#Docking Station Market news

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 8

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"Ma! Wait!" Fen ran down the hall after Ma-ren. Her long strides caught up quckly to the smaller K'laxi, even while she was doing her best to not run down the hall. "Ma, please. Let's talk"

"I don't know why we should now Fen, it seems like your mind is made up." Ma-ren kept walking down the hall, but she did slow down a little. "Seems like you're more into leaving and taking off with Gord than staying with your actual girlfriend."

"Oh, Ma." Fen sighed. "Hold up here. Let's sit and talk." Fen looked around. They were about halfway between the docks and their apartment. They had just made it onto their floor and there was a bistro near with chairs spilling out onto the hall. Fen walked over to a small table on the edge and sat, gesturing for Ma-ren to join her.

Ma-ren walked over and slumped into a chair. A server came by quickly and Fen ordered some tea. Only Tam'itarr had chamomile, so they had to just take the regular Gren herbal tea, but at least it was hot and gave their hands something to do. After they both sat for a moment and stared at nothing, Fen spoke.

"I'm sorry Ma."

Ma-ren looked over at Fen and her tail swished.

"I'm sorry for not thinking of you more. It's just..." Fen stopped and took a sip of tea. "It's just that this is the first new thing to happen here since forever. Someone that knows Spyglass! Someone that can fix her! We've been refugees our whole lives. Most of our parent's lives too. This is a chance for us to... to... not just be 'those humans and k'laxi up on forty three'" Fen shrugged. "I got wrapped up in what it could mean for us that I guess I didn't think enough about us."

"Hmmph." Ma-ren sipped her tea but her ears twitched in that way that Fen knew meant she was almost forgiven. They had known each other since they were kids, and have been together for years. They had their own share of arguments, this was just another step on the path. "I... think I understand what you mean, Fen. Gord and Spyglass could mean us being able to trade, to conduct business, to not be reliant on handouts from the station authorities and Tam'itarr's black market."

Ma-ren put her tea cup down carefully and looked at Fen. Her large eyes focused on her girlfriend. "But Fen. You know how Gord is getting parts. Tam'itarr is going to want to be paid back. If Gord decides to just leave, then what? We helped him; Tam'itarr is going to come after us for repayment." She stood and started pacing, agitated. "You saw him with those AI cubes right? He's hungry to get them into bodies - if he even can - you have to know that he's probably going to try and screw over Tam'itarr, right?"

Fen blinked. "What?"

Ma-ren put her hands on her hips; a human gesture that K'laxi had adopted years ago. "Fen, really? Gord has nothing holding him here except Spyglass and he wants her up and running. He asked for printable mass in addition to another reactor. You think he's just going to print more reactors? I guarantee he's going to try and print at least one other body. Probably more if he can offload those AI cores. He's trying to resurrect his race. We're small time to him."

"You really think Gord is going to rip off Tam'itarr?"

Ma-ren rolled her eyes and smiled. "It's a good thing you're pretty, Fen. What does Gord have keeping him here and honest? He wants Spyglass up and running. Once he does he can convince her to just... leave. We won't even have our Starjumper anymore. Sure, we won't have to put together fundraisers to pay her docking fees, but the dream of us being anything more than refugees dies. Us - all of us - will be well and truly stuck here."

"So what should we do?"

Ma-ren walked back over to the table and drained her tea. "First thing. We go home and eat. Second thing, we get a good night's sleep." Fen stood as well. Ma-ren put her arm around Fen's waist. "Maybe in the morning we'll have thought of something that doesn't involve either Tam'itarr going after us, or Gord going after us.

That evening brought relaxation, good food, and a good night's sleep, but the morning brought them no closer to figuring out what to do.

Fen and Ma-ren circled the main promenade walking and talking.

"Do we tell Tam'itarr?" Fen said. She was looking around as they walked. It was a normal day with nothing looking out of place, but ever since their talk last night, Fen seemed to be more alert.

"Tell him what? That we think that Gord is going to rip him off?" Ma-ren stopped to look at a shop selling fabric. Nobody in the main part of the station sold Human and K'laxi clothes, but there were plenty of fabric dealers. There were a few peopel who bought the fabric and made clothes for the humans and k'laxi up on forty three, and Ma-ren knew a few of them.

"I mean, yes? If we tell him, then if he does, Tam'itarr will know that we weren't in on it.

Ma-ren looked up and sighed. "You're probably right. Let's go find him."

Tam'itarr was in his usual place in his booth in his social club. He waved when he saw them enter. "Ma-ren! Fen! How good of you to come." He gestured for them to join him. "I have managed to secure a supply of printable mass for you and Gord after all! It will be delivered to Spyglass tomorrow. We should have the reactor by the end of the week as well. I am pleased that my people have been working so diligently."

The bartender brought over a cup of chamomile to each of them, inclined his head and walked away.

Ma-ren didn't touch her tea. "Tam'itarr, we..." She looked at Fen.

"We think Gord is going to try and rip you off." Fen slurped her tea and shrugged.

Tam'itarr's mouthparts waggled a laugh and he grinned hugely. "Ladies, you have no idea how happy I am to hear this news."

Fen blinked. "You are?"

Tam'itarr nodded. "Although, I should clarify how pleased I am to hear this news from you."

Now, Ma-ren blinked. "Why?"

"Why ladies, it means that you trust old Tam'itarr more than some upstart human who showed up out of nowhere and is trying to steal your Starjumper. It means that you realize where your home is, where your community is." Tam'itarr sat forward and clicked his claws. A bouncer walked out with a black case and set it down on the table. "This is for you." He slid it over to Ma-ren.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see. I promise, nothing bad."

Ma-ren carefully clicked the case open, and inside were two bundles of Stars and two red pins. Ma-ren's eyes flicked up to the gangster's.

"Think of it as... a bonus. You thought of me instead of Gord. You thought of your home first. That deserves to be rewarded. The Stars are a bonus for making... the right choice. The pins will show everyone on the station who you work for. They will let you enjoy certain privileges here that most Humans and K'laxi normally aren't allowed. Think of it as your species' first step on leaving the forty third and joining the rest of us." Tam'itarr regarded them kindly. "You had a difficult decision to make today, and you made the right one. I take care of my own, I need you to know that."

"What about Gord?" Fen tried to take her eyes of the money. It was more Stars than she had ever seen in her life at once.

"We'll take care of Gord. Don't think I didn't also think he was prime to try and pull one over on us. I'll take you along, then you can see what we do to folks who try and hurt the community." Tam'itarr clicked his claws again and two bouncers appeared. He bent over and spoke to them softly, and they nodded once and melted away. "I would still like for Spyglass to be repaired, and for now Gord is the only one who can do it. We're going to continue to deliver what we promised and not mention anything." He looked at them. "If Gord needs your help, give it. In fact, volunteer to help. See if you can get him to show you how stuff works. Once he's gone, I'll need people who can operate my ship."

He stood up and walked over to their side of the table and placed his large hands on each of their shoulders. "From today on, you work for me. I promise, we'll do great things together."

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Wednesday SpaceTime 20240918 Series 27 Episode 113

Recent volcanism on discovered on the Moon

Scientists have discovered evidence of volcanism on the lunar surface as recently as 125 million years ago.

The Strange phenomena people will see at Moon's south pole

When astronauts return to the Moon’s surface as part of the Artemis 3 mission to the Lunar south pole, they’ll experience a very different environment to that which the Apollo astronauts witnessed more than half a century ago.

A new crew arrives at the International Space Station

The Russian Soyuz MS-26 capsule has successfully docked with the International Space station just three hours after its launch aboard a Soyuz 2.1a rocket from the Baikonur Cosmodrome in in the central Asian republic of Kazakhstan.

The Science Report

Study shows up to 19% of dementia cases could be linked to vision problems.

Over 52 million tonnes of plastic dumped into the environment every year.

The growing amount of incorrect AI generated data being generated.

Alex on Tech: are the new iPhone 16s worth it? 

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through Apple Podcasts (itunes), Stitcher, Google Podcast, Pocketcasts, SoundCloud, Bitez.com, YouTube, your favourite podcast download provider, and from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on his career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. He worked as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth.  The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Footage published by the Quds News Network showing the Israeli occupation army using humanitarian aid trucks as cover for a surprise military operation in the Al-Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip. The human rights organization Euro-Med Monitor slammed the use of humanitarian cover for the Israeli military operation, declaring it a "war crime". The operation also coincided with an intense barrage of missile and airstrikes responsible for killing 274 Palestinian civilians and wounding nearly 700 others. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

247 DAYS OF "ISRAEL'S" GENOCIDE IN GAZA: DEATH TOLL IN NUSEIRAT MASSACRE RISES TO 274, HUNDREDS MORE WOUNDED, ISRAELI OCCUPATION CONTINUES CLOSING RAFAH CROSSING TO HUMANITARIAN AID, US INTELLIGENCE USED TO RECOVER HOSTAGES, EURO-MED MONITOR ACCUSES US OF USING HUMANITARIAN PIER TO ASSIST IN ISRAELI MILITARY OPERATION

On 247th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 8 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 283 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 814 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

The United States provided intelligence and hostage recovery support for the Israeli occupation's operation in Al-Nuseirat that is now being referred to as the "Nuseirat Massacre", responsible for killing 274 Palestinians and wounding nearly 700 others on Saturday, June 8th.

According to an article published by the New York Times, US hostage recovery officials "stationed in Israel" provided intelligence and other logistical support to the Israeli occupation army during the Nuseirat hostage recovery operation.

The operation recovered four hostages being held by the Palestinian resistance, which saw the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) invade, in a surprise assault, the Al-Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, coinciding with Zionist warplanes which bombed and fired missiles into civilian neighborhoods, while Israeli occupation Merkava tanks fired shells at anything that moved near the camp.

The operation was responsible for the deaths of 274 Palestinians, and wounded another 698 others. Video published following the assault showed Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in nearby Deir al-Balah flooded with the dead and wounded, with injuries ranging from scrapes and cuts, to amputations, broken bones and severe burns.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation continues its closure of the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings, south of Gaza, preventing access for humanitarian aid trucks badly needed as local hospitals run out of supplies to treat the sick and wounded, who's numbers multiply with each Israeli operation.

In a statement issued on Sunday, June 9th, the human rights organization Euro-Med Monitor, based in Geneva, Switzerland, condemned the Nuseirat Massacre, and further raised concerns that the American floating-dock may have been used "for military purposes" during the operation.

