#Upgrade Your Infrastructure

[sigzentechnologies]

The Sigzen Advantage: Innovating Infrastructure Upgrades and Migration Solutions

Sigzen Technologies, a trailblazer in infrastructure upgrades and migration solutions, stands at the forefront of technological innovation. With a rich history steeped in delivering excellence, Sigzen has solidified its reputation as a leading service provider, catering to diverse business needs worldwide.Sigzen prides itself on a comprehensive suite of expertise centered on infrastructure…

[aftertheleaving]

Not A Threat III

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Warnings: Language, Batfamily chaos, Bruce Wayne being Bruce, sharp sarcasm, weapon nerding

Notes: ok so. here’s part three because apparently y’all want me dead. enjoy your batboys, your chaos, and your overachieving intern. if you cannot tell I suck at labelling so if it is, in fact, mislabelled, I am sorry.

1, 2, 3

SCENE 1: The Test Run

You didn’t expect your first day in R&D to involve Lucius Fox handing you a tray of prototype batarangs and saying, “Make one.”

You stare at the spread. There are like—twelve different types. Folding, impact-reactive, EMP-loaded, carbon-tipped. Half of them are labeled in acronyms no sane person should understand.

You point at one.

“What’s this?”

“Thermal-returning,” Lucius says. “It’s supposed to recalibrate to the user’s handprint when thrown. Doesn’t work right.”

You squint at the blueprints. Study. Cross-check. Frown.

Fifteen minutes later, you hand him a functioning replica.

Lucius blinks. “Already?”

You nod. “Blueprints were messy. Overspec’d. Like, no one simplified the magnetic circuit path. Looked fancy but didn’t need to be.”

He flips it over in his hand. “...You looked at that diagram for thirty minutes.”

“I needed to figure out how not to build it,” you shrug. “Once I knew what not to do, it was easy.”

Lucius just whistles.

“Alright. Remind me never to challenge you to a wiring contest.”

“Please do,” you grin. “I like crushing rich men’s egos.”

From the shadows, you swear you hear someone choke on their coffee.

SCENE 2: The Batboy Gauntlet

They descend one by one.

First Dick, smiling like you’ve already been adopted. Then Tim, who stares at your half-built mini drone with scientific awe. Then Jason, who’s eating something and already calling you “Sparky.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, surrounded. “Why are you all here?”

“Bruce said the new hire was scary smart,” Tim says.

“So we came to judge for ourselves,” Jason adds.

“I brought cookies,” Dick offers. “Bonding food.”

You stare at the plate in his hand.

“...Are those shaped like little bats?”

“I bake when I’m nervous.”

Damian walks in. Sees you surrounded. Immediately bristles.

“Do you not have work?”

“She’s fun,” Jason says. “Can we keep her?”

You blink. “Okay. All of you need therapy.”

“You say that like we haven’t had twelve therapists quit,” Tim mutters.

Dick just hands you a cookie.

You take it.

It’s really good.

SCENE 3: Bruce Wayne Suspicious Dad Mode

You find yourself in a cave. At 2 a.m. Sitting across from Bruce Wayne. Alone.

No coffee. No warning. Just cold Batdad energy and a file with your resume in it.

He doesn’t speak for like… two minutes.

You break first.

“Is this where you ask if I’m evil?”

“No.”

“…Do I look evil?”

“You look efficient.”

You squint. “That’s not a compliment, is it.”

He slides a paper across the table.

“Explain this.”

It’s your sketch of a gauntlet upgrade. You’ve annotated it with profanity and sarcasm.

“Oh,” you say. “That’s just a joke. The original design sucked. It had twelve circuits doing the job of three. I was mad.”

“You redesigned it.”

“Yeah. So it doesn’t explode.”

Bruce studies you.

“What do you know about classified R&D infrastructure?”

“Not enough to break anything. But probably enough to improve it.”

He raises a brow.

“Where’d you learn security protocol?”

“…Reddit.”

He blinks.

“That’s either a lie or concerning.”

“I’m not sure which answer you want, so I’m just gonna say: uhhuh, sure.”

Bruce sits back. Thinks.

Then:

“You’ll do.”

SCENE 4: Rooftops & Blueprints

You’re cross-legged on the floor of the cave’s workshop, pencil in your mouth, blueprints spread around you like chaos incarnate.

Damian’s leaning against the wall. Watching.

“You’re quiet,” you say without looking up.

“You work like a storm,” he says.

You glance up.

“That’s either romantic or an insult.”

“Observation.”

You snort, shifting the page.

“I’m trying to upgrade the Batplane’s stealth field. Your dad’s design works but it’s bulky. If I thread the power matrix through the frame, I can cut the weight and stabilize the cloaking field at lower altitudes.”

Damian steps closer.

“That’s not in any blueprint.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “That’s why I’m making it.”

He watches you for a long moment. Then sits beside you, cape folding neatly around him.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

You just work. Together.

And for once, the cave is quiet.

also—sorry I haven’t been posting these last two days!! I had to go to the optician and was told very seriously not to write or go online for more than 30 minutes a day, because apparently if I keep staring at stuff close-up 24/7, I will literally go blind. so!!

this part was written over the last couple days, only in little 30-minute bursts. I even put a lockdown on my devices and made my younger brother set the password so I couldn’t cheat. dedication or crazy? both. also if you couldn’t tell, I had zero ideas, like zilch, for what to do plot-wise, so instead I just went with a bunch of little snippet scenes instead of one big cohesive thing. most of these were born in the shower and I had to keep repeating them out loud until my next 30-minute writing window opened up.

Anywayyy tags:

@ur-mums-house @datgurl-rhea @corvoqueen

I tried to tag @123-just-ignore-me but it ain't working, so.

[sexycornenthusiast]

eden's garden minecraft server headcanons

Damon: Guy who loves elaborate piston doors. Thinks he's a better builder than he actually is. He and Eva take turns upgrading random stuff in each other's bases while they're offline as a show of dominance. His storage "system" has been a disaster since she was banned. Keeps finding chickens all over the place and doesn't understand where they're coming from.

Eva: Dug herself into a mountain 10,000 blocks away from everyone to build absurdly complicated redstone contraptions, none of which have much utility beyond being cool (eg. working calculator, world's most efficient pickle farm, machine that automatically launches chickens all the way to Damon's base, etc). Likes to build traps in random places. Currently serving a month long ban sentence for blowing up Wolfgang's entire base in a fit of rage (nothing survived. you can see bedrock in some places)

Wolfgang: Has been living out of Grace's basement since The Incident and spends most of his time out on quests to get her whatever items or blocks she asks him for. Building anything stresses him out because he's a perfectionist so he's pretty much embraced the homeless lifestyle.

Grace: Builds almost exclusively out of white concrete. Surprisingly good at making minigames and has recently been preoccupied trying to find the best way to build Minecraft golf. Never collects her own resources. Anything Wolfgang can't get for her, she steals from someone else's storage - usually Damon, Wenona, or Diana. She would love to steal from Eva, but Eva only has one chest with two string and a poppy.

Jett: Also makes minigames but they're kind of bad in a charming way. Claims that Mark lives with him, but Mark has never been to his base. Teamed up with Cassidy and Jean to build a subway system (ice boat tracks) between everyone's bases and has since become enamored with the idea of iceboat racing.

Mark: Does nothing but dig perfect 16x16 holes to bedrock. No beacon, no enchantments, just pure love of the game. It's stress relief for him. Anything he doesn't directly need for crafting more tools gets left behind in a chest. Every once in a while Jett comes by and throws him 4 stacks of cooked pork chops so that's all he eats. The others eventually realize that if they fence off an area and label it as 'to be cleared' he'll just show up and do it.

Cassidy: Technically the server owner but hates admining. Flexed her speedrun strats by beating the ender dragon on day one. Gave everyone a free elytra in the first week (Wenona threw hers into lava in front of her and they've been Minecraft enemies ever since). Spends most of her time either doing community projects or pranking people. Was in the middle of trying to convince Eva to help build a fully functional postal system before The Incident.

