#The Re-Entry Minimization

[stardustrebels]

Fathoms Beyond- Chapter 1: Full Fathom Five

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader Rating: 18+ / MDNI WC: 3.5k Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Next Chapter

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, tension, slow burn, hurt/comfort, post-season 2 (The Mandalorian), canon-divergent, razor crest never gets destroyed but Din does have the Darksaber. Mild language, emotional/ mental health issues, guilt, depression and trauma. No use of y/n, minimal physical descriptions of reader— she has hair that she can braid. 

A/N: This is a follow-on fic from Fathoms Between (my Din x f!reader angsty WTTS entry). That story broke my heart a little, and I’m bringing these two back for closure. For me. For them. For everyone! This will be a HEA, but man, it’ll take a while to get there, so strap in— it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! If you’re here and you’re reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart, it really means a lot. I hope you enjoy!

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

The trading post on Vath was a scab on the planet’s surface— filthy, sprawling, and thick with the stench of sweat and rot. What little daylight broke through the clouds was swallowed by the rust flaking from the towers clawing toward the sky. Nobody here was a native. Travellers weaved through traders hawking wares, each one adrift. Like animals too wilded to have a flock, too feral to be herded. None more so than the Mandalorian. 

His steps were cautious as he stalked the outskirts of the throng, hidden behind ragged market stall canopies and stretches of overgrown foliage, the stems twisting from the ground gnarled and knotted. He walked as if the armour held him together more than his own bones. If anyone had dared to look closely, they would have seen a broken man. 

An apostate. 

The word stung like a wound that wouldn’t close. The Creed had been stripped from him with nothing but words, but they might as well have ripped his armour from him and cleaved him in two. He was a pretender, a man without a face and now little reason to hide it other than shame and habit. He’d told himself that there were places he could go where old words and choices meant nothing to anyone but him. He could rebuild, re-group. Find a way to make a life that was better than before. But he felt the weight of his beskar more every day, along with the ache of a waning sense of purpose. 

He hadn’t realised just how much of it had been tied to Grogu. And now— without him— the galaxy felt emptier. A stretch of dust-choked worlds like this one, one job bleeding in to the next. His only ambition now was to scrape enough credits together to keep the Razor Crest running and to make sure he could take care of the kid. To be able to still offer him a home if he ever came back. 

And if he didn’t—

Din pushed the thought away, clenching his fists until the leather strained. Dwelling on what he couldn’t change never got him anywhere. All he could do was what he did best. Find the bounty. Finish the job. 

He scanned the crowd from behind his visor— picking out those eyeing up his beskar like they hadn’t decided yet whether it was worth the trouble of trying to steal. His latest target was part of some local gang, wanted for a myriad of crimes by a substantial number of people. 

He reached for the fob at his waist. A tap, and the signal blinked to life, red light stuttering through the haze. He turned, about to step out and follow the ping when he heard it— laughter. Bright, unfettered, and achingly familiar. 

Din’s blood ran cold. The fob in his hand shook and his helmet turned toward the sound before he could even think. A compulsion. A pull like gravity. 

He scanned the crowd, every detail suddenly sharper than he thought was possible, the world narrowing through the HUD. And then he saw you. 

Through the press of bodies and the shifting dust, standing at a weapons stall, smiling. The same smile he remembered— quick, unguarded— but it sat differently on your face. You looked altogether sharper. Your posture was drawn tight, shoulders squared. Your clothes were well-kept, and you were armed, more than you ever used to be. Twin blasters at your hips, a knife strapped to your thigh, no doubt another in your boot. You looked stronger than before. Healthier. Alive. 

You’d survived, despite everything, and whatever had happened next had brought you here. For a moment, he just stood there, dumbstruck. Blinking, like he could clear the sight of you from his vision. The crowd swelled and ebbed around you, the flow of bodies making your image flicker in and out of view like something conjured by his guilt, but you were solid and real, leaning over the weapons stall to inspect something the merchant was holding up for you. 

A man approached you— broad-shouldered and rough-cut. You greeted him with a smile and he gave you a look that bordered on admiration. 

The sight made something in Din’s chest twist.

You’d found camaraderie, perhaps more. A family, maybe. Something more than he had.

A clan of your own.

The realisation crawled beneath his skin, itchy and sharp. The latest in a long line of uncomfortable emotions he’d recently been forced to face. 

The man leaned in and murmured something that wiped the smile from your face. Din’s attention sharpened. His visor fixed on you, its scanning capabilities straining to pick up details. His hand drifted to the side of his helmet, activating the audio receptor. The signal faded in and out as it honed in, sifting through the ambient noise until the conversation broke through. 

“…I figured he might be with you,” the man said, his eyes narrowing as his easy smile disappeared. 

“We spoke yesterday,” you replied after a shake of the head. Din’s breath only caught a little when your voice reached his ears. “But I haven’t heard from him since. Didn’t he tell you he was chasing another buyer before circling back? You know how he gets when he’s close to locking something down.” 

When the man didn’t reply you shrugged and fixed him with a look. “If he was in trouble, Ramus, don’t you think you’d be the first to know? He’d never contact me before his second-in-command.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

The man—Ramus— scoffed and shifted his weight. “Something feels off,” he muttered. “There’s been no word. No ping, no comms. It’s making the others jumpy.” 

You gave the man a tight smile and turned to him then, leaning back against the stall. The move looked relaxed, but Din saw the tension in it, even from a distance — the way your posture straightened and your fingers curled and tightened around the metal lip of the stall tabletop. 

“The others are always jumpy,” you said with a smirk. “There’s no need to overreact. He’s not missing, he’s just running late.”

Ramus stayed quiet, scanning your face for any hint of doubt. You looked up at him, and rolled your eyes at his expression. “You’re acting like it’s never happened before.” You said with a breathy laugh. 

“This feels different,” Ramus replied. 

You shook your head defiantly. “He’s fine,” you said, too quickly, before you caught yourself. 

Din didn’t miss the way your voice cracked as you said it. You turned away from Ramus and back to the weapons on the stall. “Jarek’s always fine.” 

The name hit Din like a strike to the chest plate. Jarek. 

It was the same name as the bounty he’d been hunting through five systems and three false leads. Every whisper Din had followed about this man had led him here. To this. To the unbelievable re-appearance of you and the possibility of his bounty on a silver platter. You hadn’t found a clan, he realised bitterly. You’d ended up a member of a gang led by a wanted criminal.

He felt something within himself pull taut— His instinct washing back over him, refocussing his attention. It smothered the ache of seeing you and he welcomed it. He was razor sharp now that he had a lead. He could work through his feelings later.

Ramus disappeared in to the crowd after a mumbled goodbye. You watched him go, jaw tight. 

“Dank farrik,” you muttered, already reaching for your comlink. 

You ducked your head, shielding the device as you called Jarek’s frequency. Static. You tried again— still nothing. No reply. Just dead air where his voice should have been. 

Your guts twisted. 

You moved fast, winding your way out of the market lanes and back toward the edge of the trading post where the junker yard loomed— a graveyard of forgotten ships, a jagged blot on the already horrid landscape.

The workshop was tucked behind the shell of a gutted freighter, half-collapsed under its own weight. You keyed in your access code and the metal door stuttered open with a hiss. You let it close and lock behind you, leaning against it while you took a moment to breathe. 

It was quiet inside other than the hum of cooling units and the occasional groan of shifting scrap outside. It was familiar. Safe. 

You slid in to the stool at the workbench, sweeping tools and parts aside to access the embedded terminal. You brought up the locator protocols with quick, practiced motions and scrolled through the options— linked devices, known frequencies, encrypted paths. 

Jarek’s ID wasn’t there. 

You tried again. Manually. You knew the string of numbers by heart, burned in to your brain from years of running ops together. 

Still nothing. The ping was dark. Shut off.

You blinked down at the screen and your stomach dropped. Jarek’s encrypted location had never been shut off. You had one too, and no one else knew the codes other than the two of you. You always kept the ping on. It was rule number one. 

Your heart was thudding now. It wasn’t a coincidence, and it sure as hell wasn’t an accident. There was no other way it would have happened—Jarek had turned his location ping off deliberately. 

You leaned back in the chair, exhaling through your nose, trying to fight the panic creeping up your spine. Think. Think.

You could tell the others. Say he’d gone dark on purpose. But you weren’t sure how they’d take it— especially the ones who still didn’t fully trust him. Ramus would probably be fine. He might even try to help you, he wasn’t Jarek’s second for nothing. But some of the others? Jarek hadn’t been leader long enough for them not to turn on him. Or you by association.

You dragged a hand down your face, cursing again under your breath. This meant that there was really only one option left, and you hated it. 

Tetherline protocol. The rendezvous point. 

The one he’d made you promise never to mention. Not to the others. Not even to Ramus. If Jarek really was in trouble, that’s where he’d go. You never thought it would have come to that.

You took a breath and shook out your arms, trying to shrug residual jitters before you worked through the stages of the plan. You recited the steps to yourself methodically, just as you had so many times across so many plants over the years, ever since you’d met Jarek on Lothal. You’d never had to initiate it before. 

Gather the gear, secure the comms, wipe the tech. 

Easy enough, you’d always thought, hypothetically. Facing the reality of it made your stomach twist. You looked around the small workshop. It had started to feel like somewhere you could have settled. A cramped space surrounded by scarred durasteel, sleeping on a cot where you spent your days fixing tech to sell. You hadn’t realised until now how achingly similar it was to a life you’d had before. Another life you had left behind. You hadn’t had a choice then. Although, you thought bitterly, staring down at the terminal where Jarek’s location ping should have been, you didn’t really have a choice now either. 

You stood and crossed the workshop, crouching beside the small footlocker tucked beneath your cot. The hinges creaked as it opened, the sound sharp in the quiet. You pulled out your pack, laying it open on the cot before you began gathering what you’d need. Clothes first— a couple of spare shirts, pants and underwear: the basics. You packed in the jumpsuit you wore while you were working next, taking it from the hook by the door. You rolled it up and patted it fondly before shoving a med kit next to it— compact but stocked, just in case. Rations, water tabs and an old encrypted data pad came next, wiped and reset to factory protocols. You stuffed everything down and buckled the flap closed. 

Weapons next: you stripped down your blasters to do a quick field check. Power cells fully charged, no carbon scoring, grips solid. You re-holstered them at your hips and made sure the blade at your thigh was secure, as well as the one hidden in your boot. 

The shelves where you kept the comms were behind your workbench. The receivers and transmitters were all neatly tagged, organised by range. You took only what you needed— short range, single-channel, narrowband frequency. Harder to trace. You twisted the comlink in your hand before slipping it in to your jacket pocket, the strap already keyed to your encryption. 

Then you crouched by the bench and reached beneath it, fingers finding the loose panel you’d slotted in to the underside years ago. You pried it open and pulled out a small, flat chip encased in cast-plast— dull grey, nearly weightless.

It didn’t look like much, but the data stick held your entire savings. A secured link to an encrypted amount of credits routed through three outer rim banking droids and buried so deep in old InterGalactic banking code that even slicers would struggle to sniff it out. Something that Jarek had taught you— hide everything. Trust nothing. 

You slid the chip in to a pouch at your belt, sealing it tight. 

If this really was a run, you’d need every credit you could get. 

Next was the tech. 

You moved back to the terminal, not bothering to sit on the stool, and brought up the system logs. You wiped them. All of them. No traces, no coordinates, no call signs. Even the search you’d made for Jarek’s ping— gone. When you were done, you shut the system down completely and pulled the auxiliary power line from the wall. Let anyone else try to boot it up. They’d find nothing. 

Your eyes swept the workshop one last time, over the pile of broken tech by the door, the jacket with the hole burned in to the sleeve that you’d always meant to mend, the dent in the corner of the workbench where you’d slammed a hydrospanner during one particularly bad morning. 

It felt strange, knowing you might never see this place again. 

You shouldered your pack and clicked off the main light. The soft red emergency glow illuminated the space just enough to guide your way to the hatch. You paused there, fingers hovering over the panel and took a deep breath. 

You weren’t sure what was going on, but if Jarek was going to go down, you were going to make sure he didn’t go down alone. 

You keyed the lock and slipped out into the fading daylight. 

The air was cooler now than it had been earlier, the heat bleeding away with the sun— its rays failing to break through the haze and cloud as it edged close to the horizon. You slipped past the perimeter wall and crossed the ridge line where the terrain changed. 

This zone was a scar. 

Twisted metal and splintered duracrete poked from the earth like broken teeth. An old Imperial facility— or what was left of it— lay sprawled ahead in jagged, corroded ruins across the valley below. You stepped through the remnants of old barricades and past watchtowers, now long collapsed and half-swallowed by time and nature. There was nothing of value here, it had either been picked through or broken by vandals, hell-bent on taking out their frustration on the Empire with whatever weapon they could get their hands on. Some of the structures beyond still stood tall enough to cast long, skeletal silhouettes against the amber-stained sky. 

The silence here was uncanny. Even the wind felt reluctant to disturb the ghosts. 

This place used to be an auxiliary depot, if memory served. Jarek had told you once, back when you’d first set foot on Vath, about how the Imps had pulled out of this side of the planet in a hurry, their retreat sloppy and panicked after a well-placed rebel strike. The pride in his voice had made you tear up at the time, now the memory of it only served to drive you forward. 

Your boots crunched over brittle ground as you walked, weaving through the fields of debris. Thick cables snaked over the ground like veins. You passed by a busted TIE wing half-buried in rock where it had crashed, the viewport shattered and blackened by fire. A faded Imperial cog still clung to its hull. You didn’t look at it. You didn’t need to. You’d seen enough of them in your time. 

You passed more of them on the way— plastered over anything able to be branded. They lingered in your peripheral and made the air feel heavy. You wondered, as you often did, how many other people still carried the weight of the war on their backs, like you did. You adjusted your grip on your pack and kept moving. The rendezvous spot wasn’t far. 

It had taken you and Jarek three weeks to find it back when you’d followed him here— a transport hangar, accessible only after you’d cleared the piles of rubble. You’d turned it in to a bolt-hole that no one else knew about. Stashed a ship here. It was a place to vanish to— to get away, if it ever came to that. 

You’d joked at the time that it was your own private war bunker. He hadn’t laughed. 

You slid down the edge of a broken embankment and landed lightly, soft dust puffing around your boots. The entry point was ahead— the opening jutting out of the landscape like a gaping maw, crates scattered around it like tiny islands among the dust. You scanned the hangar— there was no sign of life. The ship wasn’t powered up and nothing had been moved. Jarek wasn’t here. 

The realisation hit you like a blaster bolt. It was the first time you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that something had happened to him. You sat on the edge of a crate and rubbed your eyes. 

You reached in to your pocket, pulled out the short-range receiver and flicked it on. It was already tuned to the channel you needed. 

“Jarek, it’s me. I’ve initiated Tetherline protocol. Nothing on the ping. Call me back when you get this.” You hesitated before releasing the transmission. Then added, softer. “I hope you’re okay.”

You ended the call and waited. 

Nothing. 

You set the receiver down, leaned back and stared at the sky. Time passed. Slowly. The light faded through the last amber hues of daylight and in to the inky depths of dusk, plunging the hangar in to cold and shadow. 

