a set of pegs and small hammer from a pocket in your utility belt. You lightly hammer in a peg at each point of the triangular mine to keep the pressure plate down. "There. That should do it." You slowly stand up, picking up your helmet and flashlight along the way.

"Aren't you going to move?" Even with a helmet on, you can tell he's giving you that sceptical look with narrowed eyes which causes his tattoo to crinkle slightly.

"You're not leaving me alone to deal with Nolan." You arch a brow at him with a slight smirk. He stays still for a few more seconds, before hesitatingly raising his foot off of the pressure plate. A weight is instantly lifted off of yours and Crosshair's shoulders, when nothing happens. "Scared of a few landmines, Commander?"

He knocks his shoulders agaisnt you as he walks by and you can't help the chuckle that bubbles out of your chest. You slide your helmet back on and pull out your blaster.

《》《》《》《》

After a few more minutes, you finally make it to the other end of the tunnel. Harsh winds filled with snow barrel past you, but you're just about able to make out some sort of settlement on a cliff in the distance.

"Multiple contacts inside. Two gaurds at the entrance." Crosshair says, after lifting up his Firepuncher to scope it out.

"Just like Jakku, then."

The two of you treck through the snow drifts, almost getting pushed over by the wind. You can't help the way you glance at your thermal suit percentage every five seconds. When you first put it on, it was only at 70%, but you couldn't do anything about it because you were being shipped out in five minutes. You're already down to 50% and the temperature keeps dropping as the sun rapidly sets.

You don't bother telling Crosshair. "There's no point in having deadweight" according to him. Even after all the arguments, all the shouting and screaming, all the disagreements about whether someone should live or die, you'd still carry him through deserts, blizzards, flash flooding and even enemy territory.

You'd do that for any loyal soldier. It's what any person in their right mind would do. That's what you tell yourself to distract your mind from the fact that you've gradually fallen for him over the course of a year. If you were to tell anyone, you're sure the first thing that they would ask is "why him?". You seem to understand each other on a different level from anyone else. You've only known him for a year, but you have already survived so much together. So much bloodshed and tears and being treated like shit by everyone around you. Crosshair has remained the only constant in your life since the end of the war and a part of you never wants him to leave.

An arm across your chest snaps you back to the present and you almost flinch at the contact. You turn to find Crosshair's visor already looking down at you. He wordlessly nods to the entrance gaurds that have their backs to you. You nod back and take a deep breath to settle your mind back to the matter at hand. 45%. You can do this.

You both lower into a crouch to create the least amount of noise possible and gradually sneak up on the pair. Once you're in close enough proximity, you both spring to your full heights and put them in headlocks, kicking the back of their knees to put their own weight on their necks and stop their airflow. After you're sure they're knocked out, you drop them to the ground.

You sneak up to the cave entrance, Crosshair on the right, you on the left. There's atleast two dozen supply creates stolen from the outpost and most of them aren't even opened. You watch as Crosshair pulls out a stun shell and rolls it into the middle of the room. Electricity tingles through the air, as the shell shocks three thugs.

There's just a massive blur of blaster fire and shouting from the raiders. As soon as you shoot down one, three more appear. They just keep coming. At one point one of the raiders jumps on a cargo carrier and tries to drive off, but Crosshair shoots him down with ease and the carrier crashes into the snow.

"I wasn't looking for a prolonged fight today." You tell Crosshair from where you're both hiding behind the same rock.

Crosshair doesn't respond, as he looks at something intently through his scope within the base. You're about to ask what the hell he's looking at, when suddenly an almighty explosion erupts from within the cave. Smoke fills the air and debri goes flying. It's safe to say all the raiders are now dead.

"Move!" Crosshair suddenly shouts, grabbing you by your bicep to pull you away from the entrance of the cave just before the baulders infront of it crumble down. There's a moment of silence where you're both just staring at the mountain. "Let's load the cargo and leave." Crosshair finally let's go of you and turns to the crashed cargo carrier.

The ghost of his touch still lingers, as you pick up a helmet that had fallen out of one of the crates. You can't help the scoff that leaves your lips at the sight of a newly designed stormtrooper helmet, which is clearly not made for something as primitive as a clone to wear.

"The Empire's shiny new army gets the goldmine, while ex-Republic pick up the scraps." You chuck the helmet back into the snow. "How much longer till we're replaced?" You turn to face him and you find Crosshair's deep brown eyes staring back at you, his helmet being held in his hands. His expression is neutral, but his eyes aren't. There's a certain glint in them and, if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's conflicted.

There's a faint rumbling in the distance and the ground beneath your feet begins to tremble. Confused, you turn to look at the peak of the mountain and what you see strikes utter horror into your soul. An avalanche is crashing down the mountain and quickly gaining speed.

"Go!"

You both know that you won't make it to any kind of cover in time, but all you can do is run. Your legs burn as you push yourself forward and the ice cold air feels like it's slicing open your lungs. The roaring of the avalanche is almost deafening, as you will yourself to move forward.

It's no use.

The snow swallows your body, dragging you through a sea of ice. The last thing you see is the blinking numbers of 36%, before your back collides with something rock solid and the darkness consumes you.

《》《》《》《》

Crosshair awakens with a weak splutter, desperately trying to get oxygen into his lungs, which is difficult when he's embedded in a sea of snow. A sense of claustrophobia over takes the Commander and he frantically claws through the ice to force himself out. His hand eventually breaks through the surface and he manages to pull himself upright into the open air. A throaty cough rips through his throat when the ice cold air slices through his lungs. He suddenly remembers how he had lost his helmet when the avalanche submerged him.

A million thoughts surge through his mind, as a black ice vulture squawks in the pale moon light. Crosshair reaches below him and pulls his Firepuncher from the tomb he had found himself in. The Commander calls out your name as loud as he can, which admittedly isn't that loud, and only the howls of the wind greet his ears.

Right, he needs to stop and think for a moment. If he has no helmet, he has no way of communicating with you. If he stays out here for over an hour, he's history. Then again, if you're dead, what's the point of going back. You're the only thing that ties him to the Empire. Without you, he has no way of life.

No. This isn't the time to be thinking about that. For all he knows, you're still alive. In fact, with a spirit like yours, there's no way you're dead. You're way too stubborn and he hates how he's grown to like that quality about you. He hates how he's grown to like you in general. Crosshair isn't stupid. It's obvious that you're on the edge of deserting the Empire and never looking back, leaving him behind to pick up the pieces. Crosshair can't leave the Empire. It's his only purpose. The clones, order 66, the Empire, it all has to be for something. His life has to have been designed for something more than this. It has to be.

Crosshair desperately checks his gear for anything that could help him find you. Then, he remembers the pack on his back, which he quickly rips off and rummages through. Before you left for this mission, you had reminded him not to forget the thermal scanner and he had made a joke about how you're scared about getting lost. Crosshair grimaces at the bitter irony and finally pulls the scanner from his pack.

The screen blinks to life and Crosshair puts it on the maximum proximity setting. The scanner remains silent and Crosshair is about to throw it across the plain in a fit of rage, but then there's a very faint beeping. The heat signature is big enough to be human and it's signalling from about two miles in the east. A heat signature doesn't necessarily mean you're alive, but he shoves that thought aside.

Crosshair clasps the seals of his pack, slides it back onto his back and stumbles to stand, scanner and Firepuncher in hand. He's going to find you, even if it kills him.

《》《》《》《》

Crosshair has been walking for just over half an hour and the numbness in his face is almost unbearable. His thermal suit is still pumping heat through his body, but he has no idea how much charge it has left. He doesn't even know how long he was passed out for.

The scanner blinks erratically in his hands and when he looks down at it, he realises he's stood right on top of you. Crosshair drops everything and sinks to his knees, frantically digging through the snow. After a moment, his hands collide with plastoid and he digs even further. Soon enough, more and more of your black armour is revealed.

Crosshair uncovers most of your body and he quickly tears off his glove to tuck his fingers underneath the collar of your blacks. His breathing is ragged, as he searches for a pulse. The faint feeling of your heartbeat thrums through his fingertips and he could almost cry in relief. Until he notices the crimson stained snow seeping out from beneath you.

Crosshair uses all his remaining strength to lift you out of your tomb and lay you down on the surface. He cautiously removes your helmet to make sure that's not where the bleeding is coming from and, thankfully, it's not. Then, he eyes your form up and down and can't see where the wound is, so he carefully rolls you over onto your side. Crosshair finds a gash on your shoulder blade from where you had lost your pack in the avalanche, which is still bleeding out and causing your blacks to stick to your skin.

If either of you stay out here any longer, you're both going to die. Crosshair needs to find shelter now. He scans his surroundings through the almost pitch black blizzard and eventually his eyes lock onto, what looks like, the entrance of a cave.

A shiver racks through his body, as he brings himself to stand. Crosshair picks his thermal scanner back up to tuck it into his belt and slings his rifle over his shoulder, before placing your helmet back on and carefully picking up your body to lay over his shoulder.

《》《》《》《》

Crosshair practically collapses as soon as he sets foot into the cave and he makes sure to gently lay you down onto the stone floor. He's pretty sure he's sprained his ankle and bruised his ribs, but atleast the cold is keeping him from feeling all the pain.

Crosshair pulls his pack off his back to rummage through again. The first thing he pulls out is two anti-frostbite shots that should slow down the effects of the cold for you both. You remain lax and expressionless, as he injects the stim canister into your arm. Crosshair doesn't let the concern get to him, while he injects his own shot. He has to focus on setting up his single tent, which is the next thing he pulls out his pack.

His breathing ragged, yet his hands are still, while he unfolds the tent and presses the auto-expand button. Once it's in a oval bubble shape, he drags you inside. Crosshair zips the reinforced door closed and suddenly it feels like you're both cut off from the rest of the galaxy. It's just you and him. That's all that matters.

Right. He's got to treat your wound, then follow hypothermia protocol. Crosshair carefully slides off your helmet and tries to ignore how your lifeless expression strikes a cold sliver of ice into his soul. He undoes the the clasps on your cuirass and the armour on your arms to slide it off and place at the end of the tent, before peeling off the top layer of your blacks. Crosshair is surprised to feel your clothes are as cold as ice. Your thermal suit must have malfunctioned.

"Di'kut." He mutters under his breath, before peeling off the top of your thermal suit, which leaves you in your breast band, and rolling you onto your side again. From what Crosshair can see, it doesn't look that bad of a laceration, but he's ninety percent sure that you've fractured your shoulder blade based on the purple bruising.

What the hell have you gotten yourselves into? With Barton IV, with Lieutenant Nolan, with the entire Empire. What are you even fighting for anymore? They keep claiming that the war is over, but it clearly isn't. It's never going to be over. Clone agaisnt droid. Jedi against Sith. Republic agaisnt Separatist. No matter how many different names it gets, this war will never end. The only thing that matters is which side you're on.

Crosshair shakes his head to clear his thoughts and finishes making a sling out of bandages to give your fractured bone more support. There's a bacta patch underneath the bandages and he's given you a bacta shot aswell.