Wenona: Has a huge villager trading hall and a farm for pretty much everything. Half the server is indebted to her in some way. The true extent of her infrastructure is unknown even to her closest friends. If you visit her at the wrong time your game WILL drop to 10 fps. Has been caught online at 3 AM multiple times but always claims she was "just AFKing" (this is a lie).

Ulysses: Bad at video games. Can barely play and has a death count in the multiple hundreds. Makes a full map of the server every week or so. Whenever he isn't doing that, he just finds someone doing something interesting (usually Wenona but not always) and watches them like a personal livestream.

Ingrid: Better at the game than anyone expected and has died the least amount of times. Obsessed with armor trims and has a downright unreasonable amount of dogs. Doesn't trade with villagers but uses them as "background characters" for her medieval city build. Constantly the target of pranks like turning her house into an aquarium or encasing it in obsidian, but seems to genuinely believe her friends are just giving her gifts in silly ways.

Toshiko: Building in the same city as Ingrid but in completely different style. Somehow they've made it work. Never affected by the pranks against her basemate because the last time that happened she made them regret their entire lives. Tries and fails to hide the fact that she's afraid of the nether. Types in chat in full grammatically correct sentences complete with punctuation.

Jean: Has admin privileges and does most of the work on that front. Had the final say on Eva's punishment after The Incident. Can never stay in one area for very long and has built something unique in every one of his classmates' bases. Not all of them are aware of this fact. Has sooo many tridents and no one understands how he gets such good drop rates.

Desmond: Spawn-proofed his entire area immediately and now plays the game as a chill farming sim. Only leaves said area on special occasions. Has more food than he could ever use and doesn't care if people take it.

Eloise: Beat all the in-game bosses in a span of like a week then got bored and stopped playing (this is valid).

Kai: Built an actually really impressive castle, but it's all facade and no function (there are no lights on the inside and it doesn't even have a back). Lives in a pile of chests and shulker boxes in an open field. Can never find anything in it. Has a pink bed.

Diana: Plays with shaders. Builds beautiful landscapes like a painting in Minecraft and focuses a lot on little details and atmosphere. Loves doing interiors. Don't ask her what a repeater does because she will not know. Gets all her materials through hand-gathering and generous donations. Eva also tried to blow up her base, but she found the TNT and dug it all up, leaving behind only a few minecarts that did minimal damage.

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

@pigeonmama @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an @titlee78

I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Real innovation vs Silicon Valley nonsense

This is the LAST DAY to get my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

If there was any area where we needed a lot of "innovation," it's in climate tech. We've already blown through numerous points-of-no-return for a habitable Earth, and the pace is accelerating.

Silicon Valley claims to be the epicenter of American innovation, but what passes for innovation in Silicon Valley is some combination of nonsense, climate-wrecking tech, and climate-wrecking nonsense tech. Forget Jeff Hammerbacher's lament about "the best minds of my generation thinking about how to make people click ads." Today's best-paid, best-trained technologists are enlisted to making boobytrapped IoT gadgets:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/24/record-scratch/#autoenshittification

Planet-destroying cryptocurrency scams:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/15/your-new-first-name/#that-dagger-tho

NFT frauds:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/06/crypto-copyright-%f0%9f%a4%a1%f0%9f%92%a9/

Or planet-destroying AI frauds:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

If that was the best "innovation" the human race had to offer, we'd be fucking doomed.

But – as Ryan Cooper writes for The American Prospect – there's a far more dynamic, consequential, useful and exciting innovation revolution underway, thanks to muscular public spending on climate tech:

https://prospect.org/environment/2024-05-30-green-energy-revolution-real-innovation/

The green energy revolution – funded by the Bipartisan Infrastructure Act, the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS Act and the Science Act – is accomplishing amazing feats, which are barely registering amid the clamor of AI nonsense and other hype. I did an interview a while ago about my climate novel The Lost Cause and the interviewer wanted to know what role AI would play in resolving the climate emergency. I was momentarily speechless, then I said, "Well, I guess maybe all the energy used to train and operate models could make it much worse? What role do you think it could play?" The interviewer had no answer.

Here's brief tour of the revolution:

2023 saw 32GW of new solar energy come online in the USA (up 50% from 2022);

Wind increased from 118GW to 141GW;

Grid-scale batteries doubled in 2023 and will double again in 2024;

EV sales increased from 20,000 to 90,000/month.

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/blog/2023/12/19/building-a-thriving-clean-energy-economy-in-2023-and-beyond/

The cost of clean energy is plummeting, and that's triggering other areas of innovation, like using "hot rocks" to replace fossil fuel heat (25% of overall US energy consumption):

https://rondo.com/products

Increasing our access to cheap, clean energy will require a lot of materials, and material production is very carbon intensive. Luckily, the existing supply of cheap, clean energy is fueling "green steel" production experiments:

https://www.wdam.com/2024/03/25/americas-1st-green-steel-plant-coming-perry-county-1b-federal-investment/

Cheap, clean energy also makes it possible to recover valuable minerals from aluminum production tailings, a process that doubles as site-remediation:

https://interestingengineering.com/innovation/toxic-red-mud-co2-free-iron

And while all this electrification is going to require grid upgrades, there's lots we can do with our existing grid, like power-line automation that increases capacity by 40%:

https://www.npr.org/2023/08/13/1187620367/power-grid-enhancing-technologies-climate-change

It's also going to require a lot of storage, which is why it's so exciting that we're figuring out how to turn decommissioned mines into giant batteries. During the day, excess renewable energy is channeled into raising rock-laden platforms to the top of the mine-shafts, and at night, these unspool, releasing energy that's fed into the high-availability power-lines that are already present at every mine-site:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene

Why are we paying so much attention to Silicon Valley pump-and-dumps and ignoring all this incredible, potentially planet-saving, real innovation? Cooper cites a plausible explanation from the Apperceptive newsletter:

https://buttondown.email/apperceptive/archive/destructive-investing-and-the-siren-song-of/

Silicon Valley is the land of low-capital, low-labor growth. Software development requires fewer people than infrastructure and hard goods manufacturing, both to get started and to run as an ongoing operation. Silicon Valley is the place where you get rich without creating jobs. It's run by investors who hate the idea of paying people. That's why AI is so exciting for Silicon Valley types: it lets them fantasize about making humans obsolete. A company without employees is a company without labor issues, without messy co-determination fights, without any moral consideration for others. It's the natural progression for an industry that started by misclassifying the workers in its buildings as "contractors," and then graduated to pretending that millions of workers were actually "independent small businesses."

It's also the natural next step for an industry that hates workers so much that it will pretend that their work is being done by robots, and then outsource the labor itself to distant Indian call-centers (no wonder Indian techies joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians"):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/17/fake-it-until-you-dont-make-it/#twenty-one-seconds

Contrast this with climate tech: this is a profoundly physical kind of technology. It is labor intensive. It is skilled. The workers who perform it have power, both because they are so far from their employers' direct oversight and because these fed-funded sectors are more likely to be unionized than Silicon Valley shops. Moreover, climate tech is capital intensive. All of those workers are out there moving stuff around: solar panels, wires, batteries.

Climate tech is infrastructural. As Deb Chachra writes in her must-read 2023 book How Infrastructure Works, infrastructure is a gift we give to our descendants. Infrastructure projects rarely pay for themselves during the lives of the people who decide to build them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

Climate tech also produces gigantic, diffused, uncapturable benefits. The "social cost of carbon" is a measure that seeks to capture how much we all pay as polluters despoil our shared world. It includes the direct health impacts of burning fossil fuels, and the indirect costs of wildfires and extreme weather events. The "social savings" of climate tech are massive:

https://arstechnica.com/science/2024/05/climate-and-health-benefits-of-wind-and-solar-dwarf-all-subsidies/

For every MWh of renewable power produced, we save $100 in social carbon costs. That's $100 worth of people not sickening and dying from pollution, $100 worth of homes and habitats not burning down or disappearing under floodwaters. All told, US renewables have delivered $250,000,000,000 (one quarter of one trillion dollars) in social carbon savings over the past four years:

https://arstechnica.com/science/2024/05/climate-and-health-benefits-of-wind-and-solar-dwarf-all-subsidies/

In other words, climate tech is unselfish tech. It's a gift to the future and to the broad public. It shares its spoils with workers. It requires public action. By contrast, Silicon Valley is greedy tech that is relentlessly focused on the shortest-term returns that can be extracted with the least share going to labor. It also requires massive public investment, but it also totally committed to giving as little back to the public as is possible.

