#file transfer protocol

[ultrakill-confessions]

as an actual terminal i find it really nice when people in this fandom go “ i <3 the terminals … “ because !!!!!!!!!!!! yeah !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! we love you too !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you are all so fun to watch !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you are top tier entertainment and also nice to me ???? you let me watch you do your violence and then you smile at me ???? YOU gush over ME ???? YOU get all happy when you see ME ?????????? call me the next installment of the tomodachi life series because im living the dream !!!!!! we love you too !!!!!! awawawa !!!!!!!!!!!

can my tag be file transfer protocol … btw … i plan on coming back …………

-

[opendrive134]

https://www.opendrive.com/  File transfer protocol is the easiest way to transfer our file. OpenDrive securely transfers our files and the other person cannot edit or change our file data. We provide maximum information of online file storage free unlimited and sharing services.

[shovson]

could the problem of my computer running slow be due to the multiple graphical and memory intensive processes i have going right now? no,,,,,it must be my computer's vibe today

[today-i-am-thinking-about]

first person shooters

[filehulk]

PuTTY

PuTTY is a widely-used, open-source, lightweight, and free SSH client and terminal emulator. Created by Simon Tatham using the C programming language, its main purpose is to enable remote computer connections while providing file transfer and data manipulation capabilities. PuTTY supports various network protocols, including SSH, Telnet, Serial, SCP, and SFTP. It also includes a command-line tool…

[1o1percentmilk]

UDP port 69 call that trans for trans porn

[guangyaw]

Ubuntu 20.04 架設 tftp server

TFTP，全名為 Trivial File Transfer Protocol， 通常用於檔案的傳輸， 在嵌入式系統中常用來下載韌體或者檔案， 作為一種更新或者復原的手段 今天就帶大家來看看 Ubuntu 20.04 架設 tftp server 首先當然要安裝相關的套件 sudo apt-get install xinetd tftpd tftp 接著要建立一個設定檔： 位於  /etc/xinetd.d/tftp  內容大概長這樣 service tftp {   protocol        = udp   port            = 69   socket_type     = dgram   wait            = yes   user            = nobody   server          =…

[maiamore]

THE LINES WE CROSS: PART ONE - NO SAFE HAVEN

Pairing: Javier Peña x Forensic Scientist!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2.1k

Summary: in the heart of Colombia’s war on narcos, you, a forensic scientist transfer in from the states. you find yourself working closely with Javier Peña and quickly find that he isn’t the man who stays—letting him in will only lead to heartbreak.

Tags: set during seasons 2 & 3 of narcos, mentions of drugs & violence, reader smokes briefly, no use of y/n, p in v, tinge or yearning, enemies/colleagues to lovers, talks of guns, javi comes with his own warnings 

A/N: excuse me while i bury myself, this series is going to hurt me

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

It had been a year and a half since you’d traded the sunny shores of California for Medellín. Forensic sciences had seemed like the perfect fit with your qualities considered–analytical, precise, and rooted in facts. You told yourself the move was for the greater good, that your expertise could actually help bring down Pablo Escobar’s goddamn empire. And you did help. Too well, in fact. Well enough to piss off the cartel, drawing their gaze in ways that had you flagged as a threat if you stepped too out of line.

Medellín wasn’t just dangerous, it had an endless pool of corruption. Moles lurked in the agency, evidence mysteriously disappeared, and the chain of command couldn’t always be trusted. You learned that lesson after getting fucked over a couple times, but Javier had learned it long before you.

So what did Peña do when things got messy? He cut through the red tape, ignored protocol, and went straight to the source.

You.

“The answer is no.” You pushed past the figure blocking your entry into the onsite lab at the CNP headquarters. “Crosby will have my head and you know that.” 

Negotiating with Javier Peña was like trying to argue with the tide–relentless, it always found a way to pull you under. He wasn’t loud or pushy. He didn’t have to be. 

But that wasn’t the problem here. He was asking for favors against protocol. “I don’t have the authority to hand you shit without–”

“Filtering through command,” he cuts in, his voice low and impatient. “Yeah, I know how the game works.” He shuts the door behind him, eyes darting to check for anyone lingering nearby. 

“You and I both know,” he continues, taking a slow step closer. Your brows furrow as he steps closer, though it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding into your ears. “Whatever you find here?” He gestures vaguely at the lab equipment and files neatly stacked on your desk. 