The hypothermia protocol says to remove any wet clothing and both of you are drenched. So, he unclasps your belt and the rest of your armour, before peeling off your lower blacks and thermal suit. Crosshair quickly snaps his eyes away from you. He's thought of seeing you naked hundreds of times, but he never thought the first time would be like this. Crosshair rips off his armour and clothes, placing his thermal suit over your body.

The last things Crosshair does is activate the distress signal from within your helmet and wrap a blanket around you both from within his pack. A shaky sigh leaves his lips, when he wraps his arms around you  and keeps you pressed tight against him, making sure to not injure your shoulder any further.

Even if no one answers the distress call, even if Nolan tells his men to ignore it, you're here, together and you're in his arms. Crosshair wouldn't want to die any other way…

《》《》《》《》

When you wake up, all you feel is warmth and you start to think you're dead. You've never particularly believed in an afterlife, but this has to be it, right? Your blurred vision soon evens out and all you can see is a white wall and all you can feel is something soft and warm beneath you.

You try to sit up and, yeah, maybe you're not in the afterlife. You're pretty sure dead people don't feel pain, not on this scale atleast. A weak wince leaves your lips and you let yourself lay back down.

Suddenly, what's acting as your matress starts moving and you finally notice the pair of arms around you as they tighten their hold.

"Udesiir. Gar're morut'yc. Udesiir."

You sigh in relief at the familiar voice and sink further into his embrace. "Cross…"

"I'm here." His voice is uncharacteristically soft and it sends a soft pang into your chest, as he threads a hand through your hair. A million memories flood through your mind and reality finally sets in.

"Where are my clothes?" You become suddenly aware at how close you really are. If you were positioned just a little bit lower, your pelvises would be pressed against each other-

Crosshair scoffs at your question. "Calm down, captain. You were lucky enough to live, but not that lucky." His words are humourous, but his voice wavers slightly.

You finally lock eyes onto the pile of clothes at the foot of the tent. Right. Hypothermia protocol. The avalanche. You remember being thrown against a boulder but nothing else. Based on how your arm is in a sling, your shoulder must be atleast fractured. You can hear a storm hurtling around outside and anxieties about how you're going to get back to the outpost flood your mind.

You must been separated during the avalanche, you could've been separated for miles, but he still came back for you…You don't even realise there are tears in your eyes till one falls. You try to blink them from your eyes and use your free hand to wipe them away.

"I have one more bacta shot left, if the pain is that unbearable?" Crosshair pushes himself to sit up, with you still held against his chest. Stupid snipers. They're always observing.

"No." You sigh and run your hand over your face. "It's not that."

Crosshair pulls the blanket back up from where it had dropped from your shoulders and moves you to sit sideways on his lap.

"Talk to me." Tell me you feel the same.

"I'm tired, Cross." He continues to run his hand through your hair. "Tired of fighting for nothing, for people who don't care. I don't know what to do anymore."

"…I understand."

You lean your head away from his shoulder to look him in the eye. Out of all the things he could've said, you didn't expect him to say that.

"Loyalty means something to me, to all the clones, but the Empire betrayed our trust. We mean nothing to them."

You have seen Crosshair show his deeper emotions before, but only in short bursts. You've never seen him look so vulnerable before.

"You mean something to me." You raise your free hand to rest agaisnt the side of his face and it's like a reflex for him to lean into it. "You mean everything to me."

The words are painful to say, but the look in his eyes is worth it. The way you lean towards each other and finally bridge the gap is worth it. His lips are dry, yet soft, agaisnt your own and you move agaisnt each other in a dance neither of you knew you could do. The kiss abruptly ends, when you wince after trying to move your arm.

"This isn't how I wanted our first kiss to go." He rests his forehead against yours.

"I thought you knew by now that nothing goes our way." You laugh slightly through your tears. "What are we going to do, Cross?"

"I don't know, but I'm not leaving you. We stay together." Crosshair insists.

"No, complaints from me." You flash him a cheeky grin, before pressing your lips against his once more.

[rotworld]

16: Trust Fall

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

trapped on a remote outpost, you send distress signals into the void while waiting for salvation. just when you've nearly lost all hope, it arrives--with blood and death.

->warhammer 40k. original drukhari character/reader. explicit; contains dub-con, implied non-con, conditioning, mindbreak, sadism, unhealthy d/s dynamic, implied captivity.

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“This is Outpost Urania One-Five-Oh, requesting immediate assistance. I repeat, this is Outpost Urania One-Five-Oh, requesting immediate assistance.” 

The cogitator is dying. It spits sparks, internal cooling systems whirring loudly. The metal casing thrums blisteringly hot. Beneath cracked glass screens, monochrome green displays flicker with warnings and error messages. You have to keep jostling the tangle of thick cables running along the floor and manually resetting the broadcast settings. Toggle “distress signal.” Select “priority - high.” Crank the range knob, again, to make sure the signal reaches orbit, then try to keep your voice firm and steady until it all goes dark and you have to start over.

“This is Outpost Urania One-Five-Oh, requesting immediate assistance,” you say. You order a scan, watching waveforms inch slowly across a rudimentary map of the system. “Situation dire. Life support systems failing. Unknown fatalities. Requesting immediate assistance—” 

Your voice cracks and you press your hand over your mouth, muffling a sob. You inhale shakily. Exhale, fighting a whimper. You can do this. You just have to stay calm. Someone will come. The slow pulse of emergency lights drapes a red glow across your back. The cogitator falls dormant and you hold your breath until it blinks back to life. A cluster of dots suddenly appears on the scanner, blinking slowly across the screen. 

“This is Outpost Urania One-Five-Oh,” you say quickly, rattling off all the necessary proclamations with your heart in your throat. Please answer, you think desperately. You pick at the thick, thermal material of your maintenance uniform, scratching anxiously at the high turtleneck collar. Moments pass in agonizing silence. Your breathing quickens into hyperventilation. “This…this is…”

“Copy, Urania One-Five-Oh.” The voice is stern, every word sharp and clearly enunciated. “This is the Righteous Edict of Patrol Fleet Cobalt-Prime. Describe the nature of your emergency.” 

A patrol fleet! You have to collect yourself, your relief so powerful it almost becomes panic again. “I’m—it’s, uh—” You stop. Deep breaths. You’re so tired and hungry and afraid, but you’re going to get out of here. You just have to keep it together a little longer. “We were attacked. It happened so fast. It was xenos, I think, I didn’t—I’m just a menial. Our orbital defenses are gone and our systems are failing. There’s not many of us left, we were ordered to salvage what’s left but it’s—it’s really not looking good.” 

“Copy.” Another long pause. You watch the dots on the scanner hover in place. They’ll stop, won’t they? They’ll help you? They have to. You pull and pick at the turtleneck of your uniform again, your breath coming in quick, shallow puffs. They have to. They have to. You can’t do this anymore. The communications chamber is deathly silent. There’s no one here but you and the dust in the air and the mess of cords and cables forming knots and webs across the metal floor. The ventilation occasionally wheezes. Coolant leaks from a busted machine chassis in the corner. The emergency lights grow dimmer with each passing hour and you’re starting to see things in the shadows. Swift, moving shapes. Cruel eyes and sharp smiles. 

There’s nothing there. Probably. 

“Forwarding your location via astropathic relay,” the Righteous Edict reports. “Regrettably, we can’t render aid. We’re en route to Lothal to rendezvous—” 

“No, please!” You’re frantic. You can’t help your outburst. “We’ve already been here, waiting, for weeks. Everything is shutting down. Our tech priests are missing, we can’t keep the outpost running anymore! We’re almost out of rations and with all of our defenses down, we’re sitting ducks. Can’t you just…we need help, we need to leave!”  

“Compose yourself, Urania One-Five-Oh,” comes the cold reply. “You are speaking to a Naval Commissar. I cannot divert the entire fleet for a single outpost when we are needed elsewhere. By the grace of the God-Emperor, your message has been received and will be passed along.” 

You’re going to be sick. Your head is spinning and your pulse is racing, cold tendrils of despair squeezing your heart. It could be months before someone comes across this remote corner of the galaxy again. Years, if the tides of the warp set them astray. The communication chamber becomes smears of gray-green and blinking red through your tears. 

“Please don’t leave me here,” you beg, your voice quivering. “Please, I can’t…there’s, there’s supplies! We have supplies, weapons, you can take whatever you want! You can—” You have to think, you have to offer him something. Lothal, he said. They’re going to Lothal. That’s a Forge World. To rendezvous, not for repairs. What does that mean? A meeting? A political maneuver? Supporting an Explorator fleet, maybe. He’s a Commissar, he’s probably going to talk to someone important. He’d want the upper hand in negotiations. “The Magos, he said…he told us we have to get the device somewhere safe. Too risky to keep them here anymore.”

“Device?” The reply comes much faster this time. “What device? Describe it.” 

He’s listening. He’s interested. You have to think fast. “Oh, it’s…it’s not too big. Not tiny, either. Metallic. Sort of oddly-shaped. There’s some sort of interface on it but I was told not to touch it. The Magos made it display a pict once but I’m not sure what it showed. He called it a ‘blessed blueprint.’”

You wait in suffocating silence. One of the emergency lights sputters out. You can smell a sharp chemical stench coming from somewhere, burning and corrosive in your nose. The whole outpost seems to groan and creak around you, the aging metal damaged and threatening to collapse. The planet’s surface outside the outpost isn’t inhospitable. The air is breathable, but the nights are bitterly cold. If the power goes out, could you scavenge enough material to stay warm? You care about that so much less than the eerie quiet. Trickling, spark-popping, shrill electronic beeping, but never voices. Never footsteps. Never anyone but you. 

You are sore and exhausted from hunching over the cogitator, you are starving and running low on emergency naval rations, but more than anything, you are alone. You scratch at your neck with a whimper. 

The cogitator’s speakers hiss with static and the words you’ve waited so long to hear finally arrive. “Urania One-Five-Oh, a ground team is now being assembled. Provide outpost coordinates and prepare for immediate evac. Do not handle the STC blueprint, please, or the tech priests might shoot you on sight. One of my men will provide you with a secure transport safe.” 

“Throne bless you,” you say hoarsely. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. B—be advised, Righteous Edict, there’s a debris field in our orbit.” 

“We see it.” 

You give them the coordinates and then you switch off the cogitator’s microphone so they don’t hear your weeping. Soon. You’ll be out of here soon. Just a little longer. You watch one of the dots on the scanner break from formation and start blinking closer, traces of a shaky, hopeful smile on your lips. 

There’s not much for you to do now but wait. You have nothing to take with you, no precious belongings to pack. You shut off several extraneous functions, rerouting power from other parts of the outpost to brighten the exterior lights so they can find you more easily. The skin of your neck is getting irritated under the cloth from how much you’re rubbing and scratching and picking, but you can’t help it. You just want this to be over. 

The wreckage of dozens of ships circles the Urania outpost’s planetoid in a twinkling river. You can’t see it with the naked eye until a piece nudges loose and plummets through the atmosphere, a streak of green fire across the sky. The arrival of the patrol fleet’s landing shuttle disturbs several chunks of shrapnel that turn into falling stars somewhere over the horizon. You wait at the foot of the outpost’s front step, shivering and rubbing your arms. Midday isn’t as frigid as night, but you can still see your breath in the air. The shuttle makes a quick, bumpy descent to the rocky surface, sliding to a stop on a metal landing platform bearing the ashy stains of artillery blasts. 