Your leg bounced restlessly as you scanned the perimeter. You reached for one of the ration bars in your pack and forced yourself to chew, but it tasted like ash. You stood and began to pace. You checked the perimeter, then the comlink again. Still nothing. 

You didn’t know how long you’d wait. A couple of hours? All night? A few days?

What came after? Where would you even go?

You hadn’t thought that far ahead when you’d left the workshop. Tetherline protocol had always relied on Jarek meeting you here— he’d never allowed any discussion on the possibility of the contrary. 

You let your thoughts wander. They drifted to Lothal. To the first time you’d met Jarek. To everything that had come after. To all the ways you’d come to trust him more than anyone. 

He’d been cocky back then. He had a reckless grin and a stupid sense of humour, and he’d offered you a spot on his salvaging crew before you’d even worked up the courage to ask him. You worked on low-end jobs for a contractor that barely paid, picking clean the bones of an old Imperial installation outside Capital City. You’d hated him at first. He was too loud. Too charming. Too quick to call you Starshine. 

But then, two weeks in, you’d seen him jump in to a burning wreck to pull a kid out after a fuel line had ignited during a job. He’d run in with zero hesitation while everyone else panicked about what to do.

He earned your respect one fire, one bad job, one near-death experience at a time. And somewhere between pulling rusted panels from a wrecked star destroyer hull and racing speeders in to the city to blow off steam, he’d earned your loyalty too. 

And now he was gone. 

Maybe not forever,  but the longer it took for him to show, the panic twisting in your gut grew harder to ignore. You reached for your blaster without really thinking. Nothing had changed— you couldn’t see anything approaching, but the hair at the back of your neck stood on end. It was a feeling you hoped you’d never feel again.

You were being watched. 

Next Chapter

[wondroustailsofffxiv]

There is a re-occurring quest of sorts in Final Fantasy XIV called ‘Wondrous Tails’, and it is given to you in Idyllshire by a young Miqo’te named Khloe Aliapoh. Specifically, she gives you an empty journal and asks you to write down the stories of your past and future adventures so that she can share them with everyone she meets!

By re-completing past content, you can earn stickers in order to make lines across a card in a style similar to bingo, with each finished line netting all sorts of prizes once the journal is turned in. In much the same way, ‘Wondrous Tails of FFXIV’ is a multi-month event that utilizes a prompt-filled bingo card format in order to encourage participants to tell the stories in an environment with minimal restrictions and maximum possibilities.

This event is open to both visual and written media, and anyone that participates with at least one valid entry is entered for a raffle that takes place after the end of the event. However, participants do not need to worry about raffle entries or its few restrictions if all they'd like to do is take part and have fun!

> The next iteration of Wondrous Tails of FFXIV will start on March 15th and end on June 15th! <

For more information about the event, start/end dates and whatnot, please check out the links found below!

About | FAQ | Rules | Bingo Card Template | AO3 | Carrd | Picker Wheel Links

[not-poignant]

This is a weird question I’m sure. How much does Arden and Kadek charge for scenes? I guess I’m trying to understand their income. I’m assuming Kadek makes a lot more money than Arden since he owns several clubs and is more tenured.

Hi anon,

I'm not sure! Except that I'm sure it's been very variable over time.

It's definitely not at all the primary source of Kadek's income. His biggest income source would be subscription access to all the classes he teaches, and also flow-through funding from entry fees and course fees at the clubs he hosts.

When Kadek gets paid in kink, it's not as a professional dominant, it's as a rigger to host workshops at ateliers, where the atelier is likely to pay or partially fund his flights and accommodation, etc. Or workshop fees are expected to cover that. What he does is extremely different to what Arden does. He's not really opening himself up for like, clients who pay him to dominate them at all. He's not charging by the hour for that because he doesn't do that.

But Kadek's always about a smart hustle, and to him that was creating online courses at a moderate/minimal subscription fee, in all aspects of kink, and establishing one of the best databases online for it (similar to Shibari Study now).

He makes a fair amount of money from the stock market and financial investments too. He probably makes the least from the bookshop (which is more like a novelty project for him).

Arden on the other hand charges a sliding scale based off a person's income/circumstances for professional domination of around $200-500 per hour, as he's often tipped very well by clients, he could sometimes easily pull $20,000 in a week without working anywhere near to full-time hours (which gives him time to teach classes, work - as a novelty project - at Cosy, do judo etc.). A lot of that is down to his level of expertise though. Starting pro doms are not charging this much, but the ones who have a reputation and are experience are definitely making bank.

Kadek has much more money than Arden, but he's older, and he's also been raised to invest broadly and widely, and also work less for more. His parents are financially savvy and he enjoys being good at what he does. If he quit every job he had tomorrow, he could survive on stock investment alone and occasionally selling stocks / re-investing alone.

Kadek lives literally like 1-2 streets away from Crielle and the An Fnwy estate, he's loaded.

[tinsnip]

Ok, so bmouse says WIPs should be finished in honour of Garashir on Lower Decks, and I agree.

I'm writing again! It's nice but also work! If you like my Garashir, you might like what's below the read-more. Spoilers for "The Smallest Things" and this is a rough draft.

Dear Ezri,

I hardly know where to start.

I suppose I could start a week ago, when I moved into Garak’s home in Kardasi’or, but that seems to gloss over a few details.

Perhaps instead I’ll go back to two weeks ago when I arrived here on Cardassia and immediately got arrested for harassment of a senior official & resisting arrest. Really, it was immediately. About two hours elapsed from Cardassian soil to Cardassian jail. This is where you can pretend to be surprised, by the way. I was surprised: two hours is a new record for me.

Garak’s just passed by and has asked that I put in a hello, and has also charmingly added that given that it was me, he would have expected the arrest in closer to one hour. Ho ho. He hasn’t changed.

Actually, he has changed. But I don’t know what to say about that yet.

I’ve only been here in person for two weeks, and we’ve seen each other surprisingly little over that period. It turns out that being a person of seemingly some importance in the local government eats up a great deal of his time. He doesn’t sleep much.

But he does make time to cook dinner for us - actually cook! (He won’t let me, as I’m awful at it, which I agree with wholeheartedly.) We have a very small replicator, honestly quite the step down from even the worst standard repli on DS9 - but it can spit out a reasonable variety of ingredients I don’t recognize, and even a sort of facsimile of a tomato, which Garak managed to turn into something surprisingly close to a nice spicy arrabiatta. That was a treat (once I managed to forget that the pasta was some kind of fungus). And I’m getting used to a mostly-strict standard Cardassian breakfast and lunch regimen, as Garak’s not around when I wake up (or for most of the day), and the replicator’s pre-made selection is minimal. And bland. Fish soup is prevalent. Lots of little dry cakes. Not all awful, though - have you ever heard of ikri buns? 

I keep putting this letter down and picking it up again. It’s so hard to put how I’m feeling into words.

I’m happy. I’m so happy. I can’t express it. I’m warm through with it. But I know myself, I know that’s new love. (It’s love! He loves me, Ezri! And I love him, God help me. I’m so in love.) And I know new love fades, and I know things get in the way of love, and I know I don’t see him much, and here I am on a planet that doesn’t like me much - a criminal record after two hours, remember - and also I stand out, and it’s not good for him to have a partner that stands out for a variety of reasons, especially a sort of quasi-Starfleet Human physician - not so much not good for him as not good for his position, which is him. You know it. You know him, and how he feels about Cardassia. You know what it means for him to choose me, despite what it could do to his possible influence here.

You knew better than I did.

And yet here I am in his house, and I’m very happy, and I’m also afraid.

I thought about crossing out that last bit, or at least rewording it, but it’s true. And anyway, I don’t need to watch my words with you, do I? I think you’re the only person I know who could understand what I’m getting at. Miles barely knows about any of this - he’ll be flattened when I next write to him and casually drop my new location (and the letter back will burn off my eyebrows). And Rijal doesn’t like Garak, and is also quite upset with me for leaving—

I’m on indefinite leave, by the way. I’ve taken leave from Starfleet Medical (hence the ‘quasi’ above). I can apply for re-entry at any time within the next two years, the form letter assures me, as I’ve not been discharged or formally resigned my commission. My former duty spot is, of course, not guaranteed, but they promise they’ll make every effort to accommodate my preferences. Once two years are up, it gets a bit more complicated. Manageable, but complicated.

So here I am, not responsible to anyone and far from what was home, without much of anyone to talk to except Garak. And I find I can’t really talk to him about this.

Ezri, I am terrified.

Everything has changed for me. I still can’t believe how this started out with something so small, with a letter and with you leaving (and I still miss you, by the way, and hope you’re well and happy, forgive my parentheses as I’m a bit all over the place). And then things got extremely complicated. A year ago I could never have predicted how things would change, how my life would suddenly seem to shrink to something so small, and then be so weirdly… expanded.

I think I have some idea how you felt when you were joined with Dax. If that’s not too presumptuous, which it probably is, but… I could never have imagined myself doing this, a year ago. I thought I could see my life rolling out comfortably in front of me.

And now this.

I’ve leapt before I looked, as you wisely knew I would. And I told myself I’d sort things out when I landed. But instead I seem to still be falling, with no idea where or when I’m going to land. And you told me so.

But, and please forgive my tortured metaphor, he’s here with me, and we’re falling together, and I know I’m being sappily romantic and this probably won’t end well, and I know I’m scared and he’s scared too even though he’d never admit it, and I also know that I am damned well going to try.

Cardassia can take all the shots it wants at me. I’m ready. Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway, right? (Garak is now reading over my shoulder, and he says that no, that is not bravery, that is stupidity. He’s also put his arms around me, so I suppose my stupidity is either expected or forgiven.) I hope I can find a way to practice medicine here, but if that’s not what’s needed of me right now, then all right, I’ll adapt. Right now Garak says our best bet for this to all work out, politically and for the two of us, is for me look harmless and ornamental and not at all dangerous (I will never forgive you for the way you’re grinning). So I’m staying at home, and I’m reading, and I’m learning. When I go out I’m on his arm. I’ve done two public appearances at local reading-groups, and I’ve been a guest on a talk show, which has already invited me back. I’ve been told my looks are exotic and my smile is charming and I’m honestly one of the nicest Humans they’ve ever met, if one doesn’t mind the smell and the way we shed.

So I suppose in addition to giddily happy and stomach-churningly frightened, I’m also getting irritated.

This isn’t going to be easy, Ezri. Thank you for warning me. Thank you for telling me to be careful. And thank you for supporting me when you realized I was going to do whatever I wanted, no matter the consequences.

Perhaps in a year, when things settle down a bit, you could come visit? I could take you to see the Alik Dunes, not far from Kardasi’or. It’s a walkable distance from the furthest train stop, actually. They’re the site of the first successful regreening project in this area after the Fire. There’s a little tea shop, and an area where one can walk barefoot. The plants feel very good on one’s soles. Garak and I go there sometimes, and almost no one takes pictures. I think you’d like it.

I miss you. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re having grand adventures. I hope you can lend me a little courage as I start out on this one.

Best wishes, and all my love,

Julian Bashir

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

It's Called Murder, Baby!

A Scream x Stranger Things AU

Part III

Masterlist

This work will contain elements of violent themes (depictions of crime scenes, murders, etc) and smut. This is a slasher fic!

Synopsis: A string of gruesome murders takes a toll on the small town of Hawkins. Friends and family start looking like suspects making it hard to trust those who you are closest to.

Chapter Summary: Another murder leads to revisiting the past leaving Steve and Jim with more questions.

18+ Only! MDNI!

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. AFAB!Reader. Graphic character deaths/murders - depictions of how they were found after the murder. A little bit of angst. No smut in this chapter!

Word Count: 5K

The station had gotten the frantic call from Chase’s girlfriend, barely making out her words over the high-pitched wails and sobs. Quite a shock to the system when the man who was supposed to pick her up for a date hadn’t shown up but was instead sitting in a puddle of his own blood when she found him.

She'd gone over to check in and likely give him a piece of her mind, only to find the lifeless body sprawled out on the kitchen floor.

Steve was the first on scene meeting said girlfriend at the front stoop. She was inconsolable at that point. He sat her in the front of the cruiser doing his best to calm her down before he made his way into the house, gun drawn and ready for anything.

The site of fresh blood and viscera strewn about haphazardly was becoming second nature now with three murders in the span of 48 hours.

The place was a bloodbath, but it looked like Chase had fought. Hard. Glass wear, dishes, anything you could picture from a kitchen cupboard was on the floor. From the looks of the blood splatter, it started by the back door, into the dining room and ultimately ending in the kitchen. The door had been busted in, forced entry.

He was slashed about a dozen different ways. Mostly superficial, the exact cause of death was a stab directly through the heart. Which was confirmed by the medical examiner the next day.

Chase was one of Jason's goons in high school and a real piece of shit. It wasn't surprising someone had an ax to grind with the hothead. Even in his older age the man never outgrew that temper.

By the time he cleared the house and re-looked at the crime scene, Hopper and Callahan had arrived with the paramedics for his girlfriend.

Steve set up the boundary with the caution tape and started directing traffic when the medical examiner finally rolled in to take the body.

There wasn’t much traffic out. People were on edge, rightly so. Staying behind the safety of locked doors that now seemed it wouldn't afford them much comfort.

He looked up in time to see a familiar van pulling down the street and slowing down enough that you caught his eye through the window. Of course, you wouldn’t listen to him and get home that evening, even with everything going on.

He shook his head and quickly looked away, mentally making a note to scold you first thing in the morning.

🔪

“Goddamnit,” Hopper forced out through gritted teeth. Hunched over his desk looking at the new case file. “Has this town gone insane?”

Steve was pressed right in beside him.

They'd gotten lucky this time. The presumed perpetrator had left a partial boot print, but they were no closer in figuring anything out.

“OK, so we’ve got three murders. All with the same manner of death. And all very similar to the death of Higgins 10 years ago. What the hell are we not seeing?” The older man took another cigarette, lighting it with a sigh. He took his seat, as Steve circled the desk looking at everything laid out before them.

There was no denying the similarities. Forced entry, the same type of murder weapon. The only difference is that Higgins was put on display after being moved from his home to the football field, like some kind of trophy. They wanted him to be seen.

“Why would someone go to all this trouble to be a copycat?” Steve pondered out loud. “Hop, what if…” Trailing off because he knew this would send him over the edge.

“What if? Spit it out, Harrington.” His patience was wearing thin.

“What if the wrong man is behind bars?” He met Jim's unamused glare. They'd both been implemental in putting away Henry Creel. These were strong accusations, even for just the two of them to be talking in private.

“Kid, watch it. We can't be speculating on that right now. You and I both know how much shit this would cause if we go down that road. That's something that can't be put back in the box once it's opened.” He sighed heavily before taking another drag.

“Steve, you helped with that case. It's what drew you to law enforcement but, I can't deny the fact that it's all too similar to ignore. Do you remember anything else back then? Anyone that had a grudge against Higgins? Against any of these kids? Anything to help us out?”

March 1986

The days leading up to his murder were like any other. Kids barreling down the halls, unruly jocks picking on those that they deemed nerds or outsiders. But Ronald Higgins always has his eye out for your boyfriend, Eddie. It’s as if he always had a bone to pick with him.

After first period ended, you were at your locker waiting for Eddie. Lost in thought and busy gathering your books when you felt someone grab your hips from behind.

