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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Big Business can't stop its illegal, fantastically lucrative gossiping

Seven years ago, I called Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows “the perfect anthem for our times.”

Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich That’s how it goes Everybody knows

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/11/11/leonard-cohen-wrote-the-perfect-anthem-for-our-times/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/16/compulsive-cheaters/#rigged

That was just after Cohen died, and while the world seems to want to settle on Hallelujah as his totemic song, Everybody Knows keeps inserting itself into the discourse, in the most toxic, hope-draining way possible. Whenever some awful scandal involving the great and the good breaches, we’re told that “everybody knew” already, so let’s move on.

This current has been running through our society for decades now. Remember when the Snowden leaks hit and a yawning chorus of nihilists told us that they knew already and so should anyone else with the smallest iota of sophistication? Back then Jay Rosen coined a rejoinder to this counsel of despair: “Don’t savvy me”:

https://twitter.com/jayrosen_nyu/status/344825874362810369

Everybody knows. It’s what we heard after the Panama Papers. Swissleaks. Luxleaks. The Paradise Papers. Everybody knows! It’s what the nothing-to-see-here crowd said about Propublica’s explosive IRSLeaks, back in 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/15/guillotines-and-taxes/#carried-interest

The leaks revealed the tax-dodges of the richest and most powerful people in America, which were jaw-dropping in their audacity and shamelessness. Sure, maybe you suspected that the 400 richest people in America paid less tax than you — but did you really guess that the means by which they did this was through taking massive deductions on their elite hobbies?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/13/taxes-are-for-the-little-people/#leona-helmsley-2022

Maybe “everybody knows” that the game is rigged, but did you know how? Like, did you know that REITs — a tax shelter for mom-and-pop investors who buy an income property for their retirement — have become a primary vehicle for gutting unions at hotels, slashing wages and imposing brutal, dangerous working conditions?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/01/reit-modernization-act/#reit-makes-might

The leaks are cumulative. By combining data from one leak with another, we can build out a far more detailed picture of the conspiracy — and it is a conspiracy — among the utlrawealthy and their Renfields in the law, real-estate and accounting trades to duck their responsibilities and mound ever-more treasure on their hoards.

Take the Jersey Offshore leaks (2020), comprising the internal memos of La Hougue, a fantastically crooked firm of fixers on the Isle of Jersey, one of the lawless tax-crime jurisdictions that the UK pretends it has no control over. La Hougue has a playbook, 11 tactics for lying about your taxes. The remarkable thing about these 11 tactics is how flimsy they are, how easy it is to penetrate their lies. When Parliament says it can’t possibly do anything about the criminal havens in the Channel, remember the Jersey Offshore leaks and remind yourself that not even Parliament is that credulous. They know. Everybody knows:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/20/la-hougue/#complexity

Why do working people think the Democrats are just another party for the ultra-rich? Maybe it’s Pelosi’s relentless opposition to meaningful curbs on insider trading. Or maybe it’s the kinds of politicians that the Democratic Machine likes to rally behind — like Tali Farhadian Weinstein, who raised millions in 2021, in large-money donations from Democratic finance-sector donors in her bid to become the DA of Manhattan. Farhadian Weinstein and her husband have more than $100m in annual income, and yet, paid no federal tax in 2013, 2015 and 2017. In 2014, they paid $6,584:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/17/quis-custodiet-irs/#trumps-taxes

Propublica isn’t done with the IRS Files. Today, they published a long investigation into ultra-rich corporate executives who buy and sell their competitors’ stock for massive profits with suspiciously precise timing. The data comes from 1099-B filings, which brokerages file with the IRS with each trade, but which the IRS doesn’t share with the SEC:

https://www.propublica.org/article/secret-irs-files-trading-competitors-stock

Here are some examples:

Ohio billionaire August Troendle, CEO of Medpace, repeatedly bought and sold shares of $Syneos — his company’s archrival, timing the transactions with a management shakeup that dropped the stock by 16% in one day, and an SEC investigation that crushed Syneos’s stock by 25%. His precision timing made him at least $2.3m in profit.

Isaac Larian, CEO of Bratz-maker MGA, made $28m trading shares in Mattel, MGA’s nemesis and frequent litigant — during a period when Mattel stock crashed by 57% (!). Larian boasts that “I made a LOT more money shorting Mattel stock than they did running a $4.5 billion toy company.”

Larian’s trades also involved some very precise timing. Sometimes, he took positions just before his own company announced its upcoming products, and others positions immediately preceded major disclosures from Mattel. Larian’s subordinates told Propublica that he is “is a boss with an endless appetite for information about his company and its competitors, constantly grilling subordinates on minutiae about the industry.”

Larian couldn’t explain the timing of these trades. His lawyer told Propublica that it was “false and defamatory” to suggest that he “possessed material, nonpublic information that Larian knew was obtained in breach of a duty.”

Next up is Gerald Boelte, founder and chair of the massive oil company LLOG. LLOG partners with other companies for its oil drilling. Companies like Stone Energy. Boelte bought a huge position in Stone the day before the company’s 2015 earnings report, in which they revealed an increase their reserves’ value, pulling in a 65% one day profit. He’d never bought shares in Stone before.

Boetle told Propublica, “I do not and have never traded on any material, non-public information of competitors, business partners or others… Any implication that I was investing based upon advance knowledge is therefore clearly false.”

Jim Sankey is CEO of Invue. He bought $3.2m worth of shares in his rival Checkpoint, while checkpoint was in secret negotiations to be acquired by CCL Industries. Sankey was already thoroughly connected to Checkpoint, having sold a $150m product line to them in 2007. There’s no record that he’d ever traded Checkpoint before. He made $2.3m. Sankey says “he did not know Checkpoint was going to be acquired.” He says that his company was not approached by Checkpoint as a potential acquirer.

Barry Wish was a board member of Ocwen, a company he co-founded. After the Great Financial Crisis, Ocwen bid unsuccessfully to buy $215b worth of Bank of America mortgages. The winning bidder was Nationstar. Three weeks before Nationstar’s winning bid was announced, Wish bought $600k worth of Nationstar shares. After the bid was announced, he sold them for for a $157k profit.

Wish told Propublica that he never traded competitors’ stock: “No, not at all.” Propublica read him the details of the trade from his leaked 1099-B. He said “You might see it, but I don’t have any recollection” and hung up.

Steven Grossman is a cardboard heir — a nepobaby who inherited Southern Container Corp from his grandpa. After he sold the company to Rock-Tenn for $1b in 2013, he stayed on as a senior exec. Over the next 5 years, he traded large blocks of shares in Rock-Tenn’s competitors, companies like Temple-Inland, a company that he made a 37% profit on after its acquisition was announced in 2011, one week after Grossman started buying its shares.

Grossman falsely told Propublica, “I haven’t traded stock since then.” IRS records show that Grossman continued to trade. Grossman also told Propublica that he had no role with Rock-Tenn, despite being on their payroll for five years. When asked about his extremely lucky timing buying and selling Temple-Inland, he said “That was 10 years ago” and hung up.

As Propublica’s Robert Faturechi and Ellis Simani write, Securities regulations have their origins in the crash of 1929, and the subsequent collapse in confidence in markets and capitalism, the sense that the system was rigged for the wealthy and political insiders. That is a pretty good summation of sentiment today:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/15/mon-dieu-les-guillotines/#ceci-nes-pas-une-bailout

It’s not just that corporate executives are corrupt, it’s that they’re lavishly, shamelessly, endlessly, incorrigibly corrupt. Take Canadian Pacific and Kansas City Southern, the sixth- and seventh-largest Class I railroads in the USA, whose merger was just approved by the Surface Transportation Board.

There are plenty of good reasons for the STB to have blocked this merger. The rail industry is already excessively concentrated, and its top execs are so convinced that they’re both too big to fail and too big to jail that they’re rendering entire towns permanently uninhabitable in order to eke out a few more points in profit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

But there are specific reasons to have blocked this merger, starting with the whistleblower report about CP and KCS executives illegally coming together for a three-day “retreat” at The Breakers hotel in Palm Beach, a notorious site for Republican operatives to collude with the business lobby:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2023-03-16-canadian-pacific-kansas-city-southern-rail-merger/

As Luke Goldstein writes for The American Prospect, both companies spent millions in 2020 and 2022 on campaign contributions to “grease the skids” for the merger — in particular, ensuring that the combined company could transport Alberta tar sands oil (the filthiest, most energy intensive oil in the world) to US ports.

Though the STB was informed of the illegal meeting — in which the two companies behaved as though the merger had already been finalized — STB chair Martin Oberman told Goldstein that the Board did not write to the companies for an explanation before waving through their merger.

Instead, Oberman dismissed the complaint on the grounds that “Railroads have to be able to talk to one another to function.” Typically this takes place over a free phone call, though — not on a three-day executive junket at a hotel where the rooms run $1,500/night.

Oberman knows what happened at that meeting.

Everybody knows.

It comes as no surprise to learn that before FTX imploded and destroyed the savings of its depositors, it paid out $3b to its top executives, including the criminal Sam Bankman-Fried:

https://gizmodo.com/sbf-ftx-crypto-sam-bankman-fried-1850232043

It comes as no surprise that Silicon Valley Bank paid out bonuses to its execs and employees hours before it collapsed:

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/03/11/silicon-valley-bank-employees-received-bonuses-hours-before-takeover.html

Everybody knows.

It’s comforting to think that the tax code loopholes that the ultrawealthy exploit are an epiphenomenon of complexity, an unavoidable consequence of the technical requirements of a big regulation that spans 300m+ people. But the truth is, the loopholes in the US tax code were inserted by politicians who got massive campaign contributions from donors who directly benefited from those loopholes. Senator Ron Johnson got $20m from the owners of Uline (Dick and Liz Uihlein) and roofing magnate Diane Hendricks, then he blocked the Trump tax bill until his fellow lawmakers inserted a loophole that produced $215m for the Uihleins and Hendricks, in just the first year:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/11/the-canada-variant/#shitty-man-of-history-theory It’s not even surprising that a sitting US Senator amended a bill to give hundreds of millions of dollars to billionaires who gave him tens of millions of dollars.

Everybody knows. It’s weirdly comforting to think that everyday people vote for demagogue wreckers because Facebook hired a legion of evil sorcerers to fashion a mind-control ray out of Big Data and AI, but Facebook lies about everything, and everyone who ever claimed to have a mind-control ray was a liar.

Maybe people vote for demagogue wreckers because they believe the system is rotten, and maybe they believe the system is rotten because the system is rotten. Maybe the self-described evil sorcerers of Big Tech aren’t “hacking our dopamine loops” — maybe they’re just helping opportunists target people who are justifiably angry:

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

The problem with this explanation is that it requires “progressive” parties to actually do stuff to demonstrate that they are on the side of people, not the side of paperclip-maximizing immortal colony organisms and the corporate executives who pretend to run them:

https://twitter.com/thehill/status/1184004730722217984

I try to have hope — that is, I try to believe that if we can only make changes to our material circumstances, however small they may seem, that we might attain a new vantagepoint that reveals more possible changes within our grasp:

https://gen.medium.com/hope-not-optimism-943e88291b

Some days, it’s hard to have hope. Some days, it’s so obvious that everybody knows, all that I can muster is fury. Fury is not a full substitute for hope, but it’ll do. It’s a far superior alternative to the fatalism that “everybody knows” and thus nothing can be done.

Some fights you win, and other fights, you just fight, because surrender isn’t an option. Everybody knows, right? If everybody knows, then everybody might just decide to do something about it.

Next Monday (Mar 20), I’m doing a remote talk for the Ostrom Workshop’s Beyond the Web Speaker Series.

[Image ID: A smoke-filled room lit by candles. Around a large formal table sit various 19th century gentlemen-type people. One of them stands and reads from a memo. The shadow he casts is in the shape of a dollar-sign.]