The commissar came in person. He’s the last one off the shuttle, preceded by an armed group of naval soldiers. He descends the boarding ramp with a cautious, scowling glance at his surroundings, a sword at his hip and a bolt pistol in his hand. You glance at the sky again, expectant. 

“What happened here?” the commissar asks you. He and his men approach with far more hostility in their body language than you’d expect for rescuers. 

You shake your head. “I don’t know what they were. They had us badly outnumbered. Disabled our defenses somehow and then swooped in like vultures. I think they took prisoners.” 

“But not you?” 

“No. We were trying to get the shields and anti-air artillery back online, so we were in the control center. They never came inside. I’m not sure why. But we’re stranded and things have deteriorated badly since.” 

The commissar narrows his eyes. “How many survivors?” 

“Less than ten of us,” you say. “Maintenance personnel, mostly.” 

“Hm.” He looks suspicious. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You’re almost out of here. You’re so close. The commissar studies your face and work uniform, the blood and grit caked to your hands and stuck beneath your nails, and then he nods. “We need the STC secured,” he tells you. 

“Right, of course,” you say quickly. You look past them, towards the horizon, your pulse picking up. It’s fine, isn’t it? Everything’s going to be fine. “Uh. This way.” 

You hoped you’d never have to step foot inside the outpost again. An alarm blares somewhere, a rhythmic, monotonous droning that echoes far away. Smashed cogitator screens hang crooked on the walls, showing fizzling gray lines. Blood spatters the walls of corridors, long dry, but there are no bodies. Every passing moment makes your fear sharpen. This isn’t right. You should be leaving by now. You were good. You did everything you were supposed to. Tears burn your eyes and your throat constricts. 

You get as far as the mess hall, all overturned chairs and shattered tile, when your legs give out. You can’t go any further and you’re inconsolable, curled up beside a broken table with your head in your hands. One of the soldiers kneels at your side, checking for head wounds. The commissar voxes the Righteous Edict asking for a second shuttle and a medic. He frowns tightly, then repeats his request. The sight of his rigid posture and wary glance back at you over his shoulder makes your sobs turn to sniffles, hope blooming in your chest. 

It’s going to be okay, you realize. You never should’ve doubted him.

The commissar orders the soldier beside you to move away. He clutches his bolt pistol and starts to say something. “What…?” You can only guess what he meant. What’s going on? What really happened here? What have you done? It doesn’t matter.

The shriek of a shard weapon firing sounds like a thousand windows shattering. The commissar stumbles back with wide eyes and blood trickling from his open mouth, glittering crystal shrapnel piercing his chest. Luminescent green liquid trickles from each sliver and into his wounds, hissing on contact. The shot is incredibly precise. You hear the clustered ammunition whisper just above your head. You don’t run for cover. You stay where you are and hold perfectly still as the room erupts in a cacophony of blaster fire, streaks of sizzling void punching through armor and unraveling flesh in bubbling bursts because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Sit. And wait. And trust him, like always. 

And you do. You trust him more than anyone. Bodies fall all around you, skin pincushioned, wounds crystal-studded, limbs and throats and clutched, heaving chests weeping red, and you don’t move. You sit there in the middle of all of it, darklight shrieking so close to your cheek that you feel the kiss of the void sizzle on your skin, blood spatters painting your clothes. Not a single shot missed. Not a single blast lodges in the wall or clips a table and not a single stray poison-filled shard lodges in your back. The commissar and his men writhe on the floor in quivering agony. Most of them will live and wish they hadn’t. 

And then you hear it. You hear him. They’re all here, too, the lesser lords and ladies, but you can pick out his slow, confident saunter through the chaos, the click of his boots across the floor. The pain in your heart fades and the fear melts away, everything swirling into peaceful bliss.

“There’s my darling songbird,” Xeranthross coos, looking down at your quivering form. He’s a perfect being, as beautiful as he is dangerous. Every movement is graceful and every word is a low, seductive purr. Eyes like rubies and smile like the curve of a knife, his hair is jet black and uneven, longer one one side than the other. You aren’t ashamed to throw yourself at his feet, letting the barbs and spikes jutting from his armor scrape your skin as you tremble with soft sobs of relief. “Oh, you poor thing! Why the tears?” 

You try to answer but all that comes out is wretched, warbling nonsense. It makes him chuckle. He bends slightly from his towering height, resting the pointed claws of his gloves on your head.

“You didn’t doubt me, did you?” he asks, his voice lowering to something menacing. 

“No!” You make yourself speak, forcing the words out as quickly as you can no matter how incomprehensible they might be through your weeping. “No, no, no, I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t, I never doubted you! Never!” You knew he would come. You knew, deep down, no matter how many days dragged into nights. “I didn’t,” you mewl, rubbing your face against the side of his boot. Your cheek catches on his armor’s spikes and you feel blood beading to the surface, a warm trickle down your chin. You don’t mind. Any pain he gives you is a gift. 

“Hush,” he says. You try. You cover your mouth to stifle your own miserable sounds. “Who do you trust, my dear? More than anyone?” 

“You,” you say. You don’t even have to think about it. 

“And who do you obey, before all others?” 

“You. Only you.” You shudder when his claw grazes your throat, pinching the fabric of your uniform between his fingers. He peels the turtleneck down, exposing a dark ring of metal. It’s a simple but elegant thing, a thick band of black that reflects deep blues and greens when the light dances across it. Made of the same lightweight, skin-tight material that forms Xeranthross’ armor, the band is engraved with the complex scrawl of runes you can’t read. He’s told you they signify ownership. Should you be found by others of his kind, they will know who you belong to.

Xeranthross traces the symbols on the collar with the sharp tip of one finger, his eyes half-lidded and his smile satisfied. He cups your chin and you look up at him, just as you’ve been taught. “And who do you sing for?” he asks. 

“You,” you whisper. “Always you.” 

“Mm. Very good. Now on your feet.”

You rush to obey, standing so quickly you feel lightheaded and sway on your feet. Xeranthross doesn’t tell you where to go. He shoves you back and you stumble, a cracked countertop digging into your back. You’re lifted on top of it effortlessly, your legs left to dangle. Xeranthross slots himself between your open legs and his glove cups the space between your thighs. Before, you would’ve tried to stop yourself from making noise. You would’ve bitten your lip until it bled. Now, you know better. You let him hear every sharp breath and whimper. The stiff, leathery material covering his palm presses hard against your sex and you shamelessly grind against it. 

“There’s my good little songbird,” he says, the praise sending blood rushing between your legs. His touch is rough and fast and not enough, muffled and not enough through your clothing, but you don’t dare ask for more. He’ll give you what you deserve. You push your hips against his hand and moan for him, secretly hoping you can earn something more. “What a needy little thing. Did you miss me?” 

“So much,” you say shakily. Your breathing is quick and frantic. Xeranthross drinks in the sight of your eager, arching body, your parted lips and bucking hips, but most of all, he looks at your collar. He grinds his palm against you harder as he stares at it, rubbing so hard it starts to hurt. 

“Did you touch yourself?” he purrs.

You stiffen under him. You did. You did, and he didn’t tell you that you could. He didn’t forbid it, either, but you’re supposed to ask for permission. You know that. Xeranthross clicks his tongue in disapproval. His claws hook in the waistband of your uniform’s lower half, pulling it down so viciously that the fabric rips around his claws. He doesn’t take them off completely. He keeps it bunched just beneath your hips, keeping your legs trapped. The air in the room is cold and somehow he’s even colder. He teases you with the back of his hand, interlaced plates of metal leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches.

“It’s alright,” he coos. “You can tell me. You trust me, don’t you? More than anyone?” 

You do. Of course you do. Xeranthross drags his fingertips down the heated flesh between your legs and you shudder. He could cut you easily if he’s not careful. He could do much, much worse if he wants. But you trust him, so you squirm and whimper but you don’t pull away. You lay on your back and you let his touch ghost up and down with slightly more pressure each time. 

“I did,” you say, quiet and ashamed. “I…I touched myself. Thinking about you.” 

Xeranthross smiles. “Thinking about me doing what?” 

About him taking you. Fucking you. Bending you over the cogitator and sinking his long, pierced cock into your body until he’s fully hilted. Thrusting hard and fast, leaving long, bloody marks down your sides and back with his claws. Taking you any way he wants, as many times as he wants, spilling inside of you and dripping down your thighs. Letting the other lords and ladies use you while he watches, stroking himself to the song of your pleasure and pain. And when the prey comes bumbling in, he guts them like animals and takes you again in the mess he makes. He smears red handprints over your skin and leaves you with scratches and bites. You tell him this and you know it pleases him because he gives you another dangerous stroke with just the tip of his claw. 

“Do you remember what you were like when I found you?” he asks. 

You nod, slight and ashamed. You do. You weren’t much different than the commissar and the others. Not much different than all the repair crews and treasure seekers and pirates and evangelists who came here before them, the remnants of their last foolish venture now circling silently in orbit. But you were special. That’s why he picked you. You were the quietest. You hid the best. Lived longest, day in and day out scurrying through the outpost’s darkness, until you had no strength left. Xeranthross plucked you from the storage closet you’d stuffed yourself inside. He dragged you out by the ankle with a sharp grin and told you he’d grown tired of all the silence and monotony. He wondered if he could make you loud.

“How far you’ve come since then! What a wonderful little songbird you became.” He pulls away suddenly. It’s a struggle not to whine at the loss of his touch. “Get up,” he says. You do, embarrassed by the mess he made of your clothing. The others are smirking at you. Staring intently, with heat in their gazes. “Leave those rags behind. I’ve had something new made for you. Something much more fitting for my darling bird.”

Xeranthross smiles and all the shame of your shame is forgotten. There’s nothing wrong with this. Not if it pleases him. He wraps an arm around you, his claws dragging down your shoulder. It hurts, and it throbs, and it oozes. It makes him look at you like meat. He pulls you closer and you don’t fight, no matter how many times his armor’s spikes gouge your skin.

“I think you’re ready for a much prettier cage,” he says, and you shiver with delight.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - August 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Safari park welcomes flamingo chicks

“An animal park has said it is experiencing a "baby boom", including new flamingo chicks that have hatched. Longleat Safari Park in Wiltshire has also recently welcomed rare Amur tiger cubs and an endangered cotton top tamarin monkey baby. [… Flamingos] live 15-20 years in the wild, however in captivity and safe from predators, they can reach ages of 70 years.”

2. Golf clubs fight biodiversity loss

“The project aims to help green-keepers create havens for wildlife, particularly bees and butterflies, as well as introduce mowing methods to protect rare chalk grassland and encourage wildflowers. […] “Clubs doing this are seeing significant increases in pollinators, such as butterflies, without impeding the game."”

3. ‘We’ve got baby owls again’: how farming policy is helping English wildlife

“[In Abby Allen’s] lush Devon fields native cattle graze alongside 400-year-old hedgerows, with birds and butterflies enjoying the species-rich pasture. [… The Environmental Land Management Scheme] pays farmers for things such as planting hedges, sowing wildflowers for birds to feed on and leaving corners of their land wild for nature.”