You jumped with a squeak and quickly spun around, dropping everything you were holding in the process.

“Shit, sorry Y/N.” Steve laughed, bending down to help pick up your belongings.

“Steve, what the hell?” you hissed. “Why would you do that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d drop your shit like that.” He chuckled, placing the rest in your waiting arms, as you both stood up. “I guess I really didn’t think that one through.”

“It’s ok Stevie.” You beamed up at him, as he gave you his own crooked grin.

He leaned against the lockers as you turned back to rummage through yours.

“You, okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned, as he watched you.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” giving him your full attention, eyebrows knit with confusion.

Steve, your best friend since grade school, always worried about your wellbeing. Even while donning the crown during his “King Steve” era he always kept a close eye on you, much to Eddie’s dismay.

Your boyfriend could be very jealous, especially given your history. You and Steve were close. So close you two idiots took each other’s virginity just to see what all the hype was about, sophomore year. It was an uncomfortable first time to say the least but being friends made it easier.

You continued to see each other in secret until he started dating some cheerleader, throwing him in with the popular crowd and ultimately earning him that title but he never strayed far.

“Just making sure, if you ever need company if Ed isn’t home, you know you can come hang out with me.” He gave your shoulder a quick squeeze for reassurance.

“Well, don’t be shocked when I take you up on that offer.” You grinned at each other; his boyish smile always warmed your heart.

“Harrington,” a loud voice echoed down the hall. You both snapped your heads toward them.

“Hargrove,” he mumbled, moving to stand in front of you.

You watched Billy saunter up, coming close enough to the other boy that their noses almost touched. Hargrove, trying to be intimidating, only making an ass of himself.

“You know Harrington, you’ll never get back on top hanging around whorish trash like this.” Pointing to you over his shoulder, catching his eye just a moment before he looked back to Steve.

“Call her that again and see what happens,” Eddie's voice bellowed from behind you. Not noticing when he had walked up. Both boys seething from his lewd comment.

“The King and the Freak taking up for their slut. Go figure.” He laughed.

Steve suddenly pushed Billy, catching him off guard, as he fell to the ground.

Eddie quickly pulled you to move behind him, shielding you, in case any errant blows came his way.

Before Billy could register what happened, Principal Higgins yelled down the hall.

“Harrington, Hargrove, and of course, Mr. Munson. Why am I not surprised?” placing his hands on his hips fixing them each with a glare. “My office! NOW!”

Higgins was a short, plump man. Balding and wore thick glasses. He commanded authority around Hawkins High because outside of these walls he was nothing. An aging old coot who liked nothing better than to harass teenagers all day.

“Principal Higgins,” you spoke up. “Eddie didn't even do anything, and Steve was just protecting me. Billy started this whole thing.”

His eyes cut to you, with a sharp glare.

“Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N, but if I wanted your input, I would have asked for it. Now run along.” He motioned his hand, shooing you away.

“Boys, follow me.” He turned on his heel. Billy quickly rose and followed. Steve sent you a sly smirk and Eddie winked at you mouthing “that's my girl” before scurrying to catch up.

Finding yourself in between Eddie and Steve at lunch, they gave you the rundown. Both of them on the receiving end of after school detention the rest of the week, as did Billy.

“Well, that's total bullshit.” raising your voice.

“Sweetheart, don't worry yourself.” Eddie cooed. “I'm used to it.” Taking your hand, pulling it in and placing a soft kiss against your knuckles.

“Well, it still doesn't make it right. For either of you.” You glanced over to Steve, who was forking at his mashed potatoes.

“It's fine, Billy was out of line. We'd both take detention for you any day, right Munson?” He looked at Eddie expectantly.

“Of course,” Eddie replied, scooting close and planting a loud kiss on your cheek.

“Hey Freak!” Jason spat across from the three of you, gaining your attention. Most of the jocks didn't bother Steve, since he used to be a part of their crew.

“Heard you got Hargrove in trouble. You better hope this didn't ruin him playing on Friday.” He pointed an accusatory finger right at Eddie.

“Jason, fuck off.” You spoke up, standing across from him. “If anyone's to blame it's Billy.”

He was about to say something else but Eddie and Steve both stood on either side of you. He looked between the three of you and snapped his mouth shut.

“You really wanna go there, Carver?” Steve asked, narrowing his gaze looking down at the other boy.

Jason looked between the two taller boys before ultimately backing down.

“Whatever, not worth it.” He hissed as he walked away.

“Pussy.” You grumbled, causing both boys to chuckle as you all sat to finish your lunch.

“Let's try not to get you two suspended today.” You said, earning another laugh from both.

“Sweetheart, we can do that all on our own.” Eddie said, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

Steve and Eddie walked into the designated classroom for their detention that afternoon, expecting it to be them and Billy. Henry Creel was also in the corner, to himself like any other day.

Henry was a loner, a lost sheep as Eddie would say. Eddie tried to be friendly with most anyone, but he truly had a soft heart for the outcasts. Most people steered clear of Henry because of his nature. He was quiet, and a little unsettling.

Not much surprise to anyone, Billy skipped because he had basketball practice and of course, they let him slide.

They took their seats. Nothing of note happened until it got near the end of the hour.

Henry had been silent this entire time up until the last 5 minutes. He started muttering to himself.

Steve and Eddie looked at each other before slowly turning back to look at him. He was staring out the window, they couldn’t tell what he was saying but he kept repeating it.

“You good back there, bud?” Eddie spoke up, as Steve shot him a sideways glance before looking back to Creel.

Henry’s head snapped toward them. His eyes were dark, cold. Showing no emotion within.

He looked between them, as if he didn’t know who had spoken to him, but he started to get up from his chair.

“I have to go home; he’s going to get what’s coming to him.” He murmured, pulling his jacket tight, crossing his arms over his body as he walked out of the door. Both boys couldn’t pull their eyes away, as the teacher yelled after him to no avail. He was gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Steve finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know, but it didn’t sound like anything good.” Eddie replied.

They were dismissed soon after.

The next morning, Eddie picked you up for school, late as usual. He'd haul ass just to get the first period on time. Yours was journalism, so your teacher didn't mind you being late as long as the paper went out in time.

“Where’d you get off to last night? I came by but Wayne said you hadn’t made it home yet.” You asked, kissing his cheek as you sat down in the passenger seat of his van.

“Hmmm? I just had to do a few things for Rick.” He responded, barely looking at you.

“Eddie, you need to stop selling for him. It’s going to get you into more trouble than it’s worth.” You chided, buckling up as he headed down the road.

“Yeah, I know. Just until graduation, promise.” He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips.

As you pulled into the school parking lot, police cruisers were situated at the front of the building. Blue lights blazing, keeping everyone out.

“What the hell’s all this?” you asked out.

Eddie parked beside Steve’s car. He was already out leaning against it watching along with the rest of the student body and faculty.

You rolled down the window as he strolled up to talk to you both.

“What’s going on?” You asked, squinting against the sunlight in your face, trying to see anything out the windows.

“Someone killed Principal Higgins.” He said flatly.

“What? That’s awful.”

“Uh, yeah, apparently they strung him up on the goal post. A couple of guys coming in early for practice found him. Said he was uh… gutted.” He scratched at his brow.

“What the hell?” Your hand shot to your mouth in shock.

Eddie was unusually quiet, taking another smoke from his pack and throwing it back to the dash.

“Hey Ed, you remember how weird Creel was acting yesterday?” Steve asked him.

“Yeah, he got something to do with it?” Taking another draw, letting the smoke curl up and away from his face.

“I don’t know, think we should say something to the police?” He chewed his lip. Eddie didn’t take his eyes from the cruiser the entire time he’d been sitting here.

“I don’t know man. I mean, you can if you wanna. Don’t think I’ll go snitching on him for a little outburst.”

“Yeah, right. It’s just odd timing…” He trailed off, looking back over to the school as the front door swung open.

Chief Deputy Hopper walked out first, followed by the gurney with what was presumably Higgins zipped in the black body bag.

The entire lot was quiet, watching as they loaded him into the van.

As soon as they’d left the faculty made the announcement that school was canceled for the day.

One of the jocks yelled at Steve across the parking lot.

“Yo man, party at your house tonight? We should celebrate!” He laughed.

“Sure, but bring your own damn booze!” Cupping his hands around his mouth so the meathead could hear him.

“Yeah, man! Whatever you say!” Shouting back before he began shouting around the rest of the campus. “Party at Harrington’s tonight!”

“Steve, is that a good idea? I know Higgins was a straight up dick, but a party to celebrate?” You looked up at him, worry working over your features.

“It’s fine. You two are coming though, right?” Looking at you expectantly.

It was Eddie who answered for you. “Of course man, could always use the extra cash.” His hand came to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently. “Right babe? You need to blow off some steam.”

You still had trepidation in the back of your mind, but you nodded. Someone was just killed, and the student body was laughing it off.

“Cool, see ya’ then! Y/N, you gonna come help me get the house ready?” He smiled that crooked grin your way.

“Sure, Stevie. I'd love nothing more than to help you clean your house.” You fondly roll your eyes knowing you'd do it anyway.

True to your word you went over to Steve's about six, still feeling uneasy about the party but shrugged it off.

You'd done this a million times. Coming over to help him set out some snacks and load up the fridge with beers. Breaking into his dad's study for the heavy stuff became second nature. Richard Harrington always turned a blind eye to his son's activities and simply replaced the bottles the next time he came into town.

Instead of lecturing Steve, he'd tell him he needed to quit using the top shelf bottles and use the shit in the lower cabinet. Steve never listened, taking it all.

He bumped your shoulder as you poured some cheese puffs out into a bowl.

“So, you and Eddie are the real deal huh?” he asked, popping one of the puffs into his mouth.

“I'd like to think so. Why, Stevie? Jealous?” You looked up at him through your lashes.

“I mean… I do miss our little flings, but I am happy for you.” You laughed, but he added, “I mean it.”

“I know Steve.” You quickly kissed his cheek before continuing the task at hand.

The party was in full swing by 8 pm. You hadn't heard from Eddie since he dropped you off earlier but that wasn't unusual. He'd roll in with that lunchbox in tow any minute now.

Everyone was having their own conversations and speculations on who could have done it. As it turned out, no one really cared that Higgins was dead. He'd wronged just about everyone at some point.

Steve was unusually quiet. You'd been watching him from your seat on the couch while chatting with Robin the last half hour. He was currently in the corner with some blonde bimbo, thumbing at the label on his beer bottle instead of listening to her.

“Hey, Earth to Y/N!” She snapped her fingers in front of your face, gaining your attention once more.

“Yes, I'm here. What?” Swiping her hand away.

“If you're so worried about him, go talk to him.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at Steve.

“He just seems off today.” You shrugged, pulling your own beer to your lips for a slow swig.

“He's off every day. He's a dingus.” She got up from her seat. “Want anything?”

“I'm good for now.”

She saluted you and headed toward the kitchen. Your eyes drifted back to where Steve had been. Him and the blonde are nowhere in sight.

You huffed, sitting further into the couch cushion, frowning to yourself.

You hadn't felt him sneak up behind you, until his lips ghosted the shell of your ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down your spine and a smile to your face.

“Why's my Princess pouting over here all by herself?”

You tilted your head back to look at him, as he planted a kiss to your cheek.

“Hey baby. Took you long enough.” You grinned as he walked around the couch plopping down where Robin had been.

“Rick always talks my damn head off.” He placed his arm over your shoulder, scooting in close. “But, I'll ask again, why are you pouting?”

“I don't know. Steve seems off. Just worried about him.” You shrugged and looked up at him.

“Cheer up babe. I think he's fine, he has his tongue shoved down some blonde’s throat down the hall.”

Very typical Steve. He serial dated these days, making his way through new girls eventually getting tired and coming back to complain to you and Robin again.

Eddie began his rounds soon after. He'd clear his lunchbox before the night was through, lining his pocket nicely.

It got late quickly as the night got away from you. In no mood to drink, you only nursed a couple more watching the rest of your friends get absolutely smashed.

Robin had gone home earlier because she didn't feel like getting another lecture from her parents. Eddie was out back smoking with a couple of guys.

“Don't you think we should be able to print it in the paper? It's big news!” Nancy complained from beside you. She and Jonathan finally strolled in only about an hour prior.

“I don't know Nance. It's a school paper, not the post. They try to censor everything we put out anyway.” You shrugged.

“I just feel like it's bullshit!” She huffed, leaning against the wall.

“Nance, have a little compassion. He was murdered. I know you're a hungry, go getter but it's high school. You know they…”

That's when you heard someone yelling down the hall interrupting your train of thought.

“Who's Y/N?! At least when you're trying to fuck me you could get my name right. Fuck off!” she shrieked. You both turned in time to catch that blonde wrench out of his grasp and walk out the front door.

Some people standing around caught the commotion and looked toward you. The insinuation in their glares making your cheeks heat.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before his eyes caught yours through the crowd. You could tell from your spot across the room he was drunk, with his glazed over expression.

He looked away quickly, turning to take his leave up the stairs. Conversations picked back up around you, eventually ignoring you once again.

Your face turned back to Nancy, but she had her head down as if she was experiencing secondhand embarrassment for you.

“Uh, I should go check on him.” You blurted out motioning toward the stairs as she nodded, finally meeting your gaze.

“Sure. Sure.” She waved you off but still gave you a pointed look.

You knew you shouldn't go after him. It would only fuel rumors that were surely going to start up, but your feet were already heading in his direction.

By the time you reached the landing, his door was already closed.

You didn't bother knocking, he was sitting on his bed, hands in his lap, head toward the floor.

“Steve, are you ok?”

“Fine.” He swallowed. “But I guess you heard all that, right?”

“Yeah. I did. But I'm not worried about that right now. What's going on with you, huh? Something's been eating at you all night.” You sat beside him, your skirt riding up as your bare thigh rested by his jean clad one.

“I just keep thinking about what Creel said, and then Higgins… it's… it's just…” he trailed off with a heavy sigh.

“You think he has something to do with it?”

He nodded.

“Well, Eddie can take you. You both could tell Hopper what he said. But for now, how about you get some rest, yeah? Don't worry about the party. I'll find Eddie and we'll tell everyone to get lost.”

He nodded again.

“Okay.” You moved to get up, but he grabbed your wrist pulling you back to the mattress.

“Steve, I…” suddenly cut off when he surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. It caught you off guard, but you didn't immediately pull away.

His lips were soft and warm, matching his sweet demeanor. His tongue darted out, as you pushed his chest and quickly stood up.

“Steve, you're drunk. You need to go to bed.” You kept your voice calm even though your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Sorry, I… I just…” He tried to get out an apology, but you placed your hand on his shoulder.

“It's okay. I forgive you. Just don't let Eddie see you try that.” You giggled as he winced thinking about Eddie.

“Now, let's get you in this nice, cozy bed, yeah?”

“Yeah, ok.” He kicked his sneakers from his feet. You helped him stand, letting you pull the covers back as he pulled his shirt over his head.

You heard his belt clink as he unbuttoned his pants, letting them pool at his feet, leaving him in his boxers.

“Come on, Stevie.” You patted the bed as he laid down and you covered him up.

You waited a few moments, watching his slow and steady breathing. The covers move with each expansion of his chest before reaching over and extinguishing his bedside lamp.

