#Restoring The First Outpost

[fogaminghub]

🌟🐜 Dive into the world of Empire of the Ants with our ultimate guide on the "Restoring the First Outpost" mission! Discover essential strategies, tips for resource management, and how to defend your colony. Get ready to build your ant empire! 🏰❤️

[ofstarsandvibranium]

How to Woo Someone

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

prompt #1464

“Do you have any tips on how to woo someone?”

“You’re trying to woo someone?”

“Why do you have to say it like that?” from @writers-are-writers

After the fall of The First Order, Poe thought life would be a little easier. But nothing ever came easy to Poe. Well, nothing except flying. Everything else was a bit of a struggle.

Rebuilding the galaxy after everything, was no walk in the park. As a general of the Resistance, Poe, as well as Finn and Rey, worked to make sure the galaxy found its peace again.

In the process, he made a lot more friends, a few enemies, but, most importantly, he met you.

You were basically in charge of your small village in Batuu. Poe and a few others had stopped on the planet to refuel and rest. You met him at the market, noticing the Resistance symbol on his satchel. You two got to talking and you brought him and his friends back to your village.

It was some distance from the Black Spire Outpost.

Your village was previously pillaged through by some First Order troops. You asked for Poe's help and he gave it to you.

What was supposed to be a short stop on an Outer Rim planet ended up being a two month's stay. For Poe, at least. He wanted to personally see to it that you and your village got the help you needed, while he let his friends continue their journey.

Poe helped lay more of a foundation again in your village. You already set up the blueprints, he just helped you carry out the plans.

"We make a great team. Honestly, I could use someone like you with the Resistance."

You snort, "Are you offering me a job?" you nudge him with your shoulder and a smirk on your lips.

"If you want it, yeah. Like I said, we need more people like you. People who are still willing to help others," he sighs and looks away from you, instead, looking out on a group of villagers helping build a new set of homes, "A lot of people lost hope and peace when the First Order took over. I want to restore that to them again."

You slowly nod, "I'd love to help, but I need to talk with my council."

"Of course. I'm here for a few more days so you have time," he places a reassuring hand on your shoulder and then goes to join the group of builders.

__________________________

While also helping you rebuild your village, Poe became acquainted with several members of your council. One of them being your cousin who was around the same age as Poe.

As he was helping the builders, Poe pauses to watch you interact with some of the village children.

Your cousin, Sendril, slaps him on the chest, "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, um, ye-yeah," he struggles to pull his eyes away from you as you laugh at something one of the children say. Then Poe asks Sendril, “Do you have any tips on how to woo someone?”

Sendril cocks a brow and asks back, “You’re trying to woo someone?”

Poe's face scrunches up in confusion, “Why do you have to say it like that?”

Sendril shrugs, "I don't know, you just seem so...serious all the time. Didn't think you'd wanna woo anyone." He continues to place bricks to build a wall of a home.

Poe sighs and joins him, "Well, wooing anyone was the last thing on my mind, but..." he pauses and looks back at you, again. His attention is brough back when Sendril snorts, "Good luck."

"Has Y/N ever been with anyone?" Poe asks as he smears concrete and then places a brick down.

"Once, didn't go well. They left her to go explore the galaxy with someone else. She was heartbroken, never saw or heard of her being with anyone else since."

Poe hums, "Would she be interested?"

"In you?" Sendril asks, looking at Poe. When Poe nods, Sendril scrunches up his nose, "Honestly, I'm not sure. Considering you don't plan on being here for much longer, probably not."

"I asked her if she'd want to come with me, help people rebuild around the galaxy."

"What'd she say?"

"She has to talk to the council. Do you think they'd let her go?"

Sendril hums, "It's likely. Y/N is a great leader and has helped us keep our heads above water since the First Order pillaged us, but we're stronger now. We can continue without her." He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. Sendril may be around the same age as Poe but he's taller and stronger. He casts an intimidating shadow over Poe as he asks, "And are you going to treat her right?"

"If she allows something to happen between us, then yes. While I've only been here for a short time, I already know Y/N to be a strong, caring, and wise person. I admire how well she's led you all through these tough times. She's also funny and beautiful and kind-"

Sendril rolls his eyes and interrupts him, "Alright, I get it. You're smitten for my cousin. I'll give you my blessing since I'm the only family she has left, however, hurt her-"

"And you'll lay me in the ground, I got it."

Your cousin snorts, "No. She'd do that to you, herself. But I'd help bury your body."

"...Thanks, Dril."

"You're welcome, Poe!"

______________________________

You told Poe you’d be seeing the council that morning to discuss your potential leave.

Outside of the building, Poe couldn’t help but pace back and forth. He understands if the council would prefer for you to stay since the village is still in the process of rebuilding. However, Poe really thinks you could do a lot of good around other parts of the galaxy as well. So he hopes the council sees it too.

It was thirty minutes of deliberation before you stepped out.

“Well?”

You smile at him, “When do we leave?”

Poe immediately pulls you into a hug a swings you around, “You’re going to do amazing things out there, Y/N. I just know it.”

You giggle in his embrace, “Thanks, Poe,” you say as you pull away.

You two stare at each other in silence. Poe’s eyes are soft as he looks back at you and then glances at your lips.

He slowly leans in towards you, giving you time to pull away. But you don’t, so when his lips touch yours, he pulls you closer.

You kiss him back with intensity, the secret feelings you’ve kept buried inside you for the past two months. Those feelings and thoughts of Poe spilling out as you kiss him back.

“So this is how you woo her?”

You both pull away to see Sendril leaning against the council building with a smirk.

You clear your throat and ask, “Woo who?”

Poe sighs and shakes his, “Ignore him.”

Sendril laughs, “Just don’t forget to invite me to the wedding,” he shoots a wink at you and carries on his with his day.

Poe clears his throat, “So, um, should probably start packing. Got the whole galaxy to see.”

You smile brightly at him, “Right.”

You step aside and begin to walk to your home, but then you turn around, “For the record, I do still expect you to woo me, Dameron.”

He laughs, “Don’t worry. I plan too,” he smirks your way before you turn back to head home.

[syndrossi]

Hey, after reading the latest AU Restoration, I’d like to ask you—could you add a short scene between Dany, W Jon, and the kids?🥺

Standard disclaimer that this is not necessarily how Restoration will go but it's a possible meeting of Dany and the boys.

x~x~x

The wait was the worst part. Daemon had promised Daenerys that he and Caraxes would be victorious over the Usurper’s forces, and yet his confidence had not extended to allowing her to ride alongside him into battle to free his sons at Winterfell.

My brothers, she reminded herself. The tale that Daemon had told her was a strange one, and yet there seemed no other explanation. He was Daemon Targaryen, son of Baelon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, wielder of Dark Sister—a man two centuries dead, yet alive and breathing before her. He and his young sons had been drawn here by sorcery, separated.

Viserys had told her what histories he recalled from his lessons at the Red Keep, and he had greatly admired Daemon Targaryen. His first marriage had yielded twins, she vaguely recalled. Girls, and yet these were sons, Jon and Rhaegar. Viserys must have been mistaken.

Stranger still had been his insistence that his sons had been reborn, one as her slain brother, Rhaegar. The other he had not yet found, though Daemon’s face had seemed carved of grief when confiding that he believed him to be dead as well, betrayed and murdered at the Wall.

You were Rhaegar’s sister, so you are as to me a daughter, Daemon had declared.

Viserys had been Rhaegar’s brother, though that had not stopped Daemon’s dragon from swallowing him when he had tried to kill their kinsman in the night, adamant that he was little more than an upjumped Blackfyre who sought to steal their birthright.

If he speaks true, we are descended from his line. His claim seemed no less than Viserys’s, and he rode a dragon.

The wind was cold in the kingdom of the North, even in summer, penetrating through the cracks in the walls of the abandoned tower they had claimed as a temporary outpost. Daenerys shivered, moving herself and her precious cargo closer to the fire.

Dragon eggs. They had been meant as a wedding gift to her from Magister Illyrio, but the magister had very quickly surrendered them to Daemon under threat of dragonflame. She ran her fingers over the tops of each, and whenever she caressed the darkest of the three, a deep black with swirls of ruby, she could swear that she felt something: a flutter of her heart, a flicker of warmth.

Her head jerked up at the familiar sound of dragon wings flapping from a distance. Daenerys closed and latched the chest that contained the precious eggs, gathering its hefty weight in her arms, and hurried to the tower’s entrance.

Daemon was already half dismounted, his hair grey with ash and his face light with joy. He ran to her, and she set the chest down just in time for him to gather her in his arms, spinning her around as he roared victory. She found herself grinning with him as he set her down, his fire infectious.

“You found them,” she said.

“I found them,” Daemon said, and she could see trails of gray down his cheeks, where the tears must have flowed. “I found Jon,” he added, with an emphasis that told her he meant the other Jon, the one he had thought dead along with her brother. His smile contorted briefly into a snarl. “And that pig of a Baratheon is dead. Come.”

The dragon eggs and the remainder of her belongings were loaded into Caraxes’s saddlebags, and Daemon told her of his triumph. It had been a slaughter, the Usurper and his men caught entirely off guard at Winterfell. There, Daemon had found that Lord Stark, Robert Baratheon’s staunchest ally and oldest friend, had kept his sons and Jon alike safe, though he seemed irritated that it had been under the guise of Lord Stark’s bastards.

Lord Stark had believed them to be Daenerys’s own younger brothers, Daemon’s sons by her own mother, and Daemon had not bothered to claim otherwise. It was a fantasy she would have gladly lived, she thought with a pang, rather than roaming Essos as penniless orphans, dependent on the charity of men like Magister Illyrio, forever fearing that the Usurper would send assassins after them.

Viserys had stopped speaking of their mother as the years passed, but when she had been very little, he had enthralled Daenerys with stories of her. How beautiful she had been, how gentle, how lovely her voice. Daenerys had dreamed of being held in her arms, safe and warm and loved. Though those tales had often ended with a reminder that Dany had been the one to kill her.

And now she had Daemon, who had burned a Dothraki horde to secure her freedom, for a father. Brothers in his sons. And apparently a nephew in the other Jon. My eldest brother’s son by Lyanna Stark, hidden away lest he meet the fate of his half-siblings.

Her heart raced nearly the entirety of the short flight to Winterfell, and their arrival was met mid-air by two younger dragons who danced merrily around Caraxes as they escorted him to the holdfast. Daenerys watched them with delight, recognizing them from Daemon’s accounts. Qelebrys and Shadow.

“This is my daughter,” Daemon announced to a near-silent crowd once they had landed. The courtyard was still partly aflame in places, and the smell of burnt flesh reached her nostrils with every stir of the breeze. “Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”

Lord Stark seemed still in a daze, though he greeted her with a bow and a kiss to the hand. His wife, Lady Stark, watched Daemon with fearful eyes that flicked between him and her children, who were a gaggle of red-haired boys and girls, save for one young girl with dark hair like her father’s.

