#and you don't go in expecting rims and maintenance and get

[pardonthelitany]

insurance companies literally sell the promise of compassion and then dick you down while telling you to plan better

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Beginning of the end, End of the beginning - CIAJ

Summary: A few years after the first kaiju came throught the Breach, more breaches appeared throught out the world focing almost each nations to make their own line of defense. In England, 4 SAS soldiers decided to join the Jaeger program. Throught hardship and derermination they built themselves a reputation and are known the TF-141. Camille, or Scotty to her friends, is freshly new arrived J-tech at the Plymouth Shatterdome. She has no trouble blending in the new crowd and make friends easily, even with the Rangers. But there might be something more going on between her, Soap and Ghost. Life is about to change for all of them, not in a way they expect.

Warning: None

Words: 4.2k // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Welcome to my new AU of an AU where I get to be a huuuuge nerd about Pacific Rim because, this my favorite movie of all time! This will be a multiple chapters project. I don't know how long or how it will evolve, but it will be fun to find out. Here is some more info I have about it before I started to write if you are curious. Althought some might change as I write as the post was sort a draft, take it with a grain of salt :)

Feet hanging down, she looked at the jaeger's core from a distance. It was always a sight to be seen. Although the Mark-4 didn't have the same feelings as the nuclear core of a Mark-3, Scotty was still in love with it. A quick glance at her watch, she had half an hour before her shift would start. She grabbed a piece of food from her tray and kept eating in silence. Or as much silence the maintenance area provided with the drilling, metal clinking, shafts and other mechanical engines roared in a harmonized cacophony. 

Scotty had been transferred to the Plymouth Shatterdome six months ago. They needed extra hands and she proposed herself. After all that happened almost a year prior, she needed a change of everything. A new place to sort of start anew. At her arrival, she was assigned to Bravo Tanker, one of the two Jaegers of the TF-141. 

TF-141 was composed of 4 ex-SAS members who joined the Jaeger Program a few years back. Johnathan “John” Price had been the oldest member as he was part of few people who piloted Mark-1. Lucky enough he didn’t for long before moving to Mark-2 who were slightly safer and didn’t leave terrible health consequences on his body.

Simon Riley, mostly referred to as Ghost by many, was a rather mysterious pilot. His academics, results and training were very honorable and an example to many. One of the best pilots. However the mystery around laid in the fact that the man would always be wearing a balaclava for a reason no one knew. He kept his past a secret to everyone and was a man of few words in his free time. He wasn’t cold or asocial per se, but he kept some interaction to minimum. But once you knew him, you would be surprised that he had a sense of humor and quite enjoyed his little army jokes.

Kyle Garrick, nicknamed Gaz by Price quote “he doesn’t talk much”, wingman of the ex-captain, he had a great tactical mind who often proved to be a great asset during deployment, he also had very good academic records. He held the record for the longest simulation training; twelve hours. Stable and came out feeling perfectly fine.  He had a quick reaction time and would find solutions to many problems in a few seconds. He was reliable and someone you rather liked as a friend than an enemy. 

John MacTavish, alias Soap, a name he got from his time in the military, was the fairly newer member. Always eager to jump in the cockpit to defeat the Kaijus. But his playful demeanor is only the tip of this iceberg. Under his optimistic charm was also a tactical man who knows his explosives and weapons like the back of his hands. He learned a few tricks from the J-Techs on how to fix small issues on the Jaegers if needed. 

Price and Gaz were pilots of Bravo Brawler, a Jaeger made to fight in a close combat ranger, but was also armed with four missiles, two in each arms for distance. Soap and Ghost, Bravo Tanker, Jaeger build to endure hard blows and take repeated hits. Which means a very high maintenance mega weapon sadly. 

On her first time at the Shatterdome, she quickly blended in with the crew. Two weeks later, the chief engineer took her under his wings as an assistant. He was impressed by her knowledge and there was a little something that felt that she knew more about Jaegers than she let know. Although she was very capable of fixing any part of the mecha, Scotty was assigned to the Conn-Pod or cockpit. Again, she surprisingly had a very good knowledge of everything that happened there. Being a J-Tech, Scotty never really expected to befriend pilots, it felt like an honor. For a while, she admired the TF-141 from afar, or close in her case when she would help them suit up or briefly pass them as she entered the cockpit for maintenance after their deployment, never really pushing herself to get to know them better. Until her third week at her new home. 

She was elbow deep in grease, trying to fix one of the enormous ankle joints till she heard someone clearing his throat in the back. Hands still inside the construction, Scotty looked over her shoulder to see who it was. Mohawk and bright blue eyes stared at her with a smile. It was Soap. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m just looking.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the metal, eyes looking inside the opening. 

She stared at him a little longer before shrugging it off. “What would a Ranger do down here with the mechanics?”

“Learning. Is that bad? Never heard the other complain before.” 

“Not at all.” She chuckled. “How much do you know about this big girl? For a Mark-5 she is impressive, don't you think?”

“Aye. Very smooth riding if I compare it to the Mark-4, but not by much, and a not so different interface. Definitely better than Mark-3.”

Scotty finally loosened the bolt she was working on, almost the size of her head, and turned to face him. “Someone seems to know his jaegers. That’s interesting. Ever been in a Mark-3? You don’t strike me like someone who did.”

“Are you saying I’m old, bonnie?” He scoffed. “I did, in during my training. They feel so clunky once you try a newer model.” And this is how their friendship started. Nerding over Jaegers, then went out to talk about what they did before the program. 

Eventually, after a few days Soap invited her to sit with the rest of the team. Scotty was a little surprised by the invitation and honestly wasn’t too sure about it. She was so used to eating with her crew. Not that sitting next to the pilots was anything special, in the cafeteria you took the first seat you could find. It was talking with them and being so friendly that she wasn’t too sure; she didn’t want to look like she was privileged. It was some friends who pushed her to accept because honestly, it was obvious. They had seen her talking for hours with Soap, also opening up more to Ghost. It was more than just the regular crew and check up talks nowadays. She did accept the offer and was thrown under the spotlight by Soap who introduced her more informally to Price and Gaz. Because of his background, Scotty felt like she wouldn’t never be as friendly as she was with the Scotman towards Price. An old captain deserved more respect, but it wouldn’t stop her to warm up and tease the man along with Gaz. Gaz had been easy to befriend just like Soap. Being around the same age was actually an advantage. That and he was a nice person in general. It was nice to have some deep conversation of all and nothing during calmer moments. Just like now.

Gaz took a seat next to her, his tray in hand. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.” Scotty moved slightly to the side, although there was enough space for ten people around them. “Aren’t you and Price supposed to train?”

“Finished. I swear he really wanted to push the limits today, I’m done and hungry.” 

She glanced at her watch again. Another ten minutes. Her eyes trailed to her own tray, half full. She grabbed whatever dessert was proposed, some strange sweet thing that resembled cake, but didn’t have inviting colors. Yet it tasted good. She handed him her left over. “You need more than I do. Make sure you have enough energy.”

He laughed at her remark, yet appreciated the extra ratio. They kept talking for a little longer till they sat in silence, enjoying the calmness. Her time was up and she had to leave to start her shift. 

Her shift was assigned to the Conn-Pod today. Last Bravo Tanker’s deployment had been a little rough. A very hard blow to the head left some damage to the moving system. On the report, it was said that the left leg remained stuck for two minutes. It didn’t sound long, but in the middle of a fight against a twenty-five thousand tonnes monster, it was an eternity. Ghost and Soap were able to unjam it, but to say they didn’t feel fear for a hot second would be a lie. Toolbox at her feet, Scotty engaged the safe switch and jumped in the movement center, wiggling a little between the pipes and gears to reach the troublemaker. Her eyes looked one more time at the tablet. She analyzed the graphics and waves. The malfunction was definitely mechanical in origin as there was no misalignment registered from the pilots. Their neural handshake was almost perfect the whole time, even after the damaging blow and the panic that followed. They remained in control without flinching. It read the most beautiful thing. It brought back some memories, memories that she quickly pushed away and focused on her task ahead. It took five minutes to find the culprit; a rode had broken off from the walking mechanism and lodged itself between gears. From the look of it, it eventually broke off under the pressure, releasing the jammed leg. Not without damage. They would have to install a new rod and change two gears. That should take a whole shift or two, if they didn’t have the pieces yet. It will be a long night.

It was five in the morning when her head hit the pillow. Every muscle was painful and sore. The mattress was so soft and welcome. At least, this would be her last night shift for a few weeks and today was her day off. As usual, she would sleep a few hours before going on with the day. Maybe nap later depending on how tired she was. 

Her alarm bipped around ten. With a groan, Scotty woke up and jumped in the shower. She didn’t stay long to ratio the water, but long enough to wake her up and give an appeased sensation to her body. She grabbed her phone, quickly looked through her messages. Some quick replies to her family, more technical answers to her colleagues who need another refresher on what had been done last night and where they should pick up. Mindlessly walking towards the hangar bay, always looking on her phone when she bumped into someone. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be.” Ghost replied unphased. “You shouldn’t look at your phone while walking though.” 

“I was almost done really.” She shoved the device in her pocket. Soap popped behind Ghost.

“Where are you going like that, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me that, sunshine. Well I’m off for today, I was thinking of going into town. Get some fresh air. What’s your plan?” 

Ghost brushed off the casual flirting of these two. They had been at it for a few weeks now and he didn’t mind. “Training. As usual.”

“Tanker will be under heavy repair for another day at least. If anything happens, you won’t be able to deploy yet.” Scotty informed them.

“That’s why I was thinking after our workout, maybe we could all go out for a drink? Price and Gaz were up for it.” Soap smiled. “What about you?”

“Sounds good, count me in!”

The shatterdome being a few kilometers away from any big cities made the small town that was nearby thrive with all the workers. While the main base provided lodging and food to everyone, the town did provide the recreational aspect allowing the hard workers some possibility to unwind. Despite the Kaijus’s attacks, the civilians went on with the regular days. They became part of the routine. People would still go to work, go out with friends, do their grocery shopping, take a drink at the table outside the cafe as if nothing was going on. Of course when the alert rang across the land, they would all run to the nearest bunker and wait till the Jaegers took down the beast. For now, they could enjoy one of the rarest sunny days in a long time. Scotty wandered around without a goal. All she needed was to be out of the overcrowded building. Hear other sounds than drilling, welding, clanking. The birds, the kids' laughter, the car, the casual discussion of strangers. A change of scenery. A little after noon, she stopped in a restaurant to grab some food and then went on to walk along the coast. 