The light from the ensuite bathroom caught your attention because you knew the door had been closed a moment ago.

You jumped and let out a small yelp seeing Eddie standing there in the doorway.

“Don't let Eddie see you try that, huh?” He smirked releasing a small chuckle. Eddie wasn't mad, just amused at the fact you always try to deny how much Steve was still in love with you.

“Fuck Eddie. Have you been in there the whole time?” You grabbed his hand, pulling him back into the bathroom and shutting the door softly behind you as you heard Steve shuffle under the covers.

“Yup. The WHOLE time. Came in here cause I know no one dares to enter King Steve's room, so no lines.” He shrugged.

“You're taking him to the Sheriff's station tomorrow. It's going to eat him alive if you don't.” You hissed out.

“And what if I say no? Henry may not have done anything wrong. Just poor timing.” He grinned, eyes glinting with something you couldn't quite decipher.

“I don't care, Eddie. You both need to tell Hopper.” You crossed your arms over your chest, leaving no room for argument. You wouldn't take no for an answer. He hated when you got all authoritative toward him.

“Fuck, fine. Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Can we go before the boy toy wakes up looking for round two?”

You squeeze his cheeks between your palms, placing an over exaggerated kiss to his lips as he wraps his arms around you.

“Thanks baby.” You grinned.

“Mmhmm, anything for you princess.” Kissing the tip of your nose before the two of you exited the room.

After you two had successfully kicked everyone out you both took the spare room. It was better than sleeping in the van until morning like you usually did after a party.

You would be there to make sure Eddie took Steve to the station.

“So, you boys are telling me that Henry Creel said what now?” Hopper was sitting across from Steve and Eddie in his office, examining the two young men before him.

Steve was in a polo and light jacket. Eddie in his usual denim vest and leather. Polar opposites of each other.

“Well,” Steve began again, giving Eddie a sideways glance. “He said he's going to get what's coming to him.”

“And you heard this too, Eddie?” His narrow gaze aimed at the metal head.

“Yeah ma… I mean yes sir.” He nodded in agreement.

“And then he bolted out of there before they dismissed us.” Steve added.

“Yeah.” Eddie followed.

“Ok, and there's nothing else other than that?” He asked.

“No.” Both of the younger men said in unison.

He sighed, getting up from his chair, straightening his belt.

“Okay, thanks boys. We'll look into it.”

They left thinking that nothing would come of it.

Their tip led to Chief Deputy Hopper making the biggest arrest in Hawkins history. Two days later they questioned him and subsequently found a murder weapon stashed in an old shed behind his house.

Both Steve and Eddie's testimonies helped cement the case against him.

Ultimately, he was deemed not mentally capable to withstand trial and was sent to Pennhurst before it could begin.

Hawkins had seen its worst murder and the person behind it was caught. It was once again a sleepy little town. Until now.

Had the real killer laid dormant all these years? Why resurface now?

Looking back, Steve could tell Hopper that any number of people had a problem with Higgins and Jason's crew. Including himself and Eddie, even you.

He thought it was best to keep his mouth shut, hoping they could find a real lead soon.

“No, Hop. I can't think of anything.”

It would be two weeks before another murder took place giving everyone a small sense of false security.

Andy Crawford was next. Yet another that ran in that circle of friends with Jason. Same manner of death. Forced entry and far too much blood.

There was a definite pattern at this point. They just couldn't figure out who might be next.

With little to go on, save for that mask and half of a boot print they were at a loss and the whole town was quaking with fear.

Another late night at the post. Your eyes were going cross eyed from reading and typing all day.

You checked your watch. Almost 11 pm. You hated to call Eddie this late, knowing he most likely already nodded off on the couch.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching aching back muscles from being leaned over for so long when your phone rang, making you jump.

Your fingers hesitantly gripped the receiver, lifting it to your ear.

“Hello, Hawkins Post.” Coming out a little breathless.

“Hello?” A gruff voice came from the other end. “Who am I talking to?”

“This is Y/N. Can I… help you?” Feeling a little uneasy.

“Oh, Y/N. The same Y/N that writes those articles for Ghostface?” He asked with a slightly cheerier lilt.

“Yes, is there something I can help you with?” That feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Big fan. Huge even.” The voice chuckled.

“That's nice, but it's late. Unless there's something I can do for you…”

“Sure, there's something you can do for me.” He growled. “Stay right there and play the helpless victim for me!”

Taglist: @barbedwirebats @kellsck @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @katie-tibo @eddiesguitarskills

[3scythes]

okay it’s time for me to ramble about Bob’s Burgers because I’m 8 seasons deep and I want to talk about my favorite episode thus far, The Laser-inth, from season 7. Why is it my favorite? It’s such a great example of how to be a parent to a child with sensory issues.

To quickly summarize what the episode is about, Bob wants to see this rock laser light show for the last time before it’s retired, and it happens to be his birthday, and Gene is the only one who seems interested so the two go to the show. The show starts (with it being very clear that re-entry is not permitted) and Gene is immediately overwhelmed by the scary visuals, flashing lights, and loud music. So he runs out of the theatre, and Bob, knowing this is his last time to possibly see the show, still tells Gene it’s okay if he wants to go home and they can leave.

In the car (still in the parking lot), Gene starts asking questions about the music, and Bob is more than happy to explain it all to him and play some of the music at a reasonable volume in the car. And eventually Gene says he thinks he can go back in, that he really wants to see the climax of it all, so they go through a whole lot of shenanigans just to sneak back in. And when they finally do, Bob takes a napkin and makes it into makeshift earplugs for Gene so he can enjoy the show.

The reason I like it so much is that Bob, who really wanted to see this show for one last time, prioritized his son’s needs (as he should), didn’t minimize his feelings, and found a way to share this thing he loved with his son in a way that worked for both of them. He never forced Gene to do anything he was uncomfortable with. And when Gene was up to trying again, Bob made sure that was what he really wanted, and still tried to make it a better experience for him by making him earplugs.

[beesmygod]

What are some of your favorite pieces of art/ art that has made you think a lot?

this is such a cheesy cop-out answer, but there's a lot of things that im going to struggle remembering because of 1. how situational the experience was (as in, the context in which i experienced the piece) 2. how wide the word "art piece" is. 3. the great fortune to have been born to parents with strong artistic sensibilities and a love of travel/education. so these are like. really weird and specific but maybe thats the way it should be:

let's start with the most overly dramatic: st. paul's cathedral in london has guided tours where they take you into rooms and let you mill around before moving to the next one. my family took a trip overseas as a really, really big special vacation to celebrate my sister and i graduating from high school (we're not twins, we just combo'd it after she graduated) that i was too brain-broken and teenage to fully appreciate. its a beautiful cathedral but i was in my edgy internet atheist stage and refused to be impressed by it until i stood over a grate in the floor. through the grates you can see the crypt that you visit next. but standing over the grate, someone below started to sing something hymnal and very catholic. and i realized i was the only one who could hear it because of the crowd chatter. and it made me feel, in the moment, so special and so lonely in a way that i still think about, a lot. it was for me only. divine providence.

a date with adam to a place i had no idea existed but he had been to before: the bad art museum, which is split over like 3 different buildings in a bizarre way. we only went to the one where you have to buy a ticket to a movie as entry and it was some truly lovely bad art and made me sad how inaccessible it was but resolute about my love of the nuances of uncelebrated anti-art masterpieces. then we watched "assassination nation" and it was fucking terrible. great date.

reading the theory regarding the "venus of willendorf" being a self portrait as a 20-something year old and running into the bathroom to take my clothes off and look down at myself and having my mind blown. not just by how much i instantly understood it, but because of the tugging feeling on my heart when i feel that strand of history connecting women artists driven by that unknown compulsion to create for creations sake!

similarly, seeing artemisia gentileschi's work next to her fathers and realizing how much she outclassed him in every single way and feeling the tugging feeling again, but this time with a dark woe of realization of how history minimizes achievement and talent when it eases a narrative

reading jane erye's descriptions of herself and her approaches to her plights and for the first time feeling like someone had walked a path that i currently found myself lost on.

reading 1984 as a middle schooler and becoming so angry at the ending i threw the book across the room (something i had never done before and never did again in my life) and stormed out of my room to complain to my mom lol. IT REALLY UPSET ME!!!

reading les miserables for the first time and weeping piteously for days after the ending and having it impact my brain so hard it re-wired how i think about the concept of "legacy" and what it means to matter in the world and how love is nothing without the courage to stand up for it. and that mercy should, and will, always supersede unwavering justice (hard lesson to remember, maybe im due for a re-read)

sneaking into my parents room to read the books i wasnt supposed to yet as a really little kid lol. my mom used to get "dykes to watch out for" in a newsletter she was subscribed to! but i didnt read those bc they were dumb relationship comics for grown-ups. i wanted to read about opus the penguin and lee iacocca, as if i knew who that was. my mother's comic collection was the single most influential constant in my life. knowing that i was exposed to bill watterson's commentary about his own work via the big collections my mom owned probably explains a lot about what's wrong with me. but she also had a lot of berke breathed before he fully wussed out

the general experience of playing a video game that you arent supposed to/when you arent supposed to is probably one of the most freeing means of meaningless rebellion as a kid that everyone should experience. i used to be up playing pokemon past my bedtime under my covers with a huge heavy rubber flashlight i stole from the kitchen and had to replace every morning without getting caught once i was done with it. god, the days before backlit screens we had to get really fucking wild with it. in high school i would wake up at 5:00am, sneak into the computer room where the ps2 was and play an hour of FFX bc its the longest fucking non-persona game in the world, stop playing before my mom woke up at 6:00am and sneak back into bed. if i hit a part where i couldnt save i would just turn the screen off and come back to it tomorrow lol. secrets......

reading the "pictures for sad children" arc about paul, who is a ghost, finally losing it and going on a rant about how it has never mattered how thin a computer screen is. they were right and reading it helped me articulate and understand a growing feeling of restless frustration at the world around me that i felt singular and alone in. im glad that last i heard that artist is doing ok. i hope they recognize the incredible value in their work as imperfect as they perceived it to be. i do not think they would be happy to know that their old work was impactful, but i hope they realize that what people are able to tease out of their work is meaningful, at least to me it is. ill transcribe the comic rather than repost it i think: paul [while smashing electronics]: "have i told you about [bam] how nerds destroy the world take conspicuous consumption as a lifestyle choice and combine it with early hardware adoption and you have great swaths of gadgetry out of stock because they're incrementally better than the last model and there are landfills full of functioning electronics wasted time, resources, money, etc. the best part is that these things were never necessary it has never mattered how thing a computer is." [smash]

this is too long. i like art.

[nerawrites]

Chapter 25: The Lineup

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Ships: The bear x Fem!oc

Warnings: none (i think)

Song:Angel-Massive Attack

Masterlist

The official competitor lineup for La Toque d’Or dropped on a crisp Wednesday morning. A clean, minimal webpage. Black text on white background. No frills—just the names.

Carmy was the first to see it. He stood by the back office computer at The Bear, one hand clutching a half-eaten granola bar, the other scrolling.

His eyes locked on one name, halfway down the list.

Lloris.

He blinked. Re-read it.

No first name. No team. Just Lloris.

Sydney wandered in mid-scroll, sipping her coffee. “What’s up?”

Carmy didn’t answer. Just stepped aside so she could look.

Sydney leaned over his shoulder, reading down the list—Chef Luca, some Michelin-starred solo entries, a few high-profile restaurants… and then—

“Wait. What the fuck?”

She jabbed the screen. “Is that—?”

“Yeah.”

“Lloris?” Her voice dropped into something half-awe, half-panic. “That’s not a real name. That’s like—an alias. Like Banksy for chefs.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t they—gone?” Sydney asked slowly. “They were in that one article a while ago but no one’s heard anything else.”

Carmy nodded slowly, the weight of it starting to settle.

Richie walked in, half-eating a pastry. “Yo, you two look like someone died.”

Sydney spun. “Richie, Lloris is competing.”

Richie paused. “Lloris? Like, Lloris Lloris?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” Richie muttered, dropping into a chair. “That’s like finding out Jesus is doing a guest pop-up at your local deli.”

Marcus appeared next, drawn by the rising chaos. “What’s going on?”

Sydney just turned the screen toward him.

He blinked. “No way.”

Sugar came in last. “Okay, why are you all acting like you just saw a ghost?”

Sydney pointed. “Because we did.”

Sugar squinted at the screen. Her brows lifted. “ Weren’t they that chef who vanished after…?”

“Yeah,” Marcus confirmed. “After that steak thing.”

Everyone went quiet.

Carmy cleared his throat. “They’re back. And we’re up against them.”

Meanwhile, in New York…

David slid the article across the kitchen island toward Alicia.

She didn’t need to look. She already knew.

“I’m assuming this is your idea of morning entertainment,” she said dryly.

David grinned. “Just wanted you to see how famous you are. Mystery chef reappears. Everyone’s losing their minds.”

Alicia scrolled through the article with detached curiosity. The writeup was professional, vague. The return of the elusive chef known only as Lloris… anonymous by design, her presence marks a shift in this year’s competition. Rumors swirl. Speculation runs rampant. Who are they? Where have they been? And why now?

She handed it back.

David gave her a look. “You okay?”

“I think I hate this.”

“Yeah, but you also love it.”

She didn’t argue.

Across the Atlantic…

Luca stared at his phone, rereading the lineup in the quiet of his apartment.

He hadn’t expected to see that name again. Not ever.

He muttered something under his breath and picked up the phone, already dialing Marcus.

When the call connected, his voice was low. “You saw the list?”

Marcus laughed nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Luca paused. “You think it’s really them?”

“I don’t know. But it’s gotta be.”

A beat of silence.

“Shit’s getting serious,” Luca said.

Elsewhere…

In quiet corners of other kitchens, reactions echoed the same:

“What the fuck—Lloris?”

“Didn’t they quit?”

“No one even knows what they look like…”

“Their gonna win.”

“They always do.”

A/N

Sorry for not being able more consistently college has been beating my ass.

[stardustrebels]

Fathoms Beyond- Chapter 2: Tetherline Protocol

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader Rating: 18+ / MDNI WC: 5.8k Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This is a follow-on fic from Fathoms Between (my Din x f!reader angsty WTTS entry). While you don’t need to read that before you read this, it’ll make some things in this chapter a lot clearer if you do. I’m very much enjoying spending time with my tin can man again, even if I do plan on being incredibly mean to him over the next few chapters. But he deserves it.

I’m blown away with the response and all the kind words I’ve received about the one shot and chapter one of this story. To everyone who liked, commented, messaged and reblogged, thank you so, so much. You have no idea how much it means to me that people are here and reading what I write <3

As always, feedback, comments and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated! :)

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, tension, slow burn, hurt/comfort, post-season 2 (The Mandalorian), canon-divergent, razor crest never gets destroyed but Din does have the Darksaber. Mention of trauma responses, mild language, found family, toxic relationships, undertones of manipulative behaviour, betrayal, trust issues, emotional damage, emotional trauma, unwanted manhandling, attempted abduction (sort of), brief violence, depictions of injury and self-administered medical treatment (syringe/ injection). A bit of a trauma lasagne. No use of y/n, minimal physical descriptions of reader— she has hair that she can braid. 

Taglist: @djarins-cyare , @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream If you’d like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

You were sure that there was someone there, hiding just beyond where you could see. 