But her eyes were for the other cluster of children, one older boy of an age with her, and two smaller ones of equal height. Jon, she thought, looking over the eldest first. Her nephew. It was a strange thought, given that he was older than her by more than a few moons.

He looked nearly as stunned as Lord Stark, holding himself as one unsure if he belonged with Daemon’s twins, and her own heart ached in sympathy. She too knew what it was to have her life upended by Daemon Targaryen, and the pain of feeling forever out of place.

It was easy to see how Lord Stark had kept him hidden. His hair was dark like his uncle’s, and his eyes nearly the same grey. But where Lord Stark’s face was harsh and plain, his was soft with youth. He was pretty, his lashes thick and dark, his nose fine and straight. She could see herself and Viserys in him the longer she looked, his Targaryen blood peeking through the camouflage of his Stark features.

Her gaze went next to the younger child to his right and she could only stare for a moment. He looks like me. And yet also Daemon, as though he could have been her mother’s son with him. Rhaegar. For some reason, she had expected someone like Viserys, but her brother’s features, though handsome, had often been pinched and angry. He looks like me, she thought again, and for some reason, that was what filled her eyes with tears.

It was not that she hadn’t believed Daemon when he insisted that her brother was his son reborn. But the tears in Rhaegar’s eyes as he stared back, their purple dark with sorrow, made her feel as though she were gazing at her long-dead brother, the one she had been told was kind and beautiful and valiant.

She reached for him, enveloping him in a tight hug, her sobs shaking in time with his as she held his head to her chest. It is not fair. She wanted that life so badly she could hardly breathe, the lie that Daemon had told Lord Stark. The one where her mother had lived, and Viserys had not grown bitter and cruel, and she had chased little brothers through the yard of a grand estate that would have been home. Where she would have run to be swept up in Daemon’s hugs and brought to see Caraxes, and Shadow and Qelebrys would have been tiny hatchlings, small enough to hold, and perhaps a hatchling of her own.

“Do not cry,” she said into Rhaegar’s hair, remembering when Viserys had whispered them to her. We are the blood of the dragon. “We are together,” she said instead.

Past his shoulder, she could see Daemon’s Jon—Baelon—also staring at her. He looked so much like the other Jon that she knew Daemon was right. He is his son reborn. But Baelon also bore a striking resemblance to Rhaegar, and it was easier to find Daemon in his mouth and eyes. There was less Stark, though it was a puzzle to see it at all, and the grey of his eyes held a hint of purple in its murk.

There was a sadness in his face, but a fondness as well—almost as though he knew her—that took Daenerys by surprise. She beckoned him, and he let himself be gathered into her embrace. “Hello, little brothers,” she said in High Valyrian, and her heart swelled as they answered her in kind.

Once the tears had subsided, hers and Rhaegar’s both, she eased back, though she kept a hand on each child’s shoulder, reluctant to release them fully. That left Jon, still lingering at the edge of their family group. She approached him at last, and he tried to maintain that distance, bowing and then murmuring, “It is an honor to meet you, princess,” but she hugged him as well, not relenting until his instinctive stiffening had relaxed, and he returned it.

“We are family,” she said. “You must call me Daenerys. May I call you Jon?”

[feinecutasy]

Red

Ah, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans. And the sight of the buxom barista serving it. Silky brown hair flowing atop that hourglass figure. Perhaps he should frequent this place more often.

Zayn loved to start his day with a cup of life-giving black water and a good toast, and he hated it when the normalcy was disrupted. He used to frequent the Hut near the square, but the place was now in renovation. Thankfully, it only took him a few steps to find the place he was now sitting in. Order was restored.

… or perhaps not. The first sip was rich and exhilarating, until it ended with an unexpected, unwelcome, but not uncommon texture. He promptly picked out the culprit, half of which had been in his mouth and the other half still dangling on the cup. A short strand of hair. ʀᴇᴅ ʜᴀɪʀ.

Zayn’s eyes instantaneously darted from the barista to her colleague, who was busy taking the order of an elderly couple. A mop of wavy, short red hair topped his head, which along with his porcelain skin and freckle-covered face stood out in stark contrast against the black t-shirt and dark apron he was wearing. As soon as the queue was emptied, Zayn strutted to the ginger, back straightened, arms stiffened in an attempt to inflate his already bulky frame. He dropped his coffee cup on the counter loudly enough to garner the barista’s attention.  “Mate, can you make me a new cup of coffee?”, he questioned, his voice lowered. “I found a strand of red hair inside the cup”, he continued, the word ‘red’ deliberately emphasised. The ginger rolled his eyes and looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly accepted his request with no retort. Once again, it was the girl who brought the coffee out to him. “Thanks”, he smiled cockily at her before returning to his table.

Order was restored, and Zayn was back to his outpost where his eyes continued to busily clap about and mentally undress all the dainty damsels inside and outside. He actually wouldn’t have minded had the busty barista’s hair been the thing that was in his cup. Why does it always have to be the wimps and runts that ruin his day? Now that he had shown the loser his place, he could feel waves of satisfaction coursing through his body. He took a sip to celebrate.

And he spat the coffee out. Another strand of red hair. Unbothered by the stain on his cuff and the liquid still dripping on his hand, he looked inside the cup. Intricate overlapping rings of keratin formed from definitely not just one strand of hair floated on the surface of the beverage. However hot the coffee was, Zayn’s blood was now boiling ten times hotter. He bolted up from his chair and headed straight to the ginger, his face red from anger. “Are you done fucking with me?”, he said threateningly. The younger man looked even more perplexed, though before he managed to utter anything, his coworker had already chimed in to his defense.

“What is it again?”, she said with visible disinterest on her face.

“There’s. Fucking. Hair. In my coffee. Again.”

“Could be anyone’s hair”, she nonchalantly replied.

“IT’S RED!”, Zayn screamed at the top of his lungs, pointing at the other stressed employee, “Who else in this place has red hair beside that scum?”

“Mate, it's ʏᴏᴜʀ hair”, the girl replied after a long sigh, then turned away from Zayn for a moment to pick something up.

The absurd statement had temporarily overridden Zayn’s desire to smack the gob of out the red-haired pansy with an even stronger urge to give the bitch in front of him a well-deserved slap. Thankfully, the last morsel of rational thinking convinced him against it and as a result, he just hurled a deafening string of profanity at the staff. Zayn stomped out of the coffee shop, unperturbed by the concerning gaze of all the other customers.

The outside air cooled his head down and allowed his breathing to return to normal. That was when he was made aware of two things. One, his bag was still inside the shop – in the heat of the argument he had completely forgot to take it with him. Two, he needed to empty his bladder. Stat. Wasting no time, he slammed the shop’s door open and dashed straight towards the gents. In his haste, he didn’t register the fact that the two staff members were smiling warmly at him, and others in the shop were gleefully chatting with each other, as if no commotion had ever taken place just mere seconds ago.

The loo was small but odourless and clean, with a sink near the entrance and a toilet in the corner. Zayn habitually checked his face in the mirror and grinned at the dark-haired hunk looking back at him. He turned towards the bowl to finish his business. For some reason it was taking longer than usual. Too long, in fact. When Zayn was finally done relieving himself, he was barely able to keep his balance. His head felt heavy all of a sudden. Pants still a distance away from his cock, he placed his hairy hand on the wall to steady himself. It was getting abnormally hot inside the room.  Beads after beads of sweat dripped from his head and chest down his lower body, soaking all of his clothing wet. Irritated by the now damp sweater scratching against his skin, he frantically threw it on the nearby sink. Zayn couldn’t think clear. But he wasn’t feeling unwell either. The feeling was akin to that time when he downed two bottles of gin in the company of his lads. Physically he might be mildly disoriented, but deep inside he felt free. Inhibitions were broken, and the need to mentally exert oneself was gone. If someone approached him right now and asked him what his name was, he probably wouldn’t be able to answer. For now, he just needed to rest for a while.   

Zayn’s sweaty black slid against the wall as he took on a more comfortable position. He was near naked at this point. His member was out, his boxer briefs stretched around his shins and a pulled-down pair of jeans obscured the dirty socks that were separating the skin of his huge feet from the rank, imposing Adidas running shoes. His beard was itching a little as droplets of sweat made their way through it. He tried to wipe them off, but when he looked at his palm, it was his facial hair that came off. Before he could even blink, the hair had dissolved into the sweat. His arms and chest soon met the same fate, leaving only his pubes untouched by the depilatory secretion. Once bushy and swarming with hair, now only smooth, unblemished skin remained beneath the coat of glistening sweat. Zayn was not even sure if his sight was functioning properly. It’s hard to think right now. When he saw the sheen of the layer of sweat that had almost covered his whole body, it didn’t even cross his mind that his once olive skin had somehow taken on a pale, creamy colour.

The warmth of his body coupled with the room’s temperature had made his ball sack much saggier. Or perhaps it was because his balls had almost doubled in size. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to tell. His cock head felt funny though. The skin around his circumcision scar had expanded downward, wrapping around his cock head to form a long, drooping prepuce. He caressed the covered head with his fingers, and was immediately overwhelmed as his now oversensitive cock answered his touch with immense pleasure and began to ooze out a stunning amount of precum. The size of his dick hadn’t changed much – in fact thanks to the added extra skin it did look like it had gained a bit of length – but the sheer size of his testicles and the sagginess induced by it easily dwarfed the stature of his manhood and made it look relatively tiny.

Zayn’s groggy mind was still overloaded with pleasure that he hadn’t noticed his pubes had turned a fiery red. Elsewhere on his head, the new hair emerging out of his scalp would soon turn out to be of the exact same colour. As the fog his in psyche lifted and whatever that had been causing his intoxicated state disappeared, he felt lighter, much lighter. In mind and in body. The seed of carefreeness had bloomed in his bubbly soul.

As Zayn tried to recollect himself, he realised that he had been in the toilet a bit too long. He hoped no one was prevented from attending to their pressing matter while he was here. Feeling slightly guilty, he stood up and pulled his pants and trousers back on. On his way to retrieve his sweater, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

Looking back at him was a shirtless young man with glinting green eyes. He had lush, wavy locks of red-hair, still damp from an earlier bout of sweating. Freckles dotted his face and most of his pale body, interspersing with the occasional rosy complexion where blood was flowing through his strong veins. The youngster was lithe and fit, though with a certain imbalance in his build. Whatever transformation he had undergone, it had greatly slimmed up his upper body, but left the rest seemingly untouched. Zayn’s thighs had neither lost their definition nor their heftiness. The tight jeans he was wearing still struggled to contain his firm, muscular behind and his engorged genitals produced a visible bulge on the front. He shifted his big feet comfortably in his smelly socks and huge running shoes.