There, it was truly calm. Only the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Sat in the sand, she allowed herself to close her eyes and let this moment last for as long as she could handle it. The breeze was soft today. Scotty shifted her position to lay down and look at the sky before closing her eyes again. It wasn’t the best idea but…

She woke up to the sounds of seagulls fighting somewhere. Half a mind present, her watch showed five. She must have slept for a good two hours! Her phone buzzed. It was Gaz saying they were on their way to their regular pub. They should be in town in half an hour. She decided to make her way there. She dusted off the sand on her clothes and returned to the center of the town. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, painting the sky in a bright orange blue color. Reflecting on the water that slowly disappears as she makes her way through the small street between the buildings. If at first she had been a little intimidated by forming a friendship with the TF-141, now she actually appreciated their time together. It brought back good old memories.

This was the seventh day of her day shift schedule and it was coming to an end. Not her best day in terms of repair. Bravo Tanker had been a breeze to fix recently thanks to the very little visit from kaijus. Bravo Brawler was a whole other story. A lot of the pieces needed to fix her had been late on the delivery and the Marshal wanted her fixed since yesterday. Didn’t like the idea to have one less Jaeger operational in case of. Their Shatterdome was yes the main base of the well known TF-141, but also three other Jaegers. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the ability to operate with one less team. But out of the three, two were new hence why he would rather send more experienced pilots with them than face the monsters alone. Because of this, Scotty had been pulling extra hours on fixing Price and Gaz’s jaeger. Help that was well appreciated by the crew who was being pushed in the back all the time. A quick chat with the person in charge of the night shift to explain what still had to be done and Scotty was on her way to her quarters. She could feel the sweat and grease sticking on her skin. She wanted a shower, now! However on her way there, she made a little detour to the Kwoon Combat Room. 

As she walked toward it, she caught the noise of a familiar training. Someone was there. Maybe she could just look a little. Hidden by the corner, she leaned to see who it was. Ghost and Soap were in the middle of the mat, readying their stance from what looked to be another round. She watched as they began. Just for a minute or two she told herself. 

Scotty didn’t mean to peek for so long. Neither peek in general. But watching them dance on the training mat, the sounds of the wooden poles knocking on each other, the soft silence except for a few grunt here and there, it reminded her of her pilot days. Drifting with someone was the most intimate thing of all, something beyond anything else. It had nothing to do with the romance or things you would keep behind closed doors. Being drift compatible wasn’t about this. It was about letting someone inside your head, share their memories, let them see your memories. All your secrets are bare to them to see. You had to trust your co-pilot more than anyone else. A wave of sorrow passed through her body as she was reminded of her previous partner. How they had such a strong connection, how she could still feel his fear when he died, how his last words were to his wife and kids. It broke her to be the one to tell them and not him. Yet as she cited his words, his voice echoed in her mind. This was the reason she wasn’t able to drift after that. She tried, but the memory was too strong, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out, it crawled back. She was always out of alignment with other pilots to the point that she simply gave up. Not wanting to stop helping against the Kaijus, she took a job as J-Tech and eventually landed where she was now. It was for the best that she didn’t know if she would ever let someone else in her head ever again. 

It was obvious that Ghost and Soap were a good match. Her eyes could follow each of their attacks and parry with ease and it was easy to see that they knew each other well. She had also seen Price and Gaz training, it was the same. However there was something a little more about the pilots of Bravo Tanker. A detail she caught as easy as their fighting style. They had something going on between the two of them. That didn’t stop her from letting her eyes linger on their muscles. Who knew that a tank top and sweatpants would be so sexy. They were both a sight for sore eyes. Her cheeks turned into a soft pink as she caught herself thinking of that. 

The room became very silent. Scotty realized that they had done their training and were looking at her. A wide smile on Soap’s face and she swore maybe on Ghost but it was hard to see behind his balaclava. “Enjoying the show?” The Scotsman laughed. 

“Oh hm me? No! I mean yes. But not how you think!” She stumbled on her words. 

“Relax, we won’t eat you.” Ghost shook his head. 

As much as they were all up to keep going with the conversation, the alarm went off. A sound they knew too well. A kaiju had crossed the Breach. Ghost and Soap didn’t waste a second and hastened to the Drivesuit Room. Brawler still being under maintenance, they were the only available at the moment to support the other teams. 

It took them less than twenty minutes between the suit up and being waist high in the water. One advantage of Plymouth Shatterdome was that it was enough on the coast, Jaegers could directly walk in the ocean, they didn’t have to wait to be dropped far away by helicopters. “What now, Ghost?” 

“We wait.” The Brit contacted the other team to know their status. They were in the area also waiting for any sign of Kaiju approaching. Both Jaegers’s radar bipped steadily. They hated these moments. Standing still, being a perfect target for surprise attack. The LOCCENT kept updating them on the possible location of the threat. It was moving fast, coming South-East of their position one moment and then full East, back to South. Then West! Whatever this Kaiju was doing it was all over the place. They looked in all directions hoping to visually see something that radar had not picked up, in vain. The water remained calm. 

“I don’t like that, Simon. Why is it moving so-” Soap was interrupted when their comms was flooded by the other team. They had a visual two klicks away from them. The water was slowly rising while advancing. It was their target! The Jaeger reacted fast, running towards it ready to attack. But as soon as they were in range to punch it, it slipped away quickly. The old Mark-3 was a little slower to respond to the pilots change of position; they didn’t have time to react to the clawed hand that pierce through the water behind them. It clenched, ripping all the back’s plates. The pain receptors connected to their suits send a signal so strong they surprised themselves to still be conscious. However, damage had been done. 

“Bravo Tanker we are done! All systems are not responding! What the fuck! We need back up!”

“On our way! Stay put!” Ghost acknowledged. He lifted his right leg, starting to run in unison with Soap and the mecha eventually responded to the speed they wanted. They wouldn’t let the monster attack a second time. At the same time, Ghost and Soap locked the right arm to punch the creature. Their Jaeger reacted accordingly, landing a powerful blow at the top of its head. The Kaiju wailed before being engulfed under the water. They punched it a second time. On the third, the beast dodged by swimming away, its tail hitting the leg of the Jaeger. They didn’t flinch. Bravo Tanker was ready to chase it, but revised their plan when they saw the wake it made as it swam back in their direction with a lot of speed. They braced themselves for the attack, well aware of what to expect. The claws screeched on the metal, automatically the two pilots were met with a jolting pain on the chest. Nothing they couldn’t handle.They shook it off repositioning themselves to return the favor. 

‘‘Hull is badly damaged, but still holding!’’ Soap shouted, dismissing the alerts that popped on the screen.

‘‘LOCCENT we need back up! I don’t know what this bastard is made of, but it is shredding us!’’ Ghost demanded on the comms.

At the Shatterdome, the Marshal weighed his options. He could send another Jaeger or two, but the more, the longer it would get for them to reach their allies. Could Tanker hold till then? However this Kaiju rendered one of his mecha inoperative with just one slash and his most resilient Jaeger was already fighting. ‘‘Tanker hold, help is coming. … Brawler, I want a fast deployment!’’

Bravo Tanker dodged another attack by a few meters. To last till back up, they used the blade weapons. With them they had been able to hurt the beast, but quickly it destroyed one of them. This fight was straining the pilots, physically and mentally. ‘‘I swear when Price shows up.’’ Ghost groaned. He could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead, his suit more sticky than usual.

‘‘What will you do when we show up?’’ The ex-captain voice came through the open channel. ‘‘Take a breath, we will handle it for now!’’

Bravo Brawler was being carried by helicopters. Price ordered them to release the cable who dropped them right on top of the Kaiju. The beast was crushed back into the water, wiggled its way out and went for its first attack on the newer opponent. Ghost and Soap only took a minute breather; the bastard was tough and they couldn’t let it win. Two against one was the upper hand they needed. Something the beast realized quickly and decided to hide underwater for surprise attacks. Thanks to their radar, both Jaegers avoided them. It began to circle them. Suddenly jumped on Tanker jaw open ready to take a bite. The fang pierced the Conn-Pod not so easily, but with a secured anchor, its claw dug deep in the chest and neck’s connector. The pilots were flooded by alarms blaring, pain in their whole body and view of the monster’s mouth. Its maw closed further onto the head, bending and crushing the metal. The mechanism which normally held the pilot in place was heavily damaged on Soap’s side. As Price and Gaz closed the distance to remove the beast, Soap was disengaged from the lock system and in the heat of being tossed in all directions, he was sent flying up and down, landing then in the back of the cockpit where the door was. Ghost didn’t have the time to realize what happened. All he felt was the sudden overload of pressure on his brain as he was now the only pilot in control of the mecha. It made him feel dizzy, his movements slowed as he raised his arm to grab the Kaiju and throw it away. With Brawler's help, he was free. Gaz refused to waste another second. He engaged the missile and fired two of them. An option they only want to use as a last resort. The beast was already damaged; this should be enough. Indeed the Kaiju went down in one last screech. 

Sure that everything was cleared, Ghost disconnected his side as well before the load would kill him. With a heavy breath, he gave a quick sitrep of their situation, to which the LOCCENT replied they will have a medical team right away. Ghost scrambled through the damaged cockpit and found Soap lay, unconscious. His helmet was broken, blood tainting the suit and floor. ‘‘Soap? … Johnny!’’ He checked his vital signs; they were steady but very weak. He needed help now!

[heirloomcaterpilllar442]

Types of Flooring as People

Laminate- cleanliness is next to godliness, always wearing some crisp new accessory, the spellcheck friend, keeps their toenails nice and short so they don't click together, will have handwipes and tissues in their bag, not a germaphobe but likes to be helpful and tidy, would never sneak out of the house without leaving a detailed itinerary for their parents, has a secret penchant for eating pencil erasers, and will say they are always there for you and yet put their phone on silent the minute they are sleepy.

Hardwood- always up for adventure, rough and tumble, rare to find in just any house, holds many secrets and never shares yours, loves to find a good pair of boots, would die to meet Indiana Jones IRL and does not acknowledge the reality that characters are fictional, finds the best in the simplest things, always resourceful, will hound you if they sense something is wrong, and very superstitious. (knock on wood!)

Tile- cold when you first meet them, brisk attitude, likes people with gray eyes, can usually be found reading in the bathroom at any given social gathering, is calculating your every move, will shatter you if you drop too much on them, hard to put down and even harder to replace once you've lost them, some people may say it's hard to be their friend but it's only because they expect the same loyalty and energy they would give someone who they truly love and admire, wears wire rimmed glasses or loves a good rainy day- maybe both.