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rnakamura22 · 3 months

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22 nights

Yu hurried over to Ramshackle dorm to pack her things. Grim was with Ace and Deuce in homeroom, and it was the perfect timing to gather her things.

"What happened Yu?" the slim ghosts asked.

"The headmaster found my way back home!" Yu said happily with a smile on her face.

"Really? What a surprise! But that's great! "the tiny ghost smiled as he moved toward Yu.

"What about little Grim? Have you told him about this?"

"No, Grimm is with Ace and Deuce taking classes for last week's failed test."

"Well.. better run fast. It won't be good news if Grimm spilled the beans about your return.." said the smallest ghost.

"Why? It won't be a problem right?" Yu asked.

"Not knowing enough is a trouble too..." the three ghosts whispered among themselves. The ghosts thought of Yu as their granddaughter they never had... and knew what Yu's classmates and upperclassmen thought about her.

But the ghosts were kind. They knew what Yu wanted best, and had no thoughts about giving it.

"Before you go.. We want to give you something." The fat ghost said as the other two guided Yu to one of the rooms in the Ramshackle dorm that were never used.

The fat ghost opened one of the dusty drawer boards to find an old antique box, decorated with several jewels that was covered in dust. Inside, there was a golden locket in the shape of a clock, the surface with 22 numbers instead of 12 along with a transparent jewel.

"Take this with you, it will protect you for sure."

"It's beautiful... but what will it protect me from?"

The ghosts looked at each other's faces. They knew what would happen if those kids found out about Yu being gone. Also, they thought about the cunning headmaster having something up his sleeve about transporting Yu to another world. But the ghosts chose to not say anything about them.

"It is like a good-luck charm... it will protect you from evil."

"Really...thanks!" Yu said with a smile just like a blooming flower.

The ghosts also smiled at Yu. They couldn't get enough of her either. Even though they were sad to see her go, they only wished for her happiness.

"Thank you so much for everything! I won't forget you!"

Yu smiled as she ran out the door with her luggage, not knowing what horror was to come.

#female reader #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

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writerlyhabits · 11 months

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Ration Packs

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: based on this request...

“I’m guessing it’ll be ration packs for dinner?” you added, nodding towards the empty satchel hanging from his hip. “There wasn’t a market on the way back to the ship,” he almost pleaded, trying to explain his intentions, but you simply gave him a tight-lipped nod in acknowledgment. “I’ll get the packs started so it's ready by the time you’ve unloaded.” Your voice lacked its usual kindness. This shift in the conversation had you speaking with him as if this were all just… business. Had he pushed you too far? Were you trying to remind him that he had hired you to be here? That he should be keeping things… professional? Fuck. This was why he worked alone.

Warnings: mild language, miscommunication [but not in a horrible way, don’t worry, I’m better than that], young dumb in love din djarin, mild angst, angst with a happy ending, everything is in Din’s pov because i love his dumbass train of thought, idk it’s pretty soft

AN: oh my god i’m back from the dead! I told you guys i’d be back 😂 This request has been sitting in my inbox for probably about a year… and I have no end of apologies, but i’m finally done and it’s a miracle I don’t hate it 😂 I did change the prompt a little… the idea of them putting Grogu to bed was cute, but I had an idea for a younger Din and just fell in love with it, so i ran with that. I hope you guys enjoy 💖 Thank you @deceiver-of-gods for putting up with me all this time, ily 😘

Din had traveled through the toughest parts of the galaxy without batting an eye. He’d run with a mercenary group and proven himself to have more skills, more hits, more value… and more of a moral compass than anyone else in the group. After fighting his way out of their grip, he had taken out high-level targets with ease to earn his way into the Bounty Hunters guild. Din continued to be not only one of the youngest of their ranks, but also the most highly sought after. And after all of that?

You were his greatest challenge.

His Razor crest had taken one too many hits for him to be able to repair on his own, and the costs of repairs on his pre-imperial ship were starting to eat into the funds he usually gave back to his covert. Not providing for them was not an option; the Beroya was supposed to send their spoils back to the covert to provide for those in hiding. This is the way…

So when he landed on a planet with lush, colorful flora, and a generally trusting local people, he least expected you to strike a bargain with him. He needed a mechanic, and you wanted a ticket out. Free boarding and transportation in exchange for a live-in repair crew, he just had to get you the parts. It was his perfect solution. He hired you on the spot and scheduled to ship out as soon as the Crest was back in working order.

On that first day of travel, Din had only just entered hyper-speed when he became overly critical of his ship. The cold, metal surfaces of the hull were uninviting, full of sharp edges, and devoid of any personality. It didn’t take him much longer to realize that, to an outsider, his armor looked much the same.

But he’d never seen it that way before. To him, the Mandalorian armor was a sign of home, of belonging. It had been his savior in his childhood, and a beacon of his people as he grew into his own. He had tucked away into coverts where the blank metal lining of their ships and their walls meant protection.

But you were not Mandalorian. You hadn’t grown up around sharp edges and cold surfaces. The place you called home was filled with warm colors and soft curves, the buildings made to flow with the organic structures of the nature around them, letting in the bright sunlight necessary for its growth. You yourself walked with an elegance Din was unfamiliar with, treading softly on the ground and smiling brightly at him each time your kind eyes met his dark visor. You had shared your warmth with him since the moment he’d met you, despite the coldness he was certain he portrayed, and it surprised him how much he found himself drawn to it. Drawn to you.

You were everything he wasn’t. But Din would do everything in his power to make sure you never came to regret agreeing to this strange setup, that you never felt isolated or alone because you’d chosen him – a walking wall of cold beskar – as your traveling companion.

At first, he’d merely wanted to bring you things that reminded him of your home, things he thought might do the same for you. Anytime he was in a market passing through, either on a supply run or with a bounty in tow, he found something colorful to bring back to you. The first few had been small trinkets, things you could keep in the small cupboard you had decided to call your quarters, or delicate pieces of jewelry he would later catch you wearing around the ship.

The feeling Din got seeing you wear something he gave you made something warm swell inside of him… It made it hard to come back to the ship empty-handed, especially with the promise of your soft smile when he held his hand to you with a new gift.

On one of his trips, he’d brought back a woven tapestry; the craftsmanship had been beautiful, and the colors matched those of the outfits you wore the most around him. Din was about to launch into an apology when he first gave it to you, not having thought about where you would even be able to put it, but his statement was cut short when you happily grabbed it from him and turned on your heel to find something.

Not even a few moments later, you returned with a handful of powerful magnets you’d picked up on a market a few planets back, and he watched as you excitedly hung the artwork from one of the walls in the Crest’s hull, creating a curtain in front of one of the panels on that wall – you must have thought it was as ugly as he did.

“What do you think?” You had asked him, and he watched self-consciousness start to creep in now that your initial excitement was starting to wear off.

“It looks good,” he’d replied a little stiffly, still having a hard time finding the courage to speak around you. A bounty hunter, with hundreds of captures under his belt, was still too shy to talk to his mechanic… he at least wasn’t dumb enough to miss the irony in his own predicament, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t his truth.

Since then, Din had started bringing back more things you could use to decorate the ship with; tapestries, blankets, and cushions accompanied the trinkets and jewelry he brought back with him. He could tell that your favorite of his gifts had been a soft shawl he’d seen hanging at a market in the rural areas of Naboo. The politician’s son he was paid to deliver back home had gone on about the luxury material it was made of, something about ancient processes and unique resources… All he knew was that it brought out your natural beauty when you wrapped it around your shoulders, and he felt his cheeks get warm under his helmet when you did.

The two of you started to fall into these new routines fairly easily, and with all of your redecorations, it was becoming a welcome change. In the evenings – or at least what you thought was evenings in the darkness of hyperspace – you would prep a set of ration packs for the both of you. It was always two of the same kind so that you could feel like you were “sharing a meal,” a concept he had very little experience with. At least, he hadn’t for a very long time.

Since eating required removing his helmet, Mandalorians often took their meals in solitude, or within the confines of their family. You, on the other hand, were used to shared meals in dining rooms with someone at every seat, and communal dining halls bustling with people. At first, Din was afraid you might take offense to him leaving during meal times, never quite sure how to phrase his dilemma.

Luckily, he never had to.

You caught on pretty quickly to his predicament, handing him a warm ration pack with a smile before turning to let him eat in peace. He always rushed through his meals in order to join you in the hull, to thank you for your silent understanding by coming down to talk with you as you ate yours at a leisurely pace.

As the weeks went by, Din picked up on some of your silent requests as well, memories of food that didn’t need to be rehydrated before you ate it. He began looking out for other booths at the markets, and fresh ingredients began coming home in place of some of the gifts and trinkets he always brought back with him. Each time he did, a home-cooked meal would follow, and Din always made sure he expressed his gratitude when he came back down to join you for the second half of your meal.

Your routines continued like this for a while, silently assessing each other’s needs, and wordlessly adjusting to accommodate. And it worked. The Razor Crest felt more and more like a home rather than the metal casing of a ship, small traces of your personal touch nearly everywhere he looked. The food had been better, the companionship had been better, far better than the cold silence he’d had to put up with before you came to him.

And Din started to catch on to just how much his own feelings revolved around you.

He craved your warmth at the end of a rough day, he sought to provide your happiness, to get your approval… He tried to be better at actually opening his mouth, being able to express more of his feelings for you outside of your usual, quiet understanding of each other. He tried asking you more questions, wanting to not only hear about the events of your day but to actually get to know you better, showing you how much he genuinely cared. And Din was elated when you started to do the same in return.

After he came back to the ship from a particularly taxing hunt, he heard your soft footsteps descending the ladder from the cockpit while he secured the unconscious bounty into the corner of the hull you had affectionately deemed “time-out.” The most uncomfortable chair had been secured behind some of your tapestries, acting as a set of curtains that kept the bounties from view.

When Din emerged from the hanging fabrics, he could feel some of the tension leave his body at the sight of you in your work clothes, a warm smile dancing on your grease-stained cheeks, wiping your hands on the old flight suit you’d brought with you from home. No matter how difficult his hunts had been, being able to debrief with you upon his return always made him smile beneath the helmet.

“Hey!” you lilted.

“Hey,” he responded, still a little awkward despite how long you’d been working together. He was getting better, but it could definitely still use improvement.

“How’d the hunt go?” you asked, gesturing to the closed curtain beside him. “Obviously successful if you’ve got someone in time-out.” Din chuckled under his breath at your quip, mulling over the events of his day before he replied.

“It was fine.” You looked at him expectantly for a few moments, waiting for him to continue.

“Just… fine?” you half giggled, one brow raised in question while you donned a crooked grin. It hadn’t really gone bad, he did have the bounty in hand. It could have gone better, but nothing that came to any detriment in the end…

He nodded. “It… went well. There’s nothing to report,” he shrugged, unsure what else you were looking for in his answer.

But your face fell. Only for a moment… but enough for him to see it.

“How are your repairs coming?” He tried, hoping to stir the conversation again, to fix whatever had caused your sudden change in attitude.

“Fine. There’s nothing to report.” Your answer was short, both in your words and your temper. You usually volunteered the finer details of your projects, explaining with a dramatic flair all of your trials and your victories, stories that Din was always happy to be an audience to.

Why hadn’t you done so this time?

“I’m guessing it’ll be ration packs for dinner?” you added, nodding towards the empty satchel hanging from his hip. One that usually carried whatever gift he had brought for you. Dank farrik… he already hated coming back empty-handed – something you had never made him feel guilty for – but right now it was only making him feel worse.

“There wasn’t a market on the way back to the ship,” he almost pleaded, trying to explain his intentions, but you simply gave him a tight-lipped nod in acknowledgment.

“I’ll get the packs started so it's ready by the time you’ve unloaded.” Your voice lacked its usual kindness. This shift in the conversation had you speaking with him as if this were all just… business. Had he pushed you too far? Were you trying to remind him that he had hired you to be here? That he should be keeping things… professional?