Zayn grinned confidently at himself in the mirror – for this was him, always had been and always will be. Redhead, smooth, freckled, happy-go-lucky. He put on his sweater, which now clung loosely to his body, washed his hands, and made his way out of the loo. The ginger barista hollered upon seeing him:

“Mate, your cappuccino is ready!”

“Alright, cool, thank you!”, Zayn smiled warmly back at the bloke. Within seconds he was back to his seat, bag by his side.

Ah, the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans. And the sight of the cute ginger barista serving it.

Perhaps he should frequent this place more often.

[mysticstronomy]

COULD HUMANS SURVIVE LIVING IN SPACE??

Blog#477

Wednesday, February 5th, 2025.

Welcome back,

Is it possible for humans to survive long-term in deep space? The answer is a lukewarm maybe, according to a new theory that outlines the intricate challenges of maintaining gravity and oxygen, securing water, cultivating food, and managing waste while being distant from Earth.

Dubbed the Pancosmorio theory – a word coined to mean “all world limit” – it was described in a paper published in Frontiers in Astronomy and Space Sciences.

“For humans to sustain themselves and all of their technology, infrastructure, and society in space, they need a self-restoring, Earth-like, natural ecosystem to back them up,”

said co-author Morgan Irons, a doctoral student conducting research with Johannes Lehmann, professor in the School of Integrative Plant Science at Cornell University. Her work focuses on soil organic carbon persistence under Earth’s gravity and varying gravity conditions. “Without these kinds of systems, the mission fails.”

The first key is gravity, which Earth life needs to function properly, said co-author Lee Irons, Morgan Irons’ father and executive director of the Norfolk Institute, a group that aims to solve problems of human resilience on Earth and in space.

“Gravity induces a gradient in the fluid pressure within the body of the living thing to which the autonomic functions of the life form are attuned,” he said. “An example of gravity imbalance would be the negative effect on the eyesight of humans in Earth orbit, where they don’t experience the weight necessary to induce the pressure gradient.”

Morgan Irons said that it would be unwise to spend billions of dollars to set up a space settlement only to see it fail because even with all other systems in place, you need gravity.

Humans and all Earth life have evolved within the context of 1G of gravity. “Our bodies, our natural ecosystems, all the energy movement, and the way we utilize energy are all fundamentally based upon 1G of gravity being present,” she said. “There is just no other place in space where there is 1G of gravity; that just doesn’t exist anywhere else in our solar system. That’s one of the first problems we must solve.”

Oxygen is another key factor. Earth’s ecosystem generates oxygen for humans and other life forms. If a technologically advanced primary and a backup system failed to provide oxygen for the moon base, for example, it would mean instant doom for the astronauts. “A reserve exists everywhere in Earth’s nature,” Lee Irons said. “Think of the hundreds of thousands of species of plants that generate oxygen. That’s the kind of system reserve we need to replicate to be truly sustainable.”

Such an ecological system of an outpost would need an enormous amount of energy from the sun. The more distant planets and moons from the sun in our own solar system get decreased amounts of energy.

Such an ecological system of an outpost would need an enormous amount of energy from the sun. The more distant planets and moons from the sun in our own solar system get decreased amounts of energy.

“You’ll need a lot of energy,” Lee Irons said. “Otherwise powering the ecological system of an outpost will be like trying to run your car on a cell phone battery or probably even worse, trying to run your entire house and household on a cell phone battery.”

Originally published on https://scitechdaily.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, February 8th, 2025)

"WHAT IS DARK ENERGY??"

[kalpeavaris]

Totally for unrelated reasons, what are some more facts about communication drones? Like uhhh specific anatomy ect?

Prepare to get spammed with information! 👀

Communication Drones Infopost

Communication Drones (calling them CDs for short here) are a sub-type of Worker Drones fitted with antenna and special storage systems meant to analyze, store and transcrypt incoming and outgoing signals between Outposts, (human) landing pods and machinery.

CDs can also communicate with each other & Workers around them in a certain range which allows them to be very effective in sending out orders en masse to other Drones.

(more below the cut for their anatomy, specialities and more!)

Most CDs have two to four antennas fixiated to their head which are directly connected to their auditory entrance (or well, 'ears' as we would call it in human terms) which makes their antennas vital for their work and general hearing. Damaged or removed antennas may result in a CD losing their ability to hear or at least reduce it greatly.

Depending on the size of the antennas it's easy to see what purpose the CD served - long antennas are usually paired with long-range signals which put the individuals at use to distribute orders, arrange communication between ships & pods on their way to other exoplanets (when humans were still around) and to manage incoming signals from other planets & stations/outposts.

Short antennas usually indicated a more localized position for the drone in question - mainly within a singular Outpost or in ships to work directly connected to the local machinery and computers, sending orders in smaller ranged areas and storing security data.

Most CDs have secondary enhancers which work similar to a short-range antenna allowing them to switch between long and short range at will (mainly used for CDs that had flexible working places between ground & flight).

Generally, the antennas also function as "mood indicator". They can rotate around themselves and change position dependant on a fixed motion range around the head - similar to how e.g animals use their ears to indicate mood, CDs quickly took these habits from dogs that were around Copper-9 and video material of animals and copied them. Not all CDs did or do that, but alot of them do. For example if an individual is excited/attentive, the antennas would stick right up. If they're overwhelmed/annoyed/angry they'd usually be lowered down or pressed against the sides of the head.

They were expected to be very attentive and pay close attention to details. Their inner storage was designed to hold literal months and even years of auditory data that they recieved which was usually extracted every 4-6 months via the ports on their back which connected directly to the storage. Without these "clear outs" most CDs experience involuntary deletion of audio files which is out of their control and might result in them forgetting things they've heard/analyzed before.

Other than those two features their anatomy is fairly similar to that of normal Workers, height etc. as well.

After the humans disappearance alot of CDs lost their use as there... well, were no orders to share and no signals to analyze. Some of them struggled with this loss of "useability", some were fairly happy about this.

Lost/destroyed antennas cannot be restored by themselves (well, unless a CD is a Solver User like Kira) and CDs usually do not take well to losing or damaging antennas. Enhancers aren't as sensitive, but still hurt. Touching them might also cause disruption in hearing for CDs, it would be like someone rang a bell next to a humans ear for them. :'D (no touchie!)

CDs are generally connected to ECHO in the MD: Echo story (outside of that this plot point doesn't matter, just mentioning it here haha). Since Kira was the first CD Echo tried to use as host it developed an interested in them since CDs are great tools to be used for mass-ordering hosts.

Alot of CDs were destroyed while the humans were still around, especially if their warranty expired or they became damaged, to prevent sensitive information (such as orders and analyzed data) from leaking or being stolen by enemy forces/entities.

CDs infected with a Solver usually had enhanced auditory strenghts, capable of sending much stronger signals regardless of their antenna's natural range of reach - and they could also "ping" other Users & Hosts which makes them easy tools of manipulation. Luckily the only known CD which acted as AS Host was Kira who was "patched", so it couldn't spread for now (excluding Echo :'D)

[whencyclopedia]

Mystras

The city of Mystras (or Mistras) in southern Greece was the provincial capital of the Byzantine Despotate of the Morea from the 13th through the 15th centuries CE. It was founded in 1249 CE by William II of Villehardouin, and it served as a center of intellectualism in the late Byzantine world. After the fall of the Byzantine Empire, the city surrendered to the Ottomans in 1460 CE and remained in Ottoman hands, with brief interruptions, until 19th century CE. The city was abandoned in 1832 CE, but its spectacular Byzantine ruins continue to attract visitors and are listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Founding of a City

In 1249 CE, William II of Villehardouin, Prince of Achaea (r. 1246-1278 CE), built a great castle on top of one of the foothills of the Taygetus Mountains. The conical hill, c. 600 m or 2000 ft. tall, dominated the plain below and thus was an ideal vantage point for monitoring the restless Slav Milengi people of the region and the nearby city of Lacedemonia. The hill was known as Mizithra, but it later became known as Mystras.

In 1259 CE, William lost the Battle of Pelagonia against the emperor of Nicaea (soon to be the emperor of the restored Byzantine Empire after the capture of Constantinople in 1261 CE), Michael VIII Palaiologos (r. 1259-1282 CE), and was captured. The terms of his release were the surrender of the castles of Monemvasia, Maina, and Mystras. In 1262 CE, the castle of Mystras became Byzantine.

When it was first occupied, Mystras was an isolated Byzantine outpost in the midst of Frankish Achaean territory. The city of Lacedemonia was still in Frankish hands, and the Greek population of Lacedomonia soon flocked to Mystras, where they could be ruled as equal citizens rather than second-class members of society. The rebellious Milengi also reached an agreement with Mystras whereby they recognized Byzantine authority. A Byzantine expedition tried to recover the surrounding area the following year but was pushed back by the Franks, and an Achaean army even besieged Mystras, but it was impossible to dislodge the Byzantine garrison. Meanwhile, Lacedemonia was practically deserted since the Greek population had moved to Mystras, and it was abandoned when the Franks retreated. Another city would not rise there until the 19th century CE when modern Sparta (or Sparti in Greek) was built. For the next six centuries, Mystras was to be the social and political center of the region.

Continue reading...

[lyinginbedmon]

If you don't frequent my coding streams I feel like you maybe won't appreciate the last 3 hours of my life. So here's a hopefully-comprehensible explanation:

Started a new project, adding a manager AI to Minecraft villages so they can grow and expand as needed without player intervention. Call the project Hrrmowners because it's a perfect name with no issues.

Step one, naturally, is to make the infrastructure for actually understanding the layout of a village, so I make a quick system that tells me all the bounding boxes of the structures used to build villages during world generation.

Then realise that I'm actually highlighting every single structure in the game. So I need to filter things down a bit.

It takes me about an hour to find any shred of information in the disparate and convoluted world generation infrastructure of the game to have even the first clue what spawned building is part of a village. Not anything else, just if its intended to be part of one. This still catches pillager outposts, and ancient cities for some godforsaken reason.

Figure that there must be a gameplay element or two that specifically are handled by villager objects. Maybe it doesn't have all the information I need, but it might have something useful for this early stage of development.

Iron Golems spawn in villages, but it's actually the villager AI that does it, and it doesn't care about an actual village.

Cats only spawn in villages (and witch huts), and they have a spawner object in the world data. Could this be the clue I need? No, because it doesn't actually reference any kind of village data object, it just checks for occupied beds nearby via the points of interest storage of the world.

"Points of interest" are a system of noteworthy positions in the world added in 1.14, aka the Village & Pillage update, and basically let villagers reserve a bed to sleep in and a workstation to treat as its job. Every point of interest is a tile entity that gets loaded in a separate list when the chunk is restored from memory, so the world never needs to know anything about its own terrain to know where those points actually are. It just adds them in whenever the chunk spawns.