4. $440 Million to Support Pregnant and New Moms, Infants, and Children through Voluntary Home Visiting Programs

“Through this program […] trained health workers […] provide support on breastfeeding, safe sleep for babies, learning and communications practices that promote early language development, developmental screening, getting children ready to succeed in school, and connecting with key services and resources in the community – like affordable childcare or job and educational opportunities. […] In addition, the [CDC] announced a new investment of $118.5 million, over five years, to 46 states [and] six territories […] to continue building the public health infrastructure to better identify and prevent pregnancy-related deaths.”

5. Endangered leopard frogs released into the wild

“More than a hundred leopard frogs have been released into the wild at Columbia National Wildlife Refuge in Washington state. Leopard frogs are endemic to North America but have been classed as endangered since 1999.”

6. Heat-based batteries are a surprisingly versatile tool

“[T]hermal energy storage [… is] expected to be more cost-effective than conventional lithium-ion batteries for storing cheap clean electricity over longer durations[….] Thermal storage systems take up less space per unit of energy stored than lithium-ion batteries do, [… and] can also deliver their stored energy without the efficiency losses that occur in converting electricity from [AC to DC and back].”

7. Dolly Parton is sending free books to children across 21 states — and around the world

“[In 21 states,] all children under the age of 5 can enroll to have books mailed to their homes monthly. […] Since the program started, books have been sent to more than 240 million to [sic] kids in the U.S., Canada, the United Kingdom, Ireland and Australia.”

8. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $100 Million to Navigators Who Will Help Millions of Americans - Especially in Underserved Communities - Sign Up for Health Coverage

“The grants are part of a commitment of up to $500 million over five years - the longest grant period and financial commitment to date, and a critical boost for recruiting trusted local organizations to better connect with those who often face barriers to obtaining health care coverage. […] Navigators offer free assistance to people exploring health coverage options through HealthCare.gov, from reviewing available plans to assisting with eligibility and enrollment forms, and post-enrollment services such as using their coverage to get care.”

9. ‘Ultra-Accommodating’ Hotel Concept Goes Beyond ADA Accessible

“The property […] will feature wider hallways, larger guest rooms, easy access to elevators and other modifications that exceed the standards required under the [ADA]. Staff will be trained in disability etiquette, how to assist with mobility devices and provide various accommodations ranging from hearing aid loops to sensory-sensitive lighting. […] The location in San Antonio is expected to be the first — not the only one — developed under this concept.”

10. Melbourne zoo welcomes rare southern white rhino calf to the world

“Kipenzi and the new calf have been closely monitored this week, with mother and baby being kept in a secluded area accessible only to keepers while they get to know each other and bond. […] The calf has already been showing a forthright personality, snorting and stomping around his enclosure[….]”

August 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[projectmainframe]

The Scholar:

Your mission in this world sets you on a peculiar path of wisdom and trust. Is a forsaken city boiled by the sun, how will you adapt? You were created by Seven Red Suns for a strange purpose. They have tasked you to look around ancient ruins atop their city, Flare. You don’t know much about your task other than searching for colorful pearls within buildings, and are quite familiar with books. You write in a way only you can understand, and you document your journeys, as well as the flora and fauna surrounding you. SRS gave you a special amulet you wear as a necklace under your scarf, which allows you to press on it to give a notice to SRS that you found something of interest, or have a question. If you find an interesting pearl, you can hold it up to the hologram of SRS to let them read it to you. Their constant avoidance of telling you your purpose or what you are looking for in particular leaves you weary of them, but your other half believes they have good intentions. Like a fennec fox, you were designed to be smaller in order to withstand Flare’s little water and high temperatures.

Ability

Your knowledge and documentation of the land comes useful for your survival. By holding the up and pick up keys at the same time, you can change certain objects to your benefit. For example, you can change a blue fruit into a small water jug, which will let you scoop up water to drink later and loose five heat pips. You can also combine certain items to make something new as well, while keeping both properties of said items. For example, you can change a popped bubble fruit by carving two of them into boots to keep your paws cool on the hot ground, and then you can combine the boots with the corpse of a documented eggbug to make the boots move you faster. You can store these items on you if they are clothing items, or you can put one non-clothing item in your scarf for safe keeping. To use the crafting mechanic on an item or corpse, you need to document the creature or plant first. To do this, you need to meet two factors. 1: The target is within your line of sight (not obstructed by an object) and on the same screen 2: Stand still for 5 seconds without moving to write it’s entry. After doing these two things, the target will be successfully documented and will no longer need more documentation.

The (Rain) World

Flare is a large city with thermal energy being the main power source of the surface, and as such, the city amplified the heat from the sun to be more powerful, so the ancients could practically multiply and manipulate the heat energy into the required forms. However, after the mass ascension, the heat manipulation system broke past its containment area over time. The system shuts down at night and slowly rises over the beginning of a cycle until it’s at maximum power at noon. When this happens, harsh heatwaves will rush across the city, causing any creature to pass out from the heat, and soon enough, perish due to high body temperatures. A temperature pip bar will appear at the bottom of the food bar like in Saint’s campaign. You can cool down by going under roofs, going into water, or by touching cold things, but these methods get less and less effective as the cycle goes on. The passage of time throughout the cycle can be measured by the haze and mirage outside caused by the sun.

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 32

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

This time at least, I expect the tinkle of debris on the hull.

We come out around the same debris cloud as before. Oh, I bet Raaden might be interested in this. I call out on the PA “Raaden, please come up to the Command Deck, this might interest you.”

As we glide silently away from the Gate, Raaden pads up, still in her sweats. “Yes, Empress?” I gesture at the forward screen, showing the destroyed planet and debris field. “Welcome to the Wilds of Besmara. This is the other system we visited before we came to Reach of the Might of Vzzx.”

I will admit a certain small amount of satisfaction that I was able to render such a jaded expert in spaceflight speechless. She stared at the image, mouth agape for a few seconds before catching herself. “What happened here?” She turned to me “Did you do this?”

“No. This is how FarReach found it. We don’t know what happened, but when we got close to the Starbase in the system, some kind of field enveloped us. It was trying to pull us in.”

“How did you escape?”

“FarReach used juke charges to spin us around and we fired the Stardrive at 2gee to overload the field. We were able to escape.”

“I would have just found the source of the emitter and fired on it.”

“That was going to be what we did, but I received like… an impression or a feeling from the Starbase warning us not to do that. It was almost done in a commanding Voice like mine. Regardless, this time we’re going to let the field pull us in.”

Raaden looks at me and then back at the ruined starbase and planet and then back at me. “Why?”

“I want to go aboard the Starbase. I need to see who lives here and if they need help. Clearly this place used to have a planet, but it’s long gone. FarReach’s thermal scans showed that there were people aboard, but not too many. I don’t know how they’re eating or surviving. According to the Nanites I carry, the Wilds used to be a thriving planet and Starbase pair housing over a billion people.”

“Wait, ‘according to the Nanites?’” Raaden walks over to an empty station and sits down, spinning the chair around so she can see us. Ava looks up from a sensor station, she was trying to learn more about the Starbase. “Melody…”

I look over at Ava and shrug. It’s not like she can use the information against us. “The Nanites - the nanomachines that give the Builders their abilities - talk to me.”

“Bullshit.”

“How did you think I did it Raaden? Magic? The air all over here is thick with nanomachines. That's why your earplugs didn't do anything, it was long past that having any kind of affect. The memories and feeling are a part of the Empress package I have. They say that they contain the recorded memories and impressions of previous Empresses. That each Empress would upload them regularly-“ I don’t mention how exactly. I don’t need her escaping and touching a directory stone “-and if or when a new Empress needed to be made, they would get the memories. It’s supposed to be like… an incorruptible advisor I think. They help you rule.”

“So you have… an AI made out of nanomachines in your blood, giving you advice?” Raaden’s face says it all.

“I don’t think they’re intelligent, no. They’re more like… a database or a wiki. And they only know what the previous Empress knew up to the last upload. For example, I don’t know what happened to the Wilds, this happened after the last upload. The Nanites were the ones who told me how the Wilds were a large and thriving colony. They were as surprised as I was to see this.”

“Do any of the other Builder's Nanites… talk to them?”

“No. I get… feelings? Impressions? About things, but no voices.” Ava shakes her head. When I first told her about it, she thought it was kind of odd too. I mean, I guess it is kind of odd.

Raaden shakes her head. "What else do these Nanites do?"

"Well I have an amazing ability to read body language now. I wonder if it's a part of my language processing ability too. I can effectively understand any language spoke to me, but I can only reply in languages I know, and the original Builder tongue."

Raaden glances at Ava and then back at me. "So any language?"

"Yes?"

"It doesn't have to be a language you - or the Nanites - have heard before?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"Okay, now I'm impressed." Raaden laughs lightly.

Ava frowns and looks at both of us. "Raaden, all Builders get that ability. I can understand your conversation."

"I had a hunch. Don't worry Ava, I was already Ordered to be good, and good I shall be. I might use this ability to brush up on my own language skills though. I was skeptical until I started speaking French and you both rolled with it without blinking."

"You know French?"

"I like French comics. The French have had an amazing history of comics for a long, long time. It takes forever for them to get translated into Colonic for off-Earth consumption and most of the old ones never get translated."

A railfan and likes French comics. Better be careful Melody, Raaden is starting to humanize herself. But why does she support such a barbaric and fascist government? Why is she so cruel when she's in command?

"Anyway, we're off track. So sometime between the last Empress upload and now that-" Raaden pointed at the ruined planet "-happened yes? And you want to go and try and find out how and why?"

"Yes. That's why were here."

She shrugs and turns back to the front display.

I look up at the ceiling. "How are we looking Omar?"

"We're cruising along Melody. We've exited the debris field near the Gate and are headed towards the Starbase. Scanners find no evidence of FarReach by their drive exhaust or any other telltales. I think they were telling the truth when they said they were just going straight home."

"I can't wait to get the chance to show FarReach all that we've accomplished here when we come back."

Raaden laughed. "You're going to go back? You can't go back Empress."

"What? Why can't I go back? I would like to open up a dialog with other worlds and colonies and independent Starbases. We have things to trade, we could take on volunteers. I don't see what's so strange about it."

Raaden is unbelieving. She thinks I'm joking. "You don't see what's so strange about a human who can order people to do something and they are forced to obey? Empress, you are being naive. The moment you Voice someone on that side of the Galaxy you are going to catch a long range bullet or a brace of long range missiles. It won't even be Venus that does it, it'll be K'lax."

"More propaganda from the Venusian." I say bitterly. That was probably unfair of me, but I'm upset. Why wouldn't I be able to go back?

Raaden puts her leg down and sits up straight in her chair and pivots to face me. "Empress. I am being one hundred percent honest with you when I say that if we believed the reports about your Voice the Emperor would have ordered me to destroy the Reach of the Might of Vzzx the moment we traversed the gate. No fanfare, no warning, no nothing. Pop out of the gate, missiles until you're destroyed, pop back in. You do not realize how dangerous you are over there."

"Dangerous? Why am I dangerous?"