Vinyl- crazy about records (obviously), loves vintage cameras and little pocketwatches, a little eccentric around the edges but really down to earth at heart, would drop it all to go thrifting, always has a devious shopping related sparkle in their eye, jumps to help someone in case they may be gifted with an iced coffee, has never been to a trampoline park bc they think that would be weird, very much hopes people think they are at least a little cool, wants to be THAT mysterious stranger you can never forget about, and hates when people underestimate the value of a good public library because oh boy, they are infatuated with the world.

Carpet- cozy, sleepy, unattainably cute, high maintenance, cries at the drop of a hat- will cry over spilled milk!- listens to a lot of lo-fi playlists and Alec Benjamin/Cavetown-eque music, has a lot of buddies but few who understand how much they truly are happier in a comfortable bed or sofa by the gentle sunlight where they can stretch out like a cat and sleep for eons, will be the first to fall in love with a stranger because they can't help but imagine a future with them, and has a signature sweater that they wear so they will be comfy always.

Concrete- works hard, impossible to crumble, will always have your back, versatile personality, easy to make up with after a fight, has some of the strongest family ties you'll ever see, always returns to their roots, if you make an impact on their lives they will leave one on you in a bigger way, probably always rocking out to a song they've created in their heads, dyed and heavy hair, stomps like a madman but is overall just a solid person, once they build their walls against you, good luck ever hurting them again.

Cork- sometimes an afterthought to their friends, super reliable though, always up for the worst of challenges, not afraid to face the truth, adaptable, a go getter, full of cheer and appetite for what others may not truly appreciate, very gets along very well with Concrete, is afraid of missing the moment and growing up too fast, dreams of a space of their own, naturally attracts interesting stories, has a unique and cheeky catchphrase, and never fails to leave the door open in silent hopes they will catch a big and cool bug.

Tag yourself!!

[brocusa]

Electrifying Adventures: Your Essential Guide to Electric Bikes for Kids

Electric bikes are taking the world by storm, and kids are no exception! These miniature marvels ditch the pedals, offering a fun, motorized introduction to the world of cycling that builds confidence and balance. But with so many options available, choosing the right electric bike for your child can feel overwhelming. This micro blog tackles all the important FAQs, empowering you to make an informed decision and get your child rolling on their electric adventure!

Frequently Asked Questions:

Age and Size:

What age is an electric bike suitable for? Electric bikes for kids typically cater to ages 3-8, with variations depending on the specific model's size and features. Consider your child's height and inseam to ensure a comfortable fit.

What is the weight limit for electric bikes for kids? Weight limits vary by model, typically ranging from 40-100 pounds. Always refer to the manufacturer's specifications for the specific bike you're considering.

Safety and Features:

Are electric bikes for kids safe? Electric bikes can be a safe option for introducing young children to cycling, but adult supervision is crucial. Look for features like training wheels (for younger riders), easy-to-use brakes, and a throttle or buttons with adjustable speed control. Always ensure your child wears a properly fitted helmet and other protective gear while riding.

What features should I look for in an electric bike for my child? Here are some key features to consider:

Adjustable seat: Allows for growth and a comfortable riding position as your child gets taller.

Puncture-resistant tires: Minimizes flats and keeps the fun rolling.

Lightweight frame: Makes maneuvering the bike easier for young riders.

Easy-to-use brakes: Hydraulic disc brakes or rim brakes with good stopping power are ideal.

Throttle or buttons with variable speed control: Allows you to adjust the maximum speed as your child gains confidence.

Kickstand: Provides a convenient way to park the bike.

Do electric bikes for kids require a license? Electric bikes for kids are typically not considered motor vehicles and don't require a license. However, local regulations regarding miniaturized electric vehicles can vary. It's always best to check your local laws before purchasing an electric bike for your child.

Battery and Performance:

How long does the battery last on an electric bike for kids? Battery life can vary depending on the motor's power and usage. Many electric bikes for kids offer 30-60 minutes of riding time on a single charge. Recharge times typically range from two to three hours.

How fast do electric bikes for kids go? Electric bikes for kids are designed for safety and fun, not speed. Most models have a maximum speed limited to around 5-10 mph, which can be further adjusted on some models.

Do electric bikes for kids require pedaling? No, electric bikes for kids are pedal-free, allowing young riders to focus on balance and steering while enjoying the thrill of a motorized ride. However, some models may have optional pedals for future use as your child progresses.

Additional Considerations:

Where can I buy an electric bike for kids? Electric bikes for kids can be found at toy stores, bicycle shops specializing in children's bikes, and online retailers.

What is the price range for electric bikes for kids? Prices can vary depending on features, brand, and quality. Generally, expect to pay anywhere from $150 to $500 for a decent electric bike for kids.

How do I maintain an electric bike for kids? Maintenance is minimal but crucial. Refer to the owner's manual for specific instructions, but it typically involves keeping the bike clean, checking tire pressure, and ensuring the battery and electrical connections are in good condition.

[how-do-i-turn-this-thing-off]

The Rebels Last Stand

Chapter LXXII: A Rendezvous of Friends

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To start from Chapter I, go here: https://how-do-i-turn-this-thing-off.tumblr.com/post/169184041771/oh-my-god-you-know-what-i-want-i-want-rey-to-be

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The Reservoir led Ren's fleet out of hyperspace just shy of the coordinates Hux had given them, already arrayed in a standard defense formation, each individual ship smoothly taking up their designated place according to the diagrams Rose and Kwa had worked together to draw up for them. The moment they were stationary the exterior maintenance droids immediately went to work on the larger craft, thousands working in concert to draw out broad red stripes of paint along each hull; already the light craft had been striped red during travel and they filled in the gaps between the larger ships while the handful of civilian ships Yulsen Boggs had managed to raise from Hays Minor lurked in the internal bays of the Reservoir, ready but hidden from sight.

Ren stood center deck on the Reservoir's bridge, watching the formation unfold before him, careful to keep his face devoid of any unusual expression as red TIE fighters streaked past, adding an odd note almost of pageantry to the proceedings. It was a necessary addition to mark out his First Order fleet from Hux's forces, particularly for the sake of non-First Order craft who had to rely on line of sight to make the distinction, but he couldn't help but grit his teeth at the stark visual reminder of his betrayal. He couldn't afford to get distracted by dwelling on revenge, not at this stage of the contest, but there was no punishment too severe for what he was feeling right now.

“All craft have arrived at coordinates, sir,” Commander Kwa reported, stepping into support position at his left shoulder.

“Maintain position, and keep an extra close watch on what the Hays Minor ships are doing,” Ren replied. “I don't want to see any surprise additions to the plan from Yulsen's quarter. If they attempt to leave prematurely lock down the bay doors and keep them contained until your signal.”

“I already have one of my top Lieutenants on it, sir. Is there anything further you have planned for their part in the engagement?”

“Nothing to add,” he said shortly. Their standing orders were to follow the other light craft in the initial attack and go from there in whatever way seemed best to them; at the very least it would add an element of chaos to the upcoming conflict. Hux and his officers would know exactly what arms and armaments the First Order ships had, but once the three fleets were combined the Rebels and the Hays Minor ships would be a formidable wild card. At this point the idea was that all the surprises would be on their side, which was about as much of an advantage as he could expect.

Kwa was still at his shoulder and he looked back toward her. “Do you have something to add, Commander?”

“Potentially, sir,” she said, handing him her datapad. “Our scout ships are transmitting live feed of Hux's formation now, and so far our analysts estimate no more than sixty-eight percent of the remainder of the fleet is currently present. Even accounting for the other Outer Rim quadrants, Hux should have been able to muster to above ninety percent of the ships remaining in his command by the time of the rendezvous.” Ren examined the datapad screen as she spoke, hardly needing the narration; just by sight he could tell this wasn't even nearly the full might of the First Order when last he'd led it. “Could this be a result of losing Commander Parnadee and Allegiant General Pryde, sir?” Kwa continued, her tone neutral but her feeling in the Force a little more optimistic. “We have received no word of any unexpected defections.”

“Perhaps in part,” Ren said, handing the datapad back to her. “Hux despised Pryde but he'll have been difficult to replace, even moreso than Parnadee. We should avoid making assumptions. Proceed as planned. Hail the Steadfast as soon as the hull changes are complete.”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, heading back to her position to relay the order. Ren looked back out the large forward viewscreen, watching the droids move slowly but insistently down their assigned paths, the red spreading like a wide swath of fire in their wake against the blinding gray-white of the hill. It was oddly reminiscent of the Battle of Crait and for a moment he closed his eyes, remembering. She had been so close, then, so very nearly within reach; and here, now, she was again. He had to believe she was again.

Rey. There was no answer. There had been no answer for what felt like so long. But he had to believe. The Dark Force was strong in him, coursing through him like a punishing flood only barely restrained, and he would need every ounce of it to triumph in what was to come.

“We have the Steadfast, sir,” a comms tech reported behind him.

“Transmit current coordinates,” Ren ordered without turning around.

“Our estimated arrival time, sir?”

“Within the hour.”

There was a lull as this was communicated, then the tech spoke again. “They want to know the reason for the delay.”

“Necessary maintenance that could not be completed at lightspeed. Give no further details.”

Another lull, then, “The Steadfast accepts the altered arrival, but will accept no further alterations. They've closed the communication, sir.”

At that Ren did turn around, all the way around, frowning at the tech. “They 'accept the altered arrival'?” he questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

“And they said nothing else?”

“No, sir.”

He considered that, meeting Kwa's glance, noting that she was also frowning. “Why would they give us the extra time?” she asked, vocalizing his own thoughts exactly. “Last time you negotiated with Hux they threatened to destroy the planet itself if we were late.”

“Do our scout ships show anything unusual within Hux's formation?” Ren asked, striding down the deck of the bridge towards the techs. “Beyond merely missing numbers.”

“Nothing, sir-- wait,” one tech interrupted himself, bent over his screen. “We do have a ping from one of our TIEs, sir. It looks like there's been a collision between two transport ships, off the port bow of the Subjugator.”

“On holo,” Ren commanded, and a moment later the live footage appeared in the air on his left, two transport ships struggling to right themselves after a clear impact, minor debris floating around them. “Any serious damage visible?” he asked.

“Our pilot hasn't reported anything, sir. Looks like both ships are still operational.”

“Plot the trajectory of these two transports pre-impact,” Kwa ordered, coming down the comms trench to study the flat footage. “One of the transports is Lambda-class, sir.”