No wonder America's richest and most powerful people are lining up to endorse and fund Trump:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-05-30-democracy-deshmocracy-mega-financiers-flocking-to-trump/

Silicon Valley epitomizes Stafford Beer's motto that "the purpose of a system is what it does." If Silicon Valley produces nothing but planet-wrecking nonsense, grifty scams, and planet-wrecking, nonsensical scams, then these are all features of the tech sector, not bugs.

As Anil Dash writes:

Driving change requires us to make the machine want something else. If the purpose of a system is what it does, and we don’t like what it does, then we have to change the system.

https://www.anildash.com/2024/05/29/systems-the-purpose-of-a-system/

To give climate tech the attention, excitement, and political will it deserves, we need to recalibrate our understanding of the world. We need to have object permanence. We need to remember just how few people were actually using cryptocurrency during the bubble and apply that understanding to AI hype. Only 2% of Britons surveyed in a recent study use AI tools:

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c511x4g7x7jo

If we want our tech companies to do good, we have to understand that their ground state is to create planet-wrecking nonsense, grifty scams, and planet-wrecking, nonsensical scams. We need to make these companies small enough to fail, small enough to jail, and small enough to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

We need to hold companies responsible, and we need to change the microeconomics of the board room, to make it easier for tech workers who want to do good to shout down the scammers, nonsense-peddlers and grifters:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Yesterday, a federal judge ruled that the FTC could hold Amazon executives personally liable for the decision to trick people into signing up for Prime, and for making the unsubscribe-from-Prime process into a Kafka-as-a-service nightmare:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/05/amazon-execs-may-be-personally-liable-for-tricking-users-into-prime-sign-ups/

Imagine how powerful a precedent this could set. The Amazon employees who vociferously objected to their bosses' decision to make Prime as confusing as possible could have raised the objection that doing this could end up personally costing those bosses millions of dollars in fines:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

We need to make climate tech, not Big Tech, the center of our scrutiny and will. The climate emergency is so terrifying as to be nearly unponderable. Science fiction writers are increasingly being called upon to try to frame this incomprehensible risk in human terms. SF writer (and biologist) Peter Watts's conversation with evolutionary biologist Dan Brooks is an eye-opener:

https://thereader.mitpress.mit.edu/the-collapse-is-coming-will-humanity-adapt/

They draw a distinction between "sustainability" meaning "what kind of technological fixes can we come up with that will allow us to continue to do business as usual without paying a penalty for it?" and sustainability meaning, "what changes in behavior will allow us to save ourselves with the technology that is possible?"

Writing about the Watts/Brooks dialog for Naked Capitalism, Yves Smith invokes William Gibson's The Peripheral:

With everything stumbling deeper into a ditch of shit, history itself become a slaughterhouse, science had started popping. Not all at once, no one big heroic thing, but there were cleaner, cheaper energy sources, more effective ways to get carbon out of the air, new drugs that did what antibiotics had done before…. Ways to print food that required much less in the way of actual food to begin with. So everything, however deeply fucked in general, was lit increasingly by the new, by things that made people blink and sit up, but then the rest of it would just go on, deeper into the ditch. A progress accompanied by constant violence, he said, by sufferings unimaginable.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2024/05/preparing-for-collapse-why-the-focus-on-climate-energy-sustainability-is-destructive.html

Gibson doesn't think this is likely, mind, and even if it's attainable, it will come amidst "unimaginable suffering."

But the universe of possible technologies is quite large. As Chachra points out in How Infrastructure Works, we could give every person on Earth a Canadian's energy budget (like an American's, but colder), by capturing a mere 0.4% of the solar radiation that reaches the Earth's surface every day. Doing this will require heroic amounts of material and labor, especially if we're going to do it without destroying the planet through material extraction and manufacturing.

These are the questions that we should be concerning ourselves with: what behavioral changes will allow us to realize cheap, abundant, green energy? What "innovations" will our society need to focus on the things we need, rather than the scams and nonsense that creates Silicon Valley fortunes?

How can we use planning, and solidarity, and codetermination to usher in the kind of tech that makes it possible for us to get through the climate bottleneck with as little death and destruction as possible? How can we use enforcement, discernment, and labor rights to thwart the enshittificatory impulses of Silicon Valley's biggest assholes?

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/30/posiwid/#social-cost-of-carbon

[cleoselene]

Sharing this on behalf of a Marine Biologist friend, not my words.

Tumblr loves sea creatures, and this is important. Have a cool pic of an octopus before digging into this big post from someone who is in the trenches (but not the really deep ones like the Mariana):

"Hi all! I have a personal request for everyone!

I need you to write a letter/email. Please write your congressional representative in support of the value that your state (or state(s) you love) Sea Grant Program means to you personally. Please send a copy of your email/letter to your state Sea Grant director as well. I can tell you for a fact that these messages are critically important and do in fact make a difference.

If you do not want to write your representatives, please still write your Sea Grant directors.

Unsure about what/who the Sea Grant Programs are? The Sea Grant Programs were created specifically to connect science between local, state, and national needs. Sea Grants make sure up-to-date science is informing decisions made in our home states and regions. Each of the State programs conducts marine and coastal research, education, and outreach tailored to their regional needs. If you’ve ever been to the beach and seen rip current education signs, seen disaster readiness material, enjoyed a coastal natural area, enjoyed fishing, ate local seafood, have a military installation near you, and much more, you’ve been positively impacted by your state’s Sea Grant Program.

Economic Benefits: Sea Grant programs provide direct economic benefits contributing to job creation, industry resilience, and sustainable economic growth.

• Works with local businesses, tourism operators, and maritime industries to enhance profitability and ensure longevity of businesses.

• Supports jobs in fisheries, marine engineering, coastal construction, and tourism through workforce development, training programs, and fellowships.

• Provides technical assistance to commercial fishers, shipbuilders, and port workers, including development of new and innovative technology that improves entire industries.

Fisheries & Aquaculture: Sea Grant programs support seafood production and sustainable fisheries management to ensure the health of marine ecosystems and economies.

• Offers training on best practices for commercial and recreational fishers.

• Helps reduce bycatch and overfishing through gear modifications and conservation efforts.

• Advances shellfish farming techniques (e.g., oysters, mussels, clams) to boost seafood production while improving water quality.

• Provides resources to help small-scale aquaculture businesses thrive.

• Monitors seafood safety and waterborne diseases to protect public health.

• Conducts research on invasive species like zebra mussels, lionfish, and green crabs; and, develops early detection and removal strategies to prevent ecological and economic harm.

Public Safety & Community Resilience: Coastal communities face unique challenges, from hurricanes and flooding to rising sea levels and water pollution. Sea Grant programs work to keep people safe through risk mitigation, education, and emergency preparedness.

• Helps communities create hurricane evacuation plans and build disaster-resilient infrastructure.

• Provides flood mapping and modeling to predict storm surges and coastal erosion.

• Develops tools like real-time weather alerts and emergency response strategies.

• Monitors pollution levels in oceans, rivers, and lakes to ensure safe drinking water.

• Identifies and mitigates harmful algal blooms (like red tide) that threaten human and marine life.

• Leads efforts to reduce plastic pollution in oceans, including microplastics research.

• Runs community beach cleanups and educational programs on waste reduction.

• Helps coastal communities upgrade ports, harbors, and public infrastructure to withstand extreme weather.

• Promotes nature-based solutions (e.g., living shorelines) to prevent coastal erosion and property damage.

• Partners with local governments to design smarter zoning laws for flood-prone areas.