"Oh. My. Gods. You really don't see it?" She looks at Ava with a pleading expression. "Is this a joke? Does she not see it?" Ava glares but says nothing. Raaden looks at Starlight. "You. Aviens. Starlight. You understand what I am referring to right?"

Starlight turns away and nods. "I think I know what you are referring to, yes, Archduke."

"Empress, after being subjected to your Voice, I understand your title it not some lofty, bombastic aspirational title set by a tinpot dictator. Empress of the Holy Imperial Systems means that if anyone gets close enough to you, they are your subject. No ifs, ands, or buts. You are literally the undeniable. If you use your Voice, someone cannot disobey. You already showed that by ordering Max to stop breathing. Thank you for allowing him to breathe again by the way. He didn't have anything to do with the bombs, nobody onboard did. They're a standard Venus practice." She looks at the screen showing the ruined Starbase and then back at us and continues.

"Do you know what the all of the governments back home will do when they learn that you not only have that power, but are coming back to leverage it? They will come together like never before. Venus will work with AIs, the K'laxi will work with the Xenni, the Independent Starbases will work with the Colonies."

"They will all work together to destroy you. Before you can destroy them."

"I wouldn't hurt any of them! I can't believe this!" This is really upsetting. Raaden thinks that the moment I go back over there I'm going to declare myself Empress of that side of the Galaxy too.

Raaden runs her hands through her close cropped blonde hair. "Melody. You're not getting it. If you want to survive you had better take over."

"What?"

"You had better go over there guns blazing and Voice screaming. The only way you'll survive is if you take up the mantle you've been given and actually rule the Galaxy. The only other alternative is death. Probably by assassination."

I'm struck speechless. Raaden of all people is practically ordering me to take over the Galaxy? Why?

Ava's voice is quiet. "I can't believe I'm saying this but... Raaden is right, Melody. If you don't go to take over, everyone will be so frightened that you could take over, they won't wait for you to try it. They'll just kill you on sight. There is probably quietly a kill on sight order or you among the AIs already."

Raaden nods. "Almost certainly."

Starlight looks awkward. Their feathers ruffle in waves. "Empress, er, I concur with Builder Ava and Archduke Raaden. You cannot leave anyone in question to your legitimacy. If you do not want to rule the entire galaxy, your only other solution is to systematically destroy the Gates on that side. Prevent them from getting here easily and they might not assassinate you."

I feel the ground slipping away from my feet. Can't go home? Will get killed? This can't be right. "Of course you'd say that, Raaden."

Raaden throws up her hands. "Remember, I'm just the prisoner here Empress. I can't even call you anything other than Empress. Why would I try and trick you? For one, you ordered me not to with your Voice. For two, if I did you'd just kill me. I have absolutely no reason to do anything other than be truthful. Empress, if you go back, you will be killed. Not only that, but Starjumpers and Dreadnoughts by the dozen will come to this side of the galaxy and obliterate every Starbase left here. Unless you plan on taking over, don't go home. Ever."

She's not lying. She can't lie. Not to me. I told her not to. She can't undermine the mission, I told her not to. I told her. I told her.

If I go home, I will cause the deaths of everyone over here.

Just then, there's a rumble and we feel the pull of acceleration.

"Melody, the field has just enveloped us, just like last time. We're being pulled towards the Wilds."

Finally, something to pull me back to the here and now. I can concentrate on this and worry about me accidentally killing everyone later. "Thanks Omar, for now, let's let it us pull us. Keep an eye out for weapons targeting and for other things that we should know about. Are we getting any radio signals?"

"No, nothin- wait. Yes, I think we're being pinged."

"Open a channel please."

As Omar activates the radio and it scans for the signal being sent to us, there's a squeal and a hiss of static. The noise calms down and there is... a voice. It's hard to make out in the static, but Omar tries to focus the receiver and it gets tinny, but clearer.

"Who is approaching? Identify yourself."

"This is High Line, operated by the Empress of the Holy Imperial Systems, Melody the First. We would like permission to dock and come aboard. We come from Reach of the Might of Vzzx and would like to open a dialog."

There is a long pause after I make my announcement. I wonder for a moment if we've lost radio contact when I hear a different voice.

"Empress of the Holy Imperial Systems Melody the First? How intriguing. Permission to board has been granted. We shall direct you to a working umbilical and will meet you."

The Radio connection is cut and Ava and look on her screen. "Yes, it looks like we're being steered. I wonder if we have such a field and it's just offline or unused. It might be useful to have. Also, why do you suppose the voice changed."

"I'm sure it was some radio operator who started, and then the real authority was put on to grand our landing." Raaden lounges in her chair, one leg over an armrest. "Smaller Starbases and Stations can sometimes require administrator approval, especially if the Administrator is somewhat of a Tyrant. She looks up at me, but her expression changes when she sees my face. "Empress, what's wrong?"

At that Ava's head shoots up and she looks worried. "What did you hear, Melody? You look like you saw a ghost."

"That other person? The one who gave us permission to dock?"

"That was Janais, the previous Empress."

Part 33

[thehues-home]

Transforming Home Theaters with Thermal Insulated Blackout Curtains

Creating the perfect home theater experience involves more than just a big screen and comfy seating. To truly immerse yourself in the movie, you need to control light and sound effectively. Thermal insulated blackout curtains are an essential component in achieving this goal. In this article, we’ll explore the numerous benefits of using these curtains to enhance your home theater for optimal light and sound control.

The Importance of Light Control in Home Theaters

One of the most critical aspects of any home theater is the ability to manage light. Ambient light from outside can wash out the image on your screen, diminishing your viewing experience. Thermal insulated blackout curtains are designed to block out all external light, ensuring that your home theater remains dark and conducive to movie watching.

Benefits of Light Control:

Enhanced Picture Quality: By eliminating glare and reflections, you can enjoy more vibrant colors and clearer images.

Mood Setting: A darkened room helps create the right atmosphere for an immersive experience, drawing viewers into the film’s world.

Why Choose Thermal Insulated Blackout Curtains?

Thermal insulated blackout curtains offer more than just light-blocking benefits. Here’s why they are a fantastic choice for home theaters:

1. Temperature Control

These curtains help maintain a comfortable temperature in your theater by blocking heat from entering during the summer and preventing warmth from escaping in the winter. This means your HVAC system won’t have to work as hard, leading to energy savings.

2. Sound Insulation

Insulated curtains are excellent for sound control. They can significantly reduce noise from outside, creating a quieter environment that enhances your viewing experience. Whether it’s traffic, barking dogs, or lawnmowers, sound insulating curtains can help keep the focus on the movie.

3. Versatile Aesthetics

Available in various colors, patterns, and fabrics, thermal drapes can easily complement your home theater’s design. Whether you prefer a sleek modern look or something more classic and cozy, there’s a curtain option that fits your style.

Choosing the Right Thermal Insulated Blackout Curtains

When selecting thermal insulated blackout curtains for your home theater, consider the following factors:

1. Fabric and Thickness

Look for curtains made from thick, multi-layered materials. Fabrics like velvet, polyester, or heavy cotton blends provide superior insulation and light-blocking capabilities.

2. Color and Design

Opt for darker colors to maximize light-blocking efficiency. Rich hues like deep blue, charcoal, or even black can not only enhance the blackout effect but also add a touch of elegance to your home theater.

3. Length and Width

For effective light control, choose curtains that extend from the ceiling to the floor and are wide enough to cover the entire window frame. This ensures that no light seeps in from the sides or bottom.

4. Installation Method

Consider how you will hang your curtains. Rod pockets, grommets, or clips can all provide different looks and ease of use. Ensure that the hardware you choose complements your theater’s decor.

Styling Your Home Theater with Thermal Insulated Blackout Curtains

Here are some tips on how to style thermal insulated blackout curtains in your home theater:

1. Layering

For added insulation and light control, consider layering your blackout curtains with sheer drapes. This combination allows you to enjoy natural light during the day while still having the option to block it out completely when watching movies.

2. Matching Decor

Coordinate your curtains with your theater’s color scheme. If your walls are painted a deep shade, matching your curtains can create a cohesive look. Alternatively, choose curtains in a contrasting color to make a bold statement.

3. Accent Lighting

Incorporate accent lighting in your home theater to enhance the ambiance. Wall sconces or LED strips can complement your curtains and create a theater-like atmosphere, making it feel even more inviting.

4. Use of Patterns

If you want to add visual interest, consider patterned thermal drapes. Geometric or abstract designs can elevate the overall look of your theater without compromising on functionality.

Conclusion

Thermal insulated blackout curtains are a game-changer for home theaters, offering superior light and sound control while enhancing energy efficiency. With the right choice of curtains, you can transform your viewing space into a cinematic paradise, ensuring that every movie night is an immersive experience. Whether you’re an avid movie buff or a casual viewer, investing in quality insulated curtains is sure to elevate your home theater experience to new heights.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Common BSoD reasons (Blue Screen of DESU)

Your computer worked fine yesterday, and now it keeps crashing. Wa da heq?

The most common issues I've seen causing BSoD isn't malware, or even user error. Though they're not the least common causes either.

They're from updates pushed by developers.

Usually it's from some system update that manages your memory allocation incorrectly. Or processor execution errors and mishaps handled incorrectly.

But it is also quite common for a driver update to cause the same issue. And because Video Card drivers update monthly; they're the most likely cause of breakage.

To be fair; not updating your driver's can be just as hard as updating your driver's so it's important to know which driver configuration worked last.

And this is why Windows has system restore points.

Interestingly; one of the most common driver failures I've seen comes from Nvidia Graphics Driver failing to regulate the cards internal temperature appropriately.

There's usually an internal thermal switch that cuts off when the driver gets too hot which then throttles your graphics card and will cause crashing.

And this thermal switch can degrade over time. Which means your graphics card has a lower tolerance for heat than it should.

However; elevation and humidity can *also* cause the same issue. Which means your rig might operate differently in Detroit Mi than it does in Dallas TX, or even SLC UT.

And quite often devs try to reduce their tolerances for kicking in the graphics cards cooling fans; power saving conferences maybe.

And often the will wind up with your card running hotter than it should. This is why the EVGA tools (and other similar software tools) include manual fan controls.

Because the onboard regulation and default drivers tend to heck it all up.

But that's not the only issue I've seen with graphics cards; sometimes: the devs try to use more VRam than the card has. Or even less VRam and then just forget which blocks of VRam they set to be used by the system.

It can literally be fixed one day, and then unfixed and then next, and just toggle back and forth despite user complaints.

In fact; nearly any issue that is commonly considered "due to heating issues" can be traced back to driver issues for similar reasons to what I listed.

Incorrect memory usage, cooling regulation not appropriately modulated cooling modules, processor and graphics processor being sent incorrect commands.

Registry issues can also cause memory issues as certain blocks of memory get used by too many sources at the same time (but not often) multiple drivers trying to run the same hardware (which can also be caused by software creating extra instances of graphics level singleton interfaces)

So if you're ever wondering what could possibly be wrong with your PC, it's more likely a driver issue.

But... You could also have forgotten to install cooling modules, or decided to overclock your hardware without increasing cooling.

Or even overclocked your hardware too much.