Your heart was beating so fast you could feel it fluttering against the base of your throat. You took controlled, shallow breaths, but didn’t dare move otherwise. 

You narrowed your eyes against the dark toward the thin strip of forest left growing beyond the perimeter— the trees were a mass of black-barked knots, branches reaching toward the sky like gnarled, bony fingers. They curled against the haze as dusk ticked through to night. One of the boughs creaked and your stomach sank. 

Your fingers tightened around the blaster, other hand tensed by your side in an attempt to keep from trembling. You couldn’t bring yourself to call out, and if it were Jarek, you’re sure he would have shown himself before now. 

A sharp squeak snapped through the silence, then a clatter, like a loose stone being knocked free. Breath held, you raised your blaster, pointing it toward the source of the sound, despite the shadows blending in to a fast-fading horizon. 

You tensed, ready to shoot, only to catch sight of the twitchy nose of a giant root rat, its long whiskers and tail only just visible through the murk. It gave another squeak and darted off behind a mound of rubble, scurrying back to its burrow somewhere in the wasteland between you and the forest.

Your heart thudded against your ribcage, knocking a shaky exhale from your lungs. It was almost a laugh, but there was no mirth behind it. You waited another couple of moments before re-holstering the blaster, shaking your arms out to try and dispel some of the adrenaline. Your eyes didn’t leave the horizon as you backed up, taking measured, steady steps back to the crate you’d been sitting on before, internally urging Jarek to hurry up as you pocketed the comlink and sat back down. You rubbed your palms over your thighs, trying to expel some of the nervous energy that was starting to bubble over under your skin. You let out another breath. Slower this time. 

And like it always did when you had too much time to think and nothing to do with your hands, your mind wandered. To Lothal. 

Even the sky had felt heavy back then, the weight of abandonment hovering over you all the time;   

a constant clawing anger, strangling you from the inside and making every breath difficult. You’d carried that weight in silence, day after day, and let it harden in to resolve. You tried not to think about the man who abandoned you; the Mandalorian. You’d told yourself then that you’d never utter his name again. You’d clearly meant nothing to him, and now he was nothing to you. 

You had spent your first few months on the new planet simply going through the motions: salvage, sleep, repeat. You paid little attention to anything you weren’t stripping or fixing, and you used your voice so infrequently that the others on your team assumed you couldn’t speak.

You preferred it that way, no one bothered to try and befriend you. Except Jarek. 

The first time he approached you, he held a busted power distributor in one hand and a sealed ration box in the other. He sat cross-legged opposite you like one would if they were trying to gain the trust of an angry, injured massiff, and offered you both without a word. You eyed him with suspicion, then the parts, then the food, before accepting them in silence after he flashed you a strained, but hopeful, smile. You’d wanted to smack it clean off his face.

“I saw how fast you repaired those starpath units the other day for the boss,” he said after you’d turned the tech over in your hand a couple of times. “Figure you might be able to fix this mess before my hair goes grey. Well, greyer.” 

You didn’t answer, but you pried open the distributor anyway. Half a standard hour later, it sparked to life again, and he gave a low whistle like you’d just beaten a record you hadn’t been aware of. 

After that, he started dropping things off with you regularly after your shifts. Power cells. Circuit boards and half-gutted droid processors. Always with the flash of a lazy smile and some quick whip, sometimes with some rehydrated food if he thought you might have forgotten to eat. 

The day he turned up with a pouch full of extra credits for you, you spoke back to him for the first time: a tiny, hoarse thank you as you awkwardly took the pouch and stared down at it, brow furrowed. It had only taken a week after that for him to pull a full conversation out of you. 

He asked about mundane things— your favourites— drinks, snacks, comforts and tools. ‘You’ve gotta know who you’re working with’, he’d said to you. He encouraged you to ask him his favourites too. Not long after that, the things that you’d mentioned as favourites began being dropped off with the tech. When you asked where he was getting them from, he only shrugged and tapped the end of his nose with a knowing smile. 

You began actually looking forward to seeing him, waiting anxiously for sight of his bearded face rounding the corner, eagerly anticipating the newest surprise and tech-fixing challenge.

You started staying up late, making unnecessary modifications, just so items would be worth more— more credits for Jarek meant more credits for you. The late nights were worth it; you felt useful again. Needed. The work was cathartic, and each bit of tech you made work chipped another piece of your anger and grief away. Little by little, you started to feel more like your old self. It was an added benefit that you were making more credits than you ever had been before.

It became a new routine, a rhythm that kept you steady. Occupied. Distracted. Salvage during the day, then spend long, late nights cross-legged on a repurposed crate in a dim corner of the repair bay, fingertips and overalls stained with carbon and coolant. Jarek would show up after every shift with armfuls of tech and a grin like he’d just won a chronometer. 

Every so often, when he could tell you were getting frustrated, he’d suggest racing the speeder bikes he said he won in a game of sabacc. He always let you win the races, even though he never admitted it.

Over time, the tech became more elaborate and increasingly expensive— far surpassing what was available in the leftovers of the salvage yards. You never asked where the parts came from, and Jarek never offered to tell you. He never hovered, either. Never second-guessed your work. He trusted you implicitly and you grew to trust him. He never gave you a reason not to. 

“You’re too sharp to waste away on this dusty rock, Starshine,” he’d said one night, twirling a scomp link he’d lifted from your workbench between his fingers. “We could make something of ourselves out there, y’know, you and me. Find some really rich folks to sell to, make some riches of our own.” 

You’d shrugged noncommittally at that. You weren’t sure you wanted to travel again; it hadn’t ended well the last time. But Jarek didn’t drop it. He spoke about it so often that he convinced you, and before long you were spending your free time fixing up a ship he’d procured, and grinning like an idiot when he would spend evenings watching you work, suggesting planets and making far-fetched plans for you both in systems you’d never even heard of. 

The ship wasn’t sleek or fast, but she flew.  Sturdy enough to keep pressure, light enough to pass for civilian transport. You learned her quirks fast and within a couple of months, with Jarek’s insistence, you’d left Lothal together in the hopes of finding something better. 

He taught you how to fly, cracking jokes about quick getaways and close calls the entire time. But beneath the wisecracks, his lessons were sharp, deliberate and focussed. He taught you more than the basics— how to feel drift and weight, how to listen for the pitch of a misfire before it turned dangerous. The nuance of it surprised you; how much he cared about the details, how passionate he was. 

Navigation came next. Then slicing transponders. Then falsifying logs. One thing bled in to the next, each skill framed as survival. As freedom. 

“People out there, they take what they can,” he told you. “You’ve gotta learn how to keep what’s yours. You hear me, Starshine?” 

You did, but he said it a lot anyway to make sure you never forgot.

It wasn’t like the interplanetary travelling you’d done previously, it overwrote your entire experience of it in the best way. While before had been filled with long stretches of silence and little to fill the vast emptiness of space, with Jarek there was noise. Various genres of music buzzed low through the speakers as stars streaked past and when it didn’t he would sing loudly, crack jokes, beat you at sabacc and tell you stories.

It was the kind of noise that trickled through and filled the cracks of the broken thing that sat heavy in your chest, and made the past easier to forget. You started to enjoy the chaos that matched the noise: you never stayed long in one system, rarely docked in regulated ports and made more than a few speedy exits. 

You learned how to tuck credits, hide them behind so many levels of protection even banking droids couldn’t get a read on the amount. Jarek suggested that you started a joint savings chip, handed you one and taught you how to encrypt it.

He taught you how to secure a deal in half a dozen languages and how to pocket items without anyone noticing. How to spot fakes and sell them as real, how to find value in anything. “Everything’s worth something to someone, Starshine, you just gotta find the right buyer.”

You’d never seen someone move through life with such ease. Jarek could be whoever he needed to be— shifting through personalities, sometimes from one room to the next, with a confidence and charm that no one ever thought to question. Somehow, you slipped in right behind him, as if his aura of belonging extended to you by association. 

You saw sights travelling with Jarek that you couldn’t have imagined: crystal dunes that sang in the wind, cities that spanned entire hemispheres. Layers of golden spires and hovering sky-lanes, where the rich never touched the ground. Perfumed storms in private sky domes— where warm winds and floral rain were programmed to each guest’s emotional state. You bathed in Twi’lek healing springs carved in to cliffs on Ryloth, dined beneath gravity- warped skies that rippled like water, and stood on glass balconies above gas giants painted in perpetual pastel light reflected off rainbow coloured clouds. 

On every stop along the way— backwater outposts, palatial auction houses and everything in between, there were whispered deals over untouched drinks and encrypted data pads. A few more credits, a little more risk. You didn’t care; you’d never felt more alive. 

He called you his partner to clients and meant it. You were a team, both unsure what you’d do without the other. It was comforting to know that you mattered as much as he did to the whole operation. 

When you took control of the ship solo for the first time and made the split-second decision to slip out of atmo and skim the edge of a no-fly zone just to throw off a security scan, he clapped you on the back and grinned at you so wide it made your chest feel like it was about to burst. 

“I knew you could do it, kid,” he’d said, beaming down at you like a proud father— Prouder of you than your own father had ever been. It was easy to love him after that. He wasn’t blood but he might as well have been. He’d handed you tools for a life worth living and said build. And you’d grasped them with both hands and done exactly that. 

Jarek hadn’t meant for Vath to be permanent. It was a stopover— one more planet to grab supplies and swap out a couple of parts for the ship. The port was small but active enough to sustain a steady flow of credits, credits burning a hole in the pockets of people who didn’t ask too many questions. You didn’t even unpack your kit that first week, certain you’d be off again as soon as Jarek heard about the next big payout. 

It turned out Jarek knew a couple of people on Vath. People who owed him a few favours and more than a few credits, and offered him loyalty in lieu of money. It didn’t take long before Jarek had planted roots. 

He didn’t call it a gang; said that was vulgar. You were all part of his crew. A few familiar faces from past runs and a couple of toughs he pulled in with charm and carefully constructed promises. He expanded the operation you’d both had for the last few cycles, selling tech to buyers from far-flung places. At some point Jarek started organising runs and assigning jobs. You were assigned a backup getaway a couple of times, watching the horizon, ready to bolt if things got messy. They never did. After the first few deals, you figured they’d all be identical and you began holding back, spending more time in the workshop you’d built for yourself out of old ships, hidden away on the junkyard on the other side of the port.

The others started to listen to him— really listen. Each of them saw the spark within him that had won you over. His passion, charm and natural leadership. His easy wit, the quiet confidence that you were sure was infectious. They learned, as you had, that with Jarek around, you felt untouchable. 

Lately Jarek had felt a little too untouchable. To you, at least. It had been increasingly difficult to pin him down recently and for the first time since you’d met him, you were unsure of your place in his world. He was more calculating and less confiding. The crew had grown and the jobs had gotten riskier, and you weren’t sure when he had stopped needing you. 

“Starshine!” 

The sound of his voice knocked you from your reverie with a jolt. You jumped off the crate at the name and spun around until you spotted him. Jarek weaved through the scattered piles of scrap like something was snapping at his heels. When he reached you his breaths were sharp, like he’d just stopped running. 

You straightened, old instincts kicking in, causing uneasiness to creep up from the base of your spine.

“Did you initiate the protocol?” He said as he reached you, eyes darting between you and the mouth of the hangar. “Tell me you set the fail safe.” 

You blinked. “Yeah, I did. I messaged you. I— Jarek, what’s going on?”

He was already moving past you, hands fidgeting around nothing, fingertips tapping together frantically. He took a couple of steps before doubling back, stumbling as he approached you again. 

“The credits,” he said, voice low and urgent, “Do you have them?”

You hesitated. “Jarek, what’s—”

“The credits, Starshine.” 

You balked at his tone, and slipped your hand in to the pouch clipped at your belt to pull the credit chip free. He snatched it out of your hand before you could blink, devoid of any of his usual grace, before he shoved it deep in to his jacket pocket and glanced back at the open hangar. He then bent down to pick up your pack and you reached out to take it from him, but he didn’t hand it to you. 

Instead, his other hand landed on your arm. “Let’s go.” 

You flinched at the contact. “What? No, wait— Jarek, what the kriff is going on?”

He didn’t answer, he only tugged harder. You dug your heels in. Something wasn’t right, this wasn’t like him.

“Hey. Stop.”

The grip on your arm tightened. It wasn’t painful, not yet. That didn’t make it any less worrying.

“Jarek, please, you’re scaring me.” You said, your voice coming out higher than you’d intended. 

He stopped and turned toward you so abruptly it made you jump. For a second you thought he might explain why he was acting this way, but he only shook his head and muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch. His eyes darted from yours to the perimeter, frantic and panicked. You almost couldn’t believe that this was actually the man you knew. 

“Talk to me. Please?” You begged, squirming slightly under his touch, trying to loosen it enough to step away from him. 

Jarek’s mouth opened, but whatever words he was about to say were swallowed by fresh panic. He jerked your arm again, trying to pull you toward the ship. You wrenched yourself back, boots scraping against the floor, kicking up dust and grit from the metal underfoot, aimlessly trying to get purchase to lurch yourself away from him, but he was too strong. You stumbled forward with a cry.

A voice from behind you cut clean through the static of your fear. 

“Let her go.” 

Jarek froze, and so did you. 

You recognised that voice. 

The air left your lungs and the blood left your face all at once. You turned as best you could against Jarek’s grip and the noise that left your throat was little more than a squeak. 

A figure stepped out from the shadows beyond the mouth of the hangar, reflections from the flickering overhead lights hitting off them in staccato bursts. It made your vision swim, but you didn’t need to focus to know who it was. The armour glinted as much as the helmet, upgraded since the last time you’d laid eyes on it but there was no mistaking. It was him. 

The Mandalorian.

Standing in front of you like a loaded weapon— silent, sure and absolutely deadly. 

The blood in your veins froze so fast that it hurt. Your mouth went dry as you took him in: blaster drawn and stance tense. Suddenly all of Jarek’s panic, his forcefulness and his eagerness to leave made sense. If this was who had been chasing him, he was right to be scared. 

His grip on your arm let up just enough for you to ease out of it. You took an unsteady step forward and raised your hands, palms flat against the air, heartbeat battering against your chest so hard you were sure it could echo off the durasteel around you. 

“Don’t,” you said, voice tight. “Nobody needs to do anything. Just wait.”

Mando didn’t move, but his next words came through the helmet, flat and steady. 

“He isn’t who you think he is.”

You had longed to hear his voice again— silently pleaded for it in moments of weakness— but now that it was a reality, it scraped against every raw nerve you had left. It hollowed you out, sent your heart stuttering on a shallow breath. Fury bubbled under your skin, mingling with bitterness and a grief you thought was long-buried. 

You set your jaw, a veil of defiance falling over every other emotion. 

“Please, you don’t know him.”

His visor tilted, just slightly. “I know enough.”

There was a shuffle and a sharp inhale from behind you. Jarek was clearly weighing up how fast he could run. The Mandalorian’s arm tensed again, blaster trained over your shoulder, no doubt right between Jarek’s eyes. His posture said he was done talking to you, and he straightened up before he spoke again, the words reverberating through the silence, sharp as a vibroblade. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring y—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Your voice cracked like a whip, and the indignation behind it surprised you. It seemed to surprise the Mandalorian too, enough for him to look at you again. It was the tiniest movement; a tilt of his helmet that suggested his eyes were on you, but you caught it, and you stared right back at him. 