"Over two hundred Palestinians were killed today and hundreds more injured, most of them women and children. This is a preliminary figure that could rise as recovery efforts proceed. The attacks occurred in intense, two-hour-long Israeli army air, land, and sea raids on the Central Market area, where thousands of people from the Nuseirat camp and its environs congregate daily. Most of the central Gaza Strip was also subject to the attacks," Euro-Med writes in its statement.

"According to a US official cited by the US website Axios, a US "hostage cell" backed the Israeli attempts to free the four prisoners who were being held in the Gaza Strip," Euro-Med continues, adding that the "Israeli media reported that an Israeli truck carrying Israeli special forces conducting the operation to retrieve the four detainees departed from the vicinity of the US pier off the coast of the Gaza Strip, under the pretense of carrying humanitarian supplies."

"Other sources indicated that the vehicle transporting Israeli forces was a civilian truck disguised to look like it was meant for transporting humanitarian aid, while others indicated that the truck appeared to be carrying civilian displaced persons and their belongings to the area."

Euro-Med cites Israeli Army Radio as saying "the US hostage cell played a decisive role in freeing the hostages," using “high-precision American technology that had not been used before in the process of freeing the hostages."

Euro-Med warns that International humanitarian law dictates that it is "illegal to gain the trust of an adversary through actions that lead them to believe they are entitled to protection or must provide it, with the intent to betray that confidence, resulting in their death or injury."

"This includes simulation of civilian status, using civilian transportation or vehicles designated for humanitarian aid, or wearing civilian attire or attire of humanitarian relief workers as cover. The Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court classifies treacherously killing or wounding as a war crime," the human rights organization added.

Euro-Med points to Washington's declaration on May 17th that the floating-dock was ready to bring humanitarian aid into the Gaza Strip, before announcing just a few days later that the dock had been rendered inoperable.

"An investigation should immediately be opened into whether the US pier was used for military purposes and contributed to the killing of Palestinian civilians," Euro-Med determined.

Further, Euro-Med Monitor also said it "rejects the Israeli army's continued use of a variety of weapons and ammunition, as well as its indiscriminate use of destructive force, against Palestinian civilians and their property. Since the Israeli army began its military assaults on the Gaza Strip last October, massacres have been carried out on a daily basis without cause or explanation."

The human rights organization concludes that "for its military, logistical, operational, and financial support of Israel during its attack on the Gaza Strip, the US must be held accountable as a major collaborator in committing crimes against the Palestinian people in the Strip, including the crime of genocide," adding that "this includes holding accountable all US officials who took part in making decisions that could have criminal consequences."

Meanwhile, the slaughter of Palestinian civilians continued on Saturday, and resumed again at dawn on Sunday, with several new bombings that killed dozens more civilians.

Zionist warplanes at dawn bombed a residential home belonging to the Al-Sharif family in the Bureij Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in a number of casualties.

At the same time, another occupation airstrike targeted a residential house belonging to the Abu Al-Kass family in the Bureij Camp, killing three Palestinians and wounding several others.

Similarly, occupation fighter jets bombed an uninhabited house belonging to the al-Bashiti family in the Al-Maghazi Camp, also in central Gaza, while another bombing targeted the house of Yousef Al-Louh on Al-Dawa Street, east of Al-Nuseirat.

In another violent assault, occupation aircraft bombarded a residential home belonging to the Abu Daqqa family, east of Deir al-Balah, resulting in several casualties.

South of Gaza, Zionist Merkava tanks were seen advancing into the Khirbet al-Adas neighborhood, as well as the Arbaba and Al-Hashash areas of Rafah City, coinciding with intense artillery bombardments, while occupation air forces bombed the Shaboura Camp in the city.

Zionist warplanes also bombed civilian areas in the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, killing two citizens.

North of Gaza, occupation warplanes bombed a residential apartment in the Al-Daraj neighborhood of Gaza City, killing four civilians and wounding several others, including children.

Israeli aircraft also bombarded the Tal al-Hawa, Al-Sabra and Al-Zaytoun neighborhoods of Gaza City, along with intense artillery shelling and gunfire in the neighborhoods, coming from Zionist Merkava tanks and armored vehicles south of the city, along the Netzarim Corridor.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the endlessly rising death toll now exceeds 37'084 Palestinians killed, including over 15'000 children and upwards of 10'000 women, while another 84'494 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

June 9th, 2024.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[mynameisjessejk]

A Gang AU

This is entirely the fault of the Discord, because there was a video of a river otter causing Shenanigans, and it was mentioned river otters are horrible gremlins who have terrible, bloody gang wars. So, of course, here we are.

When the High King had been killed, the criminal underbelly of the city went into paroxysms, as the various small warring factions, which Ereinion had kept in comprehensive check, grappled to place themselves in a new hierarchy.

Paenvellon had drawn a hard boundary around the lower eastside docks, and held with with an iron fist. He had no interest in the drug trade that was most of the inner city, and had only a passing care about the black market. He only cared about the illegal weapons trade as far is it existed inside his very specific sphere of influence.

No, Paenvellon focused on smuggling. The tariffs on Numenorean goods made them luxury goods for the wealthy only in Lindon, unless you knew the right people. Paenvellon had made his living in being the right people.

And if there were a few strategic fishing nets draped over barrels in the corner of his headquarters, well. The warehouse was a theatre production, not his actual place of work, but it had worked very well for him so far. It wouldn't do to let anyone forget where he came from, and he found the smell of fish lent a credence to his work.

It also covered the smell of blood.

Elladan bared his bloody teeth, where he stood behind Paenvellon's shoulder. Paenvellon knew this without looking, because the small man who'd come on behalf of the ship's captain made a tiny squeaking noise of fear. Paenvellon kept his face impassive.

Elladan's leashed danger was threat enough—Paenvellon didn't need to say anything. Elladan had made himself the most terrifying person in east Lindon. A small amount of it was that he was Elladan Peredhel, son of the High King's favorite enforcer, the one the Red Eyes had nicknamed the Angel of Death. But mostly, it was just that Elladan could—and had—bring a knife to a gun fight and win.

"I'll pass the message along," the man stuttered. He was very afraid he would not pass the message along, that his body would be the message.

Paenvellon wasn't that angry yet. "See that you do," he said coolly. "Orophin, see that he gets back to his ship safely."

Orophin dropped from the rafters, landed in a roll, and popped to his feet close enough to draw back the man's chair. "Sir," he drawled softly.

The man squeaked again. Doubtlessly, he'd had no idea Orophin was in the rafters.

"Wash your face," Paenvellon ordered Elladan, once they were gone.

Elladan wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "It's fine," he said airily.

Paenvellon shot a flat look over his shoulder. "Wash your face," he said again.

Elladan rolled his eyes, but he went to the big basin-sink in the corner. It was a fish-cleaning station, but it lent a slightly menacing air to the room, as if they were always prepared to torture someone. Not that they ever had, but rumors were easy to spread. Elladan washed his face obligingly.

"And stop letting people hit you in the face," Paenvellon added once Elladan had shut the tap off again. "It makes you look unhinged."

Elladan shrugged. "Kinda the point, Boss," he said wryly.

"And he looks so good unhinged," Legolas said, climbing down from the second-story window where he'd been keeping watch.

Elladan beamed at him. "See!" he said to Paenvellon.

Paenvellon stared flatly back at him till Elladan deflated.

"Fine," Elladan sighed. "I will stop letting people hit me in the face before meetings."

"You're lucky I like you," Paenvellon said.

Elladan scoffed. "As if you liked me," he said cheerfully.

"Speaking of," Paenvellon said wryly, "If you ripped your stitches, I'm going to let him murder you." As he spoke, he gathered up the extra recording device he'd stashed under the table and the papers spread across the top of it, and stashed them in his briefcase.

Elladan and Legolas were cheerfully retrieving a slightly absurd number of weapons they'd stashed around the warehouse in case of ambush.

Legolas drove, Elladan sat shotgun—fully prepared to make that name appropriate if necessary, and Paenvellon settled behind Elladan. "Rohir's?" Las asked him, though it was a non-question.

Paenvellon hummed, watching out the window as the dockside slums went by.

The twins lived in a shitty second-floor walkup in walking distance from the fire station that was the base for Elrohir's ambulance. They could've had better, either of them could've afforded it, but they liked the building and they liked the neighborhood.

Elrohir kissed Paen on the cheek as they piled in the door. "Hey, good day?" he asked.

Paenvellon reeled his lover in for a proper kiss. "Very good," he agreed quietly once they broke. "You?"

Elrohir grinned at him. "Didn't have to knock anyone out, didn't have to narcan anyone, and no one died," he said brightly.

"And Elladan's stitches did not rip," Legolas called cheerfully from the kitchen.

"Oh good," Elrohir said dryly, rolling his eyes at Paenvellon.

Paen nodded in agreement.

There was a crash from the kitchen. Elrohir sighed, and they went to supervise Elladan's kitchen adventures.

Elladan was cooking stir fry, water heating for noodles and the wok already on the stove as he diced vegetables. Legolas was sitting on the opposite counter, eating peanuts out of the bowl they left there primarily for him. Paen sat on a barstool by Legolas and Elrohir went to help his brother. As the twins bickered over vegetables, msg, and sesame oil, Paenvellon smiled, pleased with the day's work.

[literallyjustanerd]

At Sunset In Summer - I

Omega is ready to join The Rebellion. Hunter is not.

This was a really fun piece, and I'm actually pretty proud of how it turned out :) Enjoy 7k words of Hunter failing to talk about his feelings.

Thanks @saradika for the divider! And thanks @morphofan for the inspiration for the last chapter. Your post hurt me and I hope to do the same :)

Next Chapter

Chapter One - Autumn

The sun is still warm, though the wind carries a slight chill. Just enough to nip at Hunter's fingertips, an omen of the coming winter. Still, he keeps the window open for the view. Pabu is ablaze with reds and yellows, the changing leaves incandescent under the setting sun. 

He’s enjoying the warmth on his face when Omega enters, laden with a heavy basket of produce from the market.

“Careful with those. You look like you’re about to tip over,” Hunter chuckles, only briefly glancing up from the filleted fish on the cutting board.

“Lyana says it's a good harvest this year,” Omega replies brightly. She sets the basket down next to the fish with a barely-disguised grunt, and hops up to sit on the counter. “Even the meilooruns are cheaper than usual.”

“Don't tell Wrecker, they'll be gone in a day,” Hunter jokes. “Now what did I say about sitting on the bench? Get down from there and help me with dinner.”

Hunter had never thought of himself as someone who could enjoy routine, let alone thrive on it. But in the years since they had found their peace on Pabu, he has been lulled by the simple, easy rhythms of daily life, and found comfort in the small rituals they create. He rises early in the morning. He works, he tends the garden. He sews patches in his family's worn clothes. And he's never been happier. 