Notably removed in 1.14 is the villages.dat file in every world save. It contained the locations of every building in the village. That was fed into a Village object in world memory to monitor stuff like iron golems spawning.

It doesn't exist anymore. "Villages" as a concept, only actually exist in the world generation step, and then nothing knows or defines what they are.

TLDR: As of Minecraft 1.14, in the Village & Pillage update, the mobs named villagers actually have absolutely no clue what a village actually is.

[skeletinmoss]

The Curce Of The Dark Phoenix

Chapter 27: The ruins of Noctura

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“So, I always kinda knew that we lived far from the capitol. But… If you think about it, we had to ride all night to get from the nearest inn to home. And the only other thing between home and the border is a set of ruins at the very edge,” Patton listed.

“Your parents took you as far from the council as they physically could without abandoning the country entirely,” Virgil told Roman.

“I’m trying to remember if I’d ever seen these ruins in use… But I realize that might be futile,” Janus said a bit miffed.

“Can’t we try to fix his memory now?” Patton wondered.

“There is a myriad of memory spells that could have been at the base of the missing memories,” Logan explained. “And since Janus’ was applied so sloppily we’d have to take extra care in restoring his mind or risk causing irreparable damage. If it was the… If it was Gustav Noctura who applied the memory spell, then we’ll be most likely to find out the finer details in his home. If we don’t find anything in the ruins we could return to the tower. We might find something new on a second search. Originally I had fully expected to spend a few weeks identifying and organizing the tower before deciding on our next move. When we found the box, I thought we might have stumbled into a break trough. Sometimes the right answer is the most obvious one.

And I suppose we did…” Logan said. A bit saddened.

“I still kind of hope that it turns out to be all a big misunderstanding,” Roman admitted empathetically.

"Me too," Virgil sighed. Roman silently protested his guilt. From what he saw, Virgil likely had the least to do with the path Gustav Novtura chose if it was as dark as they feared.

"As for the ruins. I'd need to see them to be sure, but they are likely the remains of a mage outpost. This close to the border, it could be from us or from the neighbors. The boiling river is not that far from our destination. It was not always there, though. So its creation might have made claiming land past it strategically unwise and defending here a waste of revourses, leaving the fort without purpose until Gustav deemed it a good place to live," Virgil explained

"That makes sense," Logan mused.

They rode on with idle chatter amongst themselves for a while, all nervous at what they might learn.

Ocasionally laughing at recollections of past antics and gasping at old scandals.

"I have been thinking... about Mister Remy and Mister Emile. You said they had died a few times before becoming high mages?" Patton mused as they stopped to eat.

"Yes," Janus said, curious what would come next. "Well. That means that they didn't come back because of being high mages, right?" The farmer's son stated.

"Astute conclusion," Logan agreed.

"And you figured we've heard that brought up in a zillion conversations already and have come to every possible conclusion?" Remus guessed, proud it seemed. Patton nodded, smiling appreciative.

"Well, what is yours, let's get that one out of the way," Virgil suggested.

"Well. I think it means that, after we have paid penance for our wrongs, the ocean sends us on to be reborn again. I think that remembering, and being recognizable to those who knew them in a previous life, is unique to the eternal lovers. Caused by their magical bond to one another. But I think that souls can return in a new body," Patton explained.

That sounded interesting. The elder mages nodded.

"That's the accepted consensus among high mages. Some think that the more lives you've lived, the greater your natural talent in magic. If that were true, you three must've lived quite a few," Virgil mused.

"And you too," Roman teased fondly.

"Oh good, he's on our side," Janus quipped.

"Maybe it also depends on the quality of life," Roman added.

"If you lived one life as a very good and kind person, you'll have more aptitude than someone who's spent 10 being cruel and selfish," he reasoned.

"I like that. Sounds like an arrangement the gods might come to," Patton said.

"There are some who thought that Love simply liked them so much as a pair that when they died the first time, she begged the ocean to give them another chance. And apparently, he has a hard time saying no. And after they became high mages their souls left their bodies out of habit rather than necessity. I agree with the last part. I am fond off them both, but it is very in character for them," Janus pointed out.

"And some think they were so disgustingly cutesy they got kicked out of the afterlife to give the other souls a break!" Remus snickered. Though there was fondness in his remark.

"That's just you Remus," Virgil laughed.

"I am good leaving it a mystery. Personally speaking. The one mystery we shall never solve," he mused.

"I think it would be nice, if the first one is true. It could mean we have known each other and loved each other before," Roman pointed out.

Virgil smiled. "That is a nice thought," he agreed.

"Oh! What of you were the captain? And now you are back and rescued him, and you can get married this time," Patton gushed, swept up by the romance.

Virgil smiled and kissed Roman sweetly. "Whatever the case may be. I know that I love you in this lifetime," he whispered. Roman turned red and felt light with giddiness at the same time.

"It is a comforting thought, I suppose. That our loved ones might meet us once more in the future," Logan mused as he got up, helped Janus up, who was endeared by the gesture.

Remus got up and scooped a giggling Patton into his arms to carry him to his horse.

"They definitely shared a dream," Roman said as he righted himself and offered Virgil a hand, which was gracefully accepted.

"Definitely. And they have communicated quite clearly their wants and needs, it seems," Virgil agreed. Roman pulled him up and stepped in a touch closer for a long kiss.

"Yes, you are in love, we know! But we are losing daylight!" Remus complained.

They chuckled and let go.

"Are we?" he asked, the answer clear in his heart.

"Terrifyingly so," Virgil assured them. And he meant every word. Roman gave him a quick kiss in comfort before heading for their horses.

The rest of the ride they distracted themselves with wild plans for the future. Far of journeys, great feats of magic, creating a brand new flower...

But as the sun lowered Roman and Logan, who'd gotten to talking about how different they felt now at the front, halted their horses abruptly.

"You feel that too, don't you?" Logan asked tensely.

"You mean like my blood is colder, the air thinner and there is an unnatural pressure against my skin?" Roman asked.

"Yes," Logan confirmed.

"Glad it's not just me. I worried for a second I was about to die from something mysterious and take out our horses with me," Roman said in an attempt to make light of this awfull feeling.

"Everything alright?" Patton asked as he joined them where they'd stopped.

"You don't feel that?" Roman asked, baffled at how it could be missed.

"It seems we guessed right. What you two feel is the edge of a high mage's territory. Of one who didn't want uninvited guests. Patton will likely feel it a bit further in," Janus offered. That made sense.

"Are we going to feel like this the whole time?" Roman asked, not looking forward to trying to work like this.

"Will they, Virgil?" Remus asked.

"What are you asking me for?" Virgil huffed.

"Quickest way to deal with the ick is to be invited in by someone who's welcome," Remus pointed out.

"And you were very favored by him," Janus agreed.

Virgil sighed, got of his horse and moved to the front, passing the invisible line without flinching.

He raised his hand and seemed to grab hold of something.

"Virgilious gantes invive di cique gestan!" He called out. Something in the air shifted. For a moment, something moved layers of shimmering fractals dazed Roman's senses. And then the air felt... not welcoming, not normal... but not hostile, either. Reluctant acceptance, maybe.

"This man has issues," Roman decided.

"Agreed," Janus huffed.

"Let's go. The ruins can't be that far. We should leave the horses behind though, the magic here will only distress them more," Virgil said, a little tense.

They secured their horses a little off the path and put a protection on them to keep them save from predators.

Roman joined Virgil at the front, worried. “Remember when Thomas warned you that trying to get into my home could be dangerous?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. Virgil looked on ahead. “Gustav… Was more familiar and comfortable with offense as a defense… We better be ready for anything coming up. And remember that he might have set his home up to defend against high mages specifically. He can’t kill us, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t go ‘missing’ on this mission. So to speak,” he explained.

“Missing how?” Roman asked.

Then a growl echoed through the woods, making Stardust whimper. “Puppy scared,” Buddy told them worriedly.

“It’s going to be alright Bud,” Roman promised.

“Everyone in a circle around Buddy and Star, don’t leave your backs open. Seems Gustav had some guard dogs that are still roaming his territory,” Remus said, retrieving his Scissor blades from his satchel. Janus pulled out a whip, Virgil retrieved his daggers, Roman brandished sky cleaver, Logan aimed his crossbow at the darkness and Patton readied his staff.

Roman flinched back as he caught glowing eyes in the darkness and then saw the darkness move.

“Shadow wolves,” he stated.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Virgil agreed.

“Aren’t those, extinct?” Logan wondered as the pact circled their group, looking for the weak link.

“Apparently not. Gustav must have preserved a pack somehow,” Janus stated, reluctantly impressed.

“Bad doggies?” Buddy asked.

Roman almost gave him a full chested yes, but he paused. “Don’t know bud. But they might want to hurt us,” he explained. Teaching Buddy a black and white vision of the world was not how he wanted him to go through the world.

“No hurt,” Buddy concluded.

“We’ll try our best,” Roman chuckled.

“Eh, just in case,” Patton said, followed by the sound of a bottle uncorking. Before they’d left Patton had made a few second breath potions. They all hoped he wouldn’t have to truly test if they worked as intended today. And Roman still hoped they wouldn’t see the potion in action.

But he was glad that there was some kind of protection over Patton should things get out of hand.

“I wish it wasn’t night,” Virgil mused.

Of course. The darkness probably made the shadow wolves stronger. Roman looked up, the canopy above them was unusually thick, even in broad daylight, it would be fairly dark here.

“Buddy, give us some light,” he ordered.

“Light!” Buddy agreed, and the next moment the pack whined unhappily. At the very least they lost their cover now.

“Maybe they’ll leave?” Patton wondered.

The pack got closer. “Worth a try,” Roman sighed. “Keep it up for a bit longer buddy. This shouldn’t take long,” he promised.

There were roughly ten wolves for five high mages, one great mage, one cosmic wolf and one homonculus.

Buddy was at the center, ready to interfere wherever things looked dire. That also meant that none of the wolves would be able to attack him directly even if they wanted to.

So that meant that three of them would have to deal with an extra wolf.

Roman was ready to defend his friends and his creations with all that he had.

The issue with a fight like this, you can't see how the rest of your group is doing as easily, and there is not much room to aid them. In front of him, a wolf got entangled in vines, a spell cast by someone he heard whining from a few wolves. He wasn't sure how many. He didn't have the time to wonder. One was attacking him. He swiped his spear at him, making the wolf jump back. He smirked and swiped again, this time triggering the distant attack effect he'd discovered in the temple. The wolf flinched away to avoid him and then whined as he got struck by seemingly nothing.

Buddy's light was putting them at a disadvantage and clearly they knew that too.

Behind him, he heard Remus speak in a tongue he didn't understand. It wasn't old Axillan. It sounded too different.

"I don't think they are in the mood to talk it out!" Patton concluded. Had Remus tried to convince them to leave?

"Fuck it then," Remus huffed. Roman heard a roar, a bleat, and a hiss. Remus had taken his guide form.