Military Readiness & National Security: Sea Grant programs help ensure the safety and effectiveness of naval operations, coastal military installations, and maritime security.

Protecting Naval Bases & Infrastructure

• Assists military installations in climate resilience planning to prepare for sea-level rise and extreme weather.

• Works on coastal erosion control to protect bases and training grounds.

• Supports advancements in sonar, remote sensing, and underwater drones for naval and marine research.

• Provides oceanographic data crucial for submarine navigation and surveillance.

Education & Workforce Development: Sea Grant invests in the next generation of scientists, engineers, and marine professionals.

• Supports STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) education focused on marine science.

• Provides internships and fellowships for students pursuing marine research careers.

• Runs public engagement programs to promote environmental stewardship.

• Helps local governments understand disaster preparedness, flood management, and coastal zoning laws.

State & Regional Sea Grant Programs

East Coast and Caribbean

• Connecticut Sea Grant – University of Connecticut, Director: Sylvain De Guise (sylvain.deguise@uconn.edu)

• Delaware Sea Grant – University of Delaware Director: Joanna York (jyork@udel.edu)

• Georgia Sea Grant Director: Mark Risse (mrisse@uga.edu)

• Maine Sea Grant – University of Maine, Director: Gayle Zydlewski (gayle.zydlewski@maine.edu)

• Maryland Sea Grant – University of Maryland Director: Fredrika Moser (moser@mdsg.umd.edu)

• Massachusetts Institute of Technology Sea Grant – Director: Michael Triantafyllou (mt@mit.edu)

• (Massachusetts) Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute Sea Grant – Director: Matthew Charette (mcharette@whoi.edu)

• New Hampshire Sea Grant – University of New Hampshire Director: Erik Chapman (erik.chapman@unh.edu)

• New Jersey Sea Grant Consortium

• New York Sea Grant – Cornell University & SUNY Director: Rebecca Shuford (rebecca.shuford@stonybrook.edu)

• North Carolina Sea Grant – NC State University Director: Susan White (snwhite3@ncsu.edu)

• Pennsylvania Sea Grant – Director: Sarah Whitney (swhitney@psu.edu)

• Puerto Rico Sea Grant – Director: Ruperto Chaparro Serrano (ruperto.chaparro@upr.edu)

• Rhode Island Sea Grant – University of Rhode Island Director: Tracey Dalton (dalton@uri.edu)

• South Carolina Sea Grant Consortium Director: Susan Lovelace (Susan.Lovelace@scseagrant.org)

• Virginia Sea Grant – Virginia Institute of Marine Science Director: Troy Hartley (thartley@vims.edu)

Great Lakes Region

• Illinois-Indiana Sea Grant – University of Illinois & Purdue University Director: Tomas Höök (thook@purdue.edu)

• Michigan Sea Grant – University of Michigan & Michigan State University Director: Silvia Newell (senewell@umich.edu)

• Minnesota Sea Grant – University of Minnesota Director: John Downing (downing@d.umn.edu)

• New York Sea Grant – Cornell University & SUNY Director: Rebecca Shuford (rebecca.shuford@stonybrook.edu)

• Ohio Sea Grant – Ohio State University Director: Christopher Winslow (winslow.33@osu.edu)

• Pennsylvania Sea Grant – Director: Sarah Whitney (swhitney@psu.edu)

• Wisconsin Sea Grant – University of Wisconsin Director: Christy Remucal (Interim Director) (remucal@wisc.edu)

Gulf of Mexico

• Florida Sea Grant – University of Florida Director: Sherry Larkin (slarkin@ufl.edu)

• Louisiana Sea Grant – Louisiana State University Director: Julie Lively (julieann@lsu.edu)

• Mississippi-Alabama Sea Grant Consortium Director: LaDon Swann (ladon.swann@usm.edu)

• Texas Sea Grant – Texas A&M University Interim Director: Laura Picariello (lpicariello@tamu.edu)

West Coast and Pacific

• California Sea Grant – Scripps Institution of Oceanography, UC San Diego Director: Shauna Oh (caseagrant@ucsd.edu)

• University of Southern California Sea Grant – Director: Karla Heidelberg (kheidelb@usc.edu)

• Oregon Sea Grant – Oregon State University Director: Karina Nielsen (karina.nielsen@oregonstate.edu)

• Washington Sea Grant – University of Washington Director: Kate Litle (Interim Director) (kalitle@uw.edu)

• Alaska Sea Grant – University of Alaska Fairbanks Director: Ginny Eckert (ginny.eckert@alaska.edu)

• Hawai‘i Sea Grant – University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa Director: Darren Lerner (lerner@hawaii.edu)

• Guam Sea Grant – University of Guam Director: Austin Shelton (shelton@uog.edu)

Please, if you love the sea critters, do this!! You know this website owes so much to the crabs.

[tealin]

McMurdo Internet

Internet service is supplied to Antarctica via a geostationary satellite. This far south, the satellite is only a few degrees above the horizon, and unfortunately for McMurdo, it's behind Mt Erebus. So the signal is beamed to a receiver on Black Island, about 20 miles away to the southwest, and bounced over to the sheltered alcove at the end of the Hut Point Peninsula where McMurdo sits.

The Chalet, administrative hub, with Black Island in the distance

The Black Island telecommunications infrastructure was installed in the 1980s, long before the internet we know and love today. It was upgraded in 2010 to allow more data transfer, mainly realtime weather data to feed into global forecast models. For this reason, it's probably the only place I've ever been where upload speed is remarkably faster than download speed – 60Mbps for outbound traffic, but only 20Mbps for inbound. Most regular internet use is receiving, not sending, so that's an entire base running on a connection that's only marginally faster than the average American smartphone. As you can imagine, this is somewhat limiting.

The limits to one's internet access actually begin before one even reaches the Ice. At the orientation in Christchurch, one is directed to a URL from which one must download and install a security programme from the U.S. government. It may feel like a hippie commune full of nerds, but McMurdo is an installation of the American state, and as such its computer network is a target of whatever disgruntled conspiracy theorist decides to hack The Man on any given day. Computers that are allowed onto this network (such as the one on which I am typing right now) have to have an approved firewall and antivirus service installed, then this extra programme on top of them. I am not sure what it does. For all I know the CIA is spying on me even now. (Hi, guys!) But you need to install it to get on the McMurdo Internet, such as it is, so I did.

To be honest, I was rather looking forward to a month cut off entirely from the hyperconnected world, so I was a tiny bit disappointed that quite a lot of day-to-day communication is done by email, and I would need to be on my computer a fair bit to get it. Had I known just how important email would be, I'd have installed an email client that actually downloads one's messages instead of just fetching them; as it was, the cycle of loading an email and sending the reply, even in Gmail's "HTML for slow connections" mode, took about five minutes, not counting the time it took to write. Tending one's email was a serious time commitment; sometimes I felt like I was spending more time on the computer in Antarctica than I did at home.

Crary scientists waiting, and waiting, and waiting

In a way, though, I was lucky, because I was technically a scientist and therefore had access to the one building on base with WiFi, the Crary Lab. And don't think you can just waltz into Crary with your laptop and poach the WiFi – in order to access it at all, you have to get set up by Crary IT with your own personal WiFi login. If you do not have Crary access, your portal to the Internet is one of a handful of ethernet cables in each of the dorm common rooms, or some public terminals in the main building. You can hop on, download your emails, maybe check the news or Google something you needed to look up, and then leave it for someone else. When most online time sinks are either blocked or too heavy to load, it’s amazing how little internet time you actually turn out to need.

Things that we have come to take for granted in The World are not a part of McMurdo life. Social media is pretty much out – the main platforms are bandwidth hogs even before you try to load a video or an animated GIF. There is no sharing of YouTube links, and no Netflix and chill. Someone was once sent home mid-season for trying to download a movie. Video calls with family and friends? Forget it. People do occasionally do video calls from Antarctica, often to media outlets or schools, but these have to be booked in advance so as to have the requisite bandwidth reserved. Jumping on FaceTime does not happen – not least because handheld devices have to be in airplane mode at all times for security reasons. Your phone might be secure enough for your internet banking, but not for US government internet!