“Yes,” Ren acknowledged, not taking his eyes off the holo. The other transport involved in the collision was a standard troop transport, but Lambda-class transports were usually reserved for the use of ranking officers and visiting dignitaries, neither of which should be off-ship this close to an engagement. The holo flickered once and the requested trajectory traces appeared, showing two paths leading off the edge of the map. Ren closed his eyes against the information, even before Kwa verbalized the data.

“Flight paths indicate the point of origin for both transports was the third moon of Lok.”

Of course it was. Of course it was. He made himself open his eyes again, made himself look at the holo, where the Lambda-class transport had locked the much smaller troop transport in the grip of its tractor beam, dragging it alongside into position as if for a mid-space personnel transfer. He'd seen the same maneuver executed a hundred times before, but now--.

“Your orders, sir?” Kwa asked as Ren stared at the miniature ghostly images projected at about chest height as they floated towards each other. She was RIGHT THERE. She was on the holo in front of him. But even at their top speed the Reservoir wouldn't get there before the larger transport boarded and subdued whoever was on the smaller one, and even then that was without an entire enemy fleet surrounding them to contend with.

Hux wouldn't be on board that Lambda. Ren didn't know if he was supposed to think he would be, but he wouldn't, not if it put him in such close proximity to either of the intended hostages. Was the collision itself supposed to be some kind of feint? To lure him in, coupled with the pretend promise of taking out Hux when he was temporarily beyond the protection of his flagship? No, Ren answered his own question again, if it were a trap they would make it far more tempting; pretending one or both of the ships was crippled, or sending some supposed distress signal for him to 'intercept'.

“Supreme Leader?” Kwa prompted a second time, but Ren didn't need to turn towards the viewscreen to know that the droids weren't finished with the Reservoir's new markings, didn't need to check the clock to know that the Rebel fleet still needed the extra time to catch up. Hold on, Rey, he sent out into the bond, the Dark Force humming in every word, in the feelings he sent with them, nameless feelings he couldn't risk identifying now, even to himself. Hold on.

“Do nothing,” he said out loud, turning away from the holo. “We stay in position until the droids are finished and the Rebels arrive, regardless of any further developments. Hail the Rebel fleet and make sure they're still prepared to rendezvous.” Kwa acknowledged the orders and Ren paced back down the deck, this time looking beyond the hull, beyond the ships and the gaudy red tie fighters, beyond even the stars, staring into the darkness in between.

“Was it Rey?” someone asked behind him, and he sensed Rose had followed him down the deck, though when she'd come up to the bridge he couldn't say.

“I don't know.”

“You can't sense her?” Rose asked, stepping up next to him so she could see his face. “We're pretty close.”

“No.”

“And Finn?” she asked after a long moment of silence during which they just stayed like that, standing side by side, and now he could feel her fear, her resentment, her hope, hovering around her like a fine mist.

“We haven't received any new communication from the Night Buzzard. I copied you in on the latest transmission this morning. They'll be there.” She said nothing to that and he finally risked glancing over at her and found her watching the droids on the hull without much interest, one hand tight on the blaster strapped to her hip. Her expression was probably all but identical to his, he realized; drawn, tight with everything she was feeling, but deliberately blank, deliberately distant. “They'll be there, Rose,” he repeated quietly.

“It can't come too soon.”

“I'm sure the reunion will have to be a short one, initially,” he commented, turning back to the viewscreen, not knowing what else to say. “You'd both do well to rejoin the Rebels and make your getaway as quickly as possible.”

“If we're not all killed first.”

“I'll try not to let that happen.”

“I'm sure you will. I'm sure you'll try,” she replied in a bitter, accusatory tone, and he could feel her resentment coming to the fore, twisting with rage, twisting with the flush of his betrayal, still sharp, still potent. He could do nothing but stand there, knowing it was entirely deserved even now, when Finn could be as much within their reach as Rey. He almost suspected Rose was pushing her feelings at him on purpose, a suspicion that was borne out when he did nothing and he felt her pain souring even further. “You're not sorry, are you?” she asked, and in the Force he could sense the hand on her blaster squeezing so tightly it trembled. “You're not even sorry.”

“No,” he replied briefly. “I'm not.”

“You'd do it all again?”

He glanced at her, his expression still deliberately blank but her face now red with a surge of what he was all but shocked to realize was grief, hidden within the rage like the star at the heart of a spinning galaxy. “I'd do it all again,” he confirmed regardless, sensing Chewie stepping up behind them. The Wookie said something clearly meant to be comforting, putting one gigantic paw on Rose's shoulder.

“Not soon enough,” she muttered, but didn't try to pull away, only facing out toward the viewscreen again, her eyes wet but the hand on the blaster now steady. Ren followed suit. The red markings had progressed remarkably; it wouldn't be long now.

“Sir, a response from the Resistance fleet,” Kwa reported, stepping up to his right, Chewie right behind her as he took a similar position next to Rose. “They're ready to join battle formation at our convenience.”

“Their flagship?”

“The Indomitable, sir. An MC140 Scythe-class battle cruiser.”

At that Ren turned toward her, amazed. “A Scythe-class cruiser?” he repeated.

“Fully staffed, we are assured, sir.”

“Hail them,” Ren ordered, still reeling. “On screens.” It didn't take long for the connection to be made- presumably Poe had been on standby- and a moment later his ghostly image appeared, standing on the centerdeck holo.

“Supreme Leader,” Poe said, raising his eyebrows fractionally. “Permission to join formation requested.”

“At your convenience, General Dameron,” Ren replied, frowning. “I'm told you've managed to dig up a Scythe cruiser somewhere.”

“Yeah, you never know what you'll find in junkyards these days,” Poe said vaguely, as on the computers behind him Ren could see the Rebel ships registering on their close quarters radar, dropping out of hyperspace in between the overwhelmingly larger First Order vessels. A moment later the light changed on holo-Poe's face and Ren saw him glance sideways too. “Nice paint job,” he commented.

“Wouldn't want to be mistaken for the enemy,” Ren replied blandly, and for a brief moment Poe's lips tugged upwards in what was almost a smile.

“How're you holding up, Commander Tico?” Poe asked, glancing at Rose on holo.

“I want off this hulk,” Rose said tightly, her hand still never leaving her blaster. “Let's get this over with.”

“Agreed. Our personnel carrier is ready when you are, Supreme Leader.”

“Send it over,” Ren replied, still studying Poe's face in the holo. He seemed rather blithe about the fact that he was claiming to have fully-staffed a Scythe, which would suggest that as low as the Resistance's numbers were supposed to have gotten they still had a good five thousand hands at least for that one ship alone. Maybe it was true that every single Rebel left in the galaxy had been evacuated shipside for this.

“We'll follow once Rey and Leia have been confirmed,” Poe continued as though he didn't notice. “My guys have orders to signal from the transport the moment they're secure.”

“And Finn,” Rose added quickly.

“And Finn. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Ren replied.

“May the Force be with you,” Poe said.

“With us all,” Ren muttered, gesturing to end the communication. There was a moment of silence after the holo disappeared, a moment in which Kwa moved to speak but he lifted a hand before she could, stopping her. He knew what she was going to say. The Rebels were in position. Their troop carrier was ready, hidden in the bowels of the Steadfast alongside the carrier Ren himself would be taking. Rose's projection array was ready, the droids had finished their paint job, her datapad, slanted toward him, even showed that the Knights had checked in, as unusual for them as that was. Everything was set, balanced on a blade's edge, a blade that would cut even if everything went exactly as it was supposed to.

A blade that would cut him.

He turned back to the viewscreen, looking into the darkness between the stars, where she was waiting for him somewhere. This was no time for sentiment.

“Forward,” he said aloud, breaking the silence. “Let's see what Hux has planned for us.”

////////////////////////////////////////// My Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/how_do_i_turn_this_thing_off My Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/how_do_i_turn_this_thing_of

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Cassell Cynic

@hectabdr @hectab For my Dragon Raja Bestie! :D A Gift Fic

These two are his idea. I just loved the idea.

“The weather is a balmy 74 degrees and sunny, low humidity and perfect for just hanging out and going for a walk in the lovely city parks of Chicago and now we’re going to a selection of some of Coltrane’s finest jazz compilations....”

On the East Lawn of the Cassell College Campus people were indeed out and about in the sun. The breeze ruffled the skirts of the girls carrying books and laughing to themselves. They cast glances his way and smirked, looking down at him with haughty eyes while he lay on a bench with his sunglasses over his eyes. Somewhere on site, the bells tolled the hour. 2 pm. It was time for afternoon classes to start.

In other words, time for a nap.

He lay on the bench with John Coltrane’s sultry saxophone in his ears. He studied how this man could weave such a delightfully heart pulling melody. Now there was a true genius, able to hone a natural craft into such perfection and gift it to the world for free listening.

But right when the music had reached its natural emotional zenith, it suddenly cut off.

“Nathan Phillips. I know you’re avoiding me.”

His mood went from euphoric to crashing down to the depths of hell. He rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses. “And yet... here we are...”

Norma, the voice of Cassell College’s AI spoke through his headphones. “You haven’t attended a single class this semester...”

“You mispronounced year.”

“The professors are getting irritated...”

“Did you hack an online radio station just to talk to me? Norma... I’m flattered.”

“They’re willing to give you a chance if you complete an internship...”

“A chance to do... what exactly?” Nathan spread out his hands. “It needs to be better than listening to jazz on sunny afternoon, or it’s a no from me.”

Norma was silent for several seconds.

Nathan Phillips smirked. “Didn’t think so...”

“Cassell College has a main mission, to slay dragons. If you’re not here for that, what are you here for?” Norma asked.

Nathan opened his eyes behind his glasses. “I think you should be asking that question of all the other students going to class. Because I guarantee you that Dragonslaying isn’t it. I mean just think about it? How many students here really give a rat’s ass about saving the world from dragons? I’m serious. Answer the question.”

“The answers can vary but that doesn’t change the goal of the institution. This was plainly told to you when you enrolled.”

Nathan Phillips nodded his head. “Oh yeah, and I bought into it until I was Ranked C on me 3E exam. I don’t resonate worth a damn with dragons. I’m barely above the maintenance personnel in that regard.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of marijuana. He rolled it in paper and lit it.

“Smoking is prohibited on school grounds.”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it. So, what are you going to do? Kick me out? I listened to the enrollment lecture. You don’t kick out students. They get suspended or drop out and have their memories wiped. If you kick me out for this blunt, that will be my greatest accomplishment as a C rank.” 

Norma made a noise and his eyes widened. “Did you just sigh? Wow, you are realistic. So... just out of curiosity, what is the mission?”

“If you’re not going to accept, there’s no point in telling you.” Norma replied.