But barring overclock; is most likely driver issues. I've even seen windows surface devices on their end of life updates get driver updates that break graphics, causing overheat and ghosting (leftover images) on the screen.

Which I feel like may have been on purpose.

Though locating an older driver, or installing Linux usually worked if no *real* hardware issue was present.

[mangoisms]

ok here are my current thoughts on ck and tim’s silly goose-ness and steph’s very low tolerance to it

aka an excuse to introspect on their past relationship and also my first ever attempt to write a canon character’s pov which might or might not be good so! You Have Been Warned

(also excuse any typos LOL)

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”

The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.

Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.

“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”

“So, how’d you get past it?”

“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”

The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.

Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.

Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.

Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.

Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…

She’s pissed.

“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.

She tells him.

At the sound of your name, he stops.

But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”

The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.

“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”

“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”

A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”

It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.

Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)

You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)

Tim freakin’ Drake.

Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.

Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.

If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.

But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.

It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.

And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.

Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find on) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.

Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.

But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.

But this feels too close to him crossing that line.

No, he has crossed that line.

Given one persona up for another.

Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…

Someone is going to get hurt.

Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.

This time?

Stephanie feels it in her bones.

The person who is going to get hurt is you.

You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.

She doesn’t want to see you hurt.

The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”

She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.

“You’re lying to her.”

“We’ve been lying to her.”

“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.

And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.

Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.

“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”

Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.

But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.

Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.

“I’m counting on it, Steph.”

Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.

Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.

She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.

But some things you just can’t change.

She knows better with Tim.

She really, really does.

[pretty-princess-jeremy]

Let's transform a 0 point 0 1 square meter space into a functional house. Mannequin Mark lived frugally and worked diligently in a woodworking business for two years managing to save up half a million to buy a house in New York.

However, upon moving in, he was shocked by how small it was, tripping upon walking in but was saved by his childhood eagle. He couldn't even fit his grandma's coffin.

Poor Mark had to tie himself up to the doorframe to get a proper night's rest. He would lay on his eagle's and cry. Eventually, he got sick of it and decided for renovation.

Now, let's explore how we can help Mannequin Mark transform it into a functional home.

First, we'll construct a durable frame using galvanized square steel anchored firmly to the wall with expansion screws borrowed from his aunt filled with grid steel bars and concrete for lasting strength.

We'll also install thermally broken aluminum windows, expanding the living space by 2 square meters.

Next, we'll build a multifunctional sitting platform on the floor with hidden storage underneath for bulky items, saving precious space and providing a seating area for Mark and his husband, Wallter. This platform doubles as a comfortable bed that can fit two people, surrounded by cushion panels in blue and yellow for a better rest.

We'll add a movable table on the bed to serve as both a workspace and dining area, with an outlet switch nearby for charging devices, making it perfect for work and meals.

After use, the table can be stored beside the bed, keeping the space organized. Add a projector and projector screen so he can watch his Korean Dramas.

We'll then construct a bedframe from galvanized square steel, enhancing its appearance with eco-friendly wood veneers.

Incorporate a pre-buried drainage system for convenience. Build a set of wall cabinets with a countertop drilled to embed a sink. Underneath, install a build in washing-machine to keep dirty laundry at bay.

Convert the countertop for dual use by placing an induction cooker for cooking, and install a mirror cabinet above. Next to the mirror, add a cabinet for spices and toiletries. Install a showerhead on the wall and an enlarged stand, allowing even space to ride a horse while showering.

Now his tiny space has everything he needs

"Did tou just send me an entire fucking home decor story or whatever. For MANNEQUIN_MARK.?"

[sw5w]

KiSteer 1284 Projectile Rifle

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:15:40

[rifleseye]

Anatomy of a Microscope

I. Scope —

Perceptor’s scope has many different functions aside from the simple functionality of magnification. It functions as an Electron Microscope, laser imaging, and thermal imaging. His scope is directly connected to his nerve and optical net, functioning, essentially, as a third eye. He is able to disconnect it via connectors attached to his sensory net, however the process is arduous and requires nerve suppressants.

His scope is incredibly sensitive, similar to how an eyelid is, and is a No Touch Zone, no matter who you are.

II. Stabilizers —

The stabilizers on his forearms originally functioned as stabilizers for his scope. However after his near death experience he modified them so they could stabilize his entire arms. Functionally, his alt mode is useless for anyone else to use because of this. (Something he much prefers.)

Now, however, he completely removed their external component and they're stored entirely under his armor for internal manual control.

III. Tactile Sensors —

Perceptor has highly specialized tactile sensors in his fingers, meant for deconstructing the composition of any object on an atomic level. This was useful for when he was a metallurgist. Aside from his fingers, his crest is similarly sensitive. He can detect atmospheric changes, meant to circumvent any changes that might tamper with his scans due the atmosphere he’s in (or without.)

IV. Specialized Needles

—

The tips of Perceptor’s fingers can fold back revealing needles that also function as clippers. These were personal modifications he made when he acted as something of a medic for the Wreckers. He's kept these, and still uses them for particularly small specimens, though not as often.

V. Universal Emulator —

Perceptor has a universal emulator: what this means is that he has the unique ability of interfacing with any technology and acting as the admin of said tech. Hacking is very easy for him because of this, but he doesn't give it much use outside of situations that call for it. If removed his consciousness is transferred to it while his body remains dormant. As long as he isn't separated from his body for long he'll stay alive. After a certain point he’ll deteriorate and his body will slip into an irreversible coma. It acts as something of a secondary brain module, which is why he's able to consume so much information at once.

His emulator is located next to his fuel tank in his torso, think where the spleen would be in a human.

VI. Data Cables —

Modern microscopes, especially electron microscopes can connect to screens, and the data is often transferred to databases so other scientists can parse the information. I think it'd make sense that he'd have data cables. Before the war, microscopes were often paired up with computers because of this. There is often symbiotic relationships between microscopes and computers.

Like all Microscopes, Perceptor has data cables of his own. They're located under his backplates. He doesn't tend to use them much, however, as they have a strange interaction with his Universal Emulator.

Since his Emulator basically functions as a self preservation mechanic, when he hooks up to something with his cables an EMP is set off in. He has to go through a Process to sidestep the natural reaction and he doesn't like bothering with it. It wouldn't be that way if not for the early experiments Airies did when he was like Just Born, so it's more a result of The Horrors than his emulator.

Simultaneously, he cannot help but act as a sort of... trojan malware with them, uploading much of his own subroutines into whatever system he's connected to. This one is a direct result of his emulator.

VII. Weight Distribution System —

In order to counteract the weight of his scope and all that goes with it, he's got a complex system of weights and pullies throughout his body that, when in root mode, make his left side heavier (since his scope is on the right side) so he stays balanced, and when he transforms those weights even out.

[lensman-arms-race]

I thought I was the only one with TV People seeing infrared! I like that the hardware senses are inherently different and how they act are depending on that.

The problem though is that they might not be able to see each other's emoticons, can they?

Maybe not! I think a TV display in infrared would just look like plain glass, because the displayed images would have no effect on the screen temperature. (Unless it's a special thermal display, maybe?)

I think the emoticons are for the benefit of the camera-heads and the TV-heads don't need to see each others' displays. (Maybe they beam the emoticons to each other using something like the old Teletext system.)

[govindhtech]

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Read more on Govindhtech.com

[shaevilux]

hi this is probably my best short story i wrote it on my phone in one afternoon pls enjoy thank also ignore the bad formatting ok thank for real this time

Planetbound

A tale of the unplanned trajectory of one, Ijva’Yut Brie towards the planet Blivenn. Also the tale of one, Uribb Fliss and their slight incompetence in the face of grave emergency.

The planet was made for life to excel in. But these days there was not much there. A million inhabitants distributed and clustered across the three main continents. The lush greens of forests and the dark navy of the vast oceans and the intermittent spirals of white clouds that one would see out of the spacecraft window would remind one of the brochures about zoological preservatories or exotic vacational destinations. It was a beautiful planet that was smaller than most moons, with a naturally enriching atmosphere.

But as a small, malfunctioning spacecraft strafed through the void towards the planet, all it's pilot could think off was how the planet would tear all the plating off of the spacecraft and burn everything inside for even attempting to enter into its atmosphere.

\---

***

Uribb watched from the center console, straining to take their eyes off of the holofeed soap they were so engrossed in. None of the equipment and monitors were saying much. It was a Tuesday. No ships were scheduled to arrive or depart from this isolated planet. It was meant to be a slow day. Slower than usual, at least.

The equipment they were surrounded by was ancient, humming loudly as they operated on a system older than some civilizations. But away from all of this old junk of outdated tech, on a newly installed terminal on the far side of the room, was a flashing red light and a persistent chirp begging for attention.

Uribb slid their chair towards the terminal, a little worried. They never paid much attention to how this terminal worked, only that their supervisor scoffed at the notion that it would see much use.

And this supervisor had taken the day off, leaving little old Uribb to run the space traffic control tower alone.

Uribb saw the planet on the new terminal, more detailed and with more strange numbers and features than the center console would show. And above this highly defined planet, entering a pale line demarcated with what was obviously the altitude number, was a spacecraft.

Uribb turned to the old consoles they were more familiar with, but the machines were silent, oblivious. They had not detected any ship. Of course they had not. The planet was centuries behind on anything the main planetary systems used. And the new terminal was a mandated endeavour by some bereaucratic agency so far removed from the happenings of this planet that did not even register the usual ships that made their landings and takeoffs.

Which meant that the ship about to enter the atmosphere was a newly designed ship, possibly not even meant to enter a planet with atmosphere.

Uribb's eyes widened. The red text that flashed on the corner of the screen was a series of numbers alien to them. They touched the text, grimacing, hoping it would reveal what it meant.

And it did.

Touching the text zoomed the simulated feed in to what the emergency was.

The craft was highlighted as moving in at high speed, and it was ever so slowly on free rotation. And based on the rotation, it would enter the planet facing away from it.

That was bad. Uribb wondered where the thermal shielding was on the ship. Possibly on the nose, right? Maybe it was not meant to enter the planet's atmosphere the conventional way. Maybe it was meant to face away, so that it's thrusters would counter it burning up.

But obviously this ship was not meant do that. Uribb wondered if it even had enough rocketpower to counter the speed of which it would descend.

That is, if it actually managed to come through the atmosphere.

No. Right now Uribb knew nothing about the ship except that it was new, and only interfaced with a terminal they were not too familiar with.

Why had their supervisor taken that leave? Only two souls operated the tower, and now the more experienced one was not here to handle this emergency.

\_\_

***

Ijva knew her message had reached the tower in the planet below, but for a solid minute of her craft hurtling closer and closer to the planet, there was no reply.

And then there was a voice on her headset, panicked and frantic.

"Er, this is Drosta Control Tower. You're coming in too fast and you're craft's angle is off course. By that I mean you're rotating. Is there a problem? I mean, what's the problem?"

Ijva took a deep breath.

"Drosta Control. I am pilot trainee Ijva'Yut Brie, flying solo as per my final test cruise around the solar system. I am experiencing engine trouble. Ah, full engine failure. Auxiliary power keeps rebooting. Error code five niner niner niner three alpha. I am being pulled into the planet by gravity and nothing else. Requesting tractor team."