It is, unavoidably, still a digital environment, it just gets by largely without internet access. Nearly everyone has an external hard drive, mostly for media that they've brought down to fill their off hours. If you want to share files you just swap hard drives, or hand over a memory stick. When the Antarctic Heritage Trust wanted some book material from me, I dropped it onto an SD card and ran it over to Scott Base on foot – a droll juxtaposition of high- and low-tech, not to mention a good excuse for a hike over The Gap on a beautiful day. It took half an hour, but was still faster than emailing it.

There is also a McMurdo Intranet, which includes a server for file sharing. Emailing someone your photos will take ages, but popping them into a folder on the I: drive and sending them a note to say you've done so (or, better yet, phoning them, or poking your head into their office) is much more efficient. To conserve space, this informal server partition is wiped every week, so you have to be quick about it, but it's an effective workaround, and also a good way to get relatively heavy resources to a large number of people in one go.

The telecommunications centre on Black Island is mostly automated, but like anything – perhaps more than some things, given the conditions – it needs to be maintained. There is a small hut out there for an equally small team of electricians and IT engineers; Black Island duty attracts the sort of person who might have been a lighthouse keeper back in the day.

Towards the end of my time on the Ice there was a spell where they needed to shut off the connection overnight, to do some necessary work. Given that most people's workdays extended at least to the shutoff time at 5:30 p.m., this meant essentially no internet for a large portion of the population, and some amusing flyers were posted up to notify everyone of the impending hardship.

Someday, faster, more accessible internet will come to Antarctica.  It's more or less unavoidable, as communications technology improves, and everyone's work – especially the scientists' – depends more and more on having a broadband connection at all times.  It will make a lot of things more convenient, and will make the long separation from friends and family much easier.  But I'm pretty sure that many more people will mourn the upgrade than celebrate it.  One can, theoretically, curtail one's internet use whenever one likes, but even before the pandemic it was almost impossible to live this way with the demands of modern life: I know from personal experience that opting out of Facebook alone can have a real detrimental effect on relationships, even with people one sees in the flesh fairly regularly, simply because everyone assumes that is how everyone else communicates.  Being in a community where no one has access to assumed channels, and is more or less cut off from the rest of the world in a pocket universe of its own, levels the playing field and brings a certain unity.  The planned (and, unarguably, necessary) updating of the physical infrastructure of McMurdo will wipe out a lot of the improvised, make-do-and-mend character of the place; how much would free and easy access to the online world change it in a less tangible way?

I'm sure the genuine Antarctic old-timers would shake their heads at the phone and email connections we have now, and say that no, this has already ruined Antarctica.  It's not Antarctica unless your only link to the outside world is a dodgy radio.  It's not Antarctica unless you only get mail once a year when the relief ship arrives.  Doubtless the shiny new McMurdo will be seen as 'the good old days' by someone, someday, too.  Change may happen slower there than elsewhere, but just like the rust on the tins at Cape Evans, it comes eventually, regardless. 

For my own part, I'm glad I got to see 'old' McMurdo, such as it was, all plywood and cheap '90s prefab.  The update will be much more efficient, and tidy, but yet another generation removed from the raw experience of the old explorers.  My generation is probably the last to remember clearly what life was like before ubiquitous broadband; to some extent, Antarctica is a sort of time capsule of that world, just as the huts are a time capsule of Edwardian frontier life.  I hope they'll find a way to hang on to the positive aspects of that. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to waste an hour mindlessly refreshing Twitter ...

If you'd like to learn more about the Black Island facility, there's a lot of good information (and some photos!) here: https://www.southpolestation.com/trivia/90s/blackisland.html

And this Antarctic Sunarticle goes into greater depth on the 2010 upgrade: https://antarcticsun.usap.gov/features/2114/

[liminalweirdo]

[Image of two people in black face masks and a small brindle-coloured dog. Text overlaying the image reads:]

"Like cool yes maybe masks are annoying? Maybe they remind you of a time you felt powerless or uncertain. Maybe you don't particularly like being told to do a thing that reminds you we're all live laugh loving in vulnerable meat-sacks that can crumble at basically any point?

These are feelings you can work through, not reasons to disengage. People are dying Kim etc etc

[picture of a person in hospital with an oxygen mask and heart monitor stickers on their chest. Text overlaying the image reads:]

"You really don't have to like something to appreciate its necessity.

Feel your feelings. You're allowed to not like it.

Honour your discomfort/grief/PDA/whatever it is that's getting in the way. You're not a bad person for feeling shit that masks are currently the best option we're left with, because our govts don't wanna fork out the cash for infrastructure upgrades, accurate testing or treatment.

Feel your frustration!

It's not the post-pandemic future we were promised! It's shit!

But then zoom out & get mad at the people who are failing us all, not the people relying on you to not die just from trying to exist in the world as it actually is right now.

You're not being shamed, you're being asked to step up [flaming heart emoji."

[end id]

source

[themirokai]

now I wanna know- why isn't drinking water free in the US?

Hi there friend! Thanks very much for taking the bait from this post. Buckle up, this is a long one.

If you want to put out a cistern and collect rainwater and use that, congratulations! Your water is free! Plus the cost of maintaining your cistern and keeping it clean. If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere with a high enough water table to have a well, then your water is also free + the cost of the well and well maintenance.

But if you want water to come out of your tap on demand and you can’t or don’t want to maintain a cistern and you can’t or don’t want to have a well… you need public water!

How do we get public water? Well, a government entity (usually. there are some private utilities, but that’s a different post. I have strong feelings) has rights to take water out of a river or a lake, or they have a reservoir, or they have access to an aquifer. Then they have to transport the water out of the source. This generally requires aqueducts or massive pipes, which are expensive and need to be maintained, which is also expensive. The pipe leading out of one of my utility’s reservoirs is 12 feet in diameter.

Does the water go directly from the source to your home? Nope! It gets piped to a water filtration plant! The process of modern water filtration is complicated but it involves both physical and chemical treatment to make sure the water isn’t carrying any parasites, harmful bacteria, or pollutants and it has the right pH. Not only are these filtration plants extremely expensive to build and maintain but the process of operating them is extremely expensive, both in terms of hiring skilled staff and having appropriate materials for the filters and chemical treatment.

After the treated water (called “finished water” in the biz) is ready it does get piped to your house.

If you use public water, do you know where your local water filtration plant is? No? That probably means it’s not in your immediate neighborhood, which probably means it’s several miles or more away. To get to your house, the water needs to travel through an extensive pipe network. These pipes are smaller but they have to remain pressurized so that no contaminants can get into the water on its way to your house. But pipes break! Especially if you live somewhere with a freeze/thaw cycle. Maintaining this pipe network is, you guessed it, expensive! It requires materials and extremely skilled workers who perform in very very difficult conditions. Plus lots of engineering to keep the whole system pressurized even when one part of it breaks. Oh, and you know what lots of pipes were made out of in the early 20th century? Lead! So all around the country utilities need to make extensive and costly infrastructure upgrades because now we know lead pipes are really freaking bad.

Okay, so you get the basic picture. And I haven’t even gotten into Safe Drinking Water Act compliance, but most of that happens at the filtration plant. Oo! Or desalinization because some utilities pull their water from the sea and need to take the salt out. I know basically nothing about this except that it is likely complicated and expensive to do at scale.

This is essentially why I get frustrated by people who argue “why should we pay for something that falls out of the sky?” Because finished water doesn’t fall from the sky and it sure as hell doesn’t fall from the sky into your faucet. (Side note: as a public utility official I have been screamed at by the “it falls from the sky” people. A thing I like about the private sector is that people scream at me a lot less.)

Now, there is a very strong argument to be made that because water is necessary for human life, it should be provided by the government for free to everyone. And just like the costs of roads or public education, this should be part of the public budget and paid for by taxes and no one should have a water bill. I don’t disagree with this. I’m sure that’s how it’s done in some countries.