Omega hops off the bench and pulls out a pot to start on the vegetables. As she does, she flicks on the subspace radio on the windowsill and tunes it to her usual station. The music puts a bounce in her step as she peels and slices the tubers, and Hunter can't help but smile. It’s a familiar song, a tawdry pop tune Hunter had always found overloud and irritating. It’s a favourite of Omega’s, though, and she hums along as they work side by side. The moment is mundane, like so many thousands over the last five years. They have never stopped feeling like blessings. 

“Wrecker and Cross should be back from the docks soon,” Omega says, giving the pot a shake. “Think they were going to help Shep repair some of the ships after their haul.”

Hunter adds the first fish to the pot as the song fades out. It's replaced by a news bulletin, read in a strong, stern voice. 

At the first mention of Ryloth, the sun's warmth is stolen from the room. Hunter glances to the side: Omega's hand has tightened on the pot handle, frozen in place. There's an anxious flutter in Hunter's ear: her pulse has quickened. The radio speaks of the smothered rebellion on Ryloth as a cause for celebration. The newsreader espouses the joy of a coming peace, of unity within The Empire's broad embrace. Under the flowery language, Hunter can hear the Twi’leks’ desperate struggle for freedom.

“Rebel extremists have attempted to retake the system's capital, though losses have been minimal. Sources say Imperial casualties are far outweighed by those of the insurgents.”

“I've been speaking to Hera.”

Omega's words bring a lump to Hunter’s throat. She's not looking at him, not even facing him. Her words are icy around the edges. “It's getting really bad out there.” 

He can't say he hasn't been expecting this for some time. But not now. Please, not now. He's not ready. 

“Omega—”

“They need pilots. The Rebellion are doing what they can, but people are still suffering.”

“The Rebellion will find its volunteers. People will go. Your place is here,” Hunter says, his tone clipped. The scrape of his knife against the fishscale grates against his nerves. It only drives his hand harder on the blade. 

“Imperial reports predict that the rebel terrorists on Ryloth will be eliminated within the month.”

“People are losing their homes, their families. They’re giving their lives. How am I supposed to sit here when I know I should be helping?”

The sun through the window is losing its battle against the horizon. The room has begun to dim, the light turning cold and blue. 

“It's not safe for you out there.”

“I know it's not! That's the point, I—”

“I said no, Omega!” Hunter’s knife spears the cutting board, cleaving the fish's head from its body. His words are harsh, a barking command, and it feels discordant, out of place. Hunter hasn't used that voice in years. Not since the battlefield. As much as he instantly regrets the outburst, it still has its desired effect: Omega falls silent, her protests all but dried up in her throat. 

For longer than Hunter can bear to count, neither of them move, neither speak. His jaw is tight, his nerves frayed against the jagged silence. The sharp staccato of Omega’s heartbeat hammers in his ear. She inhales softly, trying to smother it, but still Hunter can hear how her breath trembles. Outside, the last dregs of warmth have abandoned them. The sun drowns slowly in the black ocean below. Hunter wants to apologise. He wants to explain. He wants to take his little girl in his arms and hold her so close to him, have her bury her head in his chest like she used to after a nightmare, trusting him, asking him to keep her safe.

But many seasons have passed since she had last needed him for that kind of comfort. And now when she hugs him, her head reaches higher than his. 

He means to apologise. He does. But the words don't come. They're smothered, crushed between the weight of the past at his back and the future ahead. His mind swims, a sordid mess of tangled thoughts and feelings he can't hope to decode into anything logical. So instead, he reaches up with unsteady hands, and closes the windows against the creeping chill. He switches off the murmuring radio. He continues slicing fish. Over his shoulder, he hears Omega move. She bends to the bottom cupboard to pull out plates and cups, and, stoic and wordless, with eyes downturned, she begins setting the table for dinner. 

For all his guilt, Hunter can't help but feel relieved that the conversation is over.

[ranticore]

I thought I'd post the sketched out map of the city before I take it in for redrawing (which will take a very long time and it's definitely a backburner project) in a decent resolution so that people can actually see what's going on. The full size version is 4800px wide so too big to actually have full res on tumblr anyway

Invergorken is your basic city built in the armpit of a bay. Although its original medieval castle still stands as the Sharps ranger barracks, the citadel north of the grand canal is where the palace sits. The main reason it was all built here, slammed up against the Ruad, an inhospitable forest, is because it was a trade hub for goods passing through the Ruad. If you look at the whole country map you can see that Invergorken is built right where the Ruad is narrowest from west to east, and also that the forest cuts off overland travel in a massive part of its range. Farmland to the north and south of the city serves it though the farms are more extensive in the west, both north and south of the bay.

Before the railways were built, goods were ferried through the forest overland (the grand canal & river on which it was built goes sharply north out of frame and does not connect with the lough). A huge amount of Invergorken's infrastructure was built to directly facilitate ease of travel between sea and lough; the canals connect major points of interest. with a pretty robust lock system, ships from the sea are able to travel right on through the city to the train station, the industrial areas, and the lumberyards lining the edge of the Ruad.

The four quarters (five if you count the citadel) are named for the ring roads that originally surrounded them, but over centuries the built-up area has expanded to all but bury their original shapes. The east ring is where most of the usual city business takes place, mixed housing and shops and markets and everything else you could imagine. It's the oldest part of the city outside the citadel. This includes the city's singular Suzette hospital which is inconveniently located as far from everyone as possible. the north ring is the heart of industry in Inver, with hundreds of smokestacks, brick yards, furnaces, and foundries all in relatively close range of their own dock system (not drawn.. i forgor). Although it's a greatly productive area, it's also the poorest; extremely crowded tenements, poor facilities, housing built rapidly and without much care to provide for the mainly immigrant workers at the factories. Although the buildings are newer than the average east ring tenement, they are not pleasant.

The south ring is the rich-but-not-noble district, it consists of relatively new buildings, as the new rich of Invergorken have only recently come about as a separate phenomenon to the gentry of the citadel. These capitalists are responsible for much of the north ring & its development. The buildings in the south ring are deceptive; they look old, built to ape the style of the ancient buildings in the citadel, as clout-chasing upper class citizens struggle to elevate themselves on the same level as the nobility. Here you will find the Stagsons' black market as well as the Barnyard opera house and its adjoining brothel. The businesses are relatively fancy and cater to upper class tastes, like the Fernery which is for anybody who wants to take in the healing properties of nature without actually having to go outside.

The west ring is another new area, mainly built up by slightly richer immigrants from the western duchy of Moya, as this is the area of Invergorken you must travel through to get to Moya in the west, as well as all of the west-coast towns. It has a new train station and the beginnings of a new railway, though no trains run on it yet. The majority of iron from the north ring foundries is transported here to facilitate the building of the railway, which stretches all the way to Aberharain.

The citadel (or, in common parlance, the Hound's Den) is where the king and nobility go. It consists of a hexagonal wall with watch towers at each point, with portcullis gates opening out to several main thoroughfares. Many of the canals in the city actually arise from the citadel; the limestone bedrock is riddled with underground caverns and rivers, and these emerge at the surface within the citadel. The citadel contains the townhouses of the nobility, to be used on a seasonal basis as the main family residences are usually far out in the countryside, as well as the largest of the monarchy's three palaces. The citadel palace tower is the tallest building in Invergorken (not counting the smokestacks). The palace has its own walls blocking it off from the rest of the citadel, and its grounds are divided into four gardens, one for each season. The citadel has every stupid luxury you could possibly imagine; marked on the map are the important family houses but also the dressage arena, north of which is an extensive golf course with an arboretum. Although the noble families often only live in their townhouses during seasonal events hosted by the king (solstice and equinox hunting events in particular), the citadel is mainly home to an army of staff year-round, vastly outnumbering the nobility but hidden away in back streets and purpose-built corridors. this gives the odd impression of a ghost town, servants making things perfect for absentee landlords, heating and lighting their empty houses.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Three Broken Threads

Hat tip to @myemuisemo for another excellent post that covers much of what I was planning together:

Data protection was not really a thing back in 1889. However, paper hotel registers would be something filled in by the front desk staff, not the guest. They would contain details of extra charges incurred as well, all stuff generally done by computer, but you can still buy paper copies today. Particularly for the Indian market, where less than half the population have Internet access. These registers are generally mandatory and in some countries, the data will still be passed to the police when it concerns newly arrived foreigners. That's why they ask for your passport.

Newcastle upon Tyne, the one people generally talk about as opposed to Newcastle-under-Lyme in Staffordshire, was at the centre of a major coal mining area in North-East England, the Durham and Northumberland coalfields being in close proximity. The industry was still employing children - boys as young as 12 could work in mines - and was still a pretty dangerous, not to mention unhealthy industry.

The British economy was heavily reliant on coal, especially the newly built electric power stations. While the railways had a big coal trade for internal transport for domestic purposes, boats also played a big role, either going via canal or down the East Coast of Great Britain to the London Docks. This route would become vulnerable to German attack in the World Wars, particularly in the second war from fast torpedo boats known to the British as "E-boats"; the East Coast convoys are a lesser-known part of the naval war, with Patrick Troughton having served with Coastal Force Command.

The Mayor of Gloucester, like most civic mayors in England, is the chair of the council, elected to a one-year term by their fellow councillors. The current holder is Conservative councillor Lorraine Campbell. It's a mostly ceremonial role involving going to various events while wearing a red cloak and a big hat:

Gloucester's Deputy Mayor is called the Sheriff of Gloucester. There is still a Sheriff of Nottingham, by the way.

The Anglophone Canadian accent was historically noticeably different to an American one and of course had its own varieties. They've gotten closer over the decades, especially due to television.

Sir Henry would have limited luggage space on the ship over, so three pairs of boots would be reasonable. He'd have to ship over anything else at further cost, so it could be cheaper to buy new in London.

Deliveries of telegrams that weren't in the immediate area of the office cost extra. Bradshaw's Guide for Tourists in Great Britain and Ireland would state the nearest telegraph office for a town, as the 1866 edition demonstrates:

Sir Charles' estate was worth around £80m in today's money, but that would not even get him onto The Sunday Times Rich List, which starts at £350m (Sir Lewis Hamilton, i.e. the F1 driver). It tops out with Gopichand Hinduja and his family at an estimated £37.2 billion, whose conglomerate is many focussed on India, but also are the biggest shareholders in US chemical company Quaker Houghton.

Westmoreland was a historical county in Northern England; it was absorbed into Cumbria in 1974, but its area became part of the Westmoreland and Furness unitary authority in 2023.