Fuck. This was why he worked alone.

One of the downsides of having grown up around the Mandalorians was that his concepts of interpersonal relationships were skewed. The two of you were operating on completely different sets of rules, and where you had been able to read each other incredibly well… Now he was left to try and figure out where he’d gone wrong.

With Mandalorians, he knew where he stood. They spoke with purpose, meaning exactly what they said. Even growing up constantly harassing and sparring with Paz, Din knew where his sentiments came from; competition, comradery, and a deep passion for his people. But outside the covert… Din was still finding his footing when it came to the beings he interacted with. Riding with the mercenary group had at least taught him how to weed through the tangled lies that spewed from their mouths, trusting them only as far as he could throw them – if that.

But you were nothing like those slimy low lives. He didn’t know how to start friendships, how to engage in small talk… and he had no idea where to start when it came to the way you made his heart rate pick up. You made Din nervous, but you were also a comfort. You were new and familiar all at once, a new adventure as well as a place of rest.

You meant so much to him… and he’d managed to drive you away just as quickly as he had let you in.

…

The fog of uncertainty hung around the ship for days, and with it, the cold emptiness he had been so accustomed to in his solitude had returned. But after the warmth you had brought to his Razor Crest, being without it was almost suffocating. Din missed you.

That was a fact he was trying to wrap his head around, seeing as you still lived with him on the ship… but it wasn’t the same. You stopped humming while you worked on different panels across his ship, blanketing the hull in silence. Any questions Din tried to ask you were met with short, quiet responses. Surprisingly, you still made the effort to prepare a ration pack with yours during meal times, but when he rushed back down from the cockpit in record time to join you, you were nowhere in sight.

There was nowhere to go inside his ship. That was one of the things he’d liked about it; there was room for him to live on board comfortably without giving his bounties anywhere to hide. And yet, you still managed to avoid him. When he entered the hull, you escaped to your room. When he climbed up the rungs to the cockpit, you would make some quiet excuse and scurry out the door behind him. No matter where he went, what he said, or whatever measures he took to try and catch you off-guard, you were gone before he could even open his mouth.

He was fucking sick of it. He had made a promise, when you came aboard, that he would make sure you never came to regret choosing this life with him. That you would continue to choose to stay with him, to choose him over the home planet you were so desperate to leave. He made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

After landing on Nevarro a few days later to return his bounty, Din’s plan began to unfold. He walked out of the run-down cantina Karga liked to meet up at – insisting that he was going to fix it up and make it ‘a place of gathering’ – the spills of his hunt clanking against the mechanical chip he had tucked away in the satchel that sat on his belt. A chip that, if missing, would cause systems in the cockpit to go offline.

Something his mechanic would find during her daily diagnosis check.

Din felt a pang of guilt at the thought of you being buried arms deep in the underside of the control panel with no hope of finding the repair, because he was the one to take it from you... But then he thought about the worser fate; what if you figured out what was missing, and had more reason to dislike him than before? His guilt quickly turned into slight panic, making haste to get back to his ship to enact his plan before your clever brain could figure out what he’d done.

When he returned to the Crest, the harshness of the metal hull was almost overwhelming. You had started taking down your tapestries and decorations, save for everything but the “time-out” corner, and it felt cold. You didn’t come out to greet him or welcome him back, let alone acknowledge him at all. You hadn’t done so since the time your conversation had taken a turn for the worst. He did, however, hear a loud metal clang and your familiar grunt of frustration from exactly where he assumed you would be. He wondered if you had even heard him come on board…

Din quietly discarded his weapons before stealthily moving to the ladder just below the cockpit, stopping in his tracks when he heard a slew of colorful curses leave your lips. He waited a few moments until the sounds of your hard work continued, none-the-wiser to his oncoming ambush.

By the time he reached the top of the cockpit, he took a moment to assess the situation and figure out the best approach. You were exactly where he thought you would be, laying on your back just to the side of his pilot’s chair, agile hands fiddling with different cables and boards inside his instrument panel…

And your head snapped up to look at him when he made the door to the cockpit slide closed behind him.

You stared at Din for a couple moments before you opened your mouth. “Did you… are you cornering me?” When you put it that way, this was not going quite as he’d imagined, despite everything going according to plan. He had to keep going.

“You’re ignoring me,” he said firmly, his tone reminiscent of one he took with his bounties.

“Fucking maker, did you hunt me?” You asked with furrowed brows, and your slightly agitated tone made him fairly certain you didn’t actually need his answer. “I live on the same kriffing ship, and you had to treat me like one of your bounties just to say something to me?”

“I had to talk to you. You wouldn’t let me,” he pressed, keeping his voice steady. You gave a huff of indignation.

“I don’t have time for this, Mando, I have to fix your ship,” you threw at him before your body thumped dramatically on the ground as you went back to your work.

“So you are angry at me,” Din stated, sounding more like an observation than a question. He could work with angry. You shot him a glare without moving too much from your position, and he took that as a good enough indicator to continue his interrogation. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“Mando…” you started, his moniker leaving your lips in an exasperated sigh, not without a flame of annoyance lurking behind it.

“Don’t make another excuse. I’m tired of avoiding this.” He watched the bluntness of his words hit you, not surprised when you furrowed your brows as you started to slide out from under the console, sitting up to scowl at him properly.

“Another- what? I didn’t make any fucking excuses, I’m not avoiding anything,” you fired off, your tone indicating the exact opposite of what you were saying.

“Then why have you stopped talking to me?” Din expected another fiery response, but instead a split-second of realization crossed over your face before it was replaced with one of irritated confusion. It made him — him, the stone-cold Mandalorian bounty hunter — shift on his feet.

“I stopped talking to you?” You countered, and you waited a moment to let him respond… but he didn’t know what you expected him to say. “Right, because you’ve been super talkative after ‘there’s nothing to report’,” you mumbled, and it caused those same words to ring in his head from the night everything went wrong. You had said them so coldly…

After he had said them to you.

“I- I meant no offense,” he tried a little lamely, still not understanding where he had gone wrong, but wanting more than anything for you to understand that he was willing to fix it. “I didn’t have anything to say.” You gave another sigh, but this one was softer, like you were about to level with him. It was progress, if nothing else.

“Nothing? You couldn’t give me the details of your hunt the same way I tell you about the market? I mean, it’s not as exciting as I make it out to be, I just... “ You trailed off and looked away from him without finishing your sentence, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. He was finally getting answers out of you, he was going to get to the bottom of this, and make good on his promise to keep you happy. This was the way.

He was quick to kneel in front of you, trying to get closer to your level to get away from his interrogation tactic, and communicate that he was willing to listen and receive. “You just what? Help me understand.”

You scoffed a laugh as you shook your head. “There’s not a lot to understand. I like talking with you, I like when we share stories. I just… I wanted to be close with you.”

Din wanted to bang his head against the wall. With or without his helmet. This all started because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to talk? He was a bounty hunter, he should have been smarter than that. He should have been able to tell what had caused such a shift, and been able to fix it before the mission could go sideways.

But, in all fairness, he was a bounty hunter who was used to being alone.

Before Din had lucked into having you travel the galaxy with him on his hunts, he came back to an empty ship. There was nobody else to talk about the day with. And after living amongst the Mandalorians, a people of few words, he wasn’t exactly in the habit of speaking to himself or others. Before you, everything that surrounded Din was just… quiet.

“But… this is just professional, I get that now. I’ll stay out of your way, and I won’t pry. It is your ship, after all.”

And he was about to get himself into even more trouble if he didn’t figure out how to speak right fucking now.

“No,” he started firmly, desperately catching on to the tail end of your admission, but not entirely sure what was about to come out of his mouth. “This isn’t- I don’t… I’m not good at talking.” Strong start Djarin.

“What?” You asked softly. If anything, you pretty much justified his statement. He took a breath to try and steady himself, to dig through the chaos inside his head and find a half-way coherent string of words to offer you, to clean up his mess.

“Mandalorians are quiet. Bounty Hunters keep to themselves. I’m not used to talking,” he reiterated, and he watched your confused expression shift gently into one of intrigue, your sign for him to keep going. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out, I just… didn’t know what else to say. I’m used to sparing people any details that aren’t deemed necessary. Now I know that I shouldn’t do that with you. I’m sorry.”

Din was pleased to find a small smile growing at the corners of your mouth. “I mean… You don’t have to give me every detail. Just the good stuff,” you smiled, making Din’s heart feel warm. He didn’t realize how much he missed the radiance of your smile until now, feeling like he was finally stepping into the sun after spending so long in the dark.

“Just the good stuff… So I’ll tell you how much blood there was when I-”

“No, no thanks,” you cut him off quickly, making a fake gagging sound as he laughed under his helmet. “I take it back, let’s go back to no more talking, I’m good. I’ll just stay up here with all my busted circuits, thank you very much.”

“Please don’t, I can’t go back to quiet,” he said quickly, the smile still plastered on his face as the weight of his words hit both of you.

I can’t go back to quiet.

It was true, he couldn’t. The past few minutes talking with you again, even when you were angry and yelling at him half of the time, had him feeling better than he had in days.

“Oh yeah?” You offered, and he could tell by your knowing smile that you had come to the same realization that he did. You knew how much he had come to need you. “You don’t want a break from all my rambling?”

“Never,” he admitted. Din watched your shoulders relax and your soft smile get brighter as his answer left his helmet, and he realized how much you needed him in return. It made a warmth bloom from deep within his chest, warming him all the way out to the very coldest parts of his Beskar armor. “Never stop. I want you to fill this ship with all your stories, real or exaggerated.”

It caught him by surprise when you leapt up from your spot on the ground to meet his height, flinging your arms around his neck as you held him tight, fitting together perfectly even as you knelt on the floor in front of each other. With only a little hesitation, Din wrapped his gloved hands around you, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush against the plates of his armor, and soaked up everything that was you.

This is the way.

Sooner than he would’ve liked, he felt your grip around his neck loosen, and you leaned back to lock you gaze with his dark visor.

“As much as I’d love to catch up, your ship is driving me crazy and I have got to figure out how to get these control panels back online,” you explained, and Din slowly started to realize he hadn’t thought this part through.

“Well, I uh…”

“You’re welcome to stay and chat, if you’re in the talking mood. I’d love to hear about your meeting in town,” you offered playfully, sending him a wink as you began to shuffle yourself back down under the open compartment of his shift.

Instead, he got down on the ground and laid himself next to you, as if he was going to look at what you were doing with the repairs. Your hands stopped mid-action as you looked at him, and he enjoyed the airy laugh that escaped you at his actions.

“Or you can watch from here, that’s fine, too.”

“I was actually going to offer a suggestion,” he started timidly. You turned away from him as you focused on the wires in front of you again.

“I'll take anything you’ve got. I haven’t seen anything like this in ages… I’ve only got one idea left, but I doubt it’s right. It’s like the reactor chip is missing, but the only way that thing would’ve even budged is if someone-” You stopped in your tracks as Din lifted a gloved hand into your peripheral view, the small reactor chip held between his fingers for you to see.

You paused a moment before turning your head dangerously towards your companion. He could see the corners of your lips twitching as you did everything you could to avoid a smile, and he remained grateful for his helmet as it hid his beaming face from view.

You snatched the chip from his hand and looked back to your circuits. “Get out of my cockpit,” you said quietly, the last few words of your threat lost to your laughter. Din couldn’t stop his own laughter from coming through the modulator as he began getting up from the floor to do as he was told. “You’re making the ration packs tonight,” you added, the smile on your cheeks evident in your voice.

"This is the way."