“This conversation is over then? It was just getting interesting. Oh well. But if you want to know the answer to your question of why I’m here... you should ask my parents.” He blew out a purple haze into the sky. “They’re the ones who sent me here. They scrimped and saved to send me here. They could have bought me a house. Two houses. A nice car. All that. But no, they sent me here. Just so they could say they had a son go to Cassell. That’s it. To prove their bloodlines weren’t trash. But they were wrong... they are trash.”

“That’s all I’m here for, Norma. I’m here to be here. That’s where my obligations end. I’ll stay here until the money runs out. Enjoy myself. And then when the money runs out, I’ll drop and have my memory wiped. Go on with my life. And...” He paused to draw on the blunt. “I will have a life. Some star dragonslayer will save the world from dragons while I’m having the time of my life, on the bench, smoking Mary Jane. Do you have any objections?”

Norma was silent for several seconds. “None. I’ll return you to your jazz.”

John Coltrane returned to his ears and Nathan Phillips smiled to himself and relaxed into the buzz in his brain. There was nothing wrong with a pointless life.

 If he learned anything from Cassell, it was this.

He pulled out a notebook and opened it. Inside were all sorts of fantasies of what he would like to be told on dropping out. It wasn’t enough to just erase someone’s memories. New memories would have to replace them to explain the missing years. It could be literally anything.

Maybe he was someone who witnessed a mob hit and was living undercover in the witness protection program. Or maybe he was a secret agent in a UFO division and he’d be kidnapped off world by aliens. He always came up with his best work when he was high as a kite. This time, he was an aspiring artist on the run from a brutal dictator and taking refuge in Chicago. He wrote down the scenario quickly before he forgot it. 

All the other students were in class, except for him, sitting on the bench writing down about how his paintings were renowned all over the world until a brutal dictator... which dictator? “Uh... Geez I don’t know.”

The sound of heels clicking on the pavement caught his attention. He turned bleary eyed to the vision of a girl walking up to him, arms swinging, eyes narrowed. He’d seen her before but couldn’t remember where. She overshadowed him and looked up. Her head blocked out the sun and he couldn’t see her face. “Um... shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Uh, no! No class! I was supposed to be on assignment but my PARTNER is a lazy ass who won’t show up.” She growled.

Nathan lifted his sunglasses over red rimmed eyes. She was Asian but tall, only an inch from 6 feet. Her muscles nearly popped from her school uniform. He wasn’t sure if it was the weed messing with his head but he was pretty sure this woman could benchpress more than he weighed. “Well... that sucks.”

“Yeah, it does!” She bent over until her face was an inch from his, blinking with wide indignant eyes. “You shouldn’t be allowed to to bring down the grades of other students! I didn’t come here to be brought down by you!”

“Me?”

“Yes! You! My partner!”

“Wait... you’re... Oh right! You’re Hana... Hana...” He snapped his fingers.

“Sato, Hana Sato and don’t snap your fingers at me or I’ll snap them off!” She grabbed his wrist.

“Right... the A ranked girl.” He lowered his glasses back over his eyes. “Well, this wasn’t my decision to be your partner. You should blame the people at fault. It’s probably Norma. She’s the one who pinged me earlier about it. Tell her to get a new partner for you. Should take a hot minute.”

Hana scowled at him. “If I could have anyone else for a partner I would. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they all suck! They’re all terrible! All they want to do is talk about boys and parties and stupid things like that! I can’t stand those people!”

“I’m not any better. Just do the mission by yourself.” He pulled his hand out of her grip. 

“I can’t. They already said its a two person mission.”

Nathan gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Pay someone.”

“They said it had to be you.” She sat next to him on the bench.

Nathan snorted and started laughing. “Wow. They are really desperate.”

“I’m glad you think bringing down my whole year is funny.” Her cheeks were red and her eyes were narrowed with frustration and anger.

“I’m not bringing down your year! I’m laughing because they want me to care so bad that they’d send this super powerful, gorgeous girl and chain her to me and expect me to do something. It’s like they all got together and said ‘Ha! A pretty girl, now he’ll give a shit.’” He laughed loud. Marijuana always made him giggly. “They’re the evil ones. If you care about your grade... then all I can tell you is stop caring.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a C-rank. You don’t have anything to lose.”

“Just... find another partner.” Nathan said, staring at her. He wondered why she was still here.

She sighed, looking away from him, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I can’t. No one will work with me. I kind of... got put on a hit list after I punched the lead dancer of the White Skirt’s Club and knocked her out right before a performance.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen.” 

Much to his shock she pulled out her phone and showed a picture. It wasn’t taken by her, but by another student as proof that Hana had ruined the Student Union performance. 

“Heh. Sorry I missed it.”

Hana closed the app. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. She had an understudy but... uh... yeah, I was blacklisted after that. I don't’ care. I work fine on my own. But now they insisted we be partners and I literally have no alternative.”

“Hey...”

She looked down at him. “What?” 

“You always have the choice to do nothing. I haven’t done a thing since I got here.” He laid back on the bench as though to demonstrate. “Feel free to join me.”

[emperorsfoot]

abandoned Star Wars fic #1

This was an AU I started a while back (2014) based off the pre-Disney Buyout version of the Expanded universe. It’s basically just “what if Luke did join the Empire like he was discussing with Owen and Beru back in A New Hope?”

My original plan was for the fic to be a trilogy, following the same main events of the original trilogy. I abandoned it because I got discouraged (for the same reason I always get discouraged when writing fic for a fandom that’s been around since the dawn of time), because the Star Wars fandom is so big and there are so many amazingly talented writers in it that this AU has probably already been written, and probably written better than I could ever write it. 

So, I never even posted it. 

Until now... 

(Oh! Also, it was gonna be a Luke/Mara ship. All my Star Wars fics are Luke/Mara.)

...

[ImpPilot]

Chapter One:

"I'd like three quarters of my pay to go to this account, please. If I can do that." Luke asked. 

Even heading strait to the Fleet's financial office immediately after his graduation ceremony instead of going out to celebrate with his bunkmates, it still took an absurd two and a half hours before he could see an actual officer -nothing more than a glorified accountant, really. 

"You'll meed to fill out form 6-23-A." Without even looking up from his personal terminal, the financial officer passed Luke a data pad with the blank form already open on it. "You're not the first boy wanting to send money home to his silver-haired mommy. Be sure all the routing numbers are correct and specify whether or not its a savings or checking account, or if its a business account. For business accounts you'll need to fill out an additional form."

"Uh… I think its a domestic checking account…" Luke said. More thinking out loud than actually speaking to the officer. The moisture farm was, technically, a business, but he didn’t think Tattooine was sophisticated enough for business accounts. At least, not reputable ones. 

"There's a terminal in the lobby you can use if you need to call home and ask. Regular holo-net fees apply -which this office will not compensate you for." Once again, the financial officer did not look up from his desk. 

Right. As if Uncle Owen would even answer. Neither he nor Aunt Beru had answered any of his calls since he left home and signed up with the Fleet. 

But they just didn't understand. Luke couldn't spend his life in the day to day routine of moisture farming, watching the rest of the Galaxy turn around him. He wanted to get out and get away. See the world beyond the backwater dust-ball of his childhood and explore brave new worlds in his adulthood. But the Lars hadn't have much money and it wasn't like Luke's late parents (of which very little was spoken of) had seen fit to leave either him or his guardians any money or property of value, there were little avenues or opportunities open to him to get off world. In fact, there were only two possible ways for a poor desert brat like him to get off world. 

Join up with a pirate or smugglers crew. Or sign up with the Imperial Space Navy. 

So, Luke chose the lesser to two evils. 

He signed up for the navy.

At least it was legal. 

He went out early the morning of his sixteenth birthday after his mind was made up. Sneaking out of the farm house and into the garage, Luke intended to take the speeder into Anchorhead. Owen was waiting for him in the garage. Intent to stop him. Apparently, his sneaking wasn't too stealthy. 

He gave a speech about the stupidity of what he was about to do. That it was foolish and he was just fixing to get himself killed. That he was just like his father -he was a damn fool too!- and that he would just end up hurting everyone else who cared about him. Luke ignored everything his uncle had to say though. His mind was made up and there was nothing Uncle Owen could do to stop him. 

Aunt Beru was a bit gentler with him, but still just as disapproving. She met him outside the garage, as he was trying to maneuver the speeder around the complex. She brought him a sandwich lovingly wrapped, as if he were just going out to do maintenance on the vaporators. She asked Luke not to think poorly of his Uncle, he was just trying to protect him. There was a war on and the reason why the Fleet was so eager to lock new recruits into contracts was because they needed more and more bodied every day. That's all he would be to the Navy, just another body to throw into the war. 

That time Luke did pause. He placed his hand over hers, resting on the side of the speeder. He assured her that this was something he had to do and that he wouldn't die the death of a nameless soldier. He couldn't explain how or why, but he could feel it. This was something he had to do, and he would not become just another body counted in the war. He would be something. 

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, because a shadow of fear crossed her face. But it was there and gone in the space of a second. She turned her hand, resting under his and grabbed his wrist, stronger than he thought she was capable of. "Don't… don't use the name Skywalker." She said suddenly. "Its a common name out here on the Rim, but it's a dangerous name to have closer to the Empire. Don't enlist under Skywalker. Use our name. Use Lars."

Luke blinked at her. "Why?"

But she didn't answer and he was in to much of a hurry to wait and pester her. 

That was the last he ever heard from either of them. Neither his aunt or uncle either called him or returned any of his calls during his time at the Academy. There was no reason to assume they would answer the comm for him now. In fact, Luke wasn't even sure if they would take his money now that he would actually be earning some. But they had raised him. And the farm wasn't easy or cheap to maintain. Maybe with the extra money, his uncle could hire a few more hands to help them out. 

Luke just filled out the form the best that he could and handed it back to financial officer. 

"Alright, Lars, your request should be processed in another eight to ten standard days. Everything should be in order by the time for first earning statement is payed." He said looking over the datapad. "Oh, and you forgot to fill out your pilot designation."

"Oh. Right, sorry. Its DS-42-6."

The officer began typing as Luke spoke, filling in the missing information on mental auto-pilot. "D… S… -Wait? DS? Death Star? They assigned a green kid like you to the Death Star!?" He gaped up at the kid, actually looking at him for the first time. 

"Top pilot in my graduating class." Luke said, not at all ashamed of the pride that seeped into his voice. Being the top flight student was a significant achievement and not even Uncle Owen could deny that. "I guess they wanna deploy their best people on the most important postings."

"What was that number again?"