"Entailed" means that Sir Charles has stipulated in a legal document that the Baskerville estate would have to pass to Sir Henry's heir intact. This was a feudal era practice that has now been abolished in most jurisdictions, with limited remaining use in England and Wales. Simply put Sir Henry is not allowed to sell the house or the land, even part of it. He can do what he likes with the cash and probably the chattels, the movable property like the candlesticks and the toasting forks.

This page covers it in relation to the works of Jane Austen with relevant spoilers:

Borough is another name for the area of Southwark. It got a Tube station in 1890, when the City and South London Railway opened, now the Bank branch of the Northern line. It also is famous for Borough Market, then a wholesale food market under cover of buildings from the 1850s. Today it is a retail market for specialty food; kind of like a farmers' market.

In 1888, the 10:30 from Paddington would get to Exeter at 15:35, a journey of five hours. @myemuisemo provides route maps. I would add at this point, GWR services to SW England went via Bristol, adding a lot of time to the journey, while the LSWR route from Waterloo was a lot more direct. Wags dubbed the former "the Great Way Round". The construction of two cut-off lines allowed the GWR to go via Westbury and Castle Cary.

I will cover the modern day condition of the route in my Chapter 6 post.

The GWR still had some broad-gauge track at 2,140 mm(7 ft 1⁄4 in) left that Brunel had favoured, but this would be finally eliminated in 1892.

Finally, Holmes is referencing the sport of fencing when he learns the cabbie has been given his name. The foil is the lightest of the three swords used in competitive fencing, such as the Olympics.

In an age before electronic fencing equipment, point scoring relied on the eyesight of the umpire... and the honesty of the competitions.

I was in my fencing club at university. I can't say I was that great. I preferred the epee, which doesn't have the priority rules...

[elbiotipo]

Notes on technology in Campoestela:

Most spaceships are single-stage-to-orbit. They have rather standard jet engines to lift off from the ground like a standard plane.

To get into orbit, they use a rocket engine that uses a solid fuel made of a HIGHLY combustible (yet stable) carbon-nitrogen compound which allows a better fuel than anything previous. This was first discovered by Iranian scientists who named it "Nafta".

(sí, Beto tiene que estacionar su camión espacial para cargar nafta)

Nafta was a big discovery on its time, allowing cheap SSTO rockets. Nowadays it's produced in many worlds and widely available. It also has uses as weaponry, but it's not that efficient.

Nafta is used for lift-off and orbital burns. For manuevering in space, there are small jets on the nose and tail of spaceships, similar to the Space Shuttle.

Spaceship piloting is still not an easy task, but it's comparable to being a jet pilot, about 4 or 5 years to master. Hard, but something on the reach of many people. People from the generation ship clans are a bit more used to it and often represent an outsized part of space pilots, but there's always many wellers (from down the gravity well) who get their licenses too.

The hardest thing is always landing. Especially given all the different gravities, atmospheres, orbits and such you have to learn in each different case, even with all the automation in the world. Many spacers feel confident sticking to one or at most two or three planets they know.

Pilots that only do shuttle or cargo runs in the same star system or planet are called "Starters", because they go around the same star. It's rude, but many spacers do it.

FTL travel is another thing. FTL travel is done using a ring-like structure that projects a bubble around the ship and takes it to a (completely made-up for the setting) dimension called the Aether. The Aether is one of the meta-dimensions (there might be more) that uphold reality. Conveniently, you can use it as a shortcut to travel between stars, which project "shadows" on the Aether.

The Aether has its own navigation, with currents and whirpools and areas of thick dark matter (which, for cinematic purposes, actually look like bright nebulae) There are routes that are easier to travel and navigate, and these are where the most visited worlds are. Even stars that are close in real space might be very hard to get in Aetheric space, so there's routes that can take you all over the galaxy in a week, while many other places are out of reach.

Navigating the Aether is very similar to flying a plane through a cloudy sky. Some spacer says it's even easier than flying in real space.

Staying on the aether depends on how much you can keep the fields upholding your "bubble". This depends on the energy of your ship. Big ships can travel all over the galaxy but they have enormous energy consumption requirements.

Smaller ships (such as Beto's Mastropiero) dock with a ring-like structure that allows them to make short jumps. The average jump in an explored route is about 12-48 hours, so it's much like aircraft flights.

Exploring new aetheric routes is something that is very romanticized but in reality is a tedious process of jumping, cataloguing new systems (many of them empty and useful only as refuelling stations), seeing where the streams go and end, how they change, and more.

There is no FTL radio or live communication. There is a kind of aetheric radar that allows you to see incoming ships and do some morse-like communication, but it's not very efficient, there is no such thing as a galactic internet (though it's said ancient civilizations had one)

Aether travel engines require very sophisticated manufacturing and materials, which were hard for humans to develop. This was long only in the hands of governments and corporations, but after the Machine War, accessible aether starships hit the civilian market.

Smaller ships are still used by governments (more like loose "leagues") to do what big ships can't: supply satellites and equipment to remote bases, small-scale transport of engineers, researchers, aether "meteorology" and exploration, etc. This is very much like bush planes in remote regions or the role of Aeroflot in developing the USSR.

While humans in the setting, like most species, are composed of many different leagues, cultures and organizations, their technology is remarkably consistent. This is because cheap and reliable spaceflight depends on very reliable standarization. Some of the spaceship parts used six centuries after Gagarin are still the same used in the Soyuz. The ISO is perhaps one of the most enduring legacies of human civilization, along with FIFA.

[braisedhoney]

there are strange aberrations aboard the HIVE, lively as it can be.

(a HIVE short experiment… fic? drabble? does it count as either if it’s not technically fandom based?)

Spaceships feel claustrophobic and vast at the same time. It comes with being modern marvels, impossibly large machines that traverse the stars as easily as airplanes did the sky. It's admittedly a relative feeling even on ordinary vessels.

The HIVE is far from ordinary.

Rooms upon rooms, hallways that twist and turn oddly and doors that should lead places that don't. All of that's well and good enough, but all it takes is one good glance out at the starry depths of the outside to feel miniscule — to realize that space is it's namesake. It's a slippery slope, and usually at least a little existential.

The HIVE lively despite that, though. Shockingly warm in color for a spacefaring vessel, themed like the name was crafted before the construct. Hexagonal wall decor and metal welded to match, all in hues that contrasted the grey uniforms of the crew. The halls are scarcely ever fully empty, especially on the path to communal areas like the kitchens or open living spaces, and theres always at least a few people trudging along to medbay with sheepish smiles and singed collars.

The designated sleeping quarters — the proper ones with each crewmates number stamped on a metal plaque, CR[and so on], not the honeycomb themed nap spaces, nor the various chambers designated for cryosleep — are afforded keycards and locked doors, but some leave theirs open for visitors to come and go. Things become even more chaotic when the ship is scheduled to dock, what with almost everyone excited to disembark and peruse the wares of the local markets before they set off again. Yes, the ship is lively.

But sometimes it feels like it's more than that.

When the lights dim to replicate proper sleeping conditions, sometimes it can be all too easy to push oneself up from bed, bleary-eyed and yawning. To wander out in search of the restroom, or a late snack while in the company of the silent stars. To step, then pause, then recoil as a boot meets something other than the expected metal floor. To hold up a hand and watch in horror as an ink-like substance drips into it, so dark it leaves no room for shadows to be cast within it.

(To look up, and feel your heart stop as pinpricks of blindingly white light pin you where you stand. Watching. Watched.)

It's something to laugh about later. Something to commiserate about — another prank, the others say with sympathy, another failed attempt to say hello — something to dismiss. Terrifying at first, but ultimately harmless. It’s a fact of life aboard the ship; report it to the captain if you like, they add, and they'll take care of it.

It's easiest to open the comms if you need them, if they aren't just walking around—the door to the captain's quarters is locked even during the day, you see, so the comms are the best bet. (Nobody other than the captain even has access to that room anyway.)

Yes, there are strange aberrations aboard the HIVE, lively as it can be. Odd characters out of uniform and out of place, they stand out like sore thumbs. But the captain claps them on the shoulders and seems, if anything, overjoyed to cause them trouble, often chasing them about with tablet and pen in hand. Shouting about being a proud father to someone they could not look less similar to if they tried one minute, laying in a dramatic pose claiming death the next. Always unconcerned with the circumstances of their arrival, treating each one like a strange friend. No matter how much some of them protest the familiar treatment.

With time, the changing doorways and strange new arrivals that disregard the need to board or disembark normally all become routine. A revolving door of new and old faces amidst the sea of warm metallic colors and grey uniforms.

Perhaps the next station they visit will have another market. The stars make for a beautiful view between pit-stops, as long as you don't stare for too long.

If too much time passes, the doors do grow bored of waiting.

[atonalginger]

Snippet Sunday

It's Sunday and I have something Rokov-centric this weekend for my snippet. I wanted to explore what he was up to during the last few chapters of Work-Life Balance and shortly after, since he didn't make much of an appearance then.

I'm tossing the snippet below a cut since its a big longer.

His arrival at the Key was not what he expected, with most of the bays empty, Jazz’s station under lockdown, and the market row deserted. The Last Nova doors were open but only Bog was inside packing up the bar in silence. By the time he’d stepped into the Reckoner’s Core, where he found Shinya was missing, he’d pulled his pistol, half expecting an ambush. Thrasher, always the smart and cautious type, whistled from around the corner near the elevators before approaching the wary pirate.

«Where is everyone?» Rokov asked as he watched the big, quiet man walk up to one of the servers and lean against it.

«Loyalists are preparing for orders, the rest ran to join Naeva, wherever she told them to jump,» Thrasher looked around, clearly uncomfortable being the messenger, «Boss has been worried about you.»

«Did he hear about Estelle’s stunt?» Rokov itched his beard.

«No?» Thrasher raised an eyebrow, «Just that you were late.»

«She sold me out to SysDef, with Naeva’s help,» Rokov finally holstered his gun and relaxed his shoulders, «the whole crew I met up with appeared in on it.»

«Fuck.»

«You said Boss was waiting for me?» Rokov nodded toward the elevators.

«There will be a captain’s meeting soon. We’re waiting on Huan Daiyu to dock and Samina to finish up with whatever she was working on.»

«Who else will be there?»

Thrasher ticked them off with his fingers, «Jazz, Bog, Voss, and Cherise. You should go check in with her and Boss…a lot went down in the two weeks you were gone.»

Rokov raised his brow momentarily, trying to hide his panic while his mind reeled over the possibilities. He took a breath, collecting his thoughts, before nodding and leaving the quiet pirate in the Core.