"Not an option for us," Virgil grunted as he warded off his wolf.

Roman felt his reluctance and made a decision. His wolf was still limping and reassessing the threat he posed after the last attempted attack. So Roman took a calculated risk, and on his next jump, he stabbed the wolf in his upper front leg. Not a deadly wound. But it would probably make it think twice about attacking again.

"Aaaaah!" he screamed. The entrapped wolf had gotten loose and dug his teeth into his shoulder. The cold was setting in. Roman heard his name called. He rushed forwards to the first wolf wo attacked him

He felt Virgil's wolf jump on his back. He heard Buddy call out for him. He got to his destination and embraced the cold. "Chase off the evolves save my friends," he prayed. And his magic consumed him. He was magic he had no definitive shape. He was a living fire and wolves, magic or not hated fire.

And so the wolves left as fast as they could, their mission abandoned.

Roman landed on Buddy's shoulder, humming comforting.

"Papa bird. Papa ok?" Buddy wondered. Roman let put a confirming caw. "Papa. Friend hurt," Buddy said, gesturing to where the group was now gathering around... Patton?

Roman flew over to join them, caring in concern.

He looked bad. Blood was staining his tunic fast. A claw mark in his side the cause.

"He was fine a second ago! I don't get it!" Remus insisted panicked.

"One of the wolves you knocked out of the way circled back around and managed to injure him before he or I could react. Roman's aid came but a blink of a moment later," Logan said.

"I have dome herbs that could help," Virgil mumbled, looking in his satchel.

"His potion thingy will save him, right?" Remus asked.

"It's a dice roll I'm not willing to make," Virgil insisted.

Roman, meanwhile, found himself entranced by the wound. He lowered his head to patton's side and sang.

The sound out of his beak was nothing like the usual squad. It was a sound clear like bells and harmonious and soothing. And as he sang, the wound closed and Patton's hazy gaze cleared up and a small smile graced his lips.

"H-Hey there," he said weakly.

"Phoenix song," Virgil gasped in relief. "How come I didn't think of that?" he muttered, frustrated with himself.

Roman shook out his feathers and found himself kneeling at Patton's side in human form.

He reached across to Virgil and held his face, recalling the worry and the guilt Virgil felt. He looked at the place where they'd both stood equally hindered in doing something to protect Patton. He looked back at Virgil with a quirked brow. Wondering if Virgil thought he should be blamed as well.

Virgil sighed and shook his head, relaxing into his hold.

"Aw, so sweet," Patton sighed.

"I don't think they will come back," Janus stated.

"Between Buddy's sunlight and Roman's reincarnation, they should need a long time in total darkness to recover," Logan agreed.

"Speaking of... I say we make a protective circle, rest, and then move on," he declared as he rose.

No one objected to that.

When they settled down, Roman and Virgil sat back to back, fingers intertwined. Stardust curling up next to them, needing rest as much as the rest of them.

"I will dream of sailing off to faraway lands to bring you the most peculiar, things I can find. Just to see your eyes light up when I present you with a new curiosity," Roman offered teasingly.

Virgil chuckled. "Then I shall dream of showing you the most delightful places in our kingdom and kissing in the rain," Virgil promises in return.

Roman quite liked that. A little reprieve before they got to the ruins.

He did dream of the ocean. He was sitting on a beach looking at the sun set. He considered the fact that he'd never seen the ocean in person. Would he like the scent? The feeling of the wind sweeping his hair? The sand under his feet? Would it make him mis a life he might have never lived.

"Where fo you bring them after they leave us?" he wondered out loud.

In his heart, he knew the answer. Home.

He awoke to Stardust nudging his face. He chuckled and rubbed his neck. "Good boy. The adventuring is almost over," he promised. He got up and found everyone was dusting themselves off and eying the road ahead nervously.

This area did not welcome their presence. That much had been made clear. Roman was just glad they'd left the horses somewhere protected. The stress alone might've killed the poor creatures.

"Let's go," Virgil breathed as he took Roman's hand and led the group forward.

It was not five steps later before Roman realized that Virgil was feeling apologetic. Roman squeezed his hand. Virgil m leaned over. "I have been. Relying on you to get my act together all day. I'm not usually so... dependent," he admitted softly.

"Emotions have been running high. And what lies ahead likely won’t be pleasant. I am more than happy to support you," Roman promised.

"I forgot you'd be fine. And I forgot the Phoenix song. What if I am more liability than asset today?" Virgil argued.

"We managed. You are not the only one who can fix everything. You might not be dependent, but depend on us anyway," he pleaded.

Virgil smiled at him and squeezed his hand appreciatively.

As they walked on, they passed a few inactive golems. Buddy clearly didn’t feel very comfortable walking past them.

“You’ll be okay bud,” Roman promised.

“I’d feel better about that if we could get somewhere with natural light,” Janus admitted, receiving a glare from Roman, Patton, Virgil and even Remus.

“Better be nice to my cousin there pall,” Remus warned. “I did not mean any offence. Apologies, seems the tension of the situation has me a bit tactless,” Janus promised.

It wasn't that much longer before they arrived at the ruins. It was warmer here, thanks to the boiling river. Excellent climate for the colorful and fragrant plants that grew around the outpost before them. It appeared in disrepair. There was a plaque Roman would assume commemorates a battle or some other great historical event. But it was in a script he couldn't even read let alone decipher.

"A puzzle," Janus noted.

"Oh, that would be Lo's thing," Patton said.

Logan came forward to study the plaque.

"Perhaps if I could read it and understand it with the nuances of its original..."

Janus kissed his temple, making Logan look up flustered and shocked.

“What, may I ask, was the purpose of that?” he wondered.

“Look again,” Janus urged.

Logan turned back to the plaque and gasped. “It’s the same, but I understand it… Hmmm… I see… too bad for you I am familiar with three of your cyphers and I think I know how you think… Yes… hm, wordplay… Okay that is a clever prosaic misdirect… I see…”

“It is quite fun to watch isn’t it?” Roman chuckled.

“I’ll say. This is like watching Virgil mess around with potions,” Remus snickered.

“Shhh, he almost has it,” Janus chided.

“I do!” Logan stated triumphantly.

“The key is his mother’s name,” he announced.

“Fuck!” Remus cursed.

“Oh that’s just great,” Janus huffed, rubbing his temples. “Maybe it’s somewhere in an archive? We can contact the king and ask him to have someone look,” he mused.

“It’s Delia,” Virgil stated, a bit disapproving of his friends.

Something in the air shimmered and suddenly the fort didn’t look like it had been abandoned for centuries, not even a few decades. The exotic flowers were still plentiful but planted with more purpose. The garden was a bit overgrown but not as much as one would expect.

“Well. Welcome to Noctura manor, I guess,” Virgil announced.

[satureja13]

The old Twi'lek, Kesuke, lead them over to one of the buildings. Kesuke: "Let's warm up in the cantina while the droids are loading your supplies and components into the shuttle."

Jack is so confused - and worried: "How is it possible I was here when I was lying in that pod in Copperdale in a coma? Is all this here even real then? I'm really afraid my mind is spiraling downwards into utter madness again, you know?"

Kesuke laughed: "What is real anyway? Don't worry, Jack. You're just as sane as I am. Even a tiny little quantum can exist in two states at the same time, right?"

'Don't worry'... That was the second thing Kesuke had said to him when he was here for the first time...

Jack has no clue of quantum mechanics, but of course he'd heard of Schroedinger's Cat... Saiwa: "Kesuke has a point, though. All the crazy stuff we experienced. The meteorites, the Bond, being Fated Mates, Vlad going to hell, Luci, horses from and a home in the Otherworld... Jeb and I even knocked on DEATH's door! More then one time we thought all that was too weird to be real. You shouldn't worry too much, hm? On the other hand - The Therapy Game, for example, it felt real for us too. And even though it was just a game - we even knew it and it didn't really change anything - we had to go with the rules of that game. So even if this were not real, we still have to rescue B.D and find Tiny Can to go on, right? Maybe this is just a different save file of the same game?" Kiyoshi got lost in his own thoughts. Same was when he'd spent all those decades in the tree. Had that been real? It had felt real for him. And he had to endure it - and he was glad he did. Because it brought him back together with Jack. And he would endure it all over again - for him. He'd never had left the tree if it hadn't been for Jack. Jack had been the beacon that had lead him back to humanity when his demon had taken over and the tree was about to consume him.

Vlad: "Or maybe it's like a dream? While dreaming, you don't know it's a dream and you play along, no matter how weird it is, because your brain tells you it's supposed to be like that. You'll only ever know after you wake up."

Jack was even more confused than before. Was that supposed to be reassuring? He shouldn't even have asked! ö.Ö' Kesuke has a weird way of giving advice anyway. Jack already learned that when he was here before - in his coma... Jack's head is about to combust: "I think I'm going to take a walk to cool down my poor brain ^^' " ... before Jeb and Ji Ho added their two credits...

Lenny left the cantina too. Seems he wants to show something to Jack. He ran over to what looked like a ship graveyard...

This shuttle looked oddly familiar...

And as Jack followed Lenny inside, he knew it. Kesuke and him had spent a lot of time flying this shuttle!

Kesuke: "Albaleyh left this shuttle here after B.D got arrested. She's a diplomat and couldn't get involved with it." Jack: "You mean this is the shuttle? The shuttle B.D had stolen borrowed? The reason why he got arrested?" Kesuke: "The main reason, yes. I would be in great trouble if the First Order found it here, you know? This is the nearest outpost to Batuu - and I have to stay neutral." Jack: "..."

Jack: "But we don't, right? We could bring it back and try to restore B.D's reputation!" Kesuke: "That's my Boy! Gladly the other shuttle he stole is already back in the possession of the First Order."

Kesuke and Jack went back to the others. It's so cosy in the outpost's cantina <3 Now they finally had a plan to rescue B.D. Well, a part of a plan at least. But who says they wouldn't get arrested for owning a stolen shuttle? ö.ö'

'The word is out About the town To lift a glass Oh, and don't look down

The party's on The feeling's here That only comes This time of year Simply having a wonderful Christmastime Simply having a wonderful Christmastime'

by Paul McCartney

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

[madam-whim]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @labskeever and @elavoria - thank you both!