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #young din djarin #request #anonymous request #kam takes forever to do shit #my writing

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a-book-of-creatures · 10 months

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Largely inspired by what I thought would be cool superpowers as a kid. I was a singularly boring and unimaginative kid apparently…

#polls #superpowers #frivolity

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mindblowingscience · 5 months

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More than 50 years after the last Apollo mission, the United States will try once again to land a craft on the Moon on January 25, said the head of what could be the first private company to successfully touch down on the lunar surface. The lander, named Peregrine, will have no one on board. It was developed by American company Astrobotic, whose CEO John Thornton said it will carry NASA instruments to study the lunar environment in anticipation of NASA's Artemis manned missions. Several years ago, NASA opted to commission US companies to send scientific experiments and technologies to the Moon – a program called CLPS. These fixed-price contracts should make it possible to develop a lunar economy, and provide transport services at a lower cost. "One of the big challenges of what we're attempting here is attempting a launch and landing on the surface Moon for a fraction of what it would otherwise cost," said Thornton Wednesday at a press briefing at his company's base in in Pittsburgh.

#Science #Space #Moon #NASA #United States of America #Space Colony

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 1 month

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Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @dreamie411 @sverdgeir

#Soaring's Tours Follower Celebration #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #ct 9904 #soulmate trope

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amtrak-official · 6 months

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The Surface Transportation Board has recommended the creation of a Passenger Rail Advisory Committee. It will act as an advisory board on passenger rail making recommendations to the STB, it will have 18 board members with 11 members from passenger rail groups, the states, labor unions or transit advocacy groups giving the majority of votes to pro transit voices no matter what.

#train news

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electronickingdomfox · 5 months

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"Planet of Judgment" review

A novel from 1977, by Joe Haldeman. It begins with a rather generic "stranded on dinosaur planet" plot, but then the story becomes far more unhinged and entertaining. By the end, I was wondering what drugs was the author taking. So yeah, recommended novel, for sheer insanity.

As usual, Spock is gay. Also, McCoy is probably gay too.

Spoilers under the cut:

The Enterprise arrives at a strange rogue planet, with its own artificial sun. Of course Kirk has to investigate the anomalous planet (aptly named "Anomaly"), and he lands there with some security guys in a shuttlecraft. The fact that the transporter doesn't work, should be hint enough that this planet is trouble. They encounter giant beasts similar to dinosaurs. Also pterodactyls. And soon discover that the usual laws of physics don't apply as they should. Their phasers only work on stun, they have no communications, and the shuttlecraft is dead. So far, no redshirt has died, so the Enterprise sends another shuttlecraft with more redshirts just in case. At last, since it's obvious everyone is trapped on that planet, Spock decides to send three more shuttlecrafts with a ton of people (including himself, McCoy, Chapel and Uhura) so the party can begin.

The first part of the novel deals with the crew trying to survive in the wild environment. There's also two strange, stream-of-consciousness scenes to show Kirk and McCoy's dreams. The crew spots some hominid creatures that they take for cavemen. Also, two redshirts finally die. One being half-eaten by a giant flower, in a surprisingly gory scene. There's more body horror ahead, as one injured redshirt vanishes suddenly, and returns the next day significantly changed. He has no eyes, ears or nose, as if they had never been there in the first place, and hair is quickly covering his whole body. It's discovered then, that the supposed cavemen are actually a very advanced telepathic race, and have mutated the crewman into one of their own, to better communicate and study the humans. (By the way, the crewman is very happy with the changes.)

The aliens, called Arivne, only need the scientists (Spock, McCoy and three others) for their experiments, so everyone else is sent back to the Enterprise. Then, they force them to relive traumatic moments of their past, in order to learn things like "decision-making" or "betrayal", which their species, living in perfect unity, doesn't know. There are interesting glimpses into Spock and McCoy's past, as part of these visions. Such as Spock being bullied by his human cousins as a child, or McCoy's divorce. It's finally revealed that the Arivne are doing all this to prepare against the attack of other, insectoid aliens, that will soon invade the whole galaxy (McCoy describes one as an "ugly son of a bitch"). The aliens, called Irapina, are sending first three champions to test the waters. If Spock, McCoy and Kirk (who's been returned to the planet to not miss the fight) can defeat the three Irapina, they'll withdraw to invade another, less interesting place (like the Romulan Empire).

This is where things become really, really weird. As the battles against the Irapina take place inside hallucinations, that can nonetheless kill the loser (a bit as in "Spectre of the Gun"). Come to think of it, something similar happened in "Spock Must Die". These early novels truly loved their hallucinations... We have McCoy battling the baby Irapina in a poker game, set in the Wild West. Which ends with McCoy decapitating the alien with a card. Yeah. Spock takes a math quiz on a sinking game board. Then Kirk fights in a naval battle against pirates, while Spock is busy inside a star, trying to make it go nova (Spock has practice with this, as earlier he had created a volcano by pushing to the surface from a planet's core).

Anyway, it's all gloriously crazy. Even though the ending seemed a bit rushed. There are also some seemingly abandoned plot threads. For example, the love triangle between a female scientist, another guy and a professor. I thought that these three characters would have more relevance later on, but eventually, nothing is done with them.

Spirk Meter: 7/10*. I was determined to give this novel a low rating, even a zero. After all, how slashy can it be if Kirk and Spock barely interact? It turns out, it can be fairly slashy... For starters, the most traumatic experience in Spock's past that the Arivne could find, was his battle against Kirk in Amok Time and the thought he had killed him (the whole sequence is taken from Blish novelization, which is a rather lazy way to fill pages, if you ask me). Relieving the scene makes Spock cry actual tears. Then, what is Spock's biggest worry while stranded on the planet? Being eaten by dinosaurs? Nah! The greatest danger for him is that Chapel would try to seduce him! Even though poor Chapel doesn't even interact with him in the whole novel, and has been nothing but professional. He goes as far as suggesting that McCoy seduces her, to get rid of Chapel himself (too bad for Spock, McCoy's gay too; more on this later). So far, this isn't much. But then, near the ending, it's Spock's love for Kirk that saves the whole galaxy once more. During the final confrontation, the Irapina cheat at the game and merge the two hallucinations: Kirk battling on the pirate ship, and Spock creating a supernova. If Spock succeeds at his test, the heat from the nova will kill Kirk. Of course, he chooses to fail his test and die himself, so Kirk has a chance. He does it out of "logic, morality, and a vestige of an emotion he might deny: love" (direct quote). The Irapina hadn't predicted such sacrifice in the name of love, so they declare the battle null, which gives Kirk and Spock another chance.

This is as far as Kirk and Spock are concerned. Now, what's the deal with McCoy? For starters, during his dream sequence, he wonders about the fact that he has never been truly interested in a woman, not even his wife. Later, Spock asks McCoy to explain sex and love to him, since he doesn't understand why Chapel is so interested in him. McCoy explains that women (and men) are attracted to power, which Spock has; intellect, which Spock has in spades; fairness, which is congenital for Spock (these are his words); and of course, that mysterious aura of strangeness, that is so very Spock's... And yeah, it doesn't seem AT ALL that McCoy has reflected a lot about Spock's appeal... After this, Spock asks him to seduce Chapel himself. McCoy refuses as he doesn't see Chapel that way. Spock assures him that he won't ask him to do anything against his nature, to which McCoy becomes very defensive. There's a long passage then, where McCoy ponders about his reasons to prefer the other female scientist in the party (all very un-romantic, practical reasons) over Chapel. As well as the fact that, despite being familiar with the female body because of his work as a doctor, he kind of fails when it comes to women. Something that he can't confess to Spock, but has confided to Chapel; the reason why he can't see her as a lover, and why Chapel can't be attracted to him either. What does Chapel know? It's also noteworthy, that this whole scene serves absolutely no purpose for the plot, since Chapel disappears from the story quite early and nothing happens between her and Spock. Last but not least, during the re-enactment of McCoy's divorce, we learn that a major reason for his wife abandoning him is that she was sexually frustrated. And neither of them were happy in their marriage. McCoy doesn't take it so bad, joining Starfleet right afterwards... So yeah, in my opinion, there's something about all this that screams "closeted homosexual".

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

#star trek tos #star trek novels #novel review #spirk #k/s #spones

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ghostofskywalker · 7 months

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Trapped, Cold, And Annoyed: Another Mission With Anakin

Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Fictober Day 8 of 31

Words: 1,020

Summary: You would think that clearly traveling in a diplomat's vessel would grant you safe passage through the galaxy. But apparently that wasn't the case, and now you're stuck in a snowy wasteland with a Jedi you can't stand.

Anakin Skywalker Masterlist

"This is all your fault!" Your annoyance echoed through the ship, making your voice seem louder and more powerful than it actually was. It had been hours at this point, and you were no closer to putting the ship back in hyperspace, let alone closer to your home planet.

But the unfortunate side effect of that metallic echo was that your companion's voice was also amplified. "How was I supposed to know that other ship was there?"

"Aren't you supposed to have the kriffing Force or something?"

"I'm guessing someone else on that ship did too, or I would have been able to sense them!"

After a frustrated sigh, you stomped your way to the cockpit of the ship, where Anakin Skywalker was fiddling with something on the control panel. The dashboard was completely dark, and you could see a wall of snow outside as it crept up and slowly consumed the ship, the impact so much more intense due to the way that you had slammed into the surface of the planet at breakneck speeds. This was supposed to be an easy journey, because no one would ever dare attack a diplomat's vessel, especially when there was a Jedi on board. Right?

But of course, you had to be paired with the one Jedi who you couldn't stand, the one Jedi who always manages to find trouble in the galaxy, and then he goes and crashes the ship. You were already expecting things to just worse as time went on, just because that's how much the galaxy seemed to hate you right now.

You had spent a good bit of time on board his flagship and with his troops, and while you were immensely fond of the 501st, you could not say the same thing about their general. Anakin Skywalker may be (unfairly) good-looking, but you and him had never gotten along. He had an inflated ego with subpar abilities, and you had no problem calling him out when he suggested things that were crazy or outlandish. It was only thanks to his Captain's ideas that you were able to successfully deliver aid to several planets that needed it this time around, so you were understandably upset when you found out that it would be him that would provide security for your transport back home.

You had bitterly thought things would go sideways when you were first briefed about the assignment, and you had been right. Another hour passed, and there was still no sign that the ship was any closer to being fixed than it was when you first crashed. And as the suns on this snowy planet began to set, you were starting to grow chillier and more tired by the moment.

You could hear footsteps approach where you were camped out on the opposite side of the ship, and then Anakin's voice broke your train of thought. "I have good news and bad news."

You looked up at him. "The good news better be that we're leaving this Maker-forsaken planet within the next hour."

Silence.

You knew what that meant.

"The earliest we can leave is tomorrow morning," he said. "We need to wait for the battery on the temperature system to finish charging."

You nodded. "So what's the bad news?"

"In order to make sure neither of us are dead before we are able to leave, we need to conserve body heat."

Now it was your turn to be silent. If he meant what you think he meant, and you were pretty sure there was only one way to take his statement, you'd have to cuddle up with the man you couldn't stand from the moment you met him, and you did not want to do that. "Are you sure there's no other way?" you asked, trying not to annoy him any further. You did want to live, and if that meant doing something you'd rather not think about, then so be it.

"If there was I wouldn't be suggesting this right now," he said, clearly a little bit annoyed that you even asked.

So here you were, curling up into a ball on the ship's cot, with the only blanket on board covering both you and Anakin. You were just grateful that the cot was built for multiple people, and that the two of you fit (fairly comfortably) on it. To be clear, that still meant that this whole situation was incredibly uncomfortable, but at least you weren't hanging off the side of the bed.

You tried not to think about the man laying next to you as you drifted off to sleep, but it was nearly impossible to ignore. It certainly didn't help that he was like a human furnace, and the chill was really starting to set in your bones. Several times you caught yourself instinctively moving closer to him, and you had to pull yourself back. You weren't that desperate yet.