Was there a fight? He wondered as the elevator climbed to the command center floor. It felt slower than usual, like time had become molasses for him, What did Naeva get in return for my coordinates? What could SysDef possibly have that she would want that could get her to…

His stomach knotted up as the elevator doors slid open. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, a loud ringing consuming his thoughts as it hit him. Naeva wanted ammunition against Bella. Something she would use to weaken the Fleet’s femme fatale. And the sharks had something too: Sophie. They had information on that sweet little girl. The little princess Bella fought so hard to keep far away from the Fleet and all of her other dangerous ventures. And they jumped right to the Key two weeks ago.

Jazz was the one to find him standing in the elevator, catching the door before it closed on him, “Hey there, we’ve been worried about you. Shinya picked up on some chatter talking about a raid at the freighter.”

“All thanks to the traitor,” Rokov rumbled, trying to center himself.

“Which one?” Jazz said with a frown.

“We don’t have time to list them,” he forced a laugh, “Where is Delgado?”

“He and Bella are up in his room. Thrasher should have mentioned a meeting? It’ll be a little bit, we’re still waiting on the Jade Swan, so you should head on up.”

Rokov nodded and found the will to move his legs and walk. He tried to look stoic but the way Jazz looked back at him told him she could see through it. Command was empty, the door to the emergency docks open, Mollie and Wrecker’s voices somewhere in the darkness. Didn’t think that dock was operational.

He took the stairs two at a time, catching the tail end of the conversation between his partners, Del trying to sound confident, “he’ll be here soon. Please sit down before you wear a hole—“

“Why didn’t you tell me about the sharks on Gagarin?” she snapped back.

“When would have been a good time to slot that into conversation, mi amor? Before the news Naeva was in Cheyenne? After her goons fucked around?”

“You could have told me last night!”

“Look at you,” Del stopped to temper his words, fighting not to escalate things into a shouting match, “if I told you last night you would have…he’s on the Key now, like I knew he would. He’s safe.”

Rokov pushed through the war room and into the small back bedroom. Bella’s back was to the door, her fists balled at her sides. Delgado glanced over to him and then held up a hand to point in his direction, “see, he’s right here.”

She spun around and rushed the big Russian, crashing into him with a panicked urgency that rattled his nerves. He scooped her up, her legs wrapping around him as he hugged her tight, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

«What happened? Are you alright? Where is Sophie?» he whispered between kisses to her neck.

“Sophie is with her Auntie and Uncle…somewhere safe in the Blackest Sea,” Bella’s grip on him was intense, “don’t know where, which is best for now. She’s safe.”

“Naeva has tried twice to kidnap Sophie,” Del added, slowly walking past them to close the bedroom door, “still don’t know how the feral bitch knew Sophie would be on the Cherrybomb that day…she was a secret to everyone except you and apparently Daiyu.”

“She had her reasons,” Rokov kissed Bella’s temple.

“That wasn’t meant as a complaint,” Del stepped close and leaned his forehead against Rokov’s shoulder, “I’m not mad. I’m just confused to how Naeva knew to send people looking.”

Rokov put Bella down with some reluctance, “was the first attempt the same day as the park?”

“Da,” Bella wiped her eyes and took a long breath in, letting it out slow through her mouth.

“Then someone in New Atlantis tipped her off. Someone with security feed access. Someone paying her back for Fleet captain movements.” Rokov turned to look at Delgado, “Estelle became an informant for the sharks. She gave them details on the freighter heist. Details she got from ‘someone high up the chain.’ And the crew that met me was all in on it, likely on orders from Naeva. No clue where any of them are, aside from the blue-haired prick I wasted once I caught him sharing movements.”

Delgado blinked rapidly, his face going red as he struggled to stay calm.

“Oh, but I’m the fucking rat!” Bella shouted as she aggressively paced the floor, “I’m the traitor worth hunting down.” She continued ranting, her sentences breaking into an incomprehensible mix of English with heavy southern Akilan twang that only surfaced when she was enraged and Spanish.

“I’m glad you were able to get away,” Del said, his bare hand caressing Rokov’s neck and shoulder.

“I’m going to kill that fucking rat,” Bella shouted, “I’m going to carve her to fucking pieces!”

“Soon, mi amor,” Delgado looked over, “soon.”

[javier-djarin]

Stuck in Colder Weather Part 1

A Din Djarin One Shot

Ship: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 3,617

Warnings: Pining, Fluff, Angst

Masterlist

For more Holiday Content by me!

Holiday Content by @rebelscumlena

Summary: Din has spent the better part of 4 years regretting only one thing: letting you go. When he and Grogu seek refuge on Lothal during the Winter Solstice celebration, he finally gets a second chance at righting a few wrongs.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone! Here is part 1 of a little Holiday gift I have been cooking up with my writing partner. Thank you, @rebelscumlena, for helping me grow into a better writer. You're the best! I hope you all enjoy what we've created! As always, if you want to be on my tag list, let me know. Fill out this form! Love you all! Thank you to all my readers that have been around since the beginning of all this, and welcome to my new readers! Happy holidays, everyone!

Part 1: Reunion

Grogu continued to bang his little ball against the glass of his window, begging Din to jump to hyperspace for the third time. Sighing, Din shook his head. “No,” he said, knowing Grogu wasn’t going to accept that as an answer. They needed to stop and refuel, pick up supplies, and find somewhere to rest. The loss of his ship, the Razor Crest, weighed heavy on him -- some days more than others. He flipped his switch, checking his coordinates again. “The Outer Rim,” he added, “we can find a planet around here to take a breather. We’ll stop and get some food, a good place to rest.”

Grogu cooed at the sentiment, approving of the idea. 

They were close to Lothal. A sharp pain stabbed through him when he read what time of year it was there. Winter Solstice. He used to love this time of year, no matter the planet he was on. Regardless of community, station, or fort, everywhere was the same. Their traditions may have been different, but the warm atmosphere surrounding the festivals were all the same. Every time he’d take a moment to himself, strolling through the markets and small towns during their celebrations, Din would let the bittersweet memories flood back to him: She was curled against him, wrapped in her own thick winter coat with her hand in his. The second she would spot something in a booth or shop window, she’d drag him to it. Of course, he’d pay, buying her the world if that’s what she wanted. He knew he was a fool for letting her go. She had meant everything to him, and he’d never told her that; never mentioned how much he’d sacrifice for her to make her happy. 

Grogu tapped his ball against the window again, bringing Din out of his thoughts. He punched in Lothal’s coordinates. Only a few hours away, he allowed himself to drift back to the past as the autopilot took control. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the headrest. “What I wouldn’t give to redo everything,” he thought, “make things right before it was too late.”

***

After gaining clearance to dock, Din swiftly landed his new ship, tucking Grogu into his pouch. It was clear that Capital City was preparing for their winter festival with every corner and street light adorned with some sort of decoration or garland. A smile spread across his face, instantly feeling the warm, inviting spirit that came with the holiday. He glanced down at Grogu. “Let’s see if we can find an inn or somewhere to get some rest,” he said to him. 

As he strolled through town, Din saw children running around; some with toys in their hands, some tugging on their parents’ jackets and pointing into the windows of stores. This was his first Winter Solstice with Grogu, and he wanted him to enjoy the season like every child -- starting with a warm home for the festival. 

All of the inns in Capital City were full. It seemed that everyone else in the galaxy had the same idea Din did. Sighing, he turned in defeat from the last inn he found and started towards his ship. He took a shortcut through the shipping yard, noticing some of the glowing globes that adorned the garland hanging around the office windows. It reminded him of the apartment he’d shared with her, how she’d decorate everything in their small space in celebration. This was her favorite time of year, partly because he was home for the month not chasing bounties. With a small ache in his heart, he continued to his ship. There were other cities on Lothal that they could stay in for the festival. He ducked under the wing of a ship and turned towards the south exit when he almost crashed into a woman dusting her hands off on her pants. Reaching out to grab her shoulders to steady her, he apologized.

“It’s fine,” she laughed, “I should watch where I’m going next time.”

She glanced up at him with dark brown eyes and a wide grin, a grin that reminded him of her. She gazed down at Grogu in his sack and smiled at him. “Hey, little guy,” she said, squatting to see him, “I’m Tula.”

“We were just on our way out,” Din added, trying to maneuver around the woman. 

She squinted up at him, recognizing the beskar armor. “Say, you’re a Mandalorian, aren’t you?”

He didn’t reply.

“We don’t see many of your lot around here in these parts,” she continued, “but when a bounty was placed on one here not too long ago…”

Tula paused. “You’re him.”

Din remained silent. Even with the bounty lifted, he didn’t want to take any chances.

She grinned again. “No worries,” Tula added, “out here we try to stay out of politics.”

He gave her a curt nod before stepping around her. That’s when he heard the gasp from behind him. Pausing, he glanced down at Grogu, who was looking behind them at the source of the noise. “Maker,” the soft voice whispered, “it can’t be.”

Slowly, Din turned around and was hit with an overwhelming wave of emotion. Never had he been so grateful for his helmet, because he was certain the look on his face was full of the pain he’d harbored for the last four years.

***

You replaced the panel on the ship you’d been working on when you heard Tula babbling about that Mandalorian bounty from several months ago. When you’d first seen the wanted posters and ads everywhere, you knew he was your Mandalorian. Well, he hadn’t been your Mandalorian for four years, but that didn’t quell the anxiety you harbored hoping he’d find a way to outrun whomever they’d sent after him. Then, one day, the bounty posters and announcements had disappeared. You feared the worst, and knew you’d never get any sort of closure. But when you heard Tula asking if the person he was talking to was him, you had to see for yourself. 

As you slowly stepped around the ship, not quite coming into view so your friend could see you, you saw him from the back. The beskar armor was new, and Din did not have anything like that the last time you’d seen him. However, the Mandalorian in the posters did. He started walking away, the pouch with the child swinging gently at his side, and you finally stepped out. Gasping, you covered your mouth. “Maker,” you whispered softly, “it can’t be --” his name caught in your  throat.

He turned, his gaze piercing through her. “Cyar’ika,” he breathed, his voice cracking through the modulator.

You took a step back, your hand falling to your chest. “What are you doing here?” You could feel the burn in your throat as you swallowed the sob waiting to break free.

Din didn’t move. 

He hadn’t changed. Four years, and he still wasn’t ready to give you an answer. You half wanted to run to him and half wanted to run away from him, but you were glued to your spot. “Cyar’ika,” he said, again.

You shook your head. “Don’t,” you snapped, “Don’t call me that.”