Today I'm going to pick up where I left off last week and share the next bit of the Drake of Blades thingy :)

It took her far too long for her liking to find something edible this time, not that there had been plenty to begin with. It was a mudcrab again, and even though she was a creature of habit, always had been, this was something she would never get used to. Nor would she even have the chance to, if things went on like this. She was quickly running out of things to burn after all, both for warmth and light, and raw meat was rarely a good idea, either. She’d soon be left with no choice, however. At first, when she’d stepped outside the Dragonfire Cathedral for the first time after all those years, she’d only noticed how eerily quiet it was, with only the soft burbling of the water echoing off the walls. Back when she had, to be quite honest, practically lived down here, there had always been almost too many sounds for her liking. There had been the Daedra, of course, and those were rarely quiet. And with the soldiers of the Daggerfall Covenant and their nearby base, which, on occasion, had rather resembled a bustling underground market instead of a hidden military outpost, there had almost always been soldiers passing through on their way up into the city above. And even if one dared venture deeper into the sewer network, towards the Barathrum Centrata, there had always been traces of activity – mortal and Daedric alike – to be found, of one knew where to look, and how to listen. But now, there was nothing aside from a handful of animals, and it had taken her a mere few hours to learn the reason why: She was trapped, even more so than she’d assumed. With her ability to leave the Cathedral restored, she had found out very soon that the area she could move around in was fairly small, and within an hour of exploration she had discovered that all tunnels leading away from the Cathedral were collapsed. Perhaps it was the Vestige’s work – if the woman had kept her promise of making sure the Cathedral was forgotten, this would have been the easiest way to go about it. Or perhaps she had finally defeated Molag Bal for good, and the Three Banners War had come to an end, and this part of the sewers had simply fallen into disrepair. Whatever the reason, though, it meant that returning to the surface was made incredibly difficult for her, who had no tools except her two swords, and those were hardly meant for digging. She’d still tried, though, after she’d settled on one of the blocked passages. She’d needed to try her luck with one of them, after all, if she wanted to get out of this place alive.

I'm no-pressure-tagging @pinessydr, @illumiera and @bostoniangirl21, as well as anyone else who might want to share something (feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged)

[mariacallous]

Geopolitical storm clouds are gathering at the far reaches of Pax Americana, and yet there is remarkably little sign that the U.S. government or the American people have awoken to the mounting dangers. The threat posed by China and Russia and their rogue nation allies rated only passing mention in last year’s presidential campaign, for instance, which in typical fashion revolved around domestic issues such as the economy and inflation. Asked to choose among five issues in an NBC exit poll, only 4 percent of the voters surveyed during last year’s presidential election named foreign policy as a priority.

President Donald Trump has talked a lot about restoring strong U.S. leadership in an increasingly unstable world, but in its first two months, his administration has mostly sown chaos at home and doubt abroad about the reliability of the United States as an ally.

The administration’s ready-fire-aim approach to national security and world affairs stands in stark contrast to the sense of very real urgency felt at the United States’ geographic military commands, which are positioned forward around the globe.

In essence, these military headquarters are sentries on the far battlements of the U.S.-led, post-World War II international order. From their vantage point, Washington’s military and security forces already find themselves stretched thin by intense combat operations, hybrid and proxy warfare, and tense military standoffs with an increasingly cohesive “axis of autocracies” that is spread out over six time zones that span the globe.

Listen closely to the warnings from these outposts, and you can detect the sound of alarms clanging while the United States continues listing even as geopolitical storm clouds darken.

From the hillside headquarters of U.S. Indo-Pacific Command in Honolulu, commanders can gaze down on the tranquil waters of Pearl Harbor, where the surface of the water has an oily sheen resulting from persistent leakage from the once mighty battleship USS Arizona, sunk by Japanese bombs more than 80 years ago. The locals refer to the sheen as “black tears,” in memory of the 1,102 U.S. service members still entombed in the wreckage below.

Pearl Harbor is a place for quiet contemplation, and from the nearby vantage point of Indo-Pacific Command, it is impossible not to reflect on the dangers that accumulate when rising powers—such as 1930s-era Japan and Germany—confront status quo powers—such as that era’s Great Britain and the United States.

Today, the Indo-Pacific Command is consumed by the meteoric rise of another superpower in Asia—one whose bullying and provocations toward the United States and its regional allies have increased in rough proportion to a military expansion that recently retired leader of the command Admiral John Aquilino characterized as “the largest military buildup that we’re seeing in history, both conventional and nuclear.”

China’s massive defense manufacturing base now churns out weapons systems at a pace estimated at five to six times as fast as its anemic U.S. counterpart. Beijing already boasts not only the world’s largest navy, but also a shipbuilding capacity roughly 230 times that of the United States, according to Office of Naval Intelligence estimates.

Not coincidentally, in the past year alone, China’s armed forces have held live-fire exercises bracketing Taiwan, a democratic country that the Chinese Communist Party considers a breakaway province. Beijing’s People’s Liberation Army also regularly attacks the ships of the Philippines—a U.S. treaty ally—near contested islands. According to the Pentagon, since the fall of 2021 there have been more than 180 incidents of Chinese warplanes performing “coercive and risky” maneuvers targeting U.S. military aircraft in international airspace.

In congressional testimony in May 2024, Aquilino, then the head of Indo-Pacific Command, said that “all indications point to” the Chinese military meeting leader Xi Jinping’s deadline of being ready for a potential invasion of Taiwan by 2027.

Given that three of China’s standing war plans are built around that Taiwan scenario, the Pentagon has held classified war games testing the U.S. military’s readiness for such a contingency dating back a decade. Many Americans are not even aware that those secret war games consistently indicate that U.S. forces would not only lose that war, but also that they would lose it fast.

Contemplating the growing disparity in defense industrial capacity and Beijing’s aggressive claim of hegemony over the entire South China Sea, then- U.S. Air Force Secretary Frank Kendall III summarized conventional wisdom in September 2023 while speaking at a conference: “China is preparing for war, and specifically for a war with the United States.”

Remarkably, the theater-wide view from the village of Mons, Belgium, home to NATO’s sprawling Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), is equally alarming.

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s unprovoked full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 set off the largest conflict in Europe since World War II, is now in its fourth bloody year. During that time, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute estimates that Putin has transitioned the Russian economy to a near-total wartime footing, spending an estimated 7.1 percent of the country’s GDP on defense in 2024.

Despite mounting a large military resupply mission to help keep Ukraine in the fight, the United States and its NATO allies have been continually deterred from more decisive support by a level of nuclear weapons saber-rattling and brinkmanship by Moscow that the world has not seen since the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. That brinksmanship escalated dramatically in November 2024, after Russia attacked Ukraine for the first time with a new type of intermediate-range ballistic missile that is capable of carrying a nuclear warhead as well as conventional ones.

The virulently anti-Western axis of autocracies that has come to Russia’s aid in its aggression against Ukraine and its challenge to the supposed U.S.-led, rules-based international order is increasingly alarming to U.S. security officials. China has lived up to its “no limits” partnership with Russia, which was announced just before the invasion, rescuing it from the isolation of Western sanctions with bilateral trade that soared to a record $240 billion in 2023. Beijing acts as a willing buyer for Russian oil while supplying Moscow with subcomponents such as drone and missile engines as well as the semiconductors that are critical to its burgeoning defense industry.

Despite its own conflict with Israel, the theocratic regime in Iran has also stepped in with shipments of ballistic missiles and thousands of lethal Shahed drones for Moscow’s war against its democratic neighbor.

The rogue regime in the so-called hermit kingdom of North Korea, a de facto nuclear weapons state and the most insular dictatorship in the world, has likewise provided Russia with short-range ballistic missiles and what South Korean authorities have estimated as 8 million artillery shells. And in a dramatic escalation of the conflict, U.S. intelligence officials revealed in late 2024 that Pyongyang had also sent an estimated 12,000 special forces troops to fight alongside their Russian counterparts against Ukraine. U.S. officials believe that in return, Moscow is sharing advanced air defense systems with Pyongyang.

In response to Western support for Ukraine, Russia’s GRU military intelligence agency has also greatly intensified its hybrid war against Europe, resulting in what Western intelligence officials characterize as a “an unprecedented rise” in acts of sabotage, arson, cyberattacks and attempted assassinations on NATO soil. In an article in Financial Times, the heads of the CIA and Britain’s MI6 described Russian intelligence activity as a “reckless campaign of sabotage across Europe.”

Western efforts to keep Ukraine supplied, even with fundamental war materials such as standard munitions and low-tech drones, have also revealed glaring deficiencies in industrial capacity in the once-vaunted U.S. “arsenal of democracy.” According to NATO intelligence estimates, Russia is on track to annually produce nearly three times as many artillery shells as the United States and its European allies combined (with 3 million shells versus 1.2 million, respectively). Russia has also dramatically increased its production of relatively cheap drones. Its close ally Beijing already dominates the worldwide market for commercial drones, with just one Chinese company accounting for approximately 70 percent of global production.

The view of the Middle East from the U.S. Central Command Forward Headquarters at al-Udeid Airbase in Qatar is no more reassuring. The war against Israel that the Gaza-based Hamas militant group launched to devastating effect on Oct. 7, 2023, quickly revealed itself as a coordinated attack on the United States’ closest ally in the region by Iran-led proxies that constitute Tehran’s so-called axis of resistance, which comprises Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah in Lebanon, Shiite militias in Iraq and Syria, and Houthi rebels in Yemen. The resulting war thus rapidly spread throughout the volatile region, including in the form of rare direct attacks between Israeli and Iran proper.

From the outset of the conflict, the U.S. military surged forces to come to Israel’s defense, with the Biden administration dispatching two aircraft carrier battle groups beginning in fall 2023. As a result, U.S. warships and aircraft were involved in the most intensive combat operations at sea since World War II, helping to protect Israel from missile attacks by Iran and its proxies, responding to attacks on U.S. bases and ships in the region, and engaging with Iran-aligned Houthi rebels in Yemen in an attempt to thwart their attacks on international shipping in the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden.

While Iran and its axis of resistance have been seriously weakened by the conflict, the intense strains of recent combat deployments on a historically small and overstretched U.S. military have been exposed for all to see. Defense Department officials have admitted struggling to find sufficient air defense systems to protect their allies in both the Middle East and Europe, and they are running short of key munitions such as surface-to-air missiles.

In late 2024, the Pentagon also announced the withdrawal of the last U.S. aircraft carrier deployed in the region. Asked about the redeployments and the gaps in presence they represent, Gen. Charles Brown Jr., the recently sacked chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, noted that the Defense Department had no choice but to “step back and take a look” at spiking demand and the impact of extended deployments on U.S. forces, “not just in the Middle East, but really around the world.”

Back home, the Trump administration continues to signal a realignment away from the United States’ traditional role as the so-called leader of the free world, even recently voting with Russia and North Korea at the United Nations against resolutions condemning Moscow for its invasion of Ukraine. For its part, Congress continues in its nearly unbroken, decadelong streak of failing to pass a defense budget on time, severely curtailing efforts to stabilize acquisition programs and reorient the Pentagon’s strategic direction to confront rapidly growing threats.

In a report published in December and titled “Restoring Freedom’s Forge,” Republican Sen. Roger Wicker, the new chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, took note of the urgency of this moment. “Over the last four decades, the defense acquisition system has ground to a virtual halt, buried under a mountain of statutes and regulations from Congress and the Pentagon,” he wrote.