He was fast asleep, clearly not having the same moral quandary that you were. At one point you felt his arm across your body, and it seemed that he was trying to nuzzle closer. If you were anywhere else right now, you might have slapped his hand away and sent a cutting remark to really drive home your opinion, but this time you couldn't bear to ruin the moment. Besides, he really did help warm you up.

Part of you hoped that when you woke up and resumed your journey tomorrow morning, that things would be at least slightly better between you. Because as much as you traded insults and you called him unimpressive, he was still a pretty good Jedi, and he clearly cared about his troops and friends. You hoped that eventually the two of you could move past the way you acted right now, no matter how unlikely it seemed that he would ever feel anything but contempt for you.

In the last few moments before you truly drifted off the sleep, you could have sworn you heard him whisper your name, but you couldn't tell for sure.

Besides, you were too tired to really register it.

- the end -

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#ghostofskywalker.fictober #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfiction #star wars x reader #starwarsficnetwork #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader

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rascal-xo · 10 months

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Out Of Reach - Simon Riley x Female Reader

Summary: Simon has to do the hardest thing he’s ever had to; let you go.

Warnings: DEATH, angst. pure sadness im sorry 💀

Tags: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera @glitterypirateduck @glitteryeggalmondherring

A/N: This is a part 2 to Ticking Bomb requested by @glitteryeggalmondherring

Simon sits alone in his small room on the base, the weight of loss still heavy upon his shoulders. The room feels suffocating, as if it echoes the emptiness within his heart.

His eyes fixate on the box that rests on the table before him, a box that holds the remnants of your life, the belongings that remain.

With a hesitant hand, he reaches for the box, his fingertips grazing its surface. The captain’s act of giving him this precious collection of your belongings is both a solace and a painful reminder. As he lifts the lid, his heart skips a beat, knowing that these are the only things he has left of you.

His eyes are drawn to the gleam of metal within the box, catching the light in a bittersweet manner. Simon carefully retrieves the dog tags, delicately holding them in his palm.

The weight of the tags feels substantial, as if they carry not only your name but also the weight of your unwavering dedication and sacrifice.

He traces his thumb over the embossed letters, etching the memory of your name into his consciousness.

Ghost’s fingers grip tightly onto the dog tags, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his emotions. As he sits alone, consumed by grief, a knock on his door brings him back to the present. He glances up to see Price standing there, his face etched with a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

“Simon,” Price’s voice is gentle, but it carries the weight of the world, “Y/N’s body has been brought back into base custody. There’s gonna be a small burial tonight. Just the group.”

A surge of anger courses through Ghost’s veins, threatening to overwhelm him. The very idea of a funeral, of saying goodbye to you, feels like another cruel twist of fate. His silence is a shield, a wall he puts up to protect himself from the raw intensity of his emotions.

His heart aches with an uncontainable pain, and his anger simmers beneath the surface, a smoldering fire threatening to consume him. The unfairness of it all is a bitter pill to swallow. He was supposed to protect you, to keep you safe, but the world had different plans.

Price’s understanding gaze lingers, but Ghost’s response remains muted. Words fail to encapsulate the depth of his anguish, the overwhelming sense of loss that washes over him.

How can he express the rage that burns within him, the feeling that everything he has ever known is pain and now the one thing he loved has been cruelly taken away?

He clenches his jaw, his grip on the dog tags tightening, as if holding onto them can somehow anchor him in this storm of emotions. The weight of his grief feels insurmountable, threatening to consume him whole.

As Price finally turns to leave, Ghost’s anger flickers like a flame in the darkness.

Ghost's ears catch the distant rumble of thunder, a sound that seems to reverberate through the walls of his room. He turns his gaze towards the window, his mind momentarily transported to a different time, a memory that offers a glimmer of solace amidst the storm of emotions.

As the rain begins to fall, memories of you and him on watch together under the night sky flood his thoughts. The way you joked about his balaclava practically water boarding him from how soaked you both were from standing out in the rain.

He took that time for granted and now all that was left was the regret of not making more out of it.

Simon stands at a distance from the burial site, his gaze fixed on the somber scene unfolding before him. The world seems to blur around him, as if he’s trapped in a haze of grief and disbelief. The weight of the moment settles heavily upon his shoulders, threatening to pull him under.

In the midst of the blur, Johnny’s voice cuts through the fog, calling out to him, trying to bring him back to the present. Simon’s eyes shift towards him, the glossiness in Johnny’s eyes reflecting the shared pain they both carry. The reality of the situation crashes down upon him, a finality that he struggles to accept.

“Lt? We’re gonna close it up… if you want to say any last things.” As Johnny speaks, his voice low and filled with a tender concern, Simon’s mind jolts back to the present. He realizes that this is his last chance to say goodbye, to give voice to the thoughts and emotions that swirl within him. But his body remains frozen, unable to respond, his grief stealing his words and rendering him immobile.

Simon’s heart pounds in his chest, a tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. His longing to express his love, his sorrow, and his regrets clashes with the crippling weight of grief. His throat feels dry, his voice trapped within him, struggling to find its way out.

He locks eyes with Johnny, the unspoken connection between them conveying more than words ever could. In that moment, Johnny understands, the depth of their shared loss etched upon his face. There is no need for words—they both carry the weight of their grief, and sometimes silence speaks louder than any farewell.

As the gravesite is prepared to be closed, Simon’s heart clenches with a mix of pain and resignation. He knows that once that final mound of earth is in place, it will forever separate him from your physical presence. It will mark the end of an era, leaving only memories and the ache of an empty space in his soul.

There under the moon, Simon comes day after day to sit at your grave, still unable to say goodbye.

Unable to let you go.

———————

A/N: ahh I cannot to write anymore sad fics for a while after this one :((

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod angst #cod mw2 #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader

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super-earths-liberations · 13 days

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Super Earth vs. Star Wars (Pt. 1)

Alright, it begins.

And it begins in the middle of the Clone Wars. The Republic and CIS forces are evenly matched at this point and trading blows. Both sides are utilizing their preferred strategies to break the stalemate: mass droid deployment versus versatile clone counterattack.

But both sides have to pause for a moment when they detect an unknown power surge to the galactic south. Neither side has any clue what it could mean, but it bears investigation. After all, the enemy might have developed a new weapon or warship over there.

So the Republic sends a single ship led by some random, no-name jedi alongside their compliment of clone troopers to an unsettled planet in nowhere space. Only its a little more settled than the records indicate. There are research and observation stations littered across the planet's surface.

So this jedi is comparing and contrasting the scanner's results to the records' discrepancies. But they can only do this for so long before another ship enters the system, and worse yet, it's a separatist ship. It takes only five minutes before that ship scrambles strike craft. No choice, then; time to engage.

Both ships trade shots, and clone fighters engage in intense dog fights with a swarm of relentless droids. It's an even fight until the jedi leads a risky boarding action onto the enemy vessel, sabotaging the guns pounding into their ship. Without the means to deal equal damage to the Republic ship, the CIS ship is whittled down to scrap metal. The droid strike craft are swiftly swatted by the remaining fighters aided by point defense guns.

Now taking a minute catch their breath, the jedi takes stock of their options. The engines are shot, and their shields are down, but their communications array is still intact. Thank goodness for that, at least.

So they send back a request for aid, but continue the investigation in the meantime. It appears the settlers on this planet are simple farmers and laborers, with a few uniformed scientists and guards wondering around. Deeming it safe enough, the jedi leads a small team to make contact with these people.

Initial contact goes well, but it's odd. The humans are agreeable enough. They smile and offer peaceful greetings. Still, the stilted way they talk about "freedom" and "liberty" rubs them the wrong way. The longer the talks continue, the more certain they are that this "Super Earth" isn't as friendly as they claim. But hey, it's not their problem. They learn that the power surges the Republic detected were likely Super Earth's ships making jumps into the system.

So they're about to wrap it up into a neat little report. The power surges were just the result of a new, neutral power expanding in the system. It certainly isn't the separatists building planet-crackers or something.

And then it goes horribly wrong when another ship enters the system. Well, a fleet. Of droids. Turns out the CIS are sore losers, and they'll do anything to get some payback. Even better, there's a jedi cut off from support, so getting rid of them will be worth the effort.

The jedi's ship is dead in space, and there's no way it can mount effective resistance with only half the remaining pilots from the previous fight. And with ten ships packed with droids ready to kill them all, there's not much choice: they have to abandon the ship.

Escape pods and transports are swiftly loaded with all the personnel and supplies they can carry. They make planet side and fortify the best they can. With their ship in orbit on autopilot and sending a looping distress call back to the Republic, they bought just enough time to get all their troopers down almost unmolested. Now it's just a matter of holding out until reinforcements can arrive.

It does not go well. The clone troopers are outnumbered fifty to one, and lack the armored fighting vehicles that their adversaries have. The zone of control shrinks by the hour as these machines press ceaselessly forward. The only positives they have are the presence of the jedi leading them and the support of the hapless Super Earth citizens that were unfortunately in the crossfire.

On that first point, having a jedi leading the occasional counter-assault on the droids slows their advance a little. Numerous tanks and super battle droid columns get taken out before they can seriously threaten the defenders, but there are always more where they came from.

On the other hand, their Super Earth allies are surprisingly effective against the standard battle droids. The clone troopers were initially skeptical of their lower-tech weapons, only capable of firing solid munitions, but their bullets could tear right through them. In fact, their guns were more effective than the clones' blasters.

Since blasters are so much more prevalent than solid slug weapons, most armors are made with deflecting thermal energy in mind. The chassis of the battle droids is no exception, as they were built to withstand a small amount of blaster fire before breaking. This leaves them slightly vulnerable to kinetic weapons, like the Liberator or the Break-Action Shotgun.

But it's all for naught, as the numbers advantage is simply too great to over come. Before long, grenades become scarce. Ammunition runs low. Fatigue sets in. Time is running out, and the defenders are quickly losing hope as more improvised positions get overrun by relentless droids.

During one lull in the fighting, a radio crackles to life with a message from orbit. Super Earth's Ministry of Defense announces the arrival of a liberation fleet to their system; Helldivers are on the way.

The clone troopers stand bemused as they watch the citizens perk up with renewed vigor. One of them even whoops and hollers as he runs straight out of the defenses to spread the word to others. Were the Helldivers really that special to them?

Time would tell, but it didn't seem like they had it. The troopers still manning the barricades were pushing past their limits, using looted droid blasters just to keep the fight going. A dozen troopers stood behind overturned vending machines and hastily erected sandbags in a grisly shootout with over a hundred battle droids. Their swift, accurate shots took out tens of droids, but more kept coming. What incoming fire lacked in accuracy was made up in volume. The air around them shined an angry red as they fought harder than their training ever accounted for.

Yet another wave was depleted, but they couldn't rest now. They took this opportunity to loot more ammo from the fallen droids and rearm themselves. Repositioning and regrouping, they set back up and waited for the next wave.

But the wave didn't come for a while longer than before. They were surprised that it took roughly half an hour for them to come back, and this wave was noticeably smaller than the last. The ensuing fight wasn't easy, but it was the easiest fight of the day. Better yet, once this wave was broken, there wasn't another one. The droids just stopped attacking. What was going on?

The confederates were the first ones to find out. They were confidant in this battle's success. The leaders in charge of the fleet had already kicked back and awaited news of their imminent success. They were so relaxed that they didn't even see the need to direct the army themselves.

So imagine their shock when the sensors came to life with over one hundred ships suddenly in the system. They were not ready for this kind of confrontation.

See, the separatists weren't warriors and generals by trade; they were bankers and merchants. They have no idea how to lead a battle beyond swarming their enemies with overwhelming numbers. So now that the roles were reversed, they were paralyzed with indecision.

This lack of immediate action would cost them, as volleys of cannon fire pounded into their shields. The fighters they scrambled to meet the new fleet could hardly last long enough to reach effective weapons range, as point defense and Atlas Cannon shots took them out with frightening ease.