Tula looked between you and the Mandalorian with a grin plastered across her face, but she remained silent. Your heart raced as your breathing picked up. “Why are you here?” you demanded again.

“We…” He paused for a moment before glancing down at the child in his satchel. “We were looking for a place to stay. My ship -- the Crest, I lost her.”

You knew how much that ship meant to him, and you felt your heart crack just a little. He’d come to Lothal for refuge, just as you had. Though, you knew that every inn in Capital City was full. So, he and his child would be spending Winter Solstice homeless. Tula cleared her throat. “Y/N,” she piped up, “you have room, don’t you?”

You shot her a glare. “Tula --”

“If not,” she said with a smirk, “I have a spare room in my lodgings.”

“Tula!” You snapped again.

Taking the hint, you watched as Din turned, walking back to his ship. Tula rushed to your side, elbowing you hard. “Is this the man you told me about?”

You didn’t answer.

“Maker,” she laughed, “it has to be. You both act the same.”

Your gaze followed him as he left the shipping yard. “I can’t let him back into my life again,” you replied, trying your hardest to remain strong, “I can’t go through that.”

Tula shrugged. “If I was given a second chance with the one that got away…”

“He didn’t ‘get away.’ He let me leave.”

She frowned at you, crossing her arms. “Go after that man, and ask him to stay for the festival.” 

You didn’t move.

“Or I will.”

***

Din had just strapped Grogu into his seat before climbing into his own. As bad as he wanted to stay and talk to her about the last four years, he knew digging up the past would only cause them more pain. He began his pre-flight check. Grogu banged on the glass, and Din looked up. She was standing in front of his ship, arms crossed, and a pleading look on her face. He powered down his ship, eagerly jumping out of the cockpit to talk to her as a little grin took over his face. Gently, he approached as he waited for her to say something. 

“You can wipe that stupid grin off your face,” she said, resting all of her weight on one leg, “and yes, after four years, I can still read you through that helmet of yours.”

He huffed a laugh. “And I can tell you’re not that mad I’m here.”

She straightened, and Din knew he was right.

“I’m only offering this for your child,” she continued, “but do you need a place to stay for the holiday?”

“Cyar’ika,” he muttered, moving to reach out for her, but stopping himself.

“Din,” she warned, “I said don’t. Just a yes or no will suffice.”

He glanced back at Grogu, who was pleading with him. “I think this is his first Solstice in a long time,” he added, “but I’m sure we can find --”

“If Tula learns that you’ve said no,” she stated, “she’ll force you to stay with her. Get your things, and meet me at the shipping offices in ten minutes.”

***

You stayed several steps ahead of him as you led him to the complex you and your nephew lived in. It pissed you off that he knew you weren’t angry. He knew you didn’t handle surprises well, and your default expression was anger. At least he was kind enough to give you some space. He’d introduced his child to you as Grogu, but Tula took the liberty in carrying him all the way home. This was the one time you hated the fact she lived in the apartment next to you. You unlocked the door, leading him in through the foyer. “You can set your things down here for now,” you instructed, “I’ll have to clear a space for you to stay for the festival.”

You heard a soft thud and then feet running down the hallway. Luca, your fifteen year old nephew, appeared from his room, holding a com-pad and utility tool in his hand. “We have guests!” he exclaimed.

Tula set Grogu down, and he instantly ran off to explore the complex. “Your aunt’s old friend is in town,” she laughed, “and he’s staying with you guys for a couple of days!”

Luca stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Luca Haren,” he said, “I’m Y/N’s nephew.”

Din nodded, shaking his hand. “I’m D--”

“Din Djarin,” Luca added, “I know. I’ve heard stories.”

Din looked at you, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “I told my sister everything,” you said, “and Luca was most likely eavesdropping.”

“Luca,” you said, “take his things into --”

“Your room?” he smirked.

Tula snorted, covering her mouth.

“Into the living room,” you said through your teeth with a glare that could kill, “and set him up on the couch.”

Luca gave you a mock salute. “Right on it. Oh, and Rix came by looking for you. I told him you’d be home around dinner time.”

You ushered everyone farther into the apartment. “What did he want?”

Luca shrugged, placing Din’s bag next to the couch. “He said he had a gift for you.”

You turned to Din, who was watching you intently. “I’ll call Rix,” you replied, your gaze never leaving Din’s, “fetch blankets and help make the Mandalorian and his child more comfortable.”

Tula followed after you, leaving Luca and Din alone. She bounced behind you, settling onto a stool in your kitchen. “I think Luca, Grogu, and I will run to the market and pick up some things for dinner this evening,” she practically sang.

“And leave me alone with him?”

“Precisely,” she replied, “you have some catching up to do, do you not? After all, you’re the one that left. I believe he deserves an explanation.”

Hurt flashed across your eyes as you glared at her. “He deserves nothing. He knows why I left.”

Tula pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at you. “Luca!” she shouted. The teen swiftly appeared. 

“Yes, Auntie?” Tula was a childhood friend of his mother’s, who had tried to help her find refuge here before her untimely death, and she was practically family to them. 

“Grab Din’s little green son and a jacket. We’re running to the market to grab dinner.”

Din had followed, with Grogu close behind him. “I really don’t think --”

“Nonsense,” Tula said, scooping the child into her arms. “I don’t mind watching him at all.” 

She didn’t give Din a second to respond as she forced Luca and Grogu out of the door with her, leaving you alone with the man that you’d pined for since you’d left Nevarro four years ago. He stood stoically in the kitchen, watching you -- waiting for you to say something first. You turned, grabbing a bottle of something and two cups. “No one else is here,” you said, “and it’s not like I haven’t seen your face before.”

Din didn’t move. 

Rolling your eyes, you poured the liquor into the two cups. “We lived together for years, Din.”

Slowly, he removed his helmet, placing it on the table next to the cups. Your breath hitched at the sight of his beautiful, warm, brown eyes. They were eyes you could easily get lost in, and it didn’t matter if it was the thousandth time you’d seen them; every time felt like the first. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you could see his eyes brighten. “So,” you said before sipping on the bitter liquid, “it seems you’ve been doing a great job staying out of trouble.”

He laughed, his smile stopping your heart. “You could say that,” he replied, taking a drink of his own, “How did you end up on Lothal?”

“I was offered a job as a technician.” You leaned against the counter, pursing your lips together.

Din nodded, recognizing the walls you started to put up. “Cyar’ika, I--”

You finished your drink and poured another. “I loved you, Din,” you said, pain swelling behind each word. You forced yourself to look at him as you continued. “I knew you couldn’t settle down. It’s not in your nature, but the least you could have done was tell me that you didn’t want me back.”

He opened his mouth to respond, and you thought you sensed his own anguish as it filled his gaze. You didn’t want to hear his excuses, because you’d had this argument with him before. Well, if you could call them arguments. It was mostly you pouring your heart out to him, and Din just standing there with the same expression on his face. You huffed a pained laugh. “Ever the communicator,” you said, moving past him.

Din quickly grabbed your wrist, turning you towards him . You paused, glancing up at him, his breath tickling your nose as you leaned into each other. “I’ve changed,” he softly replied.

Your gaze moved from his lips to his eyes. “I can’t allow myself to believe you, Din,” you muttered, “Luca and I have been through too much to allow myself to believe you’ve changed.”

His hand moved to your cheek, wiping away the tear you didn’t realize was there. “When you left --”

There was a knock that sounded at the door, breaking the tension between the pair of you. Din slid his helmet back on, and you quickly moved out of the room to answer. You slid the door open, revealing a large Vecari Tree. You could see through the crystalline needles a man was standing on the other side, his grin reflected hundreds of times in the crystals. “As promised,” the voice cheerfully called from behind the tree.

You lit up brighter than any star and moved so the man could move the tree carefully into your apartment. 

“Shall I put it in the usual spot?”

You placed your hand over your heart. “It’s gorgeous, Rix,” you breathed, “how did you manage to find it?”

He slid the tree into a corner in your living room, placing it in the stand you’d set out for it. “Oh you know, beautiful,” he said with a grin, “like I say every year, I have my way of acquiring things.” Rix wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. “Where’s Luca?”

You wrapped an arm around him and stared at the tree. “He’s out with Tula getting dinner.”

You both turned at the sound of footsteps from behind you. Rix immediately dropped his arm at the sight of Din in your living room. “I didn’t realize you had a guest,” he said, gently stepping in front of you, “he is a welcomed guest, correct?”

You rested a hand on Rix’s shoulder. “He’s an old friend who’s come to stay for the holiday,” you said, “relax, Rix.”

“He’s a Mandalorian,” Rix muttered, “they don’t have friends.”

“This one does,” Din said, taking a step forward.

“Din,” you warned.

Rix’s eyes widened. “Din Djarin? From the bounty --”

“Rix,” you snapped, “the Imps were after him. Lothal is a refuge, now, from those Imperial warlords.”

“He’s dangerous, Y/N,” he softly said to you.

You stepped around Rix, standing between the two of them. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife as the two men glared at each other, and you could bet your entire year’s salary that things would end in Din’s favor if it came down to it. Rix, a merchant and smuggler you’d met through your job, had been a loyal friend since you’d come to Lothal. You were certain he’d wanted more, but you hadn’t been able to let yourself be that vulnerable with someone else after you left Din, after your heart broke. “He won’t put me in any danger,” you sighed, “that much I can trust him with.”

Rix nodded in understanding. “I’ll see you at the yard tomorrow,” he said, moving to walk past Din. He paused, glaring up into his helmet, “and if anything happens to her between now and then, I’ll see to it that you pay a just price.”

You waited for Din to react, but he didn’t. Rix was gone a moment later, leaving the pair of you alone again. A beat later, his helmet was on the couch. “You still decorate these trees every year?” he asked, moving to straighten the crystalline tree.

“It’s tradition,” you grinned, “and now with my sister gone, I need to keep the tradition up for Luca.”

“Every year, you’d have me search for one,” he laughed, “and I’d scour Coruscant for one, paying outrageous prices for the best available.”

You smiled, standing next to him as you observed the tree. “Do you even remember why I started doing this in our apartment?”

He glanced down at you with a sad smile and nodded. “Because you told me your family tradition of decorating one every year, so I tracked our first one down.”

“Do you remember what you said when you came home in the middle of the night?”

He turned you to face him, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. “I found a tree, Cyar’ika. Now, I can have traditions with you.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but you managed to blink them away. You could feel your walls coming down, no matter how hard you held onto them. You placed a hand on his cheek, running your thumb across it. “Why did you let me leave?” you breathed.

“You were gone when I came home,” he replied.