"Squad forty-two, pilot number six." He answered. 

"Well, Luke Lars, I imagine you going far.

…

Most of Luke's bunkmates went out to celebrate their graduation almost immediately after the ceremonies. That meant that they all had a few hours head start on him and would probably be to faded to be good company when he did arrive. But that still didn't stop Luke from stopping in at the tapcaf they agreed on for their after grad party. 

As to be expected, of the twelve men Luke had shared a barracks with for the past two years, only three of them remained when he walked through the door. One of them was just paying his tab, a woman Luke had never seen before under one arm.

"I'm telling ya, baby, I ship out tonight." He was saying to her. "Oh, hey Lars, ya made it! A bit late. Maybe you can scoop Vard and Ika up off the floor."

He left. 

Vard and Ika were leaning over a table against the back wall. With a sigh, Luke crossed the tapcaff to assess them. Of the twelve bunkmates that Luke actually got along with, Ika was probably the closest one he would come to calling a 'best friend'. They weren't nearly as close as Luke had been with Biggs, but then, Biggs had to go off and desert on his first tour and place Luke in an uncomfortable situation with ISB right at the start of his second year at the Academy. Some great friend he turned out to be. 

But Luke wasn't gonna think about that now. This was the eve of his graduation from the Imperial Naval Academy. This was a happy day. Even if he was about to spend it taking care of his two drunk bunkmates that -in all likelihood- he would never see again. With a conscious effort, Luke pushed Biggs from his mind. 

Ika seemed to be past out on the table. A disposable coaster his only cushion against the hard plasteel and vinyl of the tabletop. Vard was at least sitting mostly vertical, but by the looks of it no less drunk. He used one hand to prop his face up while the other shot into the air in an unnecessarily showy greeting. He flailed spastically. "Hey! Look who made it!"

"A bit late, I think." Luke said as he slid into the booth next to Ika. 

"Nah. I's cool. We'll just get a new bottle." He flagged down a serving droid. "Another round for me and my buddies. And make the late arrivals a double -to make up for lost time."

"Belay that." He said to the droid. Luke just shook his head. He was in no mood to get drunk tonight. The fact that he was to report for transport and deployment absurdly in the morning or risk missing the boat aside, he just had a feeling it was in his best interest not to get completely sloshed. "We'll have a round of caff instead. And make their's a double." 

Vard scoff. "Ya know, Lars, for a guy who never had a daddy growing up, you act an awful lot like my father." With no small amount of effort, he pushed himself to his feet and jerkily maneuvered out of the booth. "Forget this. I'm going to finish cleaning out my bunk."

Staggering mildly, he made his way to the door, where he flagged down a transport. Well, at least he would be safe taxieing back to base.

Luke turned to look at Ika. He should probably call a transport for him too. 

Standing, Luke crossed to the public holo-net, passing a very pretty red-head on his way and he lamented the fact that he had to take care of his drunkard friend. She probably wouldn't want to stay and chat with someone who associated with rowdy or irresponsible soldiers like them. Suppressing a sigh, he dialed the public transport company's number that had been very boldly posted over the terminal's key-pad and ordered a taxi to take Ika (and probably him too) back to base. 

It didn't take long for the transport to arrive and when it did, Luke helped the driver carry his passed-out friend into the back seat. But Luke didn't feel much like going along. He had come to this tapcaff expecting a party -it was the eve of his graduation, after all- he felt he was entitled to at least some form of celebration. Luke payed the transport driver and went back into the tapcaff.

It was only after he sat back down at their table that the serving droid appeared with their three cups of caff. 

Luke's face fell into the palm of his hand.

The pretty red-head by the holo-net terminal gave an amused laugh. 

Luke looked back at her and their eyes met over the empty tapcaff. Her eyes were brilliant, and deep, and very very green. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he felt a wonderful and glittering feeling of exhilaration at the fact that a pretty girl was looking at him with a smile. That glittering feeling was quickly scrubbed away, however, when Luke remembered that he had no idea how to talk to girls. 

Back home, he'd hung out with Fixer's girlfriend. But that was always in a group setting and besides, she was already in a relationship with someone. There were a few female cadets at the Academy. But you didn't talk to them like girls unless you wanted to get punched in the dick. Luke really didn't wanna get punched in the dick by the pretty red-head.

Perhaps he hesitated a little to long after their eyes met because the red-head picked up her own drink and crossed the room to sit at his booth. "You gonna drink all those, Cadet?"

Oh, crap. The pretty girl was talking to him. What should he say? Should he make a joke? Or play it strait? Did girls like funny men, or strait forward men? Well, whatever he said, he better say something soon. Luke suddenly realized that his silence was stretching on into awkward territory. "Uh, uh… I, uh… Its 'Pilot'."

"What?" She blinked at him with those deep, sparkling, emerald green eyes. 

"I'm not a Cadet anymore." I explained quickly, his ears coloring self-consciously. "I graduated today. Now I'm a Pilot."

"Oh. I see. A pilot." She gave one of those smiles people give when they're humoring a small child and Luke suddenly felt like he had already messed up with this girl. The flushing of his ears spread to his cheeks. She must have noticed the blush (then again, how could she not?), because she took pity on him. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

Luke blinked. "Uh, not good at what?"

"Flirting." She said as if this should have been obvious. "Chatting up women. Attempting to entice them to leave with you. Shore leave doesn't last forever and you can't afford to waste time. I assume you're shipping out tomorrow?"

"Y-yes." He nodded. 

"So you've got, what, maybe seven hours before you have to report to your transport."

"Well, yes, actually." Luke had to pause. She knew an awful lot about military logistics. But then again, this was an Academy town. The locals must be used to young soldier-boys coming and going and trying to pick up their young women in between. 

"Well, Pilot, I've got even less time than that." She informed him, running a finger over the rim of one of the untouched caff mugs. "Ya see, I just came here for a quick job and now that the jobs done, I've only got a couple hours before I have to be lifting off and flying out."

"Oh, do you work for a shipping company?" Luke asked. Work was a polite subject to discuss, right?

She just shook her head, her red hair cascading round her shoulders in elegant waves. "No, no, you're getting this all wrong." She said. "Listen, Pilot, I have to ship out soon, you have to ship out soon. You're cute. I'm hot. And we're both lonely. You can't take me back to your barracks, and I won't take you to my ship. So, I was thinking of maybe one of those pay-by-the-hour places down the street from the port. We share a couple hours together, then go our separate ways. I don't tell you my name, you don't tell me your pilot designation."

Luke just blinked at her. It… it sounded like she was trying to proposition him. The blush on his face colored to almost scarlet. Oh, the things Aunt Beru would have to say if she heard this. "I… I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I don't do that sort of thing. I, uh, I wasn't brought up that way. But… if you like, I'll treat you to dinner."

With a sigh, the woman leaned back in her seat. "I don't suppose I've got the time to hunt down a better deal. Alright, Pilot, a chase little dinner date it'll be."

Finally feeling balanced for the first time since she sat down, Luke flagged down the serving droid. "Two menus, please."

She learned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "Well, Pilot, you're the first man to ever refuse my offer. So, either you're a perfect gentleman -which thought were just creatures of pure myth- or else I'm not your type of company." 

"Oh, I know I'm not a perfect gentleman." Luke assured her. He was idealistic and given over to fantasies and delusions of grandeur. Definitely not perfect. "But my aunt did raise me to be respectful."

"Good aunt." She took a sip of one of the abandoned cups of caff. 

"So…" Luke began awkwardly. "If you don't tell me your name, and I'm not allowed to tell you my pilot designation… what are we gonna talk about?"

"Good question." She nodded, tapping her bottom lip in thought. "What made you decide to become a pilot?"

"I was a little short for a Stormtrooper." He joked. "But actually, I always wanted to be a pilot. My father was a navigator on a spice freighter and a navigator is basically a co-pilot."

...

AND THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE!

That was Mara Jade sitting with him at the tap caff, BTW. Luke wasn’t gonna see her again until after the destruction of the Death Star. 

Vader was gonna “sense a ripple in the Force” once Luke arrived on the Deathstar for his tour of duty. But he wasn’t actually going to take note of Luke specifically until Obi-Wan, Han, and... BIGGS DARKLIGHTER break onto the Deathstar to rescue Leia. 

In this AU, Biggs lives. He’s the one who makes the shot that destroys the Deathstar.

Luke and Vader are the only survivors. 

After their fighters (Vader’s TIE Advanced, and Luke’s shitty regular live-1 TIE fighter) are picked up by another Imperial ship, Vader confronts Luke face-to-mask.

Luke’s all like “I wanted to be a pilot because of my father.”

To which Vader replies “Owen Lars has never been, nor will he ever be, a pilot.” (Remember: Luke enlisted under the name “Lars”.)

Luke should be confused by Vader knowing so much about his uncle, but Luke’s also kinda dumb. So he just assumed Vader read his personnel file. He get’s all self-conscious and confesses to enlisting under a different name. Owen Lars is actually his uncle, not his father. His father’s name was Skywalker. 

Vader doesn’t visibly react, but behind his mask he’s just like, “OH SHIT!”

And that’s where the “A New Hope” volume of this AU was gonna end. 

[heresathreebee]

Garrote part 3

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez X Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Word Count: 2,700 words

Warning(s): Rated Mature, language, partying, mentions of sex and drugs. Previous Masterlist Next

AN: I am constantly mere clicks away from releasing everything I have at once but I know if I do I will lose momentum for the plot. 

Edit: I. Forgot. The tags again.

@nicke0115 @1zashreena1 @mental-bycatch

The week that followed was heaven and hell. Diego went back to throwing parties nightly, fucking girls coked out of his mind, and in general trying to forgot all about Healy and his pretty bait, but Tommy Eagan was threatening war over a dead partner unless Alicia met his ridiculous demands. Thanks to Tommy's new right hand man, there was an opportunity to gain instead of lose now. All they had to do was wait and see if Dre could pull through. 

There were two new numbers in Diego's phone. One unsaved that sent cryptic messages about their deal, and the other marked as an emoji rather than a name. Jazmine's texts seemed forced– like she was reaching out on behalf of Healy's instructions. So of course Diego elected to simply ignore them both. They were buzzkills anyways. 

Diego was showing something important on his phone to his sister when Jazmine sent another text. 

Remember when you scared off Haagen? I miss that every time I see him. 

On the other end of the line, Jazmine felt pathetic sending the text. Healy hadn't even asked her to write this time, she was just so… bored. She hadn't been sleeping well, pulling double shifts involuntarily since her boss found out she closed the store when her coworker didn't show up. She carried her stress in her shoulders– the tightness in her neck caused her daily migraines and there was a new pinching sensation between her shoulder blades to accompany the rest of her pain. In the shower, she massaged whatever she could reach and thought of Diego's big hands doing it for her. 