With their shields down and strike craft depleted, the fleet admirals had to make a quick decision on what to do. If they made planetfall like the jedi's fleet, they could establish some ground defenses and hold out for a lot longer than in space. Hell, they might even succeed at killing the jedi and holding back the new arrivals long enough for the CIS to send reinforcements. But such a recue operation was unlikely, as the battle would likely be considered too costly. This could cut them off from escape and surely lead to their deaths.

On the other hand, they could simply retreat to hyperspace and live to fight another day. This was the safest option, but it would also mean abandoning the massive droid army on the planet. The billions of credits spent building that army would be lost, and so would any credibility they had within the Confederacy.

They chose to flee. They might be embarrassed, but at least they were still alive. Some of these men would return to the Confederacy to continue fighting, but others would take what they had left and flee the war altogether. Their expensive droid army was not as invincible as they thought, and this was simply too harrowing a wake-up call.

The droids on the ground, meanwhile, are busy at work. Those at the front are fighting ferociously, but the ones in the back are setting up mobile bases of operations to keep up with the shrinking battlefield. Little mind is paid to anti-air or stationary defenses. The whole army is slowly crawling forward in pace with their grinding victory.

Spotters see a number of fiery contrails landing a small distance from the formation. They received no word from the fleet above, so there's no intel about what just fell from orbit. The only hint they have is the unidentified ship hanging above their crash site. The decision is made to send a patrol to investigate.

Minutes pass, but the patrol doesn't report back in. The droids would have simply ignored the incident were it not for a frenzied report that an orbital cannon destroyed a mobile command center. Shortly afterwards, a platoon of unidentified human soldiers attacked from the rear, and set up a firing line among the wreckage.

Well, this just became a problem. Droid commanders redirect considerable forces from the front to reinforce the rear. An infantry division reinforced with super battle droids is sent to take care of these guerillas.

The droids surround the group, then begin the advance. This strategy is typically the most useful for them. Blasters have a low rate of fire and lack any kind of penetration, so the first row of droids act like a walking shield for the droids behind them. Combine this with the numbers advantage, and an attack in this style makes an effective hammer blow against most stationary defenses.

The enemies they're fighting here is not using blasters, they have machine guns. The increased rate of fire means the defenders can sweep the droids more effectively, and the penetrating shots can often catch more droids per shot.

So when the droids began their brazen march across an open field, the massed gunfire that met them wiped out huge swaths of their formation. That alone didn't deter them, but a concealed mortar emplacement bombarded them as well. Each impact wiped out a dozen droids and left difficult to traverse craters that only slowed their advance.

The super battle droids fared no better, as magnetically charged shots and powerful sniper rifles picked them off before they could even factor in.

Other soldiers threw designators into the crowd. The nearby droids watched it land with horror, fearing a grenade detonation, but sagged with relief when it only shined a red light into the sky. Relief that was short lived as a trio of aircraft screamed by and dropped scatter bombs wiping them out.

The unexpected decimation they were facing notwithstanding, they still had the numbers advantage, and it got them within engagement range. The droids finally returned fire, to significantly lesser effect. The reloading gunners among the humans could drop back into cover while lighter armed squad mates continued firing off with automatic rifles. This lull in firepower gave the droids the opportunity they needed to close in and take out the gunners.

The ensuing melee brought chaos onto the humans. Each one fought desperately to keep them out, shooting in wild arcs of automatic weapons fire. The railgun operators focused their fire on the remaining supers that breached their defenses. But no matter how deadly they were at the start, the numbers soon began to crush them. A super droid got a lucky shot on the railgun, exploding the rifle in the hands of the unfortunate soldier. A group of droids gunned down a rifleman. Casualties were mounting.

The droids were emboldened by their imminent success. The opening minutes of the battle really had them worried, but in the end, numbers ground through them like it always does.

But their celebration would have to end sooner than they'd like, for airborne transports flew down from orbit with autocannon fire scattering them from the humans' vicinity. The back ranks focused their fire on these vehicles, but the blasters lacked the power needed to break their armor. The humans rallied and pushed back the nearby droids, racing into the landing planes with haste.

In the end, the droids could only pelt the retreating vehicles with ineffectual small arms fire, watching as most of the human fighters fled to fight another day.

This was only technically a victory. The humans were forced to retreat, but at the cost of hundreds of droids, many being supers. The only positive was that they could now refocus their efforts on the clones.

But the commanders who ordered the attack got word from the other command posts; other such attacks were launched across their army. Reports of orbital lasers and explosive barrages decimating huge swaths of their forces sunk any hope they had of an easy victory. Whoever these new arrivals were, they were well prepared for their tanks and heavy infantry. The droid army effectively had no counter for them.

Helldivers were hard at work picking apart the droid army. Once they did enough damage to begin evacuation of their essential personnel, rescue operations were launched to the fortified bunkers where the scientists were pinned. One platoon lands a kilometer from the frontline and punches through the droid besiegers with utmost haste. Once there, they make contact with the trapped Super Earth colonists and an unknown paramilitary force wearing plastic armor.

Well the Helldivers aren't going to scoff at a little extra help, so they call in extraction shuttles and dig in with the defenders. Machine guns and deployed turrets point out, ready to tear apart any droids unfortunate enough to stand at the front of their formation.

And they come in numbers. The clones note that the numbers are far smaller than before, so something must have happened elsewhere. That was good news, because the ensuing fight was downright tolerable compared to the entire rest of the day. Heck, the Helldivers were kicking so much ass that they could take a small break from fighting. They still kept an eye out, though. They were still soldiers of the Republic, after all.

It was during this fight that the jedi and their retinue of commandos returned from a preemptive strike at droid armor. They won a hard fought battle against a suspiciously depleted tank battalion and they were returning for a short rest before their next operation, only to find an active siege that was already handled by new arrivals.

Shuttles landed safely behind their wall of guns, and swiftly departed with the colonists, leaving only the Helldivers and the clones to stand together in a bunker soon bereft of enemies on the attack. Radio calls are made and intel is collected.

The Helldivers, on orders from the Ministry officials in orbit, offer to take the jedi on the next shuttle to the Super Destroyers above. It is here that the jedi makes the first of two choices that saves their life: they explain they need to stay with their army and continue fighting. The Helldivers just nod and leave them behind. There are still plenty of operations needing their attention elsewhere.

While the jedi and their clones consolidate to other defenses, the Super Earth fleet detects another ship entering the fray. Comms light up with a message from a Republic rescue party requesting clearance to perform their mission. The Fleet ponders this for a bit, eventually deciding to allow it, seeing as they have plenty to do planet side as it is.

It doesn't take long for the jedi and clone troopers to evacuate the planet. Soon after their departure, a larger fleet of Super Earth transports and battleships arrive to mop up the remaining droids on the surface. Now that the general infantry are here to carry on the fight, Helldivers can relax and let the battle below conclude with inevitable Super Earth victory.

That leaves the Republic cruiser and the Super Earth fleet staring at each other in space. They're not quite sure what to do with each other, but the Ministry of Truth officer in charge elects to go aboard the Republic cruiser as a diplomat. Why not? They have so many more ships out there that he's in no danger.

So the jedi says a kindly hello, only to be met with a sharp demand for the Republic to surrender to Super Earth. Well, he uses words like "liberate" and "end your tyrannical rule" in a long winded diatribe that firmly places the Republic in an unwarranted villain role.

Imagine the shock this jedi would feel at that. They busted their ass and sacrificed hundreds of clone troopers to protect their citizens. How many close brushes with death did they have just to receive not one word of gratitude?

That dumbass officer should count himself lucky that the jedi temple practices stoicism, or he'd learn firsthand how hard it is to breathe when someone uses his lungs as a telekinetic stress ball. As it stands, the jedi tersely orders the prick to leave the ship. Once he's on the shuttle out, they tepidly order a return to Republic space. They leave at once.

This would be the second decision they made that saved their life, because the Ministry officer was moments away from ordering the fleet to capture them. They escaped just in time to avoid a disastrous naval battle.

Super Earth, meanwhile, watches on with mild disappointment. They wanted to capture the jedi for interrogation, but that opportunity was lost.

But they weren't too mad. After all, they discovered a massive new galaxy filled with exploitable resources and a preexisting populace just waiting to be "utilized". Battle data from the day's events showed that neither side was beyond the armed forces' ability to fight, and both sides were in active conflict with the other.

Their enemies were already divided. All that's left is to conquer.

#helldivers #helldivers 2 #star wars #clone wars #narrative

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year

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hi hi i really enjoy your writings, and always look forward to what you post! i'd like to request a scenario where optimus crashes and is stranded on a random planet and has to revert back to his wild base coding to survive, the local creatures saw this feral cybertronian and decided yea this guy's one of us now.

What an excellent request! Time for some more feral Optimus! It has been far too long since I had the chance to write about him just being a wild little gremlin.

Not According to Plan

It wasn't exactly his plan to get sent spiraling off course on his way back to Cybertron, but then again, Optimus wasn't really expecting to be brought back to life and pitted against the Fallen either. There really wasn't much he could have done when his transport back to Cybertron got intercepted by rouge pirates, forcing him and all others on board to rush toward the escape pods as the ship's engine was damaged, threatening to explode. But considering his luck, he really should have known that something like a stray meteor hitting his pod was a viable possibility.

He was quickly sent hurtling away from Cybertron and toward a rather unassuming planet to the far end of Cybertronian space. All he could do was leave a signal trail and set up his beacon to give others a vague idea of where he had been sent careening off to. It only took him around a day and a half to crash land onto the surface of the planet. And another half a day to climb out of the wreckage, drag his beacon out into the open, and get a good look around.

It rapidly became obvious to Optimus that the world he had landed on was once a colony world from Cybertron's golden age. He could see the remnants of old Cybertronian inspired structures, abandoned mines, and of course after accidentally stepping on it... he could see the sad remains of a bot long dead, once infected by the rust plague. Upon learning this, it dawned on Optimus just how slagged his situation was. Even with a beacon and a signal trail leading directly to his location, next to no ship would dare come anywhere near. Planets like the one he had landed on had long since been written of as dead, quarantined, an unsuitable for habitation by most technologically advanced species. Unless a bot had a death wish, they wouldn't bother coming to his location, even if he was the Prime. At most they would sent a drone to pick up the Matrix from his corpse after his life signal puttered out.

While there was still a solid chance that one of his former team would take the risk anyway and come pick him up, Optimus could predict that even in that instance, help would still be a long way off. And so settling in for the long haul, Optimus got to work.

The first thing he did was shut off all nonessential systems. Everything from his high maintenance battle protocols to his extra sensors were shut off, leaving only his base systems in operation. His initial observations pointed to some energon being present, but with his huge frame, operating at optimal levels at all times was an excellent way to die of starvation. And so after shutting off his nonessential systems, Optimus went about tearing his pod apart, using what he could to construct a simple base. The end result was a small hovel, only just big enough for him to hide away from the elements in. It felt more like a cave than anything else, but Optimus made do, he had lived in worse conditions.

Once shelter was taken care of, Optimus spent the next several days running off his reserves, scouting for sources of energon and potential threats. He found a few energon deposits, but they were small, and likely would do nothing to keep Optimus alive with his bulky build. Thankfully threats for a mech of his size seemed to be near nonexistent, at least animal wise. But still he did not stray far from his shelter, worried that something would come and attack him, breaking the suffocating silence of the seemingly dead world. The territorial hazards were not nearly as bad as Cybertron, merely irritating. Huge dust storms and acid rain regularly scoured the landscape, often leading Optimus to sit it out wherever he could but ultimately being more of a pain than an actual threat to a warmachine like Optimus.