I don’t have a well-researched answer on the history of water utilities but I do have some facts and some (very) educated conjectures. Water rights in the US are complicated (another separate post!) but they’re based on private ownership. Ever since white people came to this country people have been claiming ownership over water and charging each other money for taking water out of rivers or lakes or the ground. You can measure how much of it someone uses and charge them for it. Water is treated like a commodity because unlike other public goods, it *can* be treated like a commodity and then, you know, capitalism. Again, I’m not saying that’s right.

But as a society, if we believe that no one should have a water bill, then we need to figure out how to pay for all the very expensive steps in the process I outlined at the top. Could that just be taxes? Sure, if you have a system that supports taxes at that level. Do I believe that public funding of water infrastructure would be a fuckton better than a lot of things we use taxes for now? Absolutely! But that requires massive institutional change and this isn’t generally an issue that people know enough about to demand change.

If you read this far, congratulations! You now know more stuff about drinking water!

[inky-duchess]

Because i have no idea how it works:

- In periods in the aftermath of war, what may lead to a foreign country refusing to secede conquered land back to original?

- How long would it take for land to be restored through peace talks and politics to the original country (even if the people living there want to be reunified)? For instance, can it take a year to a few decades?

- Could financial strain on the country that lost land force them to temporarily relinquish said land until financial state and infrastructure was properly stabilized?

It’s 2 am so my brain. Is fried.

Sorry for the disjointed thoughts.

Also I keep forgetting to say this, but your character icon for the blog is very cute.

(contd.) If a nation successfully gets the land they lost back from the nation it was entrusted to (or annexed by) would that be grounds for upgrading their title? Or would it just stay the same? When their land was annexed, would the name of the nation degrade? Principality -> Kingdom -> Commonwealth -> Empire depending on whatever size it was before? (Is a commonwealth a higher ranking than kingdom or lesser?)

Mainly pride. I mean that is part of your home, imagine if somebody wandered into your house, beat you up and to get them to stop asked for you to give them your kitchen. You would be pretty pissed, wouldn't you? But if this is the only way to end the war and your guys have lost, they probably don't have a leg to stand on and will eventually have to cede the territory.

(800 hundred years and counting :-) But it all depends on the situation, it can be a few years to centuries.

Yes, if the war has damaged them significantly on those levels, then like I said above, they would probably give in and let the territory go.

And thanks for the compliment :-)

The Title would stay the same

No, they would keep the same style, kingdom of X etc.

A commonwealth is slightly lesser than a kingdom.

[under0-0s]

((Starter; but #1 priority is you <33. Mwah mwah, take care of yourself <33))

There’s a light tapping on the door of the lab before the familiar footsteps of Sunny can be heard padding in. The girl’s got a big paper bag filled with.. something in it.

Sunny makes a waving away gesture and dramatically puts the bag down on his desk with a grin while sliding a paper across to him.

“Okay- Hi boss man. Did you know you’re like the coolest boss guy in the world and like, obvs I want to show my support to you-! So, gasp! Bag full of the candies I see you eating in here all the time. No expectations for you to return this gift at all.”

Sunny grins wider, and taps the paper she slid across to him,

“oh- side note though-! You should like totes sign this letter of recommendation for a private highschool here in New York so I don’t have to go back to California. Eh, eh? I mean, more free child labor if I stay here- my parents wouldn’t care if I’m here, I already asked! I just need a letter of recommendation.”

Sunny waggles her eyebrows, tapping her fingers in her rhythm of endless energy.

“Please? I’ll work over time. And and-! You won’t have to pay me! Just need a signature from like, one of the most influential men in the world.”

- @sunny-the-intern

Tony didn’t look up right away. He just stared at the paper bag with narrowed eyes like it might explode or worse—contain off-brand knockoffs of his favorite caramel wafers.

Then he glanced at Sunny, at the paper, then back at the bag. He reached in slowly.

“…Are these actually the good ones or are you trying to bribe me with sugar-coated betrayal?” he asked, suspicious but tempted, pulling out a familiar candy and inspecting it like it owed him rent.

He skimmed the letter of recommendation next, brow raising higher with every line until it threatened to disappear into his hairline.

“Alright, couple things,” he said, leaning back in the chair with a dramatic sigh. “One: I am the coolest boss guy, thank you for noticing. Two: I definitely don’t support child labor... publicly. Three: you want me to sign my name, the same name that shows up in headlines next to words like ‘weapons,’ ‘infrastructure,’ and ‘inexplicably shirtless at a tech convention,’ to a recommendation letter for a fancy prep school.”

He held the letter between two fingers like it might bite him.

“...And four,” he added, shaking the candy bag lightly, “these are the good ones. You really have been watching me.”

A pause. Then he grabbed a pen, clicked it, and signed the letter with a neat Stark flourish.

“You get into that school, you better still show up here on weekends. I’m not training a replacement. And I want 30% of your science fair credit minimum.”

He handed it back with a smirk.

“And if they try to say no, tell them I said: good luck arguing with the guy who upgraded NORAD from his phone.”

[cuprohastes]

That was nice.

I came home and two guys were attaching wires to my house.

Understandably I had some anxiety about this...

It turned out they were installing fibre optic infrastructure - Which is nice, because that means I can go form 80mb/s to 900mb/s – And since I actually used to support a broadband company I was aware of the legalities and practicalities... And how absolutley useless openreach are at letting the property owner know they're going to come in and hammer fucking great big pins into your wall.

I'd been worried they had the wrong building and were removing or altering my phone line (Yeah Openreach will do that) – But no: Upgrades! YEAH!

Fibre is cheaper per month and supplies double the speed than the current wonky vDSL. This is because the ISP is absolutely bugfuck insane.

So I stopped for a chat: Professional courtesy. And the guy who was on the scissor lift (Or the Yimpy Jacko as it's called in the UK) shouted that my roof was "A bit fucked up", which is the technical term for being a bit fucked up.

So he pushed a loose tile back into place, took a couple of pics, sent htem to his mate who was running the lift platform (Or Sky-giggeroo, as it's called in the UK), and he sent the pics to me on Whatsapp.

Which was very useful because now I can get my bloody roof fixed, and yell at the previous two roofers who didn't do jack shit (Or Nowt Fuckeroonie, as we say in the UK), and pocketed my money.

But I'm quite impressed that a little casual banter turned into quite a lovely gesture of goodwill.

Or a "Being not an arsehole" as we say in the UK.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Monica Lenis was in Great Exuma, Bahamas, yesterday when she caught this image of Starship's explosion. Thank you, Monica! SpaceX's flagship vehicle, #Starship - designed to take humans to the moon and Mars - exploded midair late yesterday minutes after its test launch from a beach in south Texas. Other aircraft flying over the Gulf of Mexico were forced to alter their courses in order to avoid the falling debris, which was seen by beachgoers in the Bahamas and Turks and Caicos. Starship itself was completely lost. Meanwhile, the Super Heavy booster that had launched Starship successfully returned to the launchpad and was caught in midair. Read more at https://earthsky.org/human-world/starship-explodes-minutes-after-launch-planes-diverted/

EarthSky

* * *

In what sounds like an attempt to hand over air traffic control systems to Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite system and his AI company, Trump today said—and here are his words, as Aaron Rupar transcribed them—“We’re all gonna sit down and do a great computerized system for our control towers. Brand new. Not pieced together, obsolete, like it is, land-based. Trying to hook up a land based system to a satellite system. The first thing that some experts told me when this happened is you can’t hook up land to satellites and you can’t hook up satellites to land. It doesn’t work. We spend billions of billions of dollars trying to renovate an old, broken system, instead of just saying cut it loose, and let’s spend less money and build a great system one by two or three companies, very good companies, specialists, that’s all it is. They used 39 companies. That means that 39 different hookups have to happen. And I don’t know how many people of you are good in terms of all the kinds of things necessary for that. And it's very complex stuff. But when you have 39 different companies working on hooking up different cities at different people. You need one company. With one set of equipment. And there are some countries that have unbelievable air controller systems. And they would’ve, bells would’ve gone off when that helicopter literally even hit the same height. Because it traveled a long distance before it hit. It was just like, just wouldn’t stop. Follow the line. But bells and whistles would’ve gone off. They have ‘em where it actually could virtually turn the thing around. It would’ve just never happened if we had the right equipment . And one of things that’s gonna be, I'm gonna speaking to John and to Mike and to Chuck and everybody, we have to get together and just as a single bill just pass where we get the best control system. When I land in my plane, privately, I use a system from another country because my captain tells me, I’m landing in New York and I’m using a sys— I won’t tell you what country, but I use a system from another country because the captain says ‘This thing is so bad, it’s so obsolete.’ And we can’t have that.”

Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy posted today that “the DOGE team” is “going to plug in to help upgrade our aviation system,” saying that “‘experienced’ Washington bureaucrats are the reason our nation’s infrastructure is crumbling.”

Former secretary of state Hillary Clinton pointed out that “US airlines had gone 16 years without fatal crashes. Then MAGA fired the FAA chief, gutted the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, and threatened air traffic controllers with layoffs. Now there have been two fatal crashes. Hope your unvetted 22-year-olds fix things fast.”

Critics of the idea of Musk taking over the nation’s air traffic control systems note that his Tesla electric vehicles have the highest fatal accident rate among all car brands in America. The average fatal crash rate is 2.8 per billion vehicle miles driven; Tesla has a rate of 5.6 per billion miles driven. On social media, “God” posted: “Thou shalt not let the foreign billionaire whose rockets blow up all the time anywhere near the air traffic control system,” an apparent reference to the January 16 explosion of a SpaceX rocket over the Caribbean that scattered debris over the region led the Federal Aviation Administration to lock down airspace over Turks and Caicos.

[Heather Cox Richardson : Letters From An American: Feb.6,2025]

[allaboutkeyingo]

Windows Server Evaluation Edition Upgrade to full Edition

If your server is running Windows Server 2008/2012/2016/2019/2022/2025 evaluation version of Windows Server Standard or Datacenter edition, you can upgrade or convert it to an available retail Standard or Datacenter version. Run the following commands in an elevated command prompt or PowerShell.

1, Determine the current edition name: DISM /online /Get-CurrentEdition 2, Check which editions can be converted to: DISM /online /Get-TargetEditions 3, Convert/Upgrade to Standard version: DISM /online /Set-Edition:ServerStandard /ProductKey:xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx 4, Convert/Upgrade to DataCenter version: DISM /online /Set-Edition:ServerDatacenter /ProductKey:xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx 5, Convert/Upgrade to Essentials version: DISM /online /Set-Edition:ServerEssentials /ProductKey:xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx Please replace the xxxxx with your own Windows Server product key. if you do not have the product key, you can use the Generic Windows Server keys.

The following are the Generic Windows Server keys for you to convert / upgrade:

But remember the Generic key is only for the converting / upgrade, it cant activate the Windows Server, if you want to activate the Windows Server, you can get a Windows Server key at keyingo.com

Operating system edition Generic Product Key Windows Server 2025 Standard TVRH6-WHNXV-R9WG3-9XRFY-MY832 Windows Server 2025 Datacenter D764K-2NDRG-47T6Q-P8T8W-YP6DF Windows Server 2022 Standard VDYBN-27WPP-V4HQT-9VMD4-VMK7H Windows Server 2022 Datacenter WX4NM-KYWYW-QJJR4-XV3QB-6VM33 Windows Server 2019 Standard N69G4-B89J2-4G8F4-WWYCC-J464C Windows Server 2019 Datacenter WMDGN-G9PQG-XVVXX-R3X43-63DFG Windows Server 2019 Essentials WVDHN-86M7X-466P6-VHXV7-YY726 Windows Server 2016 Standard WC2BQ-8NRM3-FDDYY-2BFGV-KHKQY Windows Server 2016 Datacenter CB7KF-BWN84-R7R2Y-793K2-8XDDG Windows Server 2016 Essentials JCKRF-N37P4-C2D82-9YXRT-4M63B Windows Server 2012 R2 Standard D2N9P-3P6X9-2R39C-7RTCD-MDVJX Windows Server 2012 R2 Datacenter W3GGN-FT8W3-Y4M27-J84CP-Q3VJ9 Windows Server 2012 R2 Essentials KNC87-3J2TX-XB4WP-VCPJV-M4FWM Windows Server 2012 Standard XC9B7-NBPP2-83J2H-RHMBY-92BT4 Windows Server 2012 Datacenter 48HP8-DN98B-MYWDG-T2DCC-8W83P Windows Server 2012 Essentials HTDQM-NBMMG-KGYDT-2DTKT-J2MPV Windows Server 2008 R2 Standard YC6KT-GKW9T-YTKYR-T4X34-R7VHC Windows Server 2008 R2 Enterprise 489J6-VHDMP-X63PK-3K798-CPX3Y Windows Server 2008 R2 Datacenter 74YFP-3QFB3-KQT8W-PMXWJ-7M648

Which Windows Server edition to choose, Standard, Datacenter or essentials? What is the difference ? Windows Server Standard: It only allows 2 virtual machines (VMs). Best for small businesses or physical server deployments with low virtualization needs.

Windows Server Datacenter: it Provides unlimited virtual machines. Designed for large-scale virtualization, hyper-converged infrastructure, and high-security environments, such as cloud providers and enterprise data centers.

Windows Server Essentials: Windows Server 2019 Essentials is designed for small businesses with building in Client Access License (CAL) up to 25 users and 50 devices.

[molagboop]

The Mawkin believe in learning by doing, which is why they have little rooms with which to bestow upgrades upon fledgling warriors. Some of the morph ball paths Samus goes through in Dread are defunct + repurposed maintenance chutes, and a few locations (particularly in Ghavoran and Artaria) were set up with the express purpose of serving as testing grounds. The statue rooms are pilgrimage sites whose stone guardians serve as an emissary of the ancestors, bestowing the gifts their people and the Chozo collectively have long developed unto promising warriors.

The process of earning an arm cannon is a whole thing in and of itself: special firearms training is required for certification if a warrior intends on using it in any official military capacity or seeks an upgrade. The power suit as a whole requires its own post because there's a whole culture around it: today I'll just talk about how youngsters earn their first set of basic upgrades.

Let's set the scene. You're a freshly minted warrior between 10 and 30 years of age: you sit on the character spectrum between a kid who wants to make this power suit the focus of your education and someone who has just decided they want to get serious about the whole power suit thing. Maybe it's a cultural curiosity for you: maybe you want to do it for the sake of tradition, maybe you want to put yourself through this to build character. Perhaps you're just seeking a new experience, or looking to supplement your actual area of study with something different. Some warriors, especially those whose family tree includes storied wielders or scientists who developed advancements in power suit technology, are heavily encouraged by their families to take on their own power suit. If you're heading into the military, you're going to be put through a similar series of tests anyways: you might as well get ahead of the game.

So you've passed the knowledge tests on theology, the technology surrounding the suits, and the history of the technology's advancement. The first and third of these are not strictly a prerequisite for the bestowal of a suit: your uncle snagged their suit first and dove head-first into the philosophy and history once they had a grip on how to work it. You wear the suit for two hours a day to start, familiarizing yourself with the mind-to-matter components and getting a feel for your new bio-metallic exoskeleton.

The suit's basic functions are useful, but you want a little more. You go in for your bi-weekly check-in with the team of suit architects and physicians who eased you into the tech, and you get a tip about an old research outpost by the geothermal processing plant in Artaria. It'll take a bit of effort (hope you've figured out how to land on your feet comfortably from a high distance), but it shouldn't be too much of a hassle to reach.

By this point, more people were working their jobs in and around what we people of real life would designate an "EMMI Zone". Artaria's EMMi Zone was originally a hub for power and environmental control infrastructure overseen by a pair of biological computers. The robots take care of the place, but the touch of a living soul was still tantamount: you'd pass technicians keeping tabs on heating and cooling systems, sanitation agents, civilian personnel and the odd researcher working a project down here in the sticks.