The only thing more palpable than your defiance was your anger. Every feeling toward this man that you never thought you would see again broke free. Emotions that you’d forced yourself not to feel, that you’d shoved deep down, stomped on until they were nothing. Pain that hurt long after the wound had scabbed and the scar was faint swelled within you; a fresh wave of unparalleled rage. 

He didn’t look away, and for a moment, you thought he could feel it. Mused that your outrage was so strong that it rolled off you in waves and across the floor. That it seeped through the gaps in the beskar and in to his skin. That he could feel what you had felt when he’d left you alone, bleeding in a med bay on a strange planet. You hoped he choked on it. 

His free hand balled in to a fist by his side and you blinked, darting your eyes down to it and back to his visor, heart stopping with the realisation that he was assessing whether you might be a threat to him. His hesitation suggested he’d never considered it before. 

In that moment you were certainly angry enough to entertain the possibility that you could be. If he thought he could reappear after all this time, only to capture your friend and tear through the shaky peace you’d forged out of the wreckage of your life— a life that he’d already ruined once before— he was sorely mistaken. 

Before you could voice any of this, Jarek snapped. 

Your arms were wrenched back, his forearm pinning them hard behind you. You twisted and fought, but froze the second cold metal pressed against your temple— his blaster.

“Stand down, Mandalorian!” He shouted, voice taut with panic. “Let me go and I won’t shoot her!”

Your whole body locked and a low, ringing hum began in your ears. The air vanished from your lungs. You couldn’t tell if your heart was still beating. 

The Mandalorian didn’t move. 

His blaster stayed steady and you knew he must have been calculating. Looking for a clean shot. Waiting for one. 

You sucked in a breath— a jagged, shallow sob.

“Don’t move,” Jarek hissed. “I mean it.”  

His voice was alien and warped and the edge in it chilled you. The pressure of the blaster against your skin kept you perfectly still, despite your rising panic. You blinked fast, facing the realisation that you might be about to die, and that Jarek was the one who’d pull the trigger.

The crack of a blaster shot tore through the hangar. 

You flinched violently, eyes squeezing shut against the flash and the noise. Jarek jerked and his whole body tensed behind you. You felt his pulse stutter. His grip faltered. 

The blaster lifted from your temple, swinging away toward something else. 

Your eyes snapped open. 

The Mandalorian had pivoted, firing toward the hangar’s edge; at a shadow just beyond the light. Blaster fire lit the space in harsh bursts, casting everything in sharp, strobing contrast. 

You glanced sideways, catching Jarek’s face just in time. He looked wild—every bit of the cornered animal he was. His eyes were blown wide and his face was taut with terror. When his gaze locked with yours, you flinched. His expression twisted and he bared his teeth around ragged breaths; desperation etched in to every inch of him. 

You didn’t dare look away. 

He was assessing. You saw it in real time as his gaze flitted between you, the ship and the Mandalorian. The options were playing out behind his eyes and his grip shifted. 

Then, something in his face changed. 

There was a flicker of pain. A fleeting sadness that was foreign on his features. It chilled you more than the panic. 

“Jarek—” you tried, but it was lost to the chaos around you. 

He shoved you. Hard. 

The force of it tore your breath away and you stumbled forward, legs tangling, arms flailing for balance. And then, just before the fall: a shot. A flash in your peripheral. And pain. 

White-hot agony sliced across your back and a scream tore from your throat, raw and burning. 

By the time your head cracked against the metal beneath you, the world had already blinked out. 

The pain was what brought you back. It bloomed across your ribs, like spiny hands curling around your lungs, forcing you to the present in slow, ragged heaves. 

The hangar floor was unforgiving, jagged in places, cracked and pitted from age or impact. You shifted slightly and winced. A hiss escaped you, small and involuntary, as you tried to peel your face away from the floor. The motion dragged another sting across your cheek, like tiny blades had been embedded in to the skin just below your eye. Your breath came in ugly, uneven gasps as your lungs worked for every scrap of air. 

You groaned and tried to roll onto your side when hands found you. Gloved. Familiar. You flinched and pulled away before they could settle, rolling all the way over and welcoming the jolt of pain that followed. It gave you something to focus on to stay conscious.

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice hoarse and cracking, like wind through a broken bellow. “Don’t touch me.” 

A pause, then a modulated breath. You felt him hesitate. 

“It’s me,” he said. 

“I know,” you spat. “Don’t touch me.”  

Mando hovered above you, his helmet catching the faltering overhead lights, the reflections blown and blurred through your unfocussed eyes, making him look like a metal-clad ghost. 

He didn’t reach for you again, he only crouched there, hands stilled, watching. 

You dragged your arm up, fumbling with your jacket until you could lift it by the hem and check the armourweave hidden beneath. It was hot around the bolt impact, scorched and blistering your side, but it had held up. 

It hurt like hell to breathe, but you were whole. 

Mando exhaled. His relief was so palpable it was almost offensive.

“I thought you were dead” he said quietly.

“Learned my lesson last time,” you muttered, voice low and full of venom. 

Your limbs shook as you pushed yourself upright. You noticed hands twitching out of the corner of your eye, as if it pained him not to help you. Good. 

The ache in your chest flared with every movement, but you made it to your feet after a solid few minutes of struggle and scanned around the hangar, pressing your forearm against your ribs to try to make it easier to breathe. 

The ship was gone. There was no sign of Jarek or the mysterious other shooter. Only your pack remained, slumped on the floor where it had been tossed aside in favour of a blaster. 

“Jarek’s gone?” You rasped. Mando didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. 

You swallowed hard and set your mouth in to a thin, grim line. 

Rage surged within you again, a fresh hurt building on the foundations of your earlier anger, eclipsing the aches and stings all over your body. The betrayal landed with a heat and sank through every pore, in to your veins and pulsed around your body like lava. Your eyes burned but no tears came. You could taste copper around the grit inside your mouth, tiny pieces crackling against your molars as you clenched your jaw. 

You staggered toward your pack. Pain shot through every joint, radiating through your bones with every step, but you didn’t stop. You made it halfway before your knees buckled. You caught yourself on a crate and bit back the wave of nausea that washed over you.

“Hey, take it easy,” The Mandalorian said, rising behind you.

You ignored him, forcing the last few steps. He followed. Of course he did. You bent, lifted the pack with a stifled groan, and turned back to the crate.

You hauled the pack on to it and unclasped the buckle. The motion pulled a fresh groan from your chest, and your vision swam briefly with black spots. Each movement sent jolts of pain through you, like you were wading through a pool of tiny broken shards of glass. Still, you didn’t stop. You dug through it until you found the medkit you’d packed earlier. 

You pulled a bacta shot out and assembled it, pausing to catch your breath before pulling up your jacket and layers beneath and pressing the syringe to your waist. The icy burn of the liquid sank like frostbite through your muscles. 

The relief wouldn’t be instant, but it would numb the pain enough to let you think. You slumped down to the floor against the crate, limbs trembling. Your body screamed for rest, but you shoved your exhaustion aside. You forced your eyes to stay open, watching as Mando came to stand in front of you. 

“There’s another bounty hunter chasing Jarek,” he said. “I didn’t get a good look at them. They shot at him but he escaped with the ship. They bolted after he was gone and—”

“He’s got my credits.” You cut over him, as if you hadn’t really been listening. The realisation hit you with a jolt. Jarek had pocketed your credit chip before he’d tried to drag you on to the ship.

“He’s got all of my credits.” 

Every single payment you’d ever gotten from him, everything you’d earned since you’d been travelling together, you’d stored well over half of it on that chip. It was the ‘joint’ savings chip, sure, but you’d never seen Jarek transfer anything on to it. There were a lot of credits in that account.

Maybe this was the desperate swing of a man backed in to a corner. You wanted to believe that. But the longer you sat with the alternative, the worse it felt and the truer it became. 

The rage came creeping back, slow and raw, shaking its way up through your bones. You curled your fingers in to fists. 

He’d used you. 

It was clear now— he’d always planned to cast you aside. This bounty, this sudden upheaval was just a blip in his plan that had sped things up. 

You scoffed, and even the breath felt bitter on your tongue. 

It was a betrayal right out of those drama holovids you always mocked— melodramatic and obvious. And still, you’d walked right in to it.

There might have been signs. 

There were signs. 

But you’d been blind to them. Too wrapped up in the thrill of it all, in the illusion of freedom. You’d believed everything he told you. He’d fed you pretty promises like rope and you’d tied them around your own neck. 

The truth settled in your chest, colder than the bacta coursing through your bloodstream. You were nothing to him. Just a tool. A pawn. A means to an end. 

You’d considered him family. You’d trusted him. You’d loved him. 

Your mind ticked through every moment his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You’d told yourself he was just tired. Every. Damn. Time. 

The air thickened. Your chest rose and fell, breaths shallow through stabbing tightness. 

You wanted to scream, to hit something— him, anyone. Instead, you swallowed the bitterness. It burned, hot as embers. When it settled deep in your chest, buried under everything else you’d felt in the last few hours, the embers sparked and a slow fire caught. 

You’d make him regret it. 

You glanced at Mando, still standing stock still in front of you. 

“Is there a puck?” You asked in a clipped tone. Your voice only shook only a little.

Mando nodded. You took a breath, sharp and dry.

“Can I see it?” 

He handed it over and you activated it, the image flickering once before settling. Jarek’s face stared back at you, flat and grainy, the bounty data floating beside it.

You stared at him. At the familiar lines of his face and the scruff of his beard, streaked with less silver than you were used to. The scar under his right eye looked fresher, but his smug grin was the same one he always wore— the ghost of a smile you used to trust. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, breathing easier now as the bacta took hold. It quieted the pain of bruises and breaks under your skin, but something deep within you still stung, radiating out from your heart like poison. It was a hurt that no amount of bacta would ever be able to heal. You stared at the image of Jarek’s face for a long time as it flickered in front of yours. Mando hovered just beyond it, hands resting on his waist and leg cocked out to one side. His concerned stance, you mused, recognising it even after all this time. 

Thoughts spun through your mind, options and half-baked plans racing a mile a minute over and over, each one flicking a new expression across your features as your teeth wore away at your bottom lip.

You looked up, finally meeting the expressionless visor, brows furrowed with a set determination.

“I assume there’s a fob, too?” 

Mando reached in to his belt again and pulled it free. The red light flashed in slow blinks, fading with distance. You nodded once, decision made. 

You pushed to your feet, leaning on the crate and slung your pack over one shoulder. The bacta had done its job for now; you could administer more later. It hadn’t worked miracles, but at least you were upright. 

“Wait,” Mando said, stepping forward. “You need to rest. Or at least let the bacta take effect before you move out.” 

“It has. I’m fine,” you said. “And we’re moving out together.” 

He tilted his helmet. “We are?”

“You want your bounty, don’t you?” You snapped, eyes flashing. “Jarek tried to kill me because I’m the only one who knows where he’s going next. We follow the Tetherline knots and we catch him. I get my credits back, and you get to make sure that bastard never screws over anyone else again.” 

He was quiet for a beat. Then another. Still as stone as he considered you. 

Finally, he gave a tiny nod and when he spoke, his tone matched yours, laced with determination. 

“Okay,”

You adjusted the pack and ignored the pain that crawled over your ribs as you did, before glancing once more at the puck, turning it off and slipping it in to the pouch on your belt. 

Swallowing a grunt, you took the comlink out from your pocket to drop it where Jarek had left 

you for dead. If, for whatever reason, he checked your location, it would show you hadn’t moved. 

Let him think you were rotting on a crusty hangar floor. That’s what he had wanted anyway.

You walked out of the hangar without a backwards glance, the Mandalorian following behind. 

Just like old times. 

You held back a scoff at the thought that history didn’t just repeat— it rhymed like poetry. 

Next Chapter

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: daily transits 8/31

Saturday is a relatively calm day in the astrological landscape, with minimal planetary activity. The Leo Moon takes center stage, encouraging a playful, creative, and spontaneous energy. However, the calm of today is juxtaposed against the anticipation of significant astrological shifts occurring tomorrow, setting the stage for a transformative period ahead. The subtle influences today serve as a prelude to the major events about to unfold, providing a moment of ease before the cosmos intensifies.

Key Influences

Leo Moon:Playful and Creative Energy: The Moon’s journey through Leo brings a light-hearted, creative energy to the day. Leo, ruled by the Sun, is a sign associated with self-expression, joy, and the celebration of life. With no major aspects distracting her, the Leo Moon is free to indulge in her natural inclinations, much like a child joyfully playing without a care in the world. This energy encourages us to embrace the present moment, to engage in activities that bring us joy and allow us to express our true selves. Whether it’s through creative pursuits, social interactions, or simply enjoying life’s pleasures, the Leo Moon invites us to shine brightly and embrace our inner child.

Anticipation of Tomorrow's Events:

Uranus Stations Retrograde at 27°15' Taurus: Revolutionary Reassessment: Uranus, the planet of revolution, innovation, and sudden change, stations retrograde tomorrow, marking the beginning of a period of introspection and reassessment. Uranus retrograde in Taurus asks us to reconsider the changes we’ve been experiencing in areas related to stability, values, and material security. This is a time to review how we’ve been adapting to the unexpected shifts in our lives and to explore new ways of creating stability that align with our evolving values. The retrograde motion suggests that the focus may shift inward, encouraging us to break free from outdated patterns and embrace new, innovative approaches to securing our future.

Pluto Re-enters Capricorn: Catalytic Transformation: Pluto’s re-entry into Capricorn signals the continuation of deep, transformative processes in areas related to power structures, authority, and societal foundations. Pluto, the planet of transformation, death, and rebirth, has been working through Capricorn since 2008, bringing significant changes to the way we understand and interact with authority, power, and the structures that govern our lives. As Pluto re-enters Capricorn, we may find ourselves revisiting themes of transformation that have been ongoing, particularly in relation to career, government, and societal systems. This transit encourages us to continue the work of dismantling outdated structures and rebuilding them in a way that better serves our evolving collective consciousness.

Moon–Jupiter Sextile (11:09 p.m.): Hopeful Anticipation: As the day draws to a close, a subtle but uplifting sextile between the Leo Moon and Jupiter in Taurus perfects. This aspect brings a sense of optimism, expansion, and hope, adding to the anticipation of tomorrow’s significant astrological events. Jupiter, the planet of growth, abundance, and wisdom, enhances the Leo Moon’s playful energy, encouraging us to approach the future with a positive outlook. This is a time to dream big, to believe in the possibilities that lie ahead, and to trust that the changes on the horizon will ultimately lead to growth and expansion. The Moon–Jupiter sextile supports a sense of emotional well-being and encourages us to embrace the coming shifts with confidence and optimism.

Integrating the Influences

Embracing the Present Moment: Leo Moon’s Creative Play: The Leo Moon’s energy is all about living in the moment, expressing joy, and indulging in creative pursuits. With no major aspects to divert her attention, today is an excellent day to focus on activities that bring you joy and allow you to express yourself fully. Whether it’s through art, music, socializing, or simply enjoying the pleasures of life, the Leo Moon invites you to be playful and spontaneous. Embrace your inner child, take time to enjoy the present moment, and let your creativity flow without inhibition.