Time passed quickly on the near silent world filled with the corpses of the dead. The nearby energon deposits were exhausted within weeks, leading Optimus to abandon his shelter and instead take up a more nomadic lifestyle. His frame and his mentality also swiftly shifted to match his circumstances, the Matrix quieting its prodding as there was nothing for him to protect. And without the Matrix hounding him at all hours or a whole world to care for, Optimus was left with only his thoughts and instincts. By the time month four of his time on the dead world rolled around, Optimus had completely returned to his wild state. With no need for complex thought, morality, or anything else beyond the natural drive to survive, there was nothing stopping him from falling back into his previous state before his integration into society.

He looked completely wild. Without plentiful energon his frame slimmed down drastically, giving away most of his raw power for speed, endurance, stealth, and heightened sensory capabilities. His armor deteriorated with the constant abuse from the weather and lack of energon, becoming a dull gray largely matching the landscape. His traits normally kept dormant by the Matrix reemerged, fangs, claws, and more jagged armor growing in as time passed. Biolights also started to emerge on his frame, allowing him to have greater visibility on the dark world.

He travelled around the surface of the dead world, no thoughts beside his next meal and the desire for a pack occupying his processors... that was until around month six when he came across the first signs of intelligent life on the world. He found a small bot around double the size of a human with a nasty wound on its leg. To Optimus it looked like a sparkling, and with fatherly instincts and his desire for a pack being so strong he couldn't help but pick up the bot and take it with him on his travels. The bot was of course not pleased, flailing, screaming, and panicking in its native tongue for days as Optimus nursed it back to health and did his best to take care of it as he would a sparkling.

After around a week the bot calmed and seemed to sense that Optimus had no desire to hurt it, only to care for it. The bot and Optimus bonded over the course of a handful of weeks, the bot coming to see that despite Optimus's monstrous size, he was a gentle giant. And so with a great deal of effort on its part, the bot managed to convey to Optimus its desire to take him to another location. Optimus eventually understood, despite being feral, and was led deep into the cave systems beneath the world's surface. It was there that he was met with a whole tribe of bots much like the one he had taken in.

There were some difficulties after his initial arrival, but the bot managed to calm its fellow tribesman and prove that Optimus was no threat. And while the tribe had issues with the idea of feeding a mech of Optimus's size at first, after the bot proved that Optimus could hunt for himself, most other complained cleared up. As for the Prime, all he saw was even more parentless sparklings and so immediately came to see the tribe as part of his pack, and therefore under his protection. And soon enough a tender alliance was formed.

Optimus became a member of the tribe, serving as a powerful guardian and warding off the far larger animals living in the caves. He would hunt the huge worms that tunneled in the caves, bringing them back to the tribe who always celebrated and drained the energon from the creatures. He would travel across the surface with the bot he had originally rescued to collect old relics from the surface (Optimus would later come to learn that the bot he had rescued was a historian, hence its reason for being on the surface at all). Optimus would also help the tribe move things, like huge rocks and other obstructions from the tunnels to give the tribe access to places previously unavailable to them. And when not working, Optimus lay on the ground in the tribe's small village, playing with the sparklings who were barely the size of his digit. He loved to hum to the sparklings, allowing the rumble of his frame and the warmth of his spark to comfort them.

By the time Optimus had been stranded for a year on the deserted world, he had become a centerpiece in the tribe. He was their guardian, their protector, their gentle giant. And despite only operating on instinct, Optimus began to pick up the language of his adopted pack, learning that the name he had been given was [Star-sent-Savior}. He learned of the tribe's struggles with providing for themselves and collecting energon with so many creatures of the deep. He learned of the hardships they faced travelling across the surface to collect relics from their past, of which they knew little. And lastly he learned of how rare sparklings were due to how few managed to be collected from the hotspots on the surface before they died.

Despite not having the mental processing capability to understand the deeper meaning of anything said to him, Optimus could comprehend the basic idea. And as he went about making the lives of the tribesman easier, saving sparklings from the surface, retrieving relics, and hunting. He came to be heralded as a god-like entity, hence his name [Star-sent-Savior]. When all was said and done, the tribesman accepted him fully and carefully painted his armor in glittering shades of blue, weaving tales describing his heroics and making murals on his plating portraying his glory. The sparklings loved him and recharged against his side every night, leading Optimus to hum to them and curl around them as he would his own sparklings. The older tribesman made him a space in their village, carving out a den in one of the walls of the tunnels for him to rest in when the day was done. And the bot that Optimus rescued first came to him each day, reading to him and telling him of the history of its kind, leaning against him and speaking of all that came to mind. All the while Optimus listened quietly, only the low rumbling of his frame giving an indication of his state.

Two years after being stranded, a sign of help finally seemed to appear.

Bumblebee, his team, and Ratchet had arrived on the planet's surface in response to Optimus's total radio silence and beacon. They scoured the surface, following his life signal until they arrived at the entrance to the tunnels. They entered and followed the signal, expecting to find Optimus in stasis in some dark corner or hiding out near an energon deposit. They certainly didn't expect a very feral, very protective, and very angry Prime to be guarding a whole tribe numbering around a hundred small bots. And they most certainly were not prepared to be attacked on site, only for the Prime to stop after few attacks as he seemed to recognize them.

With Optimus refusing to separate from his tribe and the tribe refusing to let their guardian be taken from them, Bumblebee, his team, and Ratchet were left with quite a debacle. And so began to long process of returning Optimus to awareness in order to reason with him, all while attempting diplomacy with the tribe to figure out how they survived the rust plague.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #feral optimus prime #optimus and his army of tiny tribesman #cue the shenanigans as optimus's tiny wards try their best to protect him for a change #imagine #a small army of bots just swarming around optimus with pointy spears

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 2 months

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Oooh you know I have to jump in here to book my travel package

How about Tech with fluff and pining on Alderaan and/or Bespin. And could I pretty please sprinkle in some hand holding??

💕

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Token of Affection

They say actions speak louder than words. When you unexpectedly join Tech in the cockpit, your presence unravels the intricate emotions he's been struggling to convey.

Pairing: Tech x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: fluff, sweetness, pining, idiots in love, comfort.

The lights of hyperspace streaked through the cockpit, the hum of the Marauder’s engines a familiar white noise. Opting to take the first watch hadn’t been an issue - if anything, Tech appreciated the time alone to decompress after the mission. That, and it gave him the time to tinker.

Hunched over Gonky, who was happy to be used as a makeshift workbench, Tech twirled the soldering iron between his fingers before making a few more adjustments to his latest creation. No matter how many times he thought he’d finished it, he always found something to tweak. Objectively, he knew it was because he was nervous about delaying the inevitable, but it was difficult to move past those feelings.

It had to be perfect. You deserved nothing less.

Setting down the soldering iron, he leaned back in the pilot’s seat, critical eyes roving over his handiwork. It hadn’t been difficult to find a piece of doonium – the entire ship was made of it, after all - but he’d decided to contrast it with duraplast from his spare set of armour. A sliver off one of his pauldrons wouldn’t impede the functionality, but it did add a more personal touch.

With a sigh, his thoughts turned to you, as they so often did these days.

Tech couldn’t shake the feeling of longing, lifting a hand to adjust his goggles, wishing he could just express what he felt. But the words never seemed to come out right, and he feared pushing you away with his clumsy attempts at affection. So, instead, he’d poured his emotions into this delicate little bracelet, hoping it would somehow convey the depth of his feelings.

But he couldn’t deny how many of them you brought out in him - your laughter so often echoed through his ship, your presence lightening even the heaviest of missions. There was a warmth in your smile that lingered in his thoughts, a comfort he longed for in the vast emptiness of space. He was created for war, his whole life dedicated to it – and while he was proud to fight alongside his brothers for the Republic, he couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting more from life.

Reaching out, he scooped up the bracelet, the metal cool against his skin. It was a simple design, but every curve and line held a piece of his heart, a silent plea for understanding. Would you see beyond the surface and understand the depth of his affection? Or would it just be another trinket?

The soft hum of the ship’s engines filled the silence, and Tech allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, eyes closing as his longing for you washed over him like a tidal wave. He wished he could find the courage to tell you how much you meant to him, how your presence filled a void he didn’t even realise existed until you came into his life. His brothers knew about his feelings; nothing ever got past them. And he appreciated their assistance – pairing you up for missions, steering you in his direction whenever you had a question – but it would likely go nowhere unless he took the leap himself.

In the heart of the ship, you rolled over in your bunk. Sleep was evading you, adrenaline still coursing through your body. You couldn’t shake the image of Tech from your thoughts, his focused demeanour on the last mission. There was something about how he immersed himself in everything he was doing, a passion that drew you to him. You couldn’t deny the flutter of anticipation whenever you were paired with him, the way his presence seemed to calm the chaos around you.

There were moments when his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, when his touch ignited a spark of something more profound. Yet, like two stars destined to orbit each other but never collide, the timing never seemed quite right.

Leaning over the edge of your bunk, your gaze lingered on the closed cockpit doors – a courtesy whoever was on watch abided by so as not to disturb those resting. The urge to get up and see him gnawed at you, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. What if this was when everything fell into place? When the unspoken words between you found their voice?

But doubt crept in, its tendrils weaving through your thoughts like cavenna vines. What if Tech didn’t feel the same way? What if your feelings were nothing more than wishful thinking born out of the intensity of your shared experiences? The fear of rejection loomed large, casting a shadow over the fragile hope that fluttered in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling of your bunk. The seconds stretched into minutes as you battled with yourself.

“Kriff it.” You finally reached a decision, pushing off your standard-issue blanket and swinging your legs over the edge of the bunk. Determinedly, you made your way to the cockpit, your footsteps echoing softly. As you approached, you could hear the faint sounds of activity from within – the occasional clink of metal and machinery’s low hum. Pausing at the threshold, you took a moment to compose yourself, steadying the erratic beat of your heart.

Pushing open the door, you entered the cockpit, the streaks of hyperspace casting a cool glow over the familiar surroundings. Your gaze fell upon Tech, who sat in the pilot’s seat, engrossed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration.

For a moment, you simply stood there, content to watch him work, curious about what he was tinkering with this time. Then, gathering your courage, you cleared your throat, announcing your presence.

Startled by your sudden appearance, Tech’s hands jerked, nearly dropping the delicate bracelet he’d meticulously adjusted. Quickly, he attempted to conceal it beneath a pile of tools, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to regain his composure. “Oh, uh, hello.” He stammered, his voice betraying his surprise as he swivelled in his seat to face you. His goggles slipped slightly, revealing wide eyes as he attempted to mask his flustered state with a forced smile

“Hey.” You replied, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach at the sight of him. Something was endearing about his awkwardness, making your heart skip a beat. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tech’s fingers fumbled for a moment before he pushed his goggles back up, his mind racing as he attempted to divert your attention away from the hidden bracelet. “No, it is fine.” He assured, his tone a touch too casual as he gestured vaguely towards the cockpit controls. “I am merely working on a few adjustments. You know how it is.”

You nodded, though the tension in the air was palpable, a silent question hanging between you both. Something felt different tonight, a shift in the atmosphere that left you both teetering on the edge of uncertainty. “Mind if I join you?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tech hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the concealed bracelet, before finally nodding. “Of course.” He answered, his voice quieter than usual as he shifted in his seat. He wasn’t used to being nervous, and it greatly unsettled him.

Pleased that you could stay, you sank into the co-pilot’s seat, opting for a safe conversation topic. “What have you been working on?” You gestured to the scattered tools atop Gonky.

Tech relaxed marginally at the change of subject, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Just some routine maintenance.” He explained. “Nothing too exciting.”

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his sudden apprehension than met the eye.

Suddenly, Gonky released a series of beeps and shifted from foot to foot. Tech quickly glanced at the droid, trying to decipher its behaviour. Gonky wasn’t prone to random malfunctions; it had to be something else. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tech realised the meddlesome droid was intentionally disrupting his tools.

“What’s wrong, Gonk?” You asked, brows furrowing in concern at his unusual behaviour.

Tech scrambled for an explanation. “He is experiencing a minor glitch, nothing to worry about.” He covered; his voice strained as he attempted to keep his composure.