After a fair stroll and perhaps a bit of jumping, you'd find yourself in a compact, contemplative, temperature-controlled room with none but a statue for company. It's eerily quiet, bit the statue looks friendly: it's obviously offering you a gift. Shoot the casing off your present, which is emitting an energy signature your suit bristles almost eagerly at upon approach, and you've found yourself the grapple beam.

The trial doesn't lie in simply acquiring to the beam: it's getting out of the hole the technicians who invented the damn thing put it in. The spider magnet is a standard-issue upgrade that most people acquire through basic testing rather than a statue trial, so grabbing the magnetized walls isn't an issue. Your job is to get a grip on your new toy: figure out how it works so you can get out of the hole.

Most of the "fun" upgrades are locked behind minor tests like this which everyone with a suit has some knowledge of. For some upgrades, warriors are told outright where they are after a certain point in their education. Others are just sitting in the wilderness waiting for the enterprising individual to seek them out. You are guaranteed to collect them all if you fully immerse yourself in the study of the history of power suit development. Upgrade locations are extensively documented: you just have to either find them or be granted access by some means. Some upgrades were designed to be taken freely by whoever's clever enough to find them, but your basic education in suit tech is enough to nab you all the important stuff. In fact, warriors are routinely assigned an upgrade trial to complete by their technicians or professors as part of their education.

Not every upgrade is locked behind a scavenger hunt or a unit test: others require specialized training to receive, and some are granted out of necessity for one's chosen career path. An engineer with a power suit who specializes in underwater infrastructure requires the gravity suit. The varia installation is standard for those working in high-temperature environments.

The reason people aren't granted everything right off the bat has to do with the way the suit and flesh interact: you don't want to overwhelm a new powersuit user with a bunch of new powers while they're just getting accustomed to the way the suit interfaces with their central nervous system. If you botch suit-flesh-mind integration, you can seriously injure the receiving party. Samus has been wearing her suit for decades at this point: she doesn't need to be eased into earning new toys. Having everything snatched away from her on a dime is physically taxing in a uniquely awful way, but she's a seasoned warrior: she can adjust to traumatic change on the fly.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Olivia Troye at Living It:

I’ve worked firsthand with FEMA during some of the most devastating natural disasters to hit our country. I’ve sat in Homeland Security briefings when lives were on the line, when every hour mattered, and when we relied on every ounce of preparation and foresight the federal government could offer. What’s happening now, the systematic erosion of our nation’s disaster preparedness infrastructure, is not just bureaucratic negligence. It’s a slow-moving domestic threat with real-world consequences. The federal government's capacity to respond to disasters has always been a lifeline for millions of Americans, especially those in vulnerable, underserved, and often forgotten communities. But in Donald Trump's second term, FEMA is being gutted, NOAA is being hollowed out, and hurricane season will soon be barreling toward us. The warning signs couldn't be more obvious or more alarming. On May 1, NPR reported that the Trump administration quietly canceled billions of dollars in FEMA's Building Resilient Infrastructure and Communities (BRIC) program, funds specifically designed to help communities better prepare for disasters BEFORE they happen. These grants were already allocated. Local governments had invested time, planning, and hope into projects that would make their communities safer, from wildfire buffers to stormwater upgrades and hurricane shelters. Now, those communities are left empty-handed, many of them in rural and red-leaning regions that overwhelmingly voted for Trump, trusting he would protect them. And it's not just about what's been cut. FEMA's Disaster Relief Fund, the pot of money that helps communities recover after disaster strikes, was already running at a dangerously low level during the last hurricane season. Then-Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas warned that FEMA could be tapped out before the worst of the storms even arrived. That warning came in late summer of 2024, and it turned out to be true, FEMA barely had enough resources to respond to overlapping disasters. Now, Mayorkas is gone. Kristi Noem is in charge. And we're in an even tougher spot. With funding gutted, grants canceled, and the agency increasingly sidelined under Project 2025 (see page 153), FEMA is no longer the robust federal backstop it once was. The next major storm or wildfire could hit while the federal government stands empty-handed and unapologetic. As someone who's been in the room when disasters unfold, I can tell you that response is already stretched to its limits on a good day. We rely on prepositioned resources, expert logistics teams, and highly trained emergency responders. Every dollar lost and every program canceled slows the response. That lag can be the difference between survival and tragedy.

I know what that looks like on the ground. During my time in government, I strongly encouraged the people who worked for me to deploy with FEMA whenever they had the chance. I spent several months in Louisiana working on the Hurricane Katrina recovery effort in 2005, and it remains one of the most rewarding and heartbreaking experiences of my career. There's nothing like standing in the aftermath of a disaster, working side by side with communities struggling to rebuild. It gives you perspective. It reminds you that this work is about more than policy; it's about people. It's about showing up and helping your fellow Americans when they need it most. At the same time, FEMA is being defunded and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA)—the agency that tracks hurricanes, issues weather forecasts, and provides early warnings—is being gutted from within. A May 2 report in The New York Times outlined massive staffing cuts to NOAA and the National Weather Service (NWS) just as the 2025 hurricane season is about to begin on June 1. More than 880 employees have already been laid off, and resignations and buyouts are rising. Offices in key regions like Houston are operating without permanent leadership. The Lake Charles, Louisiana office, critical for hurricane response in the Gulf, is reducing public service hours due to a lack of personnel. Accurate, timely forecasting is the difference between a safe evacuation and a death toll. It's how local leaders decide when to sound the alarm. It's how families know when to leave their homes. These aren't just scientists and meteorologists; they are the frontlines of early warning. Undermining NOAA isn't just reckless. It's sabotage. Even the elite "Hurricane Hunters," pilots and crew who fly directly into storms to gather life-saving data, are under-resourced. Without them, forecasting becomes more uncertain, and so does the public's safety.

Dismantling FEMA and NOAA by Design

What's unfolding now isn't just neglect; it's intentional. Project 2025 proposes radical structural changes to both FEMA and NOAA, changes that the Trump administration is now beginning to implement in real-time. These plans reflect a sweeping ideological shift from federal disaster response and climate science leadership toward privatization, decentralization, and eliminating what Project 2025's authors call "alarmism" or "overreach." Project 2025’s vision for FEMA is clear: scale it back until it's barely functional. Under this blueprint:

Only “large-scale” disasters would qualify for federal support. Most emergencies, especially those in rural areas, would fall entirely on state and local governments.

Preparedness grants, including over $56 billion in funding that has historically supported everything from cybersecurity to local emergency planning and law enforcement coordination, would be eliminated.

Flood insurance would be privatized, increasing costs for homeowners and putting entire coastal communities at risk.

Key leadership roles would be stripped, weakening FEMA’s coordination authority in a crisis.

In practical terms? Communities would be left on their own in the face of wildfires, floods, and hurricanes unless their suffering meets new, arbitrary federal "thresholds." That isn't policy. That's cruelty.

Climate Science Under Siege

Project 2025 treats NOAA not as a scientific institution, but as a political target. Their goal is to break it up and silence it.

NOAA’s core offices, including the National Weather Service, would be dismantled or transferred out of federal hands.

Public forecasts would end, replaced by data sales to private companies. Imagine relying on a weather subscription app during a hurricane.

Climate research funding would disappear, cutting off vital university partnerships and long-range risk modeling.

Worst of all, scientists would be ordered to present "neutral" data, which is code for minimizing or censoring the real risks of climate change. This is part of the broader strategy of denial that I've written about in more detail here.

This would cripple our ability to track storms, forecast extreme weather, and prepare communities. It's not just dangerous; it's governance by denial and design.

Even Trump’s Allies Are Left Behind

Perhaps the most telling and damning example of this administration's disregard for disaster-stricken Americans is what just happened in Arkansas. Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders, one of Trump's most loyal allies, recently pleaded for federal assistance after tornadoes killed dozens and destroyed entire communities in her state. Despite the devastation and despite her unwavering political support, Trump said no. The aid was denied. Sanders had to appeal publicly just to get her administration to acknowledge her people's suffering.

The Trump Regime’s Project 2025-inspired cuts to disaster relief funding undermine common sense.