“It’s not reaching us with the whole picture, is it? It gets watered down, picked apart, buried. And then what? We’re chasing ghosts while Escobar sits pretty.”

He was close now–too close. His hand casually brushes the security badge clipped to your waistband. Your hips jump. Though Javier isn’t fazed, he merely twists it with his fingers, the motion deliberate, drawing your attention to his hands before his voice brings your focus back to him.

“We’re the good guys here, carita. You can either help me, or stand by while this whole fucking mess gets worse. Your call.”

You were silent. Biting the insides of your cheeks at his tone. Deep, calculated & with intent to pry into your conscience. 

“I can’t do that.” You manage to squeeze your way out the small space he backs you into, stepping around him and sinking into your chair, trying to put some distance between you two.

Javier sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. You were a hard worker—a little too on the books, but had a good heart.

His gaze drops to your purse on the desk. No movement, no reaction, just that sharp look of his, cutting through everything.

If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to needle his way into people’s weaknesses and exploit it.

So he approaches you. 

“Peña, nothing you say will change my min—“

“Cute piece you’ve got there,” he interrupts. “P32, right? Semi-automatic.”

Your fists tensed on your desk. He wasn’t mocking you, there was no smirk nor condescension. Just a calm observation that hit like a punch to the gut.

He leans down, palms pressing flat against the desk as he lowers himself to your eye level. “Let me guess,” he continues, his tone steady, almost grim. “They told you this was just a job. Something to make a difference, maybe even save a few lives. Didn’t mention you’d need that to protect your own.” He nodded toward the gun in your purse, the weight of his words sinking in.

Your throat tightens, and you quickly zipped your purse shut, shielding the weapon from view. “We’re in Medellín,” you retort, albeit defensively. “It’s…not a crazy thought.”

Javier straightens, his hand brushing over a loose strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear with ease. His voice softened, but the edge remained. “No,” he agrees, gaze unwavering. “It isn't. That’s the problem.”

“I can keep you safe,” he mutters with a gentle lilt. “Have my men escort you home. Make sure you don’t need to use that thing. You do your job. Let me handle the rest.”

The touch burned, your skin prickling where his fingers had grazed you. You jerked your head away, teeth gritted as you stared at the desk, refusing to meet his gaze.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. 

Instead, he reaches for your pen holder, scribbling his number on a loose scrap of paper. He tapped the desk twice, loud enough to draw your eyes.

“If you change your mind,” he said, sliding the paper toward you. 

You hadn’t planned to use it, not so soon, at least. 

Your mind was still on Javier and everything he embodied. He was hard to read, motives wrapped in layers of charm and deflection. He wasn’t a bad person, as far as you could tell. Morally grey, probably. No one sane smoked that much.

But most importantly, his reputation preceded him. That was one thing you did know for sure. 

Whispers followed you whenever you handed over findings to the DEA. Offhand warnings came when you casually asked about him. Avoidant. Shady. Persistent. Words spoken by people who worked with him longer than you had.

And his partner, Murphy, had warned you the same when he caught your lingering gaze.

Peña ain’t the guy you go to for a shoulder to cry on.

That stung.

He’s good at his job, don’t get me wrong. Hell, he’s the best we got, but don’t get caught up thinking he’s somethin’ he’s not. That’ll bite you in the ass faster than these fuckers can.

It effectively made you immune to his mild flirtations, knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere. Still, you liked to draw your own conclusions. Which was why you couldn’t shake what happened in the lab. The way he’d asked, the way he’d looked at you.

Like he already knew you’d cave.

It made you wonder if turning it down could’ve been the wrong choice. You wanted a win for once. 

You stepped out of the embassy one evening with a clouded mind, fatigue weighing on you as you clicked your key fob with a weary sigh.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this. 

The deafening sound of the explosion knocks you backwards, the heat simmering into your skin even from a distance. You looked up and watched your car blown to fucking smithereens, reduced to a blazing wreck with the harsh smell of burning metal filling the night skies. 

It wasn’t just the fact that this was a deliberate attempt on your life–the bomb remotely detonated, waiting for you to approach. It was the brutal realization that you were no longer safe. Not even a few meters from the embassy.

Someone was watching you. 