There was a pause, but Ijva could hear the breathing.

"There is no tractor team." The reply was almost a whisper.

"Come again, Drosta Control?"

"Is your ship capable of traversing through atmospheres about 90% in the Brilder scale?"

"No. The rating is 60% atmosphere."

"Fuck."

"Hey, er. Drosta Control. Is there any tractor team dispatch I can link up with?"

"There is no ground nor orbital based tractor system on this planet. Ok. Ok. Umm. The auxiliary power. What did you say about it? It keeps rebooting?"

This time Ijva was the one who paused, and though panic was not something she felt when the engines first gave up on her, it was definitely setting in now that she learned there was not going to be a tractor rescue.

She was going to slowly get pulled into the planet and burn up and crash and there was nothing she could do about it.

\_\_\_\_\_

***

Uribb scanned the pages on the manual about the making of the ship that was inside the planet's orbit now. There had to be something. Something that could reveal why the auxiliary system kept rebooting.

They still had time. A few hours, at least, before the ship would irreversibly be in the clutches of the planet, it's fate to crash set in stone.

Uribb found the page on the auxiliary system, but came no close to finding out why it did not kick in without issue. Uribb also tried to calm both themself and the pilot Ijva by constantly updating and talking on the comms, knowing how unprofessional they were being. Professionalism all but flew out the window the first time they used an expletive.

&#x20;"Are you new?" Ijva asked when there was a lull in the chatter.

"New? No. I mean, kind of. My supervisor isn't here and I'm the only one who is. Here."

"I doubt your supervisor could help. I'm not going to lie. Without a tractor hook, I don't think this ship can be saved. I… I should've known. This planet is called Brivenn, right? The planet that used to be like a hotspot a millennia ago but is just another ghost planet now with no current gen apparel? Sorry, that didn't come out right."

"I'm sorry, Ijva. I can't find anything about a auxiliary power being stuck on reboot."

"It's not stuck on reboot, it's rebooting constantly."

"Sorry, that's what I meant."

"What's your name?"

"Ah, Uribb."

"Ok, Uribb. Just calm down. We still have time before, you know. We can figure this out."

Uribb did not understand the gentleness in her voice. Moments ago she had not taken the news about the nonexistent tractor team well, and now she was back to being calm.

Uribb kept looking at the terminal, pushing buttons, hoping to find an answer to this harrowing problem.

"Are you local?" They could hear Ijva ask.

How did that even matter at a time like this.

"Yes. I was born offworld, but my parents And everyone before them all hailed from here. Are hailing from here, I mean. Ok. There should be a bypass switch below the left throttle arrangement—" Uribb's hope went up as they realised a new avenue the pilot could explore to take control of her ship again, but the hope was immediately extinguished when ijva cut them off.

"I tried the bypass switch just now. Nothing happened. I don't think the problem is bad sequencing or the computer. It's something else. So, why'd you become a space traffic controller?"

The nonchalance in her voice as she asked the question was worrying.

"Look. We can figure this out. I know you said we have time. But you're in an emergency situation up there." Uribb tried to change the urgency in their voice to a more stately and controlled tone.

\_\_\_

***

The panic in the controller's voice was gone, replaced with a sort of stoic determination. For the past few minutes Ijva was numb to the urgency and futile efforts to address technical nonissues Uribb kept bringing up hopefully. Hoping they could fix the problem from down there. Or at least help guide Ijva to the solution.

But the truth of the matter was the auxiliary power was not meant to replace the engine power. Which meant even if they got the power back on, the chances of her managing to escape the planet's gravity by solely relying on the weaker back up thrusters were, if she dared to be optimistic, frighteningly low.

She did not have the heart to disclose this to Uribb. Maybe she should.

But the part of her more intent on survival and hope kept the words out of her mouth. If Uribb, in their manic searching, found something she overlooked, well. She might have a chance.

"I became a space traffic controller because it seemed like a high paying side gig." Came a soft reply.

Ijva smiled.

"Side gig?"

"Yeah. My uncle got me this job. Usually I'm in charge of import and export cargos following a fixed schedule. And sometimes I'll be guiding passenger cruisers. But those ships were all built for planets like this. Planets with atmosphere and stuff. It's a pretty straightforward job, especially in a quiet world like this. So the situation we're in right now? I am sorry to say this but I am not prepared for this at all. But I am going to find a way to help you. So please just hang in there."

"If this is your side gig, what's your real job?"

There was a pause, and Ijva was left to wonder if it meant Uribb found something else she could try or if her question was more probing than she intended.

"Ok, I lied. When I first took up the job I thought I was just going to do it temporarily. Get some quick income so I can move on to something else. Find my calling. But the money, it's good. And I got scared. What if there was nothing else out there for me? I was good at doing this space traffic stuff. And it pays well. I should just stick to it, right?"

Ijva sat, staring at her console as her ship ever so slowly rotated freely as it went on its way planet bound.

"What's your calling?" She asked.

***

The question and all it entailed was not something Uribb wanted to think about at a time like this. But the question and the blunt frankness and innocent curiosity of it still cut through into Uribb.

"Not this. Fuck it. I'm calling my supervisor in. He can get here in an hour. In the meantime can you try manually controlling your pneumatics? Stop your spin and hell, even slow your speed?" Uribb asked.

It was a dumb instruction. The pressurised air in a ship was to be used sparingly as a means to make minute corrections. To attempt what Uribb suggested was to waste that precious air doing silly maneuvers. Air that could be used for the corrections on the trip back to wherever Ijva was headed.

But even if she ran out of air before she reached her destination, even if she could no longer perform her little adjustments, it did not matter. The worst outcome would be getting tractor hooked back into course as she reached her planet.

Which would be the best outcome for her now if this planet had any tractor systems.

Uribb was suddenly pissed that there was no tractor system on Blivenn. Even for a planet millennia behind on technology, that was an oversight too large and glaring. The mandate could send new terminals to the control tower but not planetary tractor systems?

They shook the thought away as they called their understandably weary supervisor and updated him on what was happening. There was a shocked grunt and a promise to be in the control room within the hour, and the line went dead.

"Hey, er. If you don't mind I don't think I'll mess with the pneumatics. I don't think it'll do too much good." Ijva stated.

"We still need to find a way to slow you down."

"Yeah, and the only way to do that is with the main engines."

"Fuck."

"You're right," Ijva said, and Uribb swore they could hear the smile in her voice, "This isn't your calling."

***

The light from the sun stopped playing on the inside of her ship as the craft finally pirouetted away from its view. Ijva saw as the solar readout spike in power as the arrays lining the outside got a fresh gleam of starlight.

The planet below came into view again, it's cloud formations so erratic and beautiful.

"What do like to do down there?" She asked.

"What? Like, for fun?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. It's spring where I am now so we're going to have a festival to mark the passage of winter. It's called Frosta Ku Jiewei"

"Seasonal festivals, huh?"

"Yeah. This one's the important one. What about you? Where are you from?"

"No planet as pretty like this one."

"I'm guessing one of the city dome planets."

"Yeah. That's why I'm not flying on a hardier ship. My planet has like 26% atmosphere compared to yours."

"What colour is it?"

"My planet?"

"Yeah. I've… Never actually been to space. But everyone who comes in or goes out, well I speak to them over the chatter. Little conversations. They always describe Blivenn as a small, moldy, trystberry. All green and blue and white. And the city dome planets they visit are all monochrome. Greys or purples or dull oranges. What colour is yours?"

"White. Whiteish blue. It's a frozen over planet."

"That's so cool."

Ijva wanted to point out there was nothing cool about a desolate, barren world where the only signs of life were either on the subterranean underwater city domes or the bacteria and microbes that floated through the deuterium water surrounding the domes.

Because the planet below not only had humanity, it had animals. Fauna, flora, all natural and living together with people. A rarity nowadays where there were new laws about colonising preinhabited worlds.

"That's not all. Our city dome is under water."

"I swear, you guys are living in the future."

"We are. But sometimes the progress handicaps us. Makes us rely on new concepts and theories and ideas that we just all unanimously agree on."

"But it's not really unanimous, is it? Unanimous among the first worlds maybe."

"Yeah, exactly. Unless we find a way to actually educate, enforce and implement whatever new shit that we want to normalise in all the worlds, there's no unanimous anything. I mean, your planet doesn't even have tractor teams. That's, like, standard where I am. I wouldn't be in this situation right now."

Ijva wondered if she was being offensive. It was not nice to talk about first worlds or second worlds or third worlds like this. But she was so frustrated. Because of some logistical issue she was going to die.

"Are there seriously not any dense atmosphere planets among the first worlds?"

"Not really. Unless you count those cattleplanets. You know, where the planet's sole purpose is to grow our food. My dad brought me to one once. Just the stench that entered the ship when the ramp lowered was enough for me to swear off meat. But it was a cool experience. To be able to just land our ship and open our ramp to the elements without wearing any spacesuits."

"That's what you can expect when you land here." Uribb said confidently.

And just like that the happy memory of that trip her father brought her on dissipated, the reality of her predicament hit her like plunging into icy water. And suddenly the planet below lost its beauty. It looked very alien and threatening as it pulled her and her ship into it.

"The stench?" She asked jokingly, hoping her voice did not betray the sudden bout of fear in her heart.

There was laughter on the other end, and it put her slightly at ease. Only slightly.

She hesitated, then asked, "Can... Can I send you a message? To pass on to my father?"

\_\_\_

***

"What? No. Listen. My supervisor will be here soon."

"And what can they do?"

"I… I can't. This is too much." Uribb was hyperventilating.

"Look, I'm sorry if me going to burn up in your atmosphere is too much for you to handle, but I need to get my affairs in order." Came a tired, sarcastic voice over the comms.

"Sorry. Of course. Uh, send the message through."

There was a long pause. Minutes maybe. Uribb continued pouring over multiple tablets and the terminal. They knew more about this spacecraft now more than anyone else on the planet. But they still did not know what could trigger the auxiliary systems to enter a bootloop.

Meanwhile she was still up there, writing her message to her loved ones as she flew 19.93 meters per second in a catastrophic arc into the planet. A trainee pilot. Uribb wondered what kind of ship she wanted to fly after she got certified. What kind of jobs she wanted to take.

They almost asked the question, as well, but thought against it. What was the point? The woman had accepted her fate. And that fact was scary to Uribb. They had failed this person.

Where was Werfig? Where was their supervisor?

But Ijva's words echoed in their mind. What could their supervisor do? It was an unfair question. Werfig actually attended many courses for space traffic control, unlike Werfig, who learned on the job.

If anyone could offer a different perspective, if anyone could take a step back and look at the problem and decode the root of it it was Werfig.

"I'm sorry. About being curt earlier." Ijva said after a while.

"You have every right to be. I was being tactless and selfish."

"Yeah, but. We're in a shitty situation."

"But the only person in any danger is you."

"That's true. But whatever the outcome of this is it'll stick with you forever. You know that, right? You're not exactly in the safe zone from that."

"God, we need to find a way to rescue you."

"No shit."

"Hey, uh. How is it? Flying a spacecraft?"

"I thought you talk about this stuff all the time with other pilots in the chatter."