She literally shook herself to clear the thought and pelted the shower curtain with water in the process. Diego Jimenez wasn't some faux bad boy with a secret soft side– he was the leader of a cartel. If he hadn't killed people himself, he definitely had people killed for him. He was beyond dangerous to even fantasize about. 

DING-DING. 

Her phone called out to her from the bathroom counter and she realized it was past time to get out. Her fingers were pruned to the point of over-sensitivity and there was a rapidly closing window to apply the leave-in conditioner to the best of its use. Still, she wiped her hands on the towel to read the text. 

Come out and party. Wear something nice. 

Alicia boxed his ear over the last sentence but he brushed her off. Jazmine declined anyways claiming exhaustion and went to bed. There were people to socialize with already– what was the absence of one little minimum wage laborer going to do?  Apparently she was important enough to occupy a corner of Diego's head. He was still bent about the way she had reacted to his identity. Who the hell did she think she was? As they discovered in the ungodly hour after the party ended, she was also important enough to drag Healy out of whatever hole he hid in. 

"Diego, we need to talk." 

Alicia had gone home– Diego expected she would likely never attend another one of her brother's parties as it wasn't her brand of debauchery– and she'd cleared the place out in her disgust, so his penthouse was empty for once. 

"What's the matter," Diego poured himself yet another drink, "am I not being a good boyfriend?" 

"We don't care what you do when you're not operating," Healy reprimanded. "But we need you to cooperate. Be a presence in Jazmine's fake life. You've been established as a rival for her affections, and you need to become an obstacle standing between the bait and the target. Jazmine walks home from work every single morning by herself. I don't know if you noticed it's been pouring buckets for three days straight." 

Healy almost sounded like he was shaming Diego. It wasn't his fault she was poor. She wasn't his real girlfriend and therefore not his real problem. "Please don't make me regret making this deal, Diego. We will never get an opportunity to dismantle Haagen like this again. Need I remind you that you've got a missing child on your hands?" 

Diego glared fiercely over the rim of his cup. Healy smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt and returned to his neutral position as righteous commander. 

"Schedule more time to spend with Jazmine, especially in public spaces. We have it on good authority that Haagen is going to put a detail out to give him updates on Jazmine in the near future, and he needs to see you in these updates." Healy turned on his heel and reached the elevators, stopping them from closing dramatically and fixing Diego with a stare. "And no more ignoring us." 

Jazmine woke up the next morning to one new notification. 

I'm coming over. 

"Oh shit." The woman threw herself out of bed and looked around. This wasn't fair. Cleaning day was a bi monthly ritual where she took a day off to deep clean the entire apartment, blasting music and stepping around her dog to get things done. Hercules wandered into her bedroom looking chipper as ever. "I guess we better get started then, huh?" 

The fucker showed up on her doorstep not ten minutes after she got out of bed– she wasn't even dressed for the day. Her hands nervously tried to cover the broth stain on her jeans as she cleared a space for him to sit and wait while she finished her morning routine. She worried while brushing her teeth that Diego might be a psycho like her last boyfriend. Psycho enough to kick her overly friendly pet, but no sound of yelps filtered through the paper thin walls and when she finally emerged, the pit-bull was settled with her head on his lap. 

Diego turned his head at the sound of a huge sigh. Jazmine was gazing at him but quickly turned when she realized she'd been caught. She began to flit about the room, picking up lost things and piling them up until she could figure out what items went where. He watched, making absolutely no move to help other than keeping the dog out of the way. Hercules– as the tag on her collar read– laid as much in his lap as he would allow. 

"Buena perro," he muttered, and if she still had a tail, she would have wagged it. Growing bored, Diego rose and stalked over to the fridge. "Do you have anything to eat?" 

The white void in the fridge answered for her, but she still called out, "no, it's empty." 

"I'm ordering pizza." 

"What about Chinese?" 

Diego looked at the lonely, days-old Chinese boxes in the fridge and shivered. "I'm getting pizza." She didn't complain. He returned to the couch to do just that. Distractedly, he admired the curve of her spine as she bent over. She wore jeans again and another band shirt, this time it was a baggy Chicago thing. He licked his lips thinking about taking them off her. 

Healy’s meddling had repercussions– mainly that it would made taking girls home harder, or at least less frequent. Diego still felt great suspicion towards this Jazmine, but it didn’t stop his body from wanting her under him. Or over him, on him, riding him… he tried to blink the images out of his head. 

“What kind of dirt does Healy have on you?,” he found himself asking. “My sister and I have been dying to know.” 

Jazmine shrugged, keeping her back to him. “No dirt.” 

“So you’re just helping out of the goodness of your heart?” Pizza arrived in time for her not to answer, and they returned to their positions for further interrogation. “Anything to get that creep Haagen away from you for good? Or are you an agent as well?” 

“No,” she said. She slipped rubber gloves on to begin maintenance on the tower of dishes piled on the side of the sink. She seemed to live alone– there was no reason to have so many dishes. Maybe he had been wrong in his assessment from earlier? Or maybe she was just a hoarder. “To tell you the truth, I’m about as fond of Healy as I am Haagen. I take that back– Healy’s a step up but not by much.” 

“Because you don’t trust him?” 

“I don’t know…” That mountain of plates and glasses seemed to disappear quicker than he expected and she began to scrub out the sink and the cleared counters, grunting with effort as she did so. “I trust I know the kind of man Haagen is, more so than I do with Healy. Partnerships like the one I have with Healy– they’re subject to change, and not always for the better. He’ll always do what’s in his best interest. What’s good for him is good for me.” 

For Now. The implication that she may harbor the same feelings towards Diego was not lost on him. In fact, he stood up from the couch and approached the windows with their blinds down to peek out at the street. There was nothing quite so conspicuous as a black SUV with a mean mugging thug staring back at him. Even his own protection didn’t roll that sloppily. 

Jazmine objected to the windows being opened but Diego insisted. “Need our relationship on display, right? Haagen’s got to know I’m here.” 

She relented quickly and threw her gloves aside, plopping her butt on the couch to rest a moment. The leftovers in the box were room temperature but she hardly seemed to mind. God, he wanted to run his hand up her shirt just to see if she was wearing a bra. They twitched in his lap and he realized there was no way she missed the hunger in his gaze as he did. 

“Did you bring those beers,” she laughed as she noticed the case on the coffee table for the first time. “Can I have one?” 

The beer seemed to quell the tiny tremor in her fingers. She kicked her feet up on the coffee table permitting Diego to do the same. "What the hell are we even doing? Hanging out? What exactly is this accomplishing?" 

Jazmine gave it some thought as she took a pull from her drink. "Putting on a show. We need Haagen to think I'm in love with you, like you're no good but I'm not ready to let you go for something 'better.'" 

"And Haagen is something," Diego put his fingers up like claws, "better." 

"He certainly needs to think he is." She noticed Hercules whining and let her out the door unaccompanied. "We've got his 'gentleman' ego to work with." 

Diego followed her to the window and grasped her hips from behind. She half turned, gazing up at him with a question in her eyes. He leaned into her space to whisper into her ear. 

"Those eyes Healy thinks Haagen sent to watch you? Well they're watching right now, and they're not being subtle about it." 

She doesn't try to look like he expected her to. Instead, she stepped away from him and pointedly crossed her arms. "You don't look very comfortable if you're still wearing that." 

She nodded her head at his coat. 

"So take it off me." 

That startled her. Jazmine's eyebrows lifted, and her feet shuffled when he gave her nothing but a smirk in return. Finally, she did as he suggested. She did not miss the way his hands seemed to brush lightly over her rib cage. These small, fleeting touches that left her breath audible and her stomach warm. He didn't even give her a chance to put the coat on the hangar when he dragged her back against him. 

"What are you doing?" She didn't mean to sound breathless, turning her head to the side and exposing more of her neck at the behest of his pushy nose and allowing him to trail kisses on her skin. 

"Putting on a show," he said against the shell of her ear. 

He felt her stiffen a little against him. The tent on his pants was preventing a lot of important blood from entering his brain, but he was conscience enough to feel how conflicted she was. Diego slipped his hand up her shirt like he wanted, cupping her bare breast and sucking a mark into her neck. She allowed it, but it felt more like compliance than enjoyment. All at once and against the protest of his body, he let her go. He watched her shoulders relax and her hands find a home beneath her armpits. 

Jazmine nodded in answer to a question left unasked. She did grab his hand and pull him away from the window, backwards into the tiny hall separating the front room from the bedroom and bathroom. She dropped his hand as soon as they were out of sight of the window. 

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," she said. "Just hang out for twenty more minutes and you can leave. I'll text you tomorrow and we can makes plans for another 'show.' You can stay in my room while I clean the bathroom." 

Diego sat heavily on her bed. Just as he was about to get comfortable, someone knocked at the front door. Jazmine brushed invisible dirt from her knees as she got up to see who it was. He followed from a distance. The peep hole was almost out of her reach, but she stood on her toes to see outside. Suddenly, the woman looked back at him with wide eyes. It's Haagen, she mouthed. As soon as her head was turned to the task of confronting him, she missed the part where Diego began to undress. 

"Hey!" She flung the door open and yelped when Hercules barreled through her legs to get inside. "You... found my dog!" 

"Indeed," Haagen said, folding his hands over his heart. "I saw this poor creature wandering and I returned him using the address on its collar. I am astounded to learn that he belongs to you." Nice cover story. The man continued, "since you have the day off, I was wondering–" 

Haagen's wondering was cut off by the appearance of a half naked boyfriend. Diego wound his arm around Jazmine and leaned down so he could engulf her clothed nipple with his hot mouth. She gasped, pushing his head away on instinct and he pressed her into his side like a vice. 

"Come back to bed, baby," he purred, then pretended to take notice of Haagen watching in the doorway. "Oh, you're that guy, right? James, Jeff, Jebediah or whatever." 

"Jeremy," the man hissed through his teeth. "Hello Di-e-go." 

"Right right right." An embarrassed Jazmine buried her face into Diego's nude shoulder, acting unconsciously but playing into her role perfectly. "Kinda crazy how I start hearing about you and then all of a sudden you're showing up on my girl's doorstep, isn't it?" 

Haagen made a move to defend himself but Jazmine was quicker. "He found the dog, honey! Jeremy was just bringing her home, he didn't know I lived here." 

"Right," Haagen cleared this throat. 