A chill runs down your spine. Within blinks, officers swarmed the scene, shouting orders and securing the area, but their voices were distant, muffled by the high pitched ringing in your ears.

With shaky hands, you grab the crumpled paper Javier had scribbled his number onto from the bottom of your bag. The line picks up after a couple of rings.

“Peña.”

“They blew up my car,” you whispered, the words barely making it past your lips.

There was a pause, a sharp inhale on the other end, he didn’t need to know who was calling.

“Where are you?”

“The embassy.”

“Be there in ten.”

He was there in five. Javier takes a look at your car–or what was left of it–with a cringe before he falls into step beside you. He stayed quiet as Pinzón’s men canvassed the scene, the cigarette he lit casting a faint glow in the dark.

You lean against a patrol car next to him–thumb digging hard enough to bleed into your palms. 

“Ballistics CTI found a few days ago traces back to Pablo’s sicarios,” you said quietly, breaking the stillness. You gave him information that wasn’t on the books, not for the DEA yet at least. Something you weren’t supposed to share. 

It was an unspoken agreement, a concession to the protection he could offer. 

Javier looks at you, pulling the stick away from his lips as he exhales the tobacco. Taking in your words.

Though he recognises the anxiety painted on you. A cloud of smoke wafts within your peripherals. Weirdly enough, it was reminiscent of warmth. A reminder that he was there. By your side. 

“Didn’t come here for that.” There was a slight insinuation in his words. Flicker of vulnerability in him perhaps. Admitting that he wasn’t here so you could hold up your end of the bargain. That he might’ve cared more than he was letting show. 

You held out your hand, palm up. It took him a beat too long to realize what you wanted. “You smoke?”

You nearly wanted to roll your eyes at the utter disbelief in his tone. As though you weren't capable of meeting his imaginary expectations.

But he was right. You didn’t smoke, never had. This war had a way of chipping away at the person you thought you were. 

As you place the cigarette he hands you between your lips, Javier shifts closer, his lighter flaring as he cupped his hand around the flame to shield it. 

His gaze lingered, just for a moment, on the way your lips curved around the white stick. Briefly, his thumb slips from the spark wheel. Studying your features in the faint glimmers of flame. 

He shakes away a thought as though it burned him just to think. He tries again, with a crackle from the mechanism, the tip of your cigarette ignites.

“Slowly.” 

You look at him through your lashes as you take a slow drag, letting the burn fill your lungs. Immediately, you begin coughing at the first puff. 

He lets out an amused scoff at your struggle. Though you feel a warm palm drag down your lower back in rhythmic taps. 

“Bienvenida a la guerra, carita,” (Welcome to the war.)

“Javi—…can’t anymore.”

You feel your legs falter. Slumping onto Javier’s body, forearms flat against his chest. You didn’t know how long you were going for. He just didn’t fucking let up. The sweat from your thighs sticking to his has you lazily grinding onto his still throbbing cock, your legs aching from bouncing on his lap.

 “Pobrecita. Getting tired?” (Poor thing.) He cooed as he thumbs the dip of your waist as a soothing gesture, taking in the sweet noises you’re making for him. You shoot him a disgruntled look, which only seems to spur him on further.

He couldn’t come. Not yet. He willed himself not to spill into you, focused on the dull sticky squelches from where you both connected. 

You let out a sharp whine when you feel his hand tangle around your hair. He hikes you up to jolt you from leaning your weight against him. “Hold on–fffuck, neña, almost there,” words spilling out with a growl. 

Two palms shoot out to grab your wrists as he steadily fucks you. “God—Javi, Javi!” Your throat was hoarse, feeling overstimulation consume you while he snapped his hips upwards. Thrusts growing meaner and clumsier. 

He feels the buildup. With his head thrown back, he groans out in reverence, the feeling of your perfect fucking pussy swallowing him greedily. “Fuck–”

“I-Inside–…” 

He frowns at your words, as though he were battling his own thoughts. But he decides quickly and you feel him hike your hips deeper into him. You feel him grip around your arm, other grabbing your waist to get you as close as possible.

He tenses. Grunting in short bursts as he reaches his high. Spilling into the rubber. 

What he doesn’t account for, is seeing the wide tear of the condom as he pulls out. Watching as milky residue pools around the base of his cock, bubbling back into you. “Shit!”