Preparing for Transformation: Anticipating Uranus and Pluto’s Shifts: While today may feel light and easy, the anticipation of tomorrow’s astrological events is palpable. Uranus stationing retrograde and Pluto re-entering Capricorn signal significant shifts that will require us to engage in deep introspection and transformation. Use today’s calm to mentally and emotionally prepare for these changes. Reflect on how you’ve been adapting to recent shifts, particularly in areas related to stability, values, and power structures. Consider where you might need to reassess your approach or let go of outdated patterns to embrace new ways of living and being. This is a time to prepare for the deep work of transformation that lies ahead.

Cultivating Optimism: Moon–Jupiter Sextile’s Hopeful Energy: The day ends on a hopeful note with the Moon–Jupiter sextile, encouraging a positive outlook as we move into a period of significant change. This aspect supports emotional well-being and optimism, helping to counterbalance any anxieties about the future. Embrace this energy by focusing on the possibilities that lie ahead and trusting that the coming changes will ultimately lead to growth and expansion. Use this time to set positive intentions for the future, believing in your ability to navigate the shifts with grace and confidence.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

[iatrophilosophos]

Hey, do you have any info or tips on diy medicine? I've always been interested but haven't found much success

Medicine is just problem solving. IME it's important to take nothing for granted and get as granular as possible with what you're trying to achieve, because that opens more doors.

Re: that point, diy med is being a medical researcher. Very rarely is work done for you, so there's a lot of fucking around and finding out--how much risk you chose to take is up to you in experimenting; but I'm pretty gung ho and I can still count on one hand the number of times I've tried something that carried more risk than over-the-counter acetaminophen.

Read voraciously--coming from someone who can only get thru about three books a year. It's fucking hard but it is so beyond worth it to work at it, however much you can. Read until you know enough to have questions and then read to find the answer to those questions and/or figure out how to determine an answer for yourself.

Bad sources can be just as educational as good ones--western medicine has a bunch of fuckshit in it and having strong, grounded analysis of why you think an approach, treatment, whatever is bullshit will help you in finding something better.

Anecdotal evidence is useful as FUCK. Western medical practice is regulated formally and informally by legal anxiety and profit motives (ergo an unwillingness to produce anything under a certain statistical bar of effectiveness) but for a LOT of anecdotal home remedies and experimental treatments, risk factors are p minimal and if you feel comfortable trying it based on a realistic risk assessment...you can just try it, lol.

I really want to stress that diy med doesn't just have to be about trying to get a sub-par approximation of western med. Sometimes what we can do for ourselves is limited or less effective, sure--but we are also capable of doing better. There's pros and cons, right, but autonomous medicine gives the opportunity to try something that a doctor never would--sometimes because of risk, but more usually it's about legal anxiety and state restrictions. I remember hearing someone I knew who worked in drug development talk about how stupid it was that their team was having to reinvent the wheel instead of using THC in a drug; even though there exists documentation that THC has the property they were after, their program got federal funding so no marijuana.

Personally my entry point was herbalism and it's not a bad route to go. It can do a LOT, it's very accessible, and unlike a lot of medicine it's less gatekept & there's a significant population of writers creating resources specifically for laypeople with a focus on autonomy and self practice; plus rad community spaces exist and ofc like any scene they're full of bullshit (transmisogyny and gender essentialism in lefty alt health is a huge current, unfortunately), but they can be a good place to like. Network until you actually find the other ppl on the fringes of the scene who you might actually click with. An herbal background also gives you a LOT of directional freedom--lots of sources will combine western medical information on top of traditional and anecdotal practices, which cumulates in a lot of lenses you can apply to try to solve a problem; plus a lot of drugs are or can be plant-derived and having a skillset to identify/grow, harvest and process plants is really useful even if western medicine is the primary lens you want to use (tbh ur basic herbal preparations are often the first step in more exact drug isolation procedures). It's also just essential imo to have more than a western medical perspective--take time to read less immediately practical texts about medical history, other medical systems, and other conceptualizations of illness and the human body. One of my hotter takes? Miasma theory is still relevant and useful. There's a lot of fuckshit everywhere, both within and outside of western medicine--treat no source as authoritative and every claim as a thought experiment! But seriously, take the time to see what's out there. Accumulate as much raw information as possible to build your toolkit.

Some herbal resources I like for beginners (all books on LibGen.is)

Rjwhelan.co.nz -- aoteroa based medical herbalist who presents a really wide range of info from historical/traditional to western scientific. He's got some interesting (read: bad) takes but is a solid writer and information aggregator.

The herbal medicine makers handbook by James green -- good intro to herbal preparation with a range of procedures from simple folk methods to more measurement and chemistry heavy. Also got some weird opinions. That's just kinda how it be.

Wild remedies by rosalee de foret and Emily han -- cute basic introduction to herbalism

The psychopharmacology of herbal medicines by Marcello spinella -- says it right on the tin. useful reference.

The Earthwise herbal (vol 1 and vol 2) by Matthew wood -- listen. I fucking hate this man. I kind of hate these books (organized alphabetically by latin name...come the fuck on) BUT. It is still a pretty ok reference book with a similar approach to Richard Whelan's work and it has herbs that I've had trouble finding in other texts.

On working with others and sharing information: it's important to not play doctor. I strongly encourage folks to help out other people, but in an assistive capscity--not a prescriptive one. Share your sources, explain your opinions! The goal is to offer as much information as possible for someone else to make their own decisions. If you're in the US, this is a pretty good rundown of the legal positionality of herbalists (/health consultants generally) but I strongly advocate for going further than the law in this case on ideological autonomy-focused grounds.

Finally: medicine is not a solitary undertaking. Having a group of friends or even just acquaintances with different needs, priorities and viewpoints will get you much further in a few months than you could on your own in years. And it's slow going at first. It really is. You'll fuck up, you'll go around believing something for years to suddenly realize it's bullshit, you will grow and change. But you'll get there.

[bedbugtreatmentbank]

Seven Perks of Kissimmee Bed Bug Treatment

Bed pests are actually very small, nighttime insects that can switch any type of quiet home in to a headache. These pests are well known for leading to sleepless evenings and frustrating attacks. Kissimmee, Fla, along with its own cozy, moist temperature, is a region that sees its reasonable reveal of garden bug problems. Luckily, qualified bedroom bug treatment offers a selection of advantages that can aid residents and also companies identical gain back control of their setting. Here are 7 essential conveniences of acquiring bedroom infection treatment in Kissimmee.

1. Reliable Eradication of Bedroom Bugs

Some of the absolute most significant advantages of expert Kissimmee bed bug treatment is its performance in eliminating the problem. Bed pests are infamously tough to control with DIY strategies, including non-prescription sprays or natural remedy. These insects hide in gaps and also gaps as well as recreate quickly. Professional bug control firms in Kissimmee have the know-how, tools, as well as items to ensure a detailed remedy. They typically use a mix of chemical procedures, warm treatments, and various other innovative strategies that target both the obvious pests and also their eggs, ensuring total removal.

2. Prevention of More Invasion

Bed pests are actually resistant, and also even the slightest management can trigger a new problem. When you buy expert bed bug treatment Kissimmee, the bug control staff certainly not just gets rid of the existing insects but also operates to protect against potential episodes. This includes examining as well as securing entry aspects where bedroom bugs may access, managing nearby spaces or regions, as well as offering assistance on just how to minimize the threat of re-infestation. This preventative method aids to protect your home or even service coming from reoccuring concerns, saving you from the difficulty and also expense of potential treatments.

3. Improved Sleeping Top Quality

Bed pest bites are usually scratchy and annoying, bring about rest disturbances. These insects devour human blood stream during the course of the night, and their attacks may lead to redness, swelling, as well as allergies in some individuals. The existence of mattress pests may significantly affect your attribute of lifestyle by robbing you of an excellent evening's sleep. Specialist treatment deals with the pests, permitting you to sleep quietly once more, free coming from the stress and anxiety as well as pain triggered by mattress insect bites.

4. Health And Wellness as well as Protection Rewards

While mattress bugs are certainly not recognized to transfer ailments, their attacks may cause secondary contaminations if scraped. The itching and also irritation triggered by bedroom infection bites may lead in open sores that are actually at risk to bacterial contaminations. In many cases, people along with allergy symptoms or bronchial asthma might experience increased sensitivity to the insects. Expert bed bug treatment Kissimmee makes certain the extraction of these parasites and also lessens the threat of health and wellness issues associated with their existence. Through resolving the problem swiftly, you can steer clear of the prospective wellness hazards that feature a long term invasion.

5. Tranquility of Thoughts

Living with a mattress infection infestation can easily be stressful as well as psychologically exhausting. The anxiety of certainly not understanding where the bugs are hiding or when you could receive bitten may make anxiousness. Qualified bed bug treatment provides assurance through delivering a clear, trusted option to the problem. Once the treatment is actually completed, you can easily relax very easy understanding that your home is complimentary coming from pests which the concern has been addressed through professional specialists.

6. Cost-Effectiveness in the Lengthy Run

Lots of individuals initially seek to control mattress pests by themselves, which can result in wasted amount of money on inefficient treatments. From bedroom insect sprays to bed mattress covers, these DIY strategies may offer short-lived alleviation however usually fail to address the source of the attack. Qualified treatment may look like an ahead of time assets, however it is even more affordable down the road. A comprehensive treatment through knowledgeable insect control experts are going to eradicate the invasion fully, minimizing the requirement for redoed treatments and the added costs of replacing household furniture or even bed mattress wrecked through mattress pests.

7. Security for Building as well as Items

Bed bugs can easily create damage to your valuables, featuring home furniture, mattresses, as well as clothing. They conceal in cushioning, joints of beds, and gaps in wooden household furniture. The longer you hang around to deal with the invasion, the more probable the pests are actually to spread and trigger permanent harm. Specialist insect control solutions in Kissimmee help secure your property by targeting all the concealed areas where bed insects might reside. Also, they can easily encourage on the most ideal actions to shield your possessions in the course of treatment, like laundering clothes as well as sealing off up items to stop poisoning.

Outcome

Bed pest treatment in Kissimmee provides numerous perks for house owners as well as organizations battling with these pesky insects. Coming from helpful elimination and also deterrence to improved health, safety, as well as satisfaction, professional treatment delivers a comprehensive answer. Through acquiring pro pest control solutions, you may certainly not simply clear away bedroom bugs however additionally defend your residential property, take pleasure in better rest, as well as avoid the on-going costs of coping with a problem. Don't let mattress pests take control of your home-- hit out to a counted on pest control service provider in Kissimmee to guarantee your area is actually pest-free as well as safe.

All American Pest Control

1101 Miranda Lane, Suite 131

Kissimmee, FL 34741

(321) 337-0919

Kissimmee Bed Bug Treatment

[1800possums]

Possum Problems? Here’s How to Keep Your Home Possum-Free Legally

Possums are a unique part of Australia’s wildlife, essential to the ecosystem. However, when they invade homes, they can cause property damage, noise disturbances, and health concerns. Because possums are protected under Australian law, homeowners must take legal and humane steps to manage and prevent possum infestations.

This guide will explore the best legal methods for keeping your home possum-free while ensuring the ethical treatment of these native animals.

Understanding Possum Behavior

Possums are nocturnal marsupials that seek shelter in tree hollows, but as urban expansion continues, they often turn to residential roofs, attics, and sheds for shelter. The most common possum species that invade homes include:

Common Brushtail Possum (Trichosurus vulpecula) – A larger species known for its adaptability to urban environments.

Common Ringtail Possum (Pseudocheirus peregrinus) – A smaller possum that prefers nesting in dense foliage but can enter roof spaces.

Possums are territorial, meaning if one finds a way into your roof or backyard, it is likely to stay unless properly removed and deterred. They are also highly adaptable and can learn to avoid certain deterrents over time, making it necessary to use a combination of methods to keep them away.

Signs of a Possum Infestation

Homeowners dealing with possums may notice the following:

Loud scratching, thumping, and scurrying noises at night.

Droppings or urine stains in the attic or near entry points.

Chewed electrical wiring, insulation, or wooden structures.

Disturbed gardens with stripped trees and missing fruits or flowers.

An unpleasant musky odour caused by possum scent marking.

If you notice these signs, acting quickly to prevent further damage while following legal guidelines is important.

Legal Ways to Remove Possums from Your Property

Because possums are protected under the Wildlife Act 1975, it is illegal to harm, kill, or relocate them beyond a 50-meter radius from where they were captured. Homeowners must follow these steps to remove possums legally:

1. Identify and Seal Entry Points

Possums enter homes through gaps in roofs, vents, eaves, and broken tiles. Conduct a thorough inspection of your property and:

Seal any openings with sturdy materials like wire mesh or timber.

Repair any loose roof tiles, soffits, or holes that could serve as entry points.

Before sealing an entry point, check for existing possums to avoid trapping them inside.

2. Use a Licensed Possum Removal Expert

Hiring a licensed possum removal specialist is the safest and most legal option if you have a possum on your roof or attic. Professionals will:

Capture the possum using government-approved cage traps that minimize stress.

As the law requires, the possum should be released within 50 meters of the capture site.

Provide advice on securing entry points to prevent re-entry.

Conduct follow-up inspections to ensure no new possums take over the space.

3. Install Possum Nesting Boxes

Possums invade homes due to a lack of natural nesting sites. Providing an alternative shelter can encourage them to move away from your property. Install a possum nesting box in a nearby tree, making it an attractive and legal solution to redirect possums from your roof.

4. Apply Natural Deterrents

Several non-harmful deterrents can discourage possums from returning, such as:

Strong scents – Possums dislike the smell of garlic, peppermint oil, and camphor. Soak cotton balls in these substances and place them around entry points.

Motion-activated lights or sprinklers – Sudden light or water spray can startle possums and make your home less appealing.

Ultrasonic-repellent devices emit high-frequency sounds that deter possums but are harmless to pets and humans.

Commercial possum deterrent sprays contain natural ingredients designed to keep possums away from specific areas.

5. Maintain Your Garden to Deter Possums

Possums are attracted to food sources in gardens, including fruit trees, vegetables, and flowers. To reduce their presence:

Secure garbage bins with tight-fitting lids to prevent scavenging.

Harvest ripe fruits promptly to avoid attracting possums.

Trim overhanging tree branches to prevent easy access to roofs.

Use netting on vegetable gardens and fruit trees to keep possums away.

Plant possum-repelling plants such as mint, geraniums, or chrysanthemums.

What NOT to Do When Dealing with Possums

Do not attempt to relocate possums more than 50 meters away. This is illegal and can distress the possum.

Do not use poisons or traps that could harm possums – These actions carry heavy penalties.

Do not block an entry point without confirming that the possum is out. Trapped possums can die inside your roof, creating further issues.

Do not ignore a possum problem – If left unchecked, possums can establish a long-term nesting site in your home.

Why Professional Possum Removal Services Are the Best Option

Handling possums legally and humanely requires expertise; this is where professional possum removal services come in. Benefits of hiring a licensed possum expert include:

Safe and humane capture methods that comply with wildlife laws.

Thorough inspections to identify and seal potential entry points.

Long-term deterrent solutions that prevent re-infestations.

Expert advice on keeping your home possum-free while respecting local wildlife regulations.