And a congressionally mandated Commission on the National Defense Strategy (NDS) report released in July 2024 backed that conclusion with its own stark warning: “The threats the United States faces are the most serious and most challenging the nation has encountered since 1945 and include the potential for near-term major war,” the report began, noting that the United States has not fought such a global conflict since World War II, nearly 80 years ago, and last prepared for such a contingency during the Cold War, 35 years ago. “It is not prepared today,” the authors added.

Retired Rep. Jane Harman, the former chairwoman of the House Intelligence Committee, also served as the chair of the recent NDS Commission review.

In the event of a conflict with China or Russia, Harman noted in a recent interview with the Defense Writers Group, “there will be a major cyberattack on our critical infrastructure. When the lights go out in our cities, and our ports close, and our transportation systems melt down, people will start to pay attention. So maybe we can help them pay attention” ahead of what would surely be a catastrophe.

[generalangelphilosopher]

Why you would never hold a grenade in barotrauma unless you're ready to throw it:

Our ship arrives at an outpost, and the first thing we do is stock up on supplies as our next mission is an abandoned outpost mission. The captain finds and purchases acid grenades. At some point, it is mentioned that acid grenades are at this outpost. So I, very intrigued and ectied at the thought of having an acid grenade ask for some. The captain says no, and upon asking why states he doesn't trust me with them (understandable, I would either). So, while shopping I find some acid bombs for sale. Me, thinking it would be funny to purchase some and show the captain that I have them, bought them and waited by a fabricator for the captain to return. He does, but doesn't notice the acid grenades. So I think to myself "damn. Anyways, I need to use the fabricator." So, I press E on my keyboard to open the fabricator menu. However, I was just a bit to far from it and didn't know that pressing E while holding a grenade would pull the pin. So, as I accidently pull the pin I start running around not knowing what to do about the grenade, screaming "Oh shit" repeatedly as I do, and after a few seconds the grenade explodes while I am near like five people including npcs. I am somehow the only person who gets incapacitated from this Incident, and then get my pay cut (my pay was restored to normal after the mission because i helped blow up the reactor :3). Moral of the story: don't be like me and press E while holding a grenade

[randomthefox]

I'm deeply perplexed by the latest issue of IDW, so it's a day that ends with a "y." But, being the lore nut that I am, I'm wondering who is in control of the Restoration now. I believe the issue is implying that Lanolin and Jewel will eventually co-lead the Restoration once they're ready. They plan to get ready by rebuilding Emeraldville. As an aside, can I just mention how stupid it is that they left Emeraldville as a memorial to the war? What happened to the people that used to live there? Were they all resettled even though rebuilding things is the Rostoration's job? Kind of ironic that they chose to build their base under a monument to their failure as an institution. Or is it implied that all of the people that used to live there are dead. If so, why are they rebuilding it now? Who's going to live there? But that's not my main point. My main point is who's going to be the leader of the Restoration in the meantime? In issue 78, Tails, Amy, and Blaze will visit the other Restoration outposts to see how they are doing, confirming that the Restoration has garrisons, airfields, and offices throughout the islands. So, why is Lanolin talking about restarting the Restoration as if the institution is completely destroyed? The Restoration continues to operate; they simply no longer report to a central authority. 

This signifies one of two things. One, if the Restoration works perfectly without a central authority, it indicates that the Restoration was unnecessary in the first place. The cities and towns can take care of themselves without a central authority, and all of the drama surrounding the Restoration was completely unnecessary because the Restoration was an inefficient organization that was only spinning its wheels to keep power. Or two, if the islands devolve into disorder and Lanolin and Jewel are selfish fucking morons! They took a break to work on themselves, leaving behind a tremendous power vacuum as if the world would simply stop while they were away. Lanolin and Jewel fully anticipate just return to their position when they are ready, implying that they have not elected a successor. This would all be quite interesting if the comic were truly interested in investigating the ramifications of its characters' choices. If this comic was good, I'd be excited to see the Restoration implode as these dozens of bases with military assets respond to the government under which they operated disappearing in a single evening. Will bases attempt to form partnerships with other towns? Will some simply cut themselves off from the outer world? Will Restoration commanders establish their own mini-military dictatorships? Will some Restoration commanders take the risk of attempting to fill the power vacuum forcibly? I feel the need to reiterate the Restoration has no way of electing a new leader. Amy just gave Jewel the position. If someone wishes to be in a position to govern the Restoration in the event that everything goes wrong and Jewel and Lanolin don't step in, they must use force.

But I know that the comic isn't going to explore any of that, because that would risk the comic actually being entertaining. We cannot have that. Ian Flynn is simply going to overlook all of the interesting implications that result from his inability to adequately world-build since all of the wonderful storytelling chances his writing offers are completely accidental. He wants to pretend that the changes he's made to the Sonic Universe have made it a utopia when it would be anything but if he bothered to think about the consequences of his writing decisions. I can't wait to see what unsatisfying way Ian decides to settle the Restoration's lack of a leader in issue 78, as well as see Kit as a manipulative schemer, despite the fact that this contradicts how he's been presented thus far. The reason I can't let IDW Sonic go isn't just because it's a malignancy on a product I like; it's also because it has some excellent concepts and a lot of promise, but then explores it all in the worst way humanly possible. Send ask.

I haven't read it and I'm not going to if I can avoid it. But it's funny to me that they're apparently still trying to keep going with this whole idea of the Restoration being a thing. Even though it doesn't exist in the video games. Honestly one would have thought that based on what they think "the comics are canon to the games" means I might have assumed the entire idea of destroying Restoration HQ was to in-universe remove that organization so it's conspicuous absence from the video games wouldn't raise any continuity questions. But apparently they're going to still cling to the concept of such an organization being a thing? A thing that apparently only their stupid fucking OCs care about or have anything to do with lol.

Flynn is just THAT much of a fucking Archie Snape that he CANNOT and will not let go of this blatant Freedom Fighters replacement I guess.

[kimbureh]

TBB S2E14, Tipping Point & Self-Discovery Under Repressive Regimes

There is a lot of torture in this episode, and I've seen takes that argue Crosshair embraces this as a form of self-punishment. I will argue the opposite and use the thematic developments of the two seasons of TBB + some of TCW to make my point. (mention of a spoiler for the season 2 finale ahead)

—

A core theme of TBB is the toxicity of self-sacrifice. The Clone Army was created in order to be "expendable", but as far as I am aware, TCW only touched on the moral implications of that on rare occasions (Slick comes to mind). TBB on the other hand fills exactly this blank space and puts the ethics of a Clone Army front and center, as we see with the Clone Rights story thread, but also with every individual Batcher.

So far, several Batchers have used suicide as a tool of problem solving, every time with disastrous outcomes. Echo sacrificed himself in TCW in an act that later turned out to be inconsequential only to then be tortured and abused by the Separatists. Crosshair attempted to commit suicide by avenging Mayday, and torture ensued. Tech sacrificed himself in order to save the squad, which was instrument to Hunter's arc: Hunter, the frustratingly passive main character, realizes only after this loss that self-sacrifice isn't the way to go if they truly want to leave behind servitude of the Republic/Empire. (that's a future essay, but I am very excited about Hunter's development)

And Hunter has been demanding sacrifices from himself and the squad a lot for two whole seasons. Sacrificing Crosshair, for example.

You know who else is big on sacrifices? The Empire. I'm not deep enough into the Star Wars lore to know whether or not this is a common motif, but watching how Imperial fanatics kill themselves with suicide pills seems to me krass enough of an image to interpret this as a deliberate point. People within the Empire see themselves as expendable. If the Bad Batch truly aims to detach themselves from the Empire's ideology and develop an alternate moral model, they have to stop sacrificing themselves like the proverbial lemmings. So far, Echo is the only Batcher to spearhead this revolution, with Omega firmly on his side (and Hunter loves Omega, so he will pivot too, eventually).

And there is one Batcher who has been sacrificed by his brothers and understands they have to stop committing the Empire's cruelty to themselves: Crosshair.

I know this may sound hard to believe at first glance, but despite the things that happen externally, Crosshair's arc in season 2 is a positive one if we look at his internal development. In The Solitary Clone, Crosshair's arc could still go either way: either towards self-acceptance or towards self-destruction. In The Outpost, Crosshair comes to terms with his Clone identity just in time to find he no longer has the choice but to pick self-destruction. When this doesn't kill him either, there is no way but forward. In the Tipping Point, he is truly self-actualized to the best of his ability given the crushing circumstances. He is calm and perceptive. His eyes are open. This is not the demeanor of a self-hating man. This is someone who has come to terms with himself and his values, and acts accordingly. Building on the self-acceptance he developed in the interactions with Mayday, Crosshair now allows himself to care for the Batch again and sends them a warning. He knows the price he has to pay, but does it anyway because he finally acts according to his own convictions. Think back to his unusually relaxed expressions; despite being afraid of the torture, he doesn't show desperation, even when he's alone. He is at peace with his decisions, for the first time in a long time.

tl;dr:

Crosshair's internal arc culminates in Tipping Point with successful self-discovery and restored personal integrity in the face of extreme adversity. The Crosshair he is now would never stay 32 days stranded on a platform on Kamino. I mean, the episode is called "Tipping Point". What more can I say? Next step in season 3 is his external arc of mending his broken relationships and to find meaning outside of coercive systems like the Republic and the Empire.

I don't believe Crosshair will die in order to achieve "redemption", and I don't think Tech is dead either. The message of the Bad Batch, ever since TCW, seems to be: Self-sacrifice is not the way.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 2

The Dead Land

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, non-specific injury, angst, nightmares (not described)

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo runs his first mission for Rex's resistance cell and learns more about his new companions.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

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This is the dead land

This is cactus land

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

“I’m scanning at least four Venators in various stages of decommissioning,” Cerra said. “This one, near the equator, is still mostly intact. Probably our best bet for a functional pod.”

“Planetary security looks tight,” Echo said. “And there’s an Imperial outpost under construction. Looks like the Empire wants to oversee the Scrapper Guild in person here. If they spot us, it will complicate the mission.”

“Got a better option?” Cerra asked.

“No,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“Then let’s hope they don’t spot us.”

Entering atmosphere was bumpy as hell, and the sub-light drive was still making that disconcerting racket, but despite Echo’s pessimism, their shuttle went undetected. He flew low over the Venator, scouting for a landing zone that was at least somewhat secure.

“Any chance you can put us down on the flight deck?” Cerra asked.

“Negative,” Echo replied. “It’s blocked by debris.”

“Figures,” she sighed.

“There,” Echo said after a few moments of searching. “Plenty of cover, not too far from the Venator.”

He landed the shuttle as Cerra readied the cargo floater. Echo exited first, scanning for hostiles before motioning her forward.

“On the plus side, the shuttle blends in with the rest of the junk,” Cerra muttered.