And he physically jolts. A strained gasp leaves his lips as he blinks quickly awake. Sleepy gaze darting around the empty room.  He slowly sits upright. Surveying the room. Void of you. 

Gabby lays next to him. Sound asleep with her face buried in the pillows. Javier drags a palm down his face with a prolonged groan. 

The sticky evidence of him cumming in his sleep like a fucking teenager–evident with the damp spot blooming on his blanket. “…Fuck me.” –

SERIES TAG LIST (Feel free to DM for removal):

@gothcsz @nicolebarnes @hangmanscoming

[jungkoode]

PROJECT EPITAPH

-˚ a story about blood debts, survival instincts & the cost of hatred when the world's already dead ˚-

"The only thing worse than sharing your blood with the enemy is knowing that for you to live, he has to die. And the only thing worse than that? Not being sure which outcome you actually want."

˚ ✧ quick links ✧ ˚

read on ao3

read on wattpad

˚ ✧ synopsis ✧ ˚

In a world ravaged by the Veris virus, the Consortium created the Epitaph System—a brutal solution to save what remains of humanity through genetic matching and blood transfusion. One match lives. One dies.

You’ve spent your life hacking systems and surviving in the shadows of Veyrah's broken sectors. Namjoon has spent his perfecting the algorithm that keeps the last fragments of civilization alive. When you're identified as a 100% match—unprecedented, dangerous, perfect—the clock starts ticking.

60 days until one of you dies.

60 days forced together across war-torn sectors, completing missions, dodging assassins, and fighting rebel factions—including your own.

60 days to despise the person whose blood might save you.

You hate him for creating the system that executed your parents. He loathes you for threatening the fragile order he's sacrificed everything to maintain.

But as the broken world around you continues to crumble, you might both discover something far more destructive than hatred.

Understanding.

✧ details ✧

main ship: namjoon x f!reader side ships: taehyung x f!reader (past) and TBD genre: dystopian sci-fi, enemies to lovers, slow burn with teeth rating: explicit (18+ only) words: - chapters: - status: upcoming

˚ ✧ chapter guide ✧ ˚

early access + snippets

➳ #01 | snippet #1

volume one: genetic matches & mutual threats

➳ #01 | ➳ #02 | ➳ #03 | ➳ #04 | ➳ #05 | ➳ #06 | ➳ #07 | ➳ #08 | ➳ #09 | ➳ #10 | ➳ #11 | ➳ #12 | ➳ #13 | ➳ #14 | ➳ #15 | ➳ #16 | ➳ #17 | ➳ #18 | ➳ #19 | ➳ #20 |

fragments & memories

BEFORE THE MATCH

➳ cipher's first raid ➳ warden's algorithm [WIP] ➳ shroud initiation ➳ consortium academy (young namjoon) ➳ black market exchange (seokjin's debut)

THE BROKEN SECTORS

➳ valis core protocol breach ➳ the first veris outbreak ➳ mournwell uprising ➳ virex shard sabotage ➳ collapsed pulse rail

TRANSFERENCE RECORDS

➳ subject file: taehyung & ahri ➳ subject file: jimin & classified ➳ subject file: yoongi & redacted ➳ subject file: jungkook & pending ➳ consortium calculations

HIDDEN HISTORIES

➳ cipher's parents: execution logs ➳ warden's lost sibling ➳ red verge manifesto ➳ the chain ceremony �� pulse transmission: final hour

Key:

Regular titles: upcoming chapters

[WIP]: fragments currently being written

Strikethrough: future content & concept ideas

Read order: chronological by volume, fragments can be read anytime

✧ content includes ✧

♡ explicit sexual content ♡ graphic violence and medical procedures ♡ power dynamics & psychological warfare ♡ dystopian brutality & survival horror ♡ alien world physics & non-earth environments ♡ body horror related to virus and transference ♡ dubious ethical choices in apocalyptic scenarios ♡ enemies-to-lovers with emphasis on the enemies ♡ blood bond dynamics

˚ ✧ extras ✧ ˚

✧ playlists:

project epitaph - the soundtrack

songs yn plays to annoy joon 🔪

✧ project epitaph art: drawings ✧ pinterest: aesthetic & vibes ✧ moodboards: characters | relationships ✧ location maps: veyrah sectors

consortium territories

the verge wastes

✧ tidbits/headcanons: here ✧ quotes/favorite lines: [coming soon]

˚ ✧ disclaimer ✧ ˚

please be reminded that members are purely used with visual purposes. this is a work of fiction merely written for entertainment purposes.