Preventative maintenance plans to ensure possums do not return in the future.

Choosing the Right Possum Removal Service

When selecting a professional possum removal service, look for:

Licensed and certified experts familiar with local wildlife laws.

Positive customer reviews and references to ensure reliability.

Humane and ethical removal techniques that align with legal guidelines.

Comprehensive follow-up support to prevent recurring issues.

Conclusion

Possums can be persistent invaders, but with the right legal strategies, you can keep your home possum-free while ensuring their safety. Sealing entry points, providing alternative nesting sites, using deterrents, and seeking professional removal services are all effective ways to manage possum problems without breaking the law.

By taking humane and legal action, homeowners can coexist peacefully with these fascinating creatures while securing their homes. If you need professional assistance, always rely on a licensed possum removal expert to handle the situation correctly and ethically.

Implementing these strategies will protect your home and contribute to the conservation of Australian wildlife by providing alternative shelter and minimizing human-wildlife conflicts. With the right balance of deterrence and ethical treatment, you can enjoy a possum-free home while respecting nature.

[thegreencocoon]

Cellulose vs. Fiberglass: Which Is Best For Your Attic in Cold Weather?

Choosing the right material is what one needs for an insulated attic. Insulation of your attic keeps your home warm while saving power by stopping warmth from escaping. Among many famous attic insulation substances, two popular ones are cellulose insulation and fiberglass insulation. Both have pros, but which is better suited for the attic during those harsh winter months? Let's break it down.

Why Proper Attic Insulation Matters in Cold Weather

In winter, because of poor insulation, hot air escapes upwards through your attic. This will drive up your utility bills besides posing an additional load to your heating device.

It keeps the warmth inside, preventing the cold air from entering your attic by preventing heat loss. Attic insulation is cellulose or fiberglass. For that reason, each of them has to be good for thermal resistance as well as long-lasting durability.

Cellulose Insulation

Cellulose is one of the primary sorts of attic insulation made generally from recycled paper products handled with hearth-retardant chemical substances. Cellulose insulation is exceptionally advocated for surroundings-friendly house owners who propose powerful insulation for their houses.

Advantages of Cellulose Insulation

1. High R-value: This is a great insulation that will keep your home warm in very cold weather and cool in hot weather.

2. Environmental Friendliness: Cellulose insulation has a basis in recycled products that make this more eco-friendly compared to every other different technique for insulation purposes.

3. Seal Gaps in Air: If it's installed properly, cellulose insulations fill tiny voids and fractures that seal tightly against air entry as compared with fiberglass.

4. Moisture Resistance: Moisture accumulation is minimized because it does not attract mold growth, allowing the air in your house to breathe fresh.

5. Soundproofing: It's also dense enough to support soundproofing. Your home becomes quiet and cozy.

Disadvantages of Cellulose Insulation

1. Sinks over Time: Cellulose settles or can crush after some decades. It may become less effective if it is installed improperly.

2. Heavier Material: It is heavier than fiberglass. That could put stress on some attics.

Fiberglass Insulation

Fiberglass insulation comprises thin glass strands and has been the most applied insulation material to date. Given that it's sold both in batt and loose-fill fiberglass, it has for decades been the favorite for use in attics.

Advantages of Fiberglass Insulation

1. Cost effectiveness: Fiberglass is often less expensive than cellulose, thus fitting on any budget.

2. Accessibility: Fiberglass batt insulation is easier to install and is located in most hardware shops, making it a completely convenient preference for many house owners.

3. Water Resistance: Fiberglass is proof against moisture because it does not soak up water; consequently, it can't develop mold or mildew.

4. Durability: Unlike cellulose, fiberglass does not settle and therefore maintains constant thermal performance over time.

Disadvantages of Fiberglass Insulation

1. Lower R-Value: Typically, the R-value of fiberglass is lower than cellulose; therefore, its performance is worse at very low temperatures.

2. Air Gaps: Fiberglass fills gaps and cracks much less well than cellulose does, creating a possibility for air leakage.

3. Environmental Issues: Fiberglass is not as green since it's not recycled.

Which Is Better for Cold Weather?

Usually, cellulose proves to be better than fiberglass for keeping your attic warm during the cold because of higher R-values besides better properties for air sealing. Its airtight barrier can more effectively prevent heat loss. Even being a more ecologically friendly choice, cellulose insulation can provide well-thought-out goals in energy efficiency towards today's modern demands.

Fiberglass remains a good contender, though: cheaper and lighter materials fit a tight budget requirement. It does not absorb much moisture and may be installed as easily as anyone expects.

Ultimately, it will have to depend upon your specific needs, budget requirements, and environmental sensitivity.

Consider Spray Foam Insulation as an Alternative

Any homeowner seeking excellent spray foam insulation service is worth considering. Spray foam provides the highest R-value per inch, is airtight, and works exceptionally well for inaccessible areas of your attic. Spray foam insulation installers can help those who live in extreme cold climates provide long-term energy efficiency and durability to their home.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Insulation

1. Climate: In Salisbury, MA, if the winters are pretty rough, a higher R-value material like cellulose is a better choice.

2. Budget: If you are concerned with budget, fiberglass is the best option.

3. Environmental Impact: For people who care about the environment, cellulose is the way to go, as it contains recycled content.

4. Professional Installation: Whichever cloth you opt for, cellulose or fiberglass, hiring professional insulation contractors guarantees that it is hooked up effectively for maximum effectiveness.

Why The Green Cocoon?

At The Green Cocoon, we provide you with excellent solutions in eco-friendly and strength-green insulation, inclusive of cellulose attic insulation fiberglass, or even advanced commercial spray foam insulation.

Our organization has the most skilled professionals imparting top-notch offerings to guide you on the quality insulations for your attic to live heat enough for the coldest months. Based in Salisbury, MA, we pride ourselves on delivering fantastic services that reduce strength intake and go away a smaller carbon footprint.

Conclusion

In contrast, both cellulose and fiberglass insulation are used for the attic, and they have their advantages. Still, when it comes to superior performance in cold temperatures, cellulose often wins the day. For an affordable, moisture-resistant choice, however, fiberglass will do just fine.

To ensure the best possible results, always employ expert contractors who can recommend and install the right kind of insulation for your home. Contact The Green Cocoon today to explore sustainable insulation solutions tailored to your needs!

[pcttrailsidereader]

It's Been a While

In 1981 my hiking parters, Jim Peacock, Rees Hughes and I were just past about half way on our first PCT hike. We had started at the Columbia River and were heading to Rainy Pass. We had given ourselves thirty days to get there. By today's standards we sound like snails. Then, it felt just fine, if not more than enough, to walk anywhere from twelve to fifteen miles a day.

Just past our halfway point we came to Waptus Lake in what was then the newly christened Alpine Lakes Wilderness. The trail out of Snoqualmie Pass was marked by numerous clearcuts and a fair amount of rain and low clouds. Eventually we walked around a bend into welcome sunshine to dry out and buoy my flagging spirits. By this point we had our hiking legs and we had found our routines.

From my journal entry, July 15, 1981, "Upon reaching Dutch Miller Gap trail, which is essentially at the bottom [of a long descent of 26 switchbacks] we had a decision to make. Camp here or nearby Waptus Lake. We could see the lake from the beginning of our descent- it looked very inviting. Consequently we reluctantly pushed on..."

Arriving at Waptus lake we started at one campsite and eventually moved to a second site. Unfortunately we didn't get much time to catch up on journals, washing up, etc. since we arrived late in the day. We did enjoy a fire even though it was still a relatively warm evening. As a full moon rose over the lake this served as one of the high (no pun intended) points of our day. That full moon made me ponder where I would be at the next full moon.

The next full moon I was back home fully recovered from a case of Giardia I had picked up on the hike. Little did I know that it would be forty four years later before I would see another full moon rising above Waptus Lake. My friend Dick Simpson and I had planned another backpacking trip together for this late summer. We have gone on several over the years. One is described in 'Crossing Paths', Rees and my book of hiker/writer stories entitled 'The Pleasure of Your Company'. This time Dick suggested we hike to Waptus Lake going in at the Salmon La Sac trailhead. The trail is just over nine miles long with some minimal elevation gain and loss eventually following the Waptus River to the lake.

When we arrived at the lake I was completely caught off guard by the stunning view of Summit Chief and Bear's Breast mountains rising on the south end of Waptus lake. How could we have missed this in 1981? Well for one thing it was apparent from my journal that we were wiped out from a long day of hiking and for another from where you descend to the lake shore off the the PCT you are in ancient woods that block views to the south. That was a relief to realize all this time later since this view is unforgettable.

Summit Chief and Bear's Breast peaks...the PCT traverses the right side of the lake shore in this picture.

Being at Waptus lake in late September is different from visiting in mid July. We did have sunshine but the air was cool and the nights cooler still. The late morning and through the day brought a steady wind down lake from the south and west. Even with the wind Dick went for swims every day while I was less motivated and only waded knee deep. Revisiting Waptus with Dick was everything I had wanted. Time with Dick, a return to a part of the PCT I had not been on in a very long time, and three days of getting around on day hikes both south and north on the PCT. We didn't go real far in either direction but seeing Cathedral Peak in the not too far distance brought up more memories from 1981. There was a lot of story telling on my part to share with Dick.

How often do we experience something in our lives and it is seemingly a one off? A box ticked, an experience that makes up a long list in one's life. That is often the case for some of my life experiences. Not so true of the PCT. I doubt I will re-walk the entire PCT again but going to Waptus Lake and a few other memorable spots along the trail motivate me to not put off those visits. For me the hikes I have experienced on the PCT have clearly been life changing and continue to reward me with rich dividends. Going back to Waptus transported me back to a time when I was much younger, maybe a bit more naive, while learning about my self and where I was headed in this one short life. I am still learning and still finding my way, hopefully less naive and just a bit older. It's been a while...

Dick along the Waptus River

[salmapathan]

Canada Temporary Resident Visa: Who Needs It and How to Apply

Canada is a country that attracts millions of visitors every year for tourism, business, and family reunification. To enter the country legally, individuals from many nations require a Canada Temporary Resident Visa (TRV). This article outlines who needs a TRV, the eligibility criteria, application process, and how it connects with pathways like Canada Permanent Residency, Australia Permanent Residency, the H1B Visa, Working Holiday Visa Canada, and Canada Open Work Permit options. With the help of certified immigration consultants, navigating this process becomes much easier and more accurate.

Who Needs a Canada Temporary Resident Visa?

A Canada Temporary Resident Visa is mandatory for individuals from non-visa-exempt countries. Citizens of countries like India, China, the Philippines, Nigeria, Pakistan, and Vietnam are required to apply for a TRV before they can travel to Canada.

Those who do not require a TRV must obtain an Electronic Travel Authorization (eTA) instead if arriving by air. U.S. citizens are exempt from both TRV and eTA requirements for short visits.

Eligibility Criteria for Canada Temporary Resident Visa

To be eligible for a Canada TRV, applicants must satisfy the following conditions:

Possess a valid passport

Be in good health

Have no criminal record

Demonstrate strong ties to their home country

Provide proof of sufficient funds to cover the duration of the stay

Intend to leave Canada at the end of the visit

Provide documents to support the purpose of visit

Types of Temporary Resident Visas

1. Single-Entry Visa

This allows you to enter Canada once. After leaving, you will need a new visa to re-enter.

2. Multiple-Entry Visa

This visa allows multiple entries into Canada for up to 10 years, or until your passport expires, whichever comes first.

3. Transit Visa

For travelers passing through Canada en route to another country. Valid for up to 48 hours.

Step-by-Step Application Process for Canada TRV

Step 1: Determine Your Visa Type

Identify whether you need a single-entry, multiple-entry, or transit visa based on your travel plans.

Step 2: Create an IRCC Account

Visit the IRCC website and create an account to submit your application.

Step 3: Complete the Required Forms

You will need to fill out:

IMM 5257: Application for a Temporary Resident Visa

IMM 5645: Family Information Form

IMM 5409: Statutory Declaration of Common-law Union (if applicable)

Step 4: Gather Required Documents

You must submit:

Valid passport

Photographs per IRCC specifications

Proof of financial support

Letter of invitation (if visiting family/friends)

Travel itinerary

Employment or school letter

Ties to home country (property, job, family)

Medical exam (if required)

Police clearance (if applicable)

Step 5: Pay Visa and Biometrics Fees

Visa fee: CAD $100

Biometrics fee: CAD $85

Step 6: Submit Biometrics

Visit a Visa Application Centre (VAC) to provide fingerprints and photographs.

Step 7: Wait for Decision

Processing times vary by country. Check updates on your IRCC portal.

Step 8: Submit Passport for Visa Stamping

Once approved, submit your passport for the visa to be stamped.

Common Reasons for TRV Refusal

Incomplete or inaccurate documentation

Inability to prove financial capacity

Weak ties to home country

Unclear travel intent

Previous immigration violations

Suspicious travel history

Applicants should consult experienced immigration consultants to minimize rejection risks.

TRV vs. Other Global Visa Programs

Canada Permanent Residency

Though a TRV does not directly lead to Canada PR, many applicants use the visit to explore opportunities and plan a transition via programs like Express Entry or PNPs.

Australia Permanent Residency

Unlike Canada's TRV, Australia offers a points-based immigration system for PR. However, both countries prioritize skilled migration.

H1B Visa

The H1B Visa allows foreign professionals to work in the U.S. under employer sponsorship. It's more restrictive and competitive compared to Canada's flexible pathways.

Working Holiday Visa Canada

Young adults (18–35) from eligible countries can apply for the Working Holiday Visa Canada, which provides a Canada Open Work Permit, allowing them to travel and work for any employer.

Canada Open Work Permit

This permit is typically granted to:

Spouses of temporary foreign workers or international students

Applicants of inland sponsorship

Bridging Open Work Permit holders transitioning to Canada PR

Advantages of Using Immigration Consultants

Navigating Canada’s visa system can be complex. Licensed immigration consultants offer services including:

Application review and submission

Document verification

Strategic guidance

Interview preparation

Appeals or reconsideration assistance

Always verify credentials with the College of Immigration and Citizenship Consultants (CICC) to avoid fraud.

Tips for a Successful TRV Application

Submit a strong cover letter stating the purpose and length of your visit

Present a detailed itinerary including flights, hotel bookings, and tourist activities

Show strong home country ties such as job letters, property ownership, or family obligations

Submit a letter of invitation if visiting friends or family

Avoid last-minute applications—apply well in advance

Maintaining Compliance While in Canada

After entering Canada on a TRV:

Do not overstay your visa validity

Do not work or study unless your visa explicitly allows it

Abide by all Canadian laws and conditions

Extend your visa if required through Visitor Record

Violating these rules may impact future applications, including attempts to obtain Canada Permanent Residency or Open Work Permits.

Conclusion

A Canada Temporary Resident Visa is a crucial document for individuals looking to explore the country temporarily. Whether it’s for tourism, business, or visiting family, the TRV opens the door to experience Canada firsthand. If you're considering permanent settlement later, it can serve as a stepping stone to Canada PR. For those comparing options, understanding how it aligns with pathways like the H1B Visa, Australia Permanent Residency, and Working Holiday Visa Canada helps make informed immigration choices.

Work with certified immigration consultants to boost your chances of approval and avoid mistakes that can delay your travel or future immigration goals.