They moved as quickly as possible with the unwieldy cargo floater, keeping a wary eye for Scrapper Guild members. The path was rough and littered with sharp, twisted durasteel fragments and shards of broken transparisteel. Cerra wore sturdy work boots and durable clothing, and she had a blaster strapped to her thigh, but Echo hated how vulnerable she appeared without armor or a helmet. If she slipped and fell, she could easily sever an artery in this scrapheap. He resolved to help her get her gear in order before the next time she went offworld. 

They picked their way stealthily to the massive ship, and once aboard, made their way through the shadowy corridors. Cerra seemed to know exactly where she was going, and Echo realized she must have spent a significant amount of time on a Venator. The ships were confusing to navigate even when they were powered up and illuminated, and based on the amount of dust and refuse that littered the passageways, this one hadn’t been operational in a long time.

When they finally reached the med bay, Cerra dropped her satchel and got to work while Echo stood guard.

“Better make sure this thing actually works before I tear it out,” Cerra said.

“I hope you don’t need me to restore power to the ship,” Echo said, remembering Bracca. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Rex warned me,” Cerra said. “I brought an auxiliary power unit. It doesn’t have enough juice to actually run the pod, but I can at least make sure it’ll turn on.”

She connected a cable to her small power unit, and pumped her fist in victory when the screen flickered to life. 

“Wizard,” she mumbled, disconnecting the cable and immediately beginning the complicated process of uninstalling the pod. She worked in efficient silence, stopping occasionally to consult a datapad, and within an hour, they loaded the surgical pod onto the cargo floater and began their return journey to the shuttle. 

“I need to make a detour,” Echo said as they approached the armory. 

Cerra nodded and moved to guard the entrance, blaster ready. Echo quickly found what he was searching for, extracted it, and returned to the cargo loader. Cerra didn’t question him once he was back, merely resumed her rapid progress. With the cargo floater fully loaded, it was trickier to get out of the Venator than it had been to get in, and Cerra lost her footing, tumbling down the hull and slamming to the ground.

Echo cursed and ran to help her. “You good?”

“Yeah, all good,” she said. “Gloves are toast, though.”

She stripped off the mangled gauntlets. They had, fortunately, protected her hands from being cut when she scrambled for purchase on the jagged piles of scrap, but in their present state, they would only serve to hamper her dexterity.

“Better not fall again,” she said with a shrug.

As the shuttle came into view, Echo spotted movement and froze.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said grimly. “Scrappers have found the shuttle.”

“I guess the camouflage wasn’t as good as I thought,” Cerra said. “How many?”

“Three at least. We need to get rid of them before they call for backup.”

Cerra craned her neck to see around the pile of rubbish where they were hiding. “Damn. It’d be nice to have a sniper right about now.”

Echo chuckled drily. “Yeah. Ready?”

“Say the word, boss.”

“Go.”

They got as close as they could before they broke cover and fired on the scrappers. They stunned the three they could see, and Echo ran to secure the ship while Cerra retrieved the cargo floater. As he powered up the shuttle, he could see her running full tilt toward him, pushing the cumbersome lift ahead of her. Just when he began to think they’d managed to make a clean break, he saw a flash in his peripheral vision, and a shot blasted into the floater as a scrapper opened fire on Cerra from their vantage point inside the hulk of a derelict freighter. Cerra ducked behind the surgical pod and returned fire, and Echo ran to back her up, cursing. He laid down cover fire as she wrangled the floater up the shuttle ramp, and as soon as she slapped the control to close the ramp, he leapt back into the pilot’s seat and took off.

The shuttle jostled from the impact of blaster bolts as the scrapper continued firing, but within seconds, they were out of range. Cerra secured the cargo as Echo piloted them out of atmosphere, and as soon as they were clear of the planet’s gravity well, they jumped to hyperspace.

It was the middle of the night when they arrived at the repair shop, but Gregor was waiting on the landing platform outside the garage. As they disembarked, he sent Echo a casual salute and handed Cerra a cup of caf.

“Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite commando?” she asked, gulping the hot liquid as though it were life itself.

“I think I’m the only commando you know,” Gregor chuckled.

“Still my favorite,” she said. “Ugh, I can’t wait to shower. That planet was disgusting.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait,” Rex said. “The timeline for Fireball’s extraction just got a lot tighter. We need to finalize our plan tonight and move out in the morning.”

Cerra shrugged. “Your call, Cap. You’re the one who has to smell me.”

As Cerra walked into the garage, Gregor narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

Echo glanced at her and realized she was hunching slightly to the side as though to protect her ribs, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. There was no blaster wound, so she must have hurt herself when she slid off the hull of the Venator. Gregor arched a disbelieving eyebrow and strode directly to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets until he found a small medkit.

“Let me see,” he ordered.

“Bossy,” Cerra grumbled, but she shed her jacket and sat obediently on the sofa. 

Gregor peeled her shirt up her torso, and Echo turned away to give her privacy. Still, he heard Gregor’s hiss.

“Karking hell, Cerra.”

“It looks worse than it is,” she said.

“Really? Because it looks like you got drop-kicked all the way to Karthon and back. What happened?”

“I fell off a spaceship like a kriffing idiot,” she said. “Are we going to get this mission briefing started, or are we all just going to stand around yammering about nothing?”

Rex frowned. “Don’t you want to wait until Gregor finishes with the bacta?”

“I want to take a farking shower,” she snapped, and despite himself, Echo glanced at her, surprised by the sharpness in her tone.

Gregor worked quickly, but it was obvious that Cerra was in a considerable amount of pain. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her clenched fists shook as they rested on her knees.

“Almost finished,” Gregor murmured quietly.

“Good,” she said as her voice broke. 

“Does it hurt when you breathe?” She merely shrugged in response, and Gregor gave her an impatient look. “I need to know if you cracked any ribs.”

“Why? Nothing you can do for that anyway,” she said.

“I can put you on light duty,” Rex said.

Cerra shot him an irate glare. “Nope, doesn’t hurt to breathe. In fact, I feel great. Never been better. Can we please, please get started?”

“Fine,” Rex sighed as he began to outline the plan of attack.

Gregor finished with the bacta as Rex spoke, then put away the medkit and quickly returned to the sofa. As he sat, he gave Cerra’s hand a little squeeze, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she closed her eyes. Echo would have thought she had fallen asleep, except she occasionally asked a clarifying question or commented on the plan.

As Rex wrapped up the briefing, he said, “It’s vital that we remove Fireball’s chip as soon as possible, so Cerra will remain here and get the surgical pod operational. Any questions?”

Gregor and Echo shook their heads. Cerra watched Rex with an unreadable expression. When nobody spoke up, Rex dismissed them all with orders to get some sleep. Gregor went to the barracks, while Echo headed for the refresher, just as desperate for a shower as Cerra. As he left, he overheard her speak to Rex in a low voice.

“Can I have a word?” she asked.

The two disappeared into the small office at the back of the garage, and Echo took the longest shower of his life, reveling in the luxury of hot water. As much of his life as he’d spent on starships, he was accustomed to the efficiency of sonic showers, but there was no way in hells that he would opt for the sonic when a real shower was available. By the time he finished, he was relaxed and bone-weary, and he headed straight for the barracks.

A low, strained conversation emanated from behind the office’s closed door. Echo didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but his cranial implant amplified Cerra and Rex’s voices as they argued.

“—can handle himself. He has more training than any of us,” Rex said.

“It’s not about his ability,” Cerra said. “It’s about keeping him alive. He’s been through enough.”

Echo slowed to a halt. Were they arguing about him? Did Cerra not think he was capable? He frowned. She hadn’t said anything during their mission to Karthon, and she’d seen him in action. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t need her interfering with Rex’s plans.

“We need his infiltration skills,” Rex said.

“Dank farrik, Rex, you saw the extent of his brain damage when AZI removed his chip. Another hit could kill him.” Cerra kept her voice down, but her distress was evident.

Gregor, Echo understood suddenly. Cerra was worried about Rex’s plan to use him on the extraction team. Echo hadn’t realized how severe the injuries hiding beneath the commando’s irreverent disposition were.

“He knows it’s dangerous,” Rex argued.

“He doesn’t care about the danger because he trusts you so much that he’ll do anything you order,” Cerra said. “Use Echo on the infil team instead. Please, Rex. He’s just as skilled as Gregor, and he’s not at risk in the same way.”

“You know Gregor will never let me ground him,” Rex said.

“I’m not asking you to ground him. I’m asking you to assign him to pilot the ship instead of being part of the extraction team.”

“Cerra, I will protect him,” Rex began.

“Like you protected Fives?” Her voice cut like a vibroblade.

Despite himself, Echo gasped. Rex was silent.

“I’m sorry,” Cerra said after a tense moment. “That was out of line.”

“No,” Rex replied. “You’re right. I’ll put Gregor on pilot duty.”

After a long pause, Cerra finally responded. “Thank you.”

Echo realized he’d been listening much longer than he’d intended to. Shaking himself, he hurried to the barracks and climbed into his bunk. It was some time before Cerra entered, and Echo assumed she must have finally gotten her shower. She moved silently through the shadowed room and climbed into her own bunk. She must have been exhausted, because within a few minutes, he could hear her breath even out as she dropped into slumber.

He was jealous of her ability to fall asleep so easily. He’d never slept well, even before Skako Minor, and his insomnia had only gotten more severe after his experience with the Techno Union’s particular brand of hospitality. Still, he must have dozed off at some point, because quite suddenly, his eyes snapped open at the sound of a distressed whimper.

The sound was barely audible. Echo probably wouldn’t have even heard it if he hadn’t been so restless already. The cry came again, muffled and indistinct, and Cerra thrashed in her bunk. 

Gregor moved with such impressive stealth that Echo didn’t even realize he’d gotten up until he heard the commando quietly murmur words of comfort under his breath.

“Gregor?” Cerra asked in a hushed, broken voice.

“Shh, I’m here,” he whispered.

The bunk creaked, and Echo heard the soft rustle of bedding being rearranged.

“I’ve got you,” Gregor said softly. “You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cerra shuddered, and a muffled sob followed by stifled, gasping breaths rang out through the barracks. Echo could tell that she was trying to stay quiet by pressing her hands over her mouth. 

“It’s all right,” Gregor soothed. “All the way out, remember? One, two, three, four, five. You’re all right, sweetheart, I have you. Now breathe in. One, two, three, four, five.”

Echo had an uncomfortable sense of voyeurism, as though he were intruding on an intensely private moment, but there was nothing to be done. Gregor continued to quietly coach Cerra until she brought her breathing under control. Once again, the barracks descended into silence, and at last, Echo fell asleep. When he awoke early the next morning, Gregor and Cerra were still curled up together in Cerra’s bunk, fast asleep. Gregor was lying, fully clothed, on top of the blanket, with Cerra’s body tucked securely against him and his arms wrapped around her.

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