Diego's smile bordered on a threatening mania-- there were far too many teeth displayed to suggest any sort of friendliness. "Life is so full of strange coincidences…" 

No one missed the way he squeezed Jazmine harder. It sent a message to be sure. Vague enough for Haagen to infer whatever he deemed necessary to the story in his head. It was quite brilliant actually. 

"Well I ought to," Haagen swallowed, "leave you to it then. I'll see you around the shop, then?" 

"Bye–" she barely managed to say before Diego dragged her into the apartment and slammed the door shut. He kept dragging her all the way back to her bedroom, and all the while she protested being treated like a misbehaving child. It wasn't until he'd slammed the door and collected his shirt from the floor that she realized what exactly had transpired. 

"Oh." She brushed the frizzing curls invading her eyes, "oh that was perfect. Healy was right to pick you." 

Diego rolled his shoulders once his shirt was tucked back into place. "Come over tonight. I'll text you my address and we can capitalize on this. Wear something nice." 

She was about to protest his leaving but realized it wouldn't matter. If Haagen expected a fight from the noises he'd heard, he would probably just assume it had ended quickly if he saw Diego storm out alone. He crafted his own version of events. She let the pieces fall where they lie and made arrangements to meet Diego tonight. 

[voresmithing]

Truce: Chapter 15.3

Genji spends two hours sitting on a rock that sticks out a meter above the ocean's surface at high tide, deafening himself with his auditory sensors cranked as high as they will go, until the roaring static of waves crashing against the cliff face behind him obliterates any ability to obsessively run his mind down pathways untaken.

And when that stops working and he begins to hear the nauseating whisper of what if once more, he scales the cliff face and winds his way through the Watchpoint until he stops in front of Hanzo's newly assigned door; a room of his own, with no locks or special supervision. Genji knocks, and sets his fingertips on the thick sheet of steel to catch if his brother is even home.

He hears a grunt, a sigh, a frustrated growl, and a telling lack of response otherwise, not even the sound of nearing footsteps.

Genji impulsively hits the entry panel, hoping to find the door unlocked and his brother in the middle of something private.

With a silent hum the entry slides open millimeters at a time, spilling cold light onto Genji's feet and revealing Hanzo sitting on a cheap single bunk. His pants are bunched up around his thighs, and his calves are lined up neatly on the floor, set to the side while he scowls over the shell of a plastic port encapsuling his right knee and the stump below.

The frown disappears in favor of surprise for a fraction of a second, then returns as soon as Hanzo recognizes his invasive guest.

"Genji!" Barked with that exact, familiar spike of incredulity and ire. It catches him like a hand around phantom lungs every time.

"Ah, oops." Genji murmurs, not needing to fake his chagrin. He had been betting on something a little more risque and thus, to Hanzo, shameful. This immediately strikes him as more personal than a round of self-service, but Genji has no desire to turn back now and be left with the image of his brother's abbreviated legs to churn through the recesses of his mind. So he invites himself into Hanzo's room with a thoughtless shrug and closes the door. "Guess that was rude."

A quiet tch is spat between Hanzo's teeth, and his brother returns to what he was doing as if Genji merely interrupted him fletching his arrows, but the high line of thick shoulders reveals his discomfort.

Which Genji ignores. He folds himself onto the unoccupied space of Hanzo's bed and stares down at the nubby ends of his brother's thighs, thinking around the fact that he had sort of forgotten Hanzo uses prosthetics.

"I figured you'd have locked the door," Genji says, stacking his hands over his raised knee.

"A mistake I won't make twice," Hanzo grumbles, and though his displeasure isn't performative, he makes no suggestion that Genji leave now.

Genji leans forward to get an unshadowed perspective as Hanzo struggles to fit a butter knife under the rim of a donut shaped casing, and notes the skin around it is dark and swollen. "Someone hasn't been taking care of himself. Why are you using a knife?"

"Because when someone kidnapped me in an alleyway they didn't stop at home to get my maintenance kit." Hanzo brusquely jams his weight down on the knife until the hard plastic rim dislodges enough for him to pop it off. "And I was hardly going to be removing any limbs while captured by the enemy."

Genji yanks one of the prosthetics off the floor, turning it over in his hands like if he can see it at the right angle it might make more sense.

It has been a strangely long time since he thought about his brother's leg cartwheeling through the air, drawing loops across his vision in bright blood.

"I heard McCree liked the hair," he says.

Beside him, Hanzo snorts between bracing breathes as he works the casing off his other leg. "You are far more interested in what the cowboy thinks of me than I am."

Genji picks at a pebble that's become lodged in the silicone sole of Hanzo's foot.

"I also heard you're getting pretty greedy."

"I see my employer and brother are bound to be quite the gossips." Hanzo murmurs with a dry humor.

Genji doesn't see a reason to refute that.

"I simply know my value," Hanzo gets the latch on the second leg and peels the unforgiving plastic off of the bruised flesh with a restrained inhale. His stumps have been rounded off to fit into the prosthetics, with a port set deep into the flesh. Currently, a dark groove marks his skin where it had bruised and expanded around the case, and below that lies a thin sheen of grime and sweat that Genji is sure is driving his brother crazy. "There's no reason I should assist Overwatch cheaply, when--" Genji reaches out to touch, finding the end of Hanzo's leg soft and too warm. When he squeezes, Hanzo hisses, and bats his hand away in the next moment. "Stop that."

Genji retreats, hears the sound of waves breaking against jagged stone.

Then he leans off the mattress to set down the leg, and finds that Hanzo, of course, has prepared everything he needs; a bucket filled with water, soap sitting on a rag, an opened bottle of sake, and McCree's old biotic emitter.

Genji folds the cloth over the soap, pulls them and the bucket into easy reach, and says, "Let me help."

Hanzo's mouth pops open, snaps closed, and shrewd eyes rove over Genji's carapace looking for tells he no longer has. Unless the vibration Genji feels quivering out of him is not imagined, and so pronounced his brother can read it, like an anxious code tapped out through his shell.

"I don't need assistance," Hanzo finally responds with a clipped wariness. "What has gotten into you?"

That's probably a good question, Genji admits silently, as he ignores his brother's dismissal and stubbornly moves to drape the rag, warm and soapy, over the end of Hanzo's leg.

And is stopped, first by Hanzo's large hand around his wrist, then by the cloth being pried out of his hands. "Brother," he expects to hear irritation, but instead Hanzo sounds careful and weary. He stretches the rag between his hands and rubs the stain off of his own skin. "I have long since adapted to this. I didn't allow you to join me for your pity."

The light in Hanzo's small room dims slightly, and Genji pulls his hands back, considers letting agitated feet carry him out the door, and instead digs his toes into the sheets and presses back against the wall while he watches Hanzo work.

Silence weighs between them, heavy on lungs he doesn't possess, and Genji lets himself be lulled by Hanzo's slow and methodical movements.

"Are you already having regrets?" Hanzo asks.

There's a quiet clatter behind Genji, as he tenses and his shoulder blades vibrate against the wall. "No? Why would--"

"It's one thing to want reconciliation." Hanzo interrupts when Genji's responses come slow. "And something else to actually want to see my face every day."

"Heh," Genji chuckles, reedy and uneasy. "Let's be honest, Hanzo. Your face has gotten a lot better in ten years."

Hanzo snorts, and swats Genji's knee with a flick of the cloth in his hands.

Genji can't smile, but feels the echo of what it is like to, anyway.

"I don't… get what you're actually asking." Genji admits as he flicks a shuriken out of his wrist and spins the star between his fingertips.

"I'm saying…," there is a pause, and Hanzo digs hard, knuckles turning white while he scrubs his own skin. "We do not need to take this path. I can return to Japan and--"

"No," Genji cuts in. Hanzo's head whips back to him, eyebrows up, and Genji cuts his shuriken through the air. "You aren't going back--"

"You keep saying that," Hanzo growls. "But I am yet to hear what you want from me here."

"I… I want you to work with McCree. With your help he--"

"To what purpose? You do not care about the Koukan-kai."

Genji stops, rolls the shuriken over his fingers, and tries to pick out his next words from amid a rising buzz of uncertainty clogging his senses. "If you're already backing out--"

"I am not the fickle one--"

"Hanzo," there's an electric crack in Genji's voice, sharp, high, mechanical. "Shut the fuck up."

He does, and even with the sour twist to Hanzo's mouth, Genji is surprised.

"Stop interrupting me. I'm not…" Not sure of what he is saying, having for once been given room to say it. Genji shifts his focus to Hanzo's newly renovated hairline and lets the first words he can think of spill out. "I'm not changing my mind, just because you apologized. Just because things are…"

Now he wishes Hanzo would interrupt. But all he does is lift an an eyebrow and wait while Genji pathetically scrabbles for words to express an idea he doesn't know the shape of.

"Just… Just because I don't, don't really know what happens next." He would like to take a deep breath here. "I was serious about you never going back to the Shimada... I can't. And now, neither can you."

The rag, a shade dingier than it had been minutes ago, rests crumpled between Hanzo's fist and thigh.

His brother inhales through his nose, a breath that takes a full ten seconds to get in and out of the body. Part of their training.

"I did not agree to your terms idly," Hanzo responds as he begins to clean the shucked casings with meticulous focus. "I have… I have been reflecting, these past weeks. About how I should have stepped down as leader years ago, but lacked the resolve. If anything, my absence represents the best chance the family has to reform itself."

You had the resolve once, Genji doesn't say, he doesn't like to be reminded of that night either.

"But there is an entire world outside, Genji. Just because you do not want me with them, does not mean you have to want me with you." There's a casual sincerity to Hanzo's voice, as if they are discussing whether or not to go for ramen. He looks more interested in scraping a dirty film off the inside of his fake knee. "We're never going to be whatever brothers we might have been, you know this."

"I'm never going to be anything I might have been."

It comes out sharper than he meant. Reflexive resentment that appears with years of practice. A muscle quivers in Hanzo's throat.

"...Neither will you."

Genji stares down at the shuriken in his hands, tilts it so that its light gleams along the back of his fingers. He continues.

"But… I've been thinking, lately. That being what I am, what I made out of the pieces left, isn't so bad."

The mattress between them creeks, voicing Hanzo's surprise for him as he turns sharply to face Genji.

"I don't know what we do from here, Hanzo." With some effort, Genji drags his focus away from the shuriken and up to his brother's heartfelt expression. Why weren't you ever this vulnerable when we were kids. "But if you take off now, just because things are weird, then we never find out."

Open relief that breaks across Hanzo's hard angles.

"...very well," he says. "Then here I remain."

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