"Well, people are different. Their experiences are different. I want to know why you want to take up a pilot license."

"I don't know. I never gave it much thought. I'm from a family of pilots. It's more or less expected of me to at least get a pilot's license even if I don't plan on making a career out of flying. And I don't know how to describe it. When you escape a planet's gravity and are just floating through a vacuum untethered, it's like... Comforting. Freeing. Literally. There are no forces acting on you unless you push that throttle or pull that lever. You're in control of your own trajectory, your own path. It's a euphoric feeling. I don't know. Is that what the other pilots say?"

"Hey, ah. I can see your ship's monitor from my terminal here. And right now I can see a temperature discrepancy in your systems." Uribb stared wide-eyed at the terminal.

"Switching to thermal view now and... Yeah. It's just in this region. The conduit manifold—"

"That's delivering power to the auxiliary systems. Ok. You got ice in your wirings. That's fine. We can figure something out."

"Holy shit how did I miss that?"

"It's ok. It's ok. Err.. Do you have your tool kit?"

"Yeah way ahead of you. How much pressure should I use to flush the systems?"

"Ok, just to confirm, you're going to use the demineralised gas cylinder to—"

"Pump the ice into the exhaust, yes." Ijva's voice was impatient.

"400 psi should be enough."

"Are you sure?"

"That's what the schematics rate your ship internals' maximum pressure to be."

"Pray for me, Uribb."

There was a static hiss over the comms.

And then Uribb saw the ship's display disappear from the terminal.

\---

***

Ijva plugged the hose from the cylinder to the opening under her seat and locked the valve into place. She took a deep breath and opened the the valve on the cylinder.

The ship shuddered beneath her seat and the screens went dark. The everpresent hum of the air supply disappeared, along with the periodic clicks and ticks of whatever instruments made those sounds.

The ship was fully, completely turned off.

Ijva took a deep breath and turned the power on.

The screen in front of her went through the boot sequence, trying to turn on the main engines but upon failing, opting to cycle power through the auxiliaries.

She held her breath as the screen showed her all the checks being performed on the auxiliariy power and... The hum returned, the ticks and clicks resumed, the rest of the screens turned themselves on.

And most importantly, the auxiliary engines rumbled to life.

"Uribb! It worked! I have auxiliary power." She shouted over the comms, her hands shaking.

There was a jovial exclamation from the other end.

"Ok, full speed away from the planet! Go!" She heard Uribb say.

"What?"

"Seriously. Do it now. Before it's too late! Once you're fully out of the gravity well you can conserve your engines and get to a planet you can actually land on."

"You're asking me to make lightspeed hop to a different system on auxiliary power? Out of the question."

"It's not as risky as entering Blivenn's atmosphere. Your thermal shields aren't meant for 90% atmosphere."

"I won't come be coming in headfirst. I'll be facing away, use my thrusters to counter the gravity. Are there any large bodies of water at a high elevation?"

"Ok, you need to listen to me. That is a bad idea."

"Where's your supervisor?"

"I don't know. He'll be here soon. But—"

"I'm sorry, Uribb. I think this is the only way. If you won't help me—"

"I never said that. Ok. Ok. Body of water at high elevation. I'll send you a heading in a moment. But seriously. Even at this high elevation you're aiming for you're still looking at like 80% atmosphere. Are you seriously hoping to crash land on water and take your chances?"

"Yes."

"Why? The chances of safely going to lightspeed on auxiliary power is still higher than this."

She had considered the possibility, but she was afraid something else on her ship would fail her. Continuing the rest of her journey towards safety on a ship running just on back up power did not instill any sort of comfort in her.

No, she needed to land.

"I'm entering the atmosphere now. Those coordinates would be great so I can make my adjustments before it's too late. Body of water. High elevation. Go. Now, please."

There were some deep breaths over the comms.

"I can't believe Werfig isn't here already. He's missing some of the biggest mistakes we're making. There. The coordinates. That's the tallest volcano on the planet. A little bit aways from the equator. From where you are."

"Volcano?"

"It's when tectonic plates in a region—"

"I know what a volcano is, smartass. Why are you leading me into one. Is it dormant?"

"I mean, obviously it's dormant. It has a lake up top. The volcano is called Putkinni. A tourist hotspot. You'll love it."

"Ok. Plotting the course there."

"I'll inform the authorities there to pick you up."

"Holy shit. Holy shit I can feel the air already. The ship's beginning to shake."

"It's only going to get more violent for the next few minutes."

"Please. Keep the line open. No matter what."

"I won't close it. Why would you even think I would close it?"

"I don't know. Maybe your nerves will get the better of you and you don't want to hear me scream."

"Ijva. Ijva you're doing something so crazy and brave. I won't even think of cutting off."

"I don't know. Fuck. This was a bad idea. I should have went to lightpseed like you said. Send out a distress call and shut everything off and waited for a tractor team near the main planetary systems."

"Well, don't think about that."

"If I don't think about that I'll have to think about what I'm doing now. Fuck. I've never felt the ship shake this much. It's not built for this."

"Ok, listen to me. No. Repeat the plan back to me."

"Ok. Steady thrusters for now as the ship makes its angled descent to the volcano. Once we're nearing the complete breakage of the ship's structural integrity you'll let me know and I'll max out the thrusters. Hopefully this doesn't just violently tear the ship apart but instead gives me a wider room to really slow down and land safely on the water."

"You sound kind of funny like that."

"Like what? Like someone is violently shaking me as I'm trying to speak? I swear I'm going to bite my tongue off if I keep talking. God, I'm really scared."

"Everything is sound. Your ship is fine. And once you land and they rescue you, why don't you come find me. Alright? It's good that you didn't jump to lightspeed. In a few days we can observe Frosta Ku Jiewei together. See the local tradition."

"What?"

"The festival for the passing of winter?"

"Fuck. Right. Sorry. You mentioned that."

"Can't wonder why that slipped your mind."

"AH! Did you hear that? I felt that! I felt something break off."

"Relax. I can see your ship from my terminal. You're doing great. Your angle is alright. Your heading is good. You'll need to turn up the thrusters in a few, but that's fine. I'll tell you when."

"Fuck. Fuck. Hey. We forgot something really important."

"I really don't want to know."

"I don't think I'll be conscious to turn up the thrusters. You know, because of the g-forces' effect on the human body we forgot to factor in."

\--

***

Uribb's breath caught on their throat.

"You're right. Damnit."

Uribb did some mental math. If she pulled the thrusters now it would mean she would veer off course. And off the cuff course corrections were dangerous, especially if she were to lose consciousness while making them.

And if she passed out before it was time to pull the thrusters as per planned, than she would not survive the crash for sure.

Uribb felt the door to the room open and the familiar strikingly thin visage of Werfig rushing in.

"She's coming in hot. But she might not be conscious to pull her thrusters." Uribb said, stumbling over their words.

"Who are you talking to? Is your supervisor there? Ok. Uribb. It's happening. I'm losing colour vision." Ijva said over the comms.

"Is there a way to automate that? The thrusters?" Werfig asked, panting.

"Not in this ship."

"Ok, you'll need to do short bursts of the thruster. Starting with a 3 second prolonged burst. Do it now."

Uribb watched as the ship slowed, causing it to, as expected, go off the plotted course.

Werfig watched the terminal, too, eyes wide.

"By God. You're planning to land there? Have you told anyone? It's a public area." Werfig scrambled to the other consoles.

"Yeah, yeah I did, Werfig. I did. But using the thrusters like that means she won't be able to land there."

"Pilot, what's your vision like, now? How are you feeling?" Werfig asked.

"I, ah. It's the same. Better. I don't know." Ijva's voice was slow.

"Ok, you have to adjust your seat angle. About 30 degrees upwards should ease the blood flow." Werfig advised.

"Copy that."

"We can't use the thrusters like that. She's already strayed too far off course." Uribb said, looking at the new projected path of the ship.

"Are you an experienced pilot, ah..."

"Ijva. And no. I'm a trainee."

Werfig swore.

"Sorry. Ok. Did the seat angle help?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it did."

"Ok. Pay close attention, Ijva. For the next thruster burst, you're going to angle your ship back into trajectory. I am not going to lie, it'll require a lot of precise control of your pneumatics. Now, those pneumatics aren't meant to be used in an atmosphere, so we'll be have to use most of not all the air in the reserve to do this. But that's fine. Are you ready?" Werfig asked, and Uribb automatically pulled a visual on the angle to thrust from.

"I'm ready. And the funny thing about this is even if I overshoot the angle, I can readjust the other way when it's time to thrust again, right?" Ijva asked, and Uribb saw on the terminal as her ship began to rotate as the pneumatics nudged it to be thrusted back into course.

"I wouldn't call that funny, but that's exactly right. You'll have about 4 tries to get the angle right."

"Ok. Ok. This can work."

"Don't worry. We'll have someone to come collect you."

"Yeah. Yeah. Do I engage the thrusters?" Ijva asked.

Werfig turned to Uribb as they watched the screen intently.

"Engage now." Uribb instructed, and saw as the ship slowed it's decent again as it went back in course, before dipping out of course again the other way.

That was fine. 3 more tries. And they would only get more accurate from here on out.

\_\_

***

The ship jolted again as she pulled the thrusters. She was following the angle corrections the control tower was sending her, hoping her estimation of how much air propulsion she needed to align to the correct angle was close enough.

She kept getting encouraging replies from Uribb and the supervisor.

Another angle correction came in, another burst of pneumatic control to angle her was issued, and another shudder as the she pulled the throttle to slow herself down.

She could not see the mountains or the volcano she was to land on. The cameras were all but fried minutes ago. She was flying in relatively blind, unable to see out of the cockpit into where she was supposed to land.

It was a frightening. Everything about what she was doing was frightening. But at least her display showed the visual topographical readout of the rapidly approaching landing site.

Another course correction, another burst of thrusters.

She was close now. She was going to land, and her speed was lower than the calculations, so that was good.

Another course correction, another burst of air propulsion. She saw the flashing light that warned her she was dangerously low on the air reserve for the pneumatic systems. That was fine.

"Any second now." Uribb whispered over the comms, echoing her own thoughts.

Without warning the ship plunged into the lake, and the blue sky she saw was instead replaced by bubbles and foam and clear, darker blue water.

The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped, undoing her straps.

"Landed. I'm ok." She breathed, and she could hear the elated shouts over the comms.

"Ok. I'm guessing you're underwater. Are there any leaks? Is water coming in? Werfig is on call with the rescue team. Their yachts should be pulling you out soon." Uribb said, their voice high as they spoke quickly over their own words.

"No leaks. Dangerously low on air, but that's fine. Holy fuck. We actually did it. Uribb, can you believe this?"

"I'm, ah. I'm having a hard time processing this."

"God. We have to meet. I'll take you up on it. Your offer to see the festival?"

"Yeah, of course. For sure. Ijva, you did it. Holy shit, you did it!"

Ijva had tears in her eyes as she grinned ear to ear.

"Thank you, Uribb. We're both colossal idiots to even attempt this landing, but by God."

Ijva could hear the relieved gushing as Uribb spoke to her, and could hear them crying as well.

She had landed. They were alright