As Gonky wobbled, the tools stacked upon him slipped, and Tech’s attempt to conceal the bracelet was foiled. The delicate piece of jewellery glistened in the bright lights of hyperspace.

You couldn’t help but notice the gleam of metal amidst the chaos. Your curiosity piqued, you leaned in for a closer look, using one hand to push aside an errant tool, your breath catching in your throat as you realised what it was: a bracelet, intricately crafted with a mix of materials, its design striking yet delicate. Gonky settled, and your mind raced with questions, uncertainty gnawing at you as you glanced from the bracelet to Tech, who appeared uncomfortably flustered under your scrutiny.

Tech’s attempt to conceal the bracelet only fuelled your intrigue further, and a million thoughts raced through your mind. Who could it be for? Was there someone else he cared for? The idea of Tech being romantically interested in someone else sent a pang of jealousy through you, though you tried to suppress it.

Trying to maintain an air of casual indifference, you forced a smile, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty. “That’s a beautiful bracelet.” You remarked, your voice carefully neutral. “Who’s the lucky recipient?”

Tech’s gaze darted nervously between you and the bracelet, his discomfort palpable. “Oh, uh, it is just a... project.” He stammered, his words faltering as he struggled to come up with a convincing explanation. “Nothing...nothing important.”

“Well, whoever receives this ‘project’ is very lucky.” You stated, not believing for one moment that it was merely something he was creating to pass the time, but you wouldn’t pry.

Silence lingered for a moment, the air uncomfortable, before Tech let out a small sigh. There was no point trying to hide it anymore, no point in lying to you. Picking up the bracelet, Tech took advantage of your outstretched arm, carefully fastening his creation around your wrist. “My research indicated that giving tokens of affection to those you care greatly about is important.” He explained, double-checking the fastening, head tilted downward so he wouldn’t have to witness your reaction. “I do not have much, but I hope this is satisfactory.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Tech fastened the bracelet around your wrist, his words sinking in like a warm embrace. The weight of his gesture left you speechless, a rush of emotion flooding through you as you stared down at the intricate design encircling your wrist. It was more than just a token; it was a silent declaration of his feelings laid bare for you to see.

Touched by his vulnerability, you gently lifted his chin so he could meet your gaze. “Tech.” You began, your voice soft but steady. “This means more to me than you could ever know.”

Tech’s eyes softened, a flicker of relief crossing his features as he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of your acceptance. With a shy smile, he held your gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. “I care for you more deeply than I ever thought possible.” He admitted, his words laced with sincerity. “And I hope, perhaps, that you feel the same way.”

Your heart swelled with affection, the weight of his confession lifting the lingering doubts that had plagued your mind. Leaning in, you pressed a tender kiss against his cheek. “I do.” You whispered, voice low and soft. “I care for you more than words can say.”

As your lips brushed against his cheek, a rush of warmth flooded Tech, dispelling the lingering shadows of doubt clouding his mind. He could scarcely believe that you felt the same way, that his clumsy attempt at expressing his affection had been met with such genuine reciprocation. It was a moment he had longed for.

With a soft exhale, Tech’s shy smile turned more confident and he reached out, his hand finding yours as if drawn by an invisible thread, fingers intertwining in a gesture that spoke volumes.

There, in the quiet solitude of the cockpit, amidst the endless expanse of hyperspace, something beautiful bloomed.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @sverdgeir

#Soaring's Tours Follower Celebration #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x you #tbb tech #tech x reader #tech x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch

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cdreambur · 6 months

Text

space au where professional pilot dream is hired for a transport flight across half the galaxy.

his employer even supplies the ship, a new model made by reputable manufacturer soot corp. and "one of only six released prototypes", as the guy proudly tells him.

dream's not complaining, considering the sleek design, strong motors, and impressive technology on the control panel.

with the first half of the pay deposited in his account and his cargo stored, dream boards, sinking into the surprisingly plush seat of the captain's chair.

flipping the switch to activate the controls, he startles when a sudden light flickers to life on his right, bathing the cockpit in a bright silver blue glow.

when dream turns to it, a face is staring back, and it's only now that he realizes that he's looking at a hologram.

"hi, i'm wil, your assistant navigator." the hologram says before smiling brightly at dream.

it takes the form of a young man, probably around dream's age, with wild brown curls, warm eyes, freckled cheeks, and a simple black sweater.

dream just blinks at it, righting himself in his chair as wil explains, "i've already received the coordinates to your destination. do you want me to tell you and let you figure out the route or should i guide you step by step?"

his head is spinning, surprised that the artificial intelligence already knows where to go when dream didn't get more than an "a small, relatively populous planet in the outer ring" from his employer. though this might explain why he didn't go into detail about it.

he clears his throat, finally smiling back at wil.

"i'd appreciate it if you tell me."

finally starting the motors, he listens as wil rattles off the coordinates, already mapping out the best way in his head. it isn't an area he's been in before, but he's visited planets close to it, and while it's a relatively long trip of around a week, it's also not a very complicated one.

when he voices the thought, wil agrees, right before rambling about all the reasons why the region is a lesser visited part of the galaxy and how that's good for them.

they're in hyperspace already when the talking eventually stops, wil blinking up at dream.

"wait. what the fuck is your name?"

the question is so blunt and out of the blue that dream can't stop himself from snorting, finally introducing himself. he tells wil a bit about his home planet, about his family, and how he came to be a pilot.

and it's nice.

the artificial intelligence is a surprisingly good listener, with a great sense of humor and a seemingly endless supply of little jokes and quips.

dream thinks he's going to enjoy the week of travel.

the days pass way too quickly. dream spends almost all of his time in the cockpit, talking to wil, who he's learned a lot about.

wil goes by he, and he likes to sing. he's sarcastic and enjoys telling stories. he knows a lot about the universe and loves nothing more than talking about it.

and dream's getting way too attached to an artificial intelligence bound to a ship that doesn't belong to him.

it doesn't get better when they reach the orbit of their destination.

because it definitely doesn't look like the planet dream's employer described to him.

sure, it's in the outer ring. but it's not small, and not populous either. in fact, it seems as if no one lives on the giant green planet.

"are you sure this is the right place?" he asks wil, doubtful as he looks down at the hilly surface.

"yes." wil answers softly, and there's something in his voice that dream can't quite place.

he pushes it to the back of his mind when the hologram starts directing him to the landing site.

it's... weird.

the place where they finally touch down is a flat area covered in green stems dream has never seen before, close to a majestic mansion that reminds dream of the strange, intricate glass structures you can find on diare.

something doesn't feel right, and dream voices as much to wil.

"i'm sorry." the hologram replies.

dream whips around to him, finding wil unable to meet his eyes and his expression hidden behind his disheveled curls.

"what do you mean?"

and when he doesn't get a response, "wil, what the fuck do you mean?"

wil swallows.

"if you want answers, go to room 16. and for the the small chance that someone asks why you're there, tell them you followed hullar's orders."

then, he flickers one last time before disappearing.

and dream is left staring at the console, torn between finding out what's going on and leaving to complete his job.

as always, his curiosity wins in the end.

he crosses the short distance between the ship and the house, surprised when he finds the door unlocked. no alarm bells start ringing when he steps into a grand foyer, and there aren't any people either. the whole building seems empty and unprotected, but there's a creepy air hanging over it that doesn't quite allow dream to relax.

two doors lead further into the mansion, and dream picks the left one at random, peeking inside to find a long corridor with numbered doors, all of them a strange off-white color.

the numbers start with two though, so he closes it again, walking over to the other door.

the hallway that lies behind it looks identical to the first one, but this time, the numbers start with zero and thus seem more promising to dream.

he closes the door behind him when he enters the deserted corridor, taking a slow, deep breath before he starts walking.

the even numbers are on the left side, and room number 16 is almost at the end of the hallway, looking just like the rest of it.

dream's hand shakes a little when he reaches for the handle, but he pushes it open without any hesitation.

on the other side stands wil.

he looks exactly like he did on the ship; messy curls, light brown eyes, smooth skin, a black sweater.

but this time, he's real. a person made of flesh and blood, just like dream.

dream doesn't know if he wants to punch or hug him.

"what the hell?" he chokes out as the door silently shuts behind him.

wil smiles sheepishly at him before ducking his head, curls falling into his face in the way dream has seen so often in the last week.

"hey dream." he whispers, and dream almost flinches at the sound of his voice, so similar and yet so different from the slightly distorted version of it he's heard over the last few days.

"what the hell." dream repeats, softer and a little more composed. he straightens his shoulders, letting out a deep sigh as he crosses his arms.

"care to explain?"

it comes out a bit more demanding than he wanted to, but in his defence, this is probably the strangest situation he's ever been in and he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

wil doesn't seem to take offense, although he does shrink a little bit further into himself.

"i'm really sorry." he apologizes again, tone the same as when he said it on the ship. but this time, he doesn't disappear after, instead continuing, "my name is wilbur, wilbur soot."

dream's arms fall to his side at that, the name registering immediately. however, he doesn't get the chance to think about it as wil goes on with his explanation.

"my father is the founder and chief engineer of soot corp., and as you may know, they're the leading company on the market when it comes to spaceships. with that comes a lot of envy and a bunch of very ambitious rivals."

wil finally looks up at him, a soft, sad smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"i'm my father's only child. and people know that hurting me would hurt him. so he keeps me here, keeps me safe. but i don't want to live in a golden cage anymore."

his expression shifts, something so sweet and hopeful in his eyes that dream has to hold himself back from pulling wil into his arms.

"i wanna see the universe. i wanna see the planets and the stars and the galaxies i've only ever read about. i wanna be free."

and dream knows how this is going to end, knows what he's going to ask before he actually does.

"can you take me with you?"

and how, how is dream supposed to say no to someone with so much wonder twinkling in their eyes, someone with so much passion and curiosity for what the universe has to offer.

he nods.

the smile that takes over wil's face is blinding and steals dream's breath for a moment. he basks in it, just for a small second, before he reciprocates it, gesturing towards the door.

wil nods, and together, they leave the room, and then the hallway, and then the house.

there are still no people, still no alarm bells, but the creepy atmosphere seems to disappear in wil's presence, leaving nothing but a content warmth in dream's chest.

it doesn't take them long to reach the ship, and dream sinks into the captain's chair with a satisfied sigh, something that makes wil giggle from where he's tucked himself into the co-pilot seat.

starting the controls, he expects hologram wil to come back to life, but the spot where he usually appeared stays empty.

"huh?" dream mutters to himself before turning to wil.

"where's the artificial intelligence? even if i found you, it should still be here."

wil's sheepish grin returns.

"you weren't talking to an artificial intelligence. you were talking to me. to get away, i had to find a way to contact someone, and since my father developed these prototypes here, i had the chance to secretly build in a video messenger."

dream blinks, stunned.

"so... everything hologram wil said and did was... you? it was real?"

wil nods, and something in dream settles at that confirmation.

because it's strange. theoretically, they only met twenty minutes ago. but dream already knows how wil sounds when he's tired and how much he loves constellations and what his favorite food is. and in turn, wil already knows who dream's best friends are and which planets he likes visiting the most and which ships he would love to fly.

wil is real, and he's here, and he's going to stay.

dream grins to himself when he starts the motors and lifts off, leaving the planet behind and entering space in no time.

stabilizing them somewhere where they're not going to be in the way of other ships, he turns to wil, planning to talk about their next moves.

he's stopped by the sight of wil curled up in the chair, knees pulled up to his chest as he looks out the window, sparkles in his eyes and the softest smile imaginable on his face as he watches the stars.

dream chuckles, quietly making a promise to himself.

he's going to show wil the universe.

#probably the most stupid idea i've ever had but my god was it fun #typed this out in like three and a half hours and it's now 3am #i need to sleep lmao #dreambur #c!dreambur #madduo #au ideas

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