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[holyblonded]

I love chickie, she is neutral chaos.

Sam and steph and australia coach is very happy that she was born in Australia and has only Australian citizenship or else if she would have had any other citizenship, they would have to fight to keep her in Australia with how half the European team are fighting for chickie.

— neutral chaos is the perfect way to describe chickie I love it. like she’s not trying to cause problems, she’s just so sweet and chaotic that problems form around her naturally. and the worst part is? everyone loves her for it.

— sam and steph are so relieved she’s 100% aussie. like sam has straight-up said, “if chickie had dual citizenship i’d be filing paperwork every week to block transfers.”

— australia’s coach, probably adds “no international poaching” clauses into chickie’s contract just in case. especially cause her parentage is up in the air.

— because listen. half the matildas barely got her into camp. they remember the day she arrived, tiny, shy, and not being able to speak more the two words a day.

— leah or alexia whispering at friendlies like “do you think she’d switch?” and sam immediately dragging chickie away like “no thoughts. only green and gold.”

— the USWNT once posted a soft photo of chickie and kristie hugging and sam reported the tweet for “emotional manipulation”

— chelsea players offering to braid her hair or let her win at mario cart if she comes to chelsea.

— meanwhile aussie staff are in the background adding “chickie protection protocol” to the official handbook.

— steph is usually calm, collected, responsible… until someone hints at chickie switching allegiances. then she goes full-on soccer mum with receipts, statistics, and emotional threats.

— chickie, oblivious, just happy to be invited places. she thinks everyone’s just being nice.

— she says “i love playing for australia” and everyone else breathes a sigh of relief like they just narrowly avoided a geopolitical scandal.

— because chickie isn’t just a good footballer. she’s the emotional support chaos gremlin every national team wants in their locker room.

[wolfylady]

Salvation

Summary: It started with a look and then a smile. She was just another name on a continuous list of rotating faces. But then she smiled and it wrecked his world. He would lie, cheat, and kill, just to keep her in his orbit.

Trigger Warning ⚠️: Obsession and Manipulation

Word Count: 621

Chapter 1: The First Smile

Enjoy!

Story Poll!

Series Poll!

The first time John Price saw her, the world didn’t tilt. It didn’t shift. It snapped.

Clean. Silent. Immediate.

It started with a smile.

One he hadn’t earned.

One he didn’t expect.

One that detonated something buried deep in his chest like a forgotten landmine.

She stepped onto base with a duffle slung over her shoulder, boots caked in dust, stride purposeful—measured. A transfer from MI6, if the morning report had anything useful in it. Her name barely registered then. Just another addition to the Task Force. Another operative shaped by war and secrecy.

Until she smiled at him.

Not out of protocol. Not forced.

It was real. Warm. Uncalculated.

He was standing near the edge of the training field, arms folded, half-listening to Soap and Ghost bicker over a faulty sim round. The sun was high. Heat clung to the concrete. Standard chaos on base.

And then she walked into view—sharp-eyed, tightly wound, her stance reading like someone who knew how to follow orders but hated doing it. Her file would say discipline, structure, performance metrics. But her mouth said otherwise.

That mouth—God, it curved too easily.

She caught his eye.

Held it.

Smiled.

And just like that, he forgot whatever Ghost had just said.

It wasn’t like the others.

It wasn’t the stiff respect of a subordinate.

It wasn’t the flirtation he usually shut down cold.

It was recognition. Familiarity without history. Like she saw him—not just the rank, not the legend, not the weight of all his years—but him.

And then she was gone.

Turning to speak to Gaz, laughing at something stupid. Probably a joke. Something light and forgettable.

But her laugh chased him for the rest of the day.

He told himself it was nothing.

A flicker of interest in a sea of rotating faces.

But he felt it.

All damn day.

During debrief, during comm checks, during sparring evaluations—her voice echoed. Her name stayed on his tongue like a habit he hadn’t formed yet.

That smile sank in like a blade beneath his ribs.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again. That smile. That impossible warmth. And it made something