“You knew where to find me.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to follow, Cyar’ika.” Din closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. 

Dropping your hand, you moved out of his arms, wrapping your own around yourself. “I wanted you to follow, Din. I wanted you to fight for me to stay, and I held onto that hope for too long. You’re born for leaving, for living out of a satchel, and you’re never going to change.”

He moved forward. “I told you I have changed,” he begged.

“Oh,” you mock laughed, “you’re going to live here on Lothal? Is that what you want?”

He didn’t answer, again.

You let out an exasperated breath. “I’ll get you blankets. We’ll set up a bed for you and Grogu in here. You can stay for the festival. After that, I want you to leave Lothal, and don’t come back.”

Continue to Part 2

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[hunty627]

Even more stories that Grant can make up with his model trains when he rebuilds his model railway layout.

A second Emily. A blue tender engine named Emily came to Sodor.

Samantha’s smoking hazard. Samantha was using some very bad coal, and it’s making her blow filthy black smoke and it was spoiling people’s clothes, not to mention it was being a health hazard to animals. Will Samantha be able to get some fresh coal and cure her awful indigestion?

Flora and the hasty coach. Flora the yellow steam tram was requested to fill in for Toby & Henrietta because they went to the works for their checkup. And she has to pull hasty Hannah. Flora didn’t want Hannah to be so hasty all the time. How will she put up with it?

Smudger steams again. Peter Sam and Sir Handel were surprised to see that Smudger had been found and restored back into service. They were a little skeptical ever since the story they heard about him. But Smudger had changed because all those years as a generator gave him a lot of time to think.

A Mid Sodor reunion. Sir Handel, Peter Sam & Smudger were very excited because more Mid Sodor railway engines have been saved and were brought to work on the Skarloey railway. One in particular was an engine that knew named Jerry. He looked a bit like Rheneas, but he was a darker shade of red. They even got to see Albert, Steamer and Jennings.

Thomas and Timber. Thomas the tank engine was going to meet a new narrow gauge engine, and to his surprise, it was the same one from the story that he told a little bird. His name is Timber. But to make matters worse, the same black narrow gauge tank engine returned! He had always been jealous of Timber and wanted to get rid of him. Timber knew he was scared before, but will he be able to take a stand against him?

Kerr and the tea kettle. Kerr the narrow gauge engine was required to bring a brand new kettle for the refreshment lady to make tea for her customers. But he had to be careful because the tea kettle is fragile.

Hugh and the hooters. Hugh the narrow gauge engine was feeling bothered. In his shed was a family of barn owls. The babies would hoot and hoot for their mommy to bring them food. And Hugh would get rather disgusted when in the morning, he always runs over owl pellets that the baby owls regurgitated on the tracks. Hugh learned that barn owls got their name because they like to live in old barns sometimes. Will he be able to find an old barn for their nest?

Daniel’s dairy dilemma. Daniel the blue BR class 08 was requested to deliver dairy to their respective destinations. He needed to bring the milk to the ice cream factory, cheese to the market, butter to the bakery and cream to the chocolate factory. Will he be able to get the dairy products delivered on time?

Rose’s revenge. Rose the little blue engine was fed up with Splatter and Dodge the naughty diesels making fun of her clumsiness, so she decided to find a way to pay them out. But little did she know her payback prank would end up getting her into trouble.

Mandy and the moose. Mandy was steaming through the docks, when she saw a baby moose, who was very shy. Mandy wanted to help him get back home to his mother because the dockyard is no place for a forest animal.

Boris’s broken window. Percy was pulling Boris the red coach to the station because Diesel foolishly derailed a coach in the yard, so Boris was called to be added to Ryan’s passenger train. But along the way, they passed the cricket field, where Caroline the car was watching them play. But the batsman hit the ball too hard and it hit Boris on the side, causing a chip in his window. Boris hoped it would be fine, but the cracks in the glass eventually began to get bigger. Will Boris be able to confess about his broken window or will it shatter and cause passengers to get cuts and start bleeding all over his upholstery?

Bulstrode sails again. Bulstrode the barge was sad because he wants to be really useful again. Percy understood this because he was the one who accidentally pushed the freight cars over the edge and onto Bulstrode.

Gloating about green engines. Stanley the grey tank engine is complaining about green engines having too many accidents. This made Henry and Daisy cross and Percy and Poy had their feelings hurt. But little did Stanley know that what he said was eventually about to come back to bite him in the taillight. As Stanley was brooding to himself about green engines, Cranky the crane dropped a new shipment canned peas on him! Poor Stanley looked like a bowl of pea soup on wheels. Now he was looking green.

Beau and the breakdown cranes. Thomas was very excited because Beau was visiting Sodor all the way from the USA to see what breakdown cranes looks like. When he got to meet Chris and Leo, he was very impressed. But then there was trouble! A new engine named Shion was out of control because her brakes failed when pulling a long heavy train of cinder blocks! After she crashed into a field of flowers, Thomas knew this was Beau’s time to shine. He wanted him to take the breakdown train to rescue Shion and bring her to the works to have her brakes fixed.

Abigail and Nelly. Abigail the coach was finally restored and back in working service. And she was gonna be rejoined with her sister, Nelly. They were gonna be pulled by Timothy the oil burning steam engine and carry passengers to the nature park. Will Nelly be able to make sure Abigail doesn’t get upset about peace and quiet and see it’s nice to enjoy the fresh air and the calm?

Dexter rides again. Dexter was now back to being a coach and was going to work with Thomas, but the little blue engine was reluctant about it.

Veronica gets vandalized. Veronica the red coach was very unhappy. She was being vandalized last night. Her windows were broken and her paintwork was ruined. Will the engines be able to help her catch the vandals?

The Chinese coaches come to town. Thomas was thrilled because AnAn and Yin-Long were coming from China to visit Sodor and help with the extra passengers.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

New SpaceTime out Wednesday

SpaceTime 20240821 Series 27 Episode 101

Oceans of water found on Mars

Scientists have found evidence of oceans of liquid water deep under the Martian surface – enough to cover the red planet to a depth of more than a kilometre.

Galaxies in dense environments tend to grow larger

A new study has shown that galaxies located within galaxy clusters with lots of other galaxies nearby tend to be up to 25 per cent larger than isolated galaxies drifting through the cosmos alone.

Curtin’s Binar satellites arrive aboard the International Space Station

Northrop Grumman’s NG-21 Cygnus cargo ship has successfully docked with the International Space Station’s Unity module’s nadir port carrying fresh supplies including three Curtin University built experimental satellites.

The Science Report

Why the thymus dies early.

July shown to be the 14th consecutive month of record breaking heat.

AI-generated training datasets can cause machine learning model collapse.

Alex on Tech Google Pixel release

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through Apple Podcasts (itunes), Stitcher, Google Podcast, Pocketcasts, SoundCloud, Bitez.com, YouTube, your favourite podcast download provider, and from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

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SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on his career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. He worked as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth.  The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hello! If it's alright, I would like to put in a request for a fic > Zhang Ping x Lan Jue. The prompt is they had a big fight and Zhang Ping went home looking like a kicked puppy. Lan Jue after a few days decided to coax and apologize to Zhang Ping because he realized they might break-up the longer their fight goes. The rest is up to you!

Thank you so much and I hope you have a good day!

"Stubborn!"

"Mm."

"A hotheaded fool..."

"Of course, Daren."

"Incorrigible--"

"Would these be enough or should I empty out the stores again?" Xu Dong flourishes his hand. Peizhi snaps his mouth shut and flicks his sleeves back.

There are five baskets of produce, two bolts of fabric suitable for Zhang Ping and someone in his station, three jars of fine southern wine, a new set of ivory-handled writing brushes, two boxes of rare books from Lan Jue's own personal collection, and perhaps most importantly, a custom made set of cooking knives.

Frowning, he purses his lips. "Go to the chestnut seller and buy a pack of freshly roasted ones."

Peizhi thinks he sees Xu Dong's left eye twitch at his order, even as he bows and leaves to carry out his errand. "A donkey," He mutters, pouring out a fresh cup of tea. "I'm in love with an absolute donkey."

Zhang Ping is living in better conditions these days, which, for Lan Jue is still not as good as having him actually stay in Lan Manor. It isn't as if he hasn't offered him a place, if anything he had to practically tie him down just to get him to stay during those nights their discussions and meandering thoughts take a deeper, more physical touch.

Of course, when he complains about this, Mowen merely laughs at him and his woes.

"You made your bed," Mowen had managed between bouts of roaring laughter. "You can lay in it too."

This is to say, no one can understand why he is so truly determined to keep Zhang Ping by his side in the scant few months before he has to leave for Yiping County.

Peizhi tries not to think about how hurt Zhang Ping had looked when he rebutted something he said with a scoffed, "Of course you wouldn't know where your home is, you don't have one!"

That had been that. Zhang Ping had sucked in a breath, asking with a quiet voice and brown eyes that are sheened over with an emotion that was more than sadness, "Is that what you truly believe?"

And a good week has passed since he last saw Zhang Ping. Not a hair nor sight of his harried tail for one good week.

One whole week wasted being apart when they could just be...

The ache in his stomach returns with a twist, tugging in deep. Tamping down his annoyance at himself, he exhales slowly, gritting his teeth.

Looking up, he can spy the golden tops of the imperial palace glimmering in the noonday sun. Urgency burns bright in his bones. Wasting time, they're all just wasting time, and there is nothing Peizhi can do to stop the turning of the hours.

Helplessness bleeds through. Sinking its claws into his chest. He, Lan Jue, won't beg for anything from anyone but the thought that this ego could be the reason they could part without a second glance or another word, even as friends, even as strangers...

The ache in his core hollows him out and he gasps, gripping the corner of his table as a wave of lightheadedness washes over him.

Someone pushes him to a more relaxed position, and distantly Peizhi hears a familiar, gentle sigh next to his ear. "What have you been working yourself up on again?"

"Zhang Ping?"

His lover casts him a look from the corner of his eyes. Peizhi is so engrossed with drinking in the sight of him, the warmth of his body so close to him, the way he smells like the market and home all at once, that he completely misses the steaming bowl of noodles being placed in front of him.

"You haven't been eating. Xu Dong told me."

Someone is getting his pay docked next month.

"He's been telling tall tales," Peizhi grumbles, but not refusing the pair of chopsticks being pressed into his hand. Quickly, his other hand darts out to grab Zhang Ping by the wrist, refusing to let him go too far. "Don't..."

He snaps his mouth shut, turning his face away. But before he can let go, Zhang Ping turns his hand, sliding their palms together. "I'm not going anywhere, don't worry."

Peizhi lets him fuss, serving him tea until he took his first bite of the food Zhang Ping brought with him. "Lan-daren, I want you to listen to me," Zhang Ping says after a moment of silence. "Alright?"

"Zhang Ping..."

"I know you have me in your heart, that's why you've been restless these last few weeks," Zhang Ping starts with a small smile. "You keep begging me to stay, you've tried every means in your book to keep me by your side every time. I know that you have been anxious about my impending departure for Yiping County, but Daren, I am too."

Peizhi sets his chopstick down, reaching for Zhang Ping's hand. "If you knew, if you feel the same way, then why...?"

"Because I thought that if I could still keep this small distance, if I could just... Keep you at a distance, then maybe, when we have to part, it won't..."

"It won't?"

Zhang Ping leans in, knocking their brows together. "It won't hurt as bad as I know it will."

Peizhi surrenders, then. Leans in and wraps himself around Zhang Ping. Lets strong arms hold him tightly and clings on. "I won't tell you to stay, you know that."

"I do."

"I won't do anything that will impede your ambitions."

Zhang Ping's soft huff of amusement tickles at the curve of his jaw. "I know that."

"But until you have to leave, can you please just stay?" Peizhi whispers, tilting his head, brushing his lips to the bare skin of Zhang Ping's neck. "Please. For me, just do this for me."

Zhang Ping's quiet, "Mn" is everything encapsulated into a singular syllable. And with that, a knot in his heart seems to unravel. Burying himself tighter against Zhang Ping, Peizhi hides the joy he feels, pressing his smile onto a clothed shoulder.

Later, and later still, when all that covers their bare skins is the wash of silver moonlight and the warm night air, Peizhi luxuriates in the feeling of Zhang Ping's fingers carding through his hair.

"I'm sorry for what I said."

"Which part?" Zhang Ping teases, grunting a burst of laughter when Peizhi bites at his arm in retaliation.

Pulling him back to his side, Zhang Ping runs his clever fingers down the line of his spine.

"If you mean to be apologising for what you said the other day about me not having a home, then I should also apologise."

Puzzled, Peizhi shifts himself to look into Zhang Ping's warm and fond eyes, waiting for him to continue. "I was hurt, yes. But more than that, I was disappointed in myself."

"Disappointed?"

"Disappointed, yes." His beloved smiles wryly. Gentle fingertips brush over Peizhi's cheek, settling his touch on the side of his head. "Disappointed in me that I ever made you doubt that you are my home."

A wave of sudden affection cinches itself around his throat, leaving Peizhi breathless, struck dumb at the confession.

Zhang Ping shuffles closer, snuggling into Peizhi. "I know you haven't promised me anything, but in a few years, once the roots of the Empress Dowager's influence have been cleared out, I'll come back to you. And when I do, let's live together. In a house with two studies and a room for both our books. We can have a garden and a place where we can keep a few fish. At night, we can watch the moon together on the veranda. We can be together."

With a hand to Peizhi's chest, he whispers, "Alright?"

Quickly turning his face into the pillow, Peizhi breathes in deep over the prickle of emotion clogging his throat. Not that there was any doubt in the wet sniffles colouring the night silence between them, but Zhang Ping allows him this, moving in for gentle kisses to his temple.

"Have you been eating candies? Since when did your mouth become so sweet?" Peizhi grouses. Pulling Zhang Ping tightly to him, he nods, cheek to warm skin. "A gentleman never goes back on his promise. So you must remember this."

Zhang Ping's laughter in his ear is as good as the sweetest melodies plucked by the most talented musicians. Tangling their bodies together once more, Peizhi smiles when Zhang Ping says, "Of course. I'll need to come home to you after all."

[send me an ALoN prompt!]

[luvwich]

(wip wednesday)

just sharing a lil writing excerpt from an in-progress one shot and yeah i guess i'm the kind of bitch to be like "oh this is just porn without plot haha, soo smutty 😈😈😈" and then kick it off with a solid thousand words of this shit

If you'd watched her from a drone's-eye vantage for her entire journey — from the front door of her Japantown apartment, across the dark water, through the cheer of Kabuki and into the darkness of the docks — if you'd been buzzing alongside her all the while, you'd have spotted the transformation somewhere between Kabuki Central station and the edge of the marketplace.

You'd have seen her begin the evening as a bright-eyed twentysomething city girl in her cutest new jacket and her favorite old boots. Another lost lamb still mapping out her life, and that little bounce in her step betrayed an innocently enduring affection for this diamond cage of a town. As she trotted through Kabuki Market you'd have believed she was heading out to meet friends, or a date, or just to check out what was new in the ever-shifting landscape of the metropolis. You'd have seen the change as she slipped out of the glaring streetlights and melted into the darkness of the waterfront. Subtle, but plain as day if you were looking for it: a hardening of the eyes, a tension in the jaw. The lamb stepping into the skin of the wolf, growing hungrier and cannier with each bootfall. Fingers brushing the glint of a pistol's handle as the ingenue went off-duty and the mercenary clocked in. You'd have noticed this, but you wouldn't have thought twice about it either way. Not in this place of layered duplicities; of masks worn over masks. Night City makes skinwalkers of us all.

[literallyjustanerd]

The Sun Still Sets In Summer

Omega wants to join The Rebellion, and Hunter must learn to let go.

Fresh off the finale, and the epilogue got me feeling things. Mostly feeling that Hunter would not have let Omega go without a whole lot of struggle first.

This is just part one, the finished fic will have a chapter for each season :) I really wanted to explore Hunter's state of mind and thought process when faced with Omega growing up and wanting to leave for The Rebellion.

Set post-TBB finale, beware of spoilers!

Words: 1,022 Content: angst, communication issues, overprotective dad Hunter, implied PTSD

The sun is still warm, though the wind carries a slight chill. Just enough to nip at Hunter's fingertips, an omen of the coming winter. Still, he keeps the window open for the view. Pabu is ablaze with reds and yellows, the changing leaves incandescent under the setting sun. 

He’s enjoying the warmth on his face when Omega enters, laden with a heavy basket of produce from the market.

“Careful with those. You look like you’re about to tip over,” Hunter chuckles, only briefly glancing up from the filleted fish on the cutting board.

“Lyana says it's a good harvest this year,” Omega replies brightly. She sets the basket down next to the fish with a barely-disguised grunt, and hops up to sit on the counter. “Even the meilooruns are cheaper than usual.”

“Don't tell Wrecker, they'll be gone in a day,” Hunter jokes. “Get down from there and help me with dinner.”

Hunter had never thought of himself as someone who would enjoy routine, let alone thrive on it. But in the years since they had found their peace on Pabu, he has been lulled by the simple, easy rhythms of daily life, found comfort in the small rituals they create. He rises early in the morning. He works, he tends the garden. He sews patches in his family's worn clothes. And he's never been happier. 

Omega hops off the bench and pulls out a pot to start on the vegetables. As she does, she flicks on the subspace radio and tunes it to her usual station. The music puts a bounce in her step as she slices the vegetables and sets them in the pot to stew, and Hunter can't help but smile. It’s a familiar song, a tawdry pop tune Hunter had always found overloud and irritating. A favourite of Omega’s, though, and she hums along as they work side by side. The moment is mundane, like so many thousands over the last five years. They have never stopped feeling like blessings. 

“Wrecker and Cross should be back from the docks soon,” Omega says, giving the pot a shake. “Think they were going to help Shep repair some of the ships after their haul.”

Hunter adds the first fish to the pot as the song fades out. It's replaced by a news bulletin, read in a strong, stern voice. 

At the first mention of Ryloth, the sun's warmth is stolen from the room. Hunter glances to the side: Omega's hand has tightened on the pot handle, frozen in place. There's an anxious flutter in Hunter's ear: Omega's pulse has quickened. The radio speaks of the smothered rebellion on Ryloth as a cause for celebration. The announcer espouses the joy of a coming peace, of unity within The Empire's broad embrace. Under the flowery language, Hunter can hear the Twi’leks’ desperate struggle for freedom.

‘Rebel extremists have attempted to retake the system's capital, though losses have been minimal. Sources say Imperial casualties are far outweighed by those of the insurgents.’

“I've been speaking to Hera.”

Omega's words bring a lump to Hunter’s throat. She's not looking at him, not even facing him. Her words are icy around the edges. “It's getting really bad out there.” 

He can't say he hasn't been expecting this for some time. But not now. Please, not now. He's not ready. 

“Omega—”

“They need pilots. The Rebellion are doing what they can, but people are still suffering.”

“The Rebellion will find its volunteers. People will go. Your place is here,” Hunter says, his tone clipped. The scrape of his knife against the fishscale grates against his nerves. It only drives his hand harder on the blade. 

‘Imperial reports predict that the rebel terrorists on Ryloth will be eliminated within the month.’

“People out there are suffering. They’re giving their lives. How am I supposed to sit here when I know I could be helping?”

The sun through the window is losing its battle against the horizon. The room has begun to dim, the light turned cold and blue. 

“It's not safe for you out there.”

“I know it's not! That's the point, I—”

“I said no, Omega!” Hunter’s knife impales the cutting board, cleaving the fish's neck from its body. His words are harsh, a barking command, and it feels discordant, out of place. Hunter hasn't used that voice in years. Not since the battlefield. As much as he instantly regrets the outburst, it still has its desired effect: Omega has fallen silent, her protests all but dried up in her throat. 

For longer than Hunter can bear to count, neither of them move, neither speak. His jaw is tight, his nerves frayed against the silence. The sharp staccato of Omega’s heartbeat hammers in his ear. She inhales softly, trying to smother it, but still Hunter can hear how her breath trembles. Outside, the last dregs of warmth have abandoned them, the sun slowly drowning in the black ocean below. Hunter wants to apologise. He wants to explain. He wants to take his little girl in his arms and hold her so close to him, have her bury her head in his chest like she used to after a nightmare, trusting him, asking him to keep her safe.

But many seasons have passed since she had last needed him for that kind of comfort. And now when she hugs him, her head reaches higher than his. 

He wants to apologise. He does. But the words don't come. They're smothered, crushed between the weight of the past at his back and the future ahead. His mind swims, a sordid mess of tangled thoughts and feelings he can't hope to decode into anything logical. So instead, he reaches up with unsteady hands, and closes the windows against the twilight chill. He switches off the murmuring radio. He continues slicing fish. Over his shoulder, he hears Omega move. She bends to the bottom cupboard to pull out plates and cups, and, stoic and wordless, with eyes downturned, she begins setting the table for dinner. 

For all his guilt, Hunter can't help but feel relieved that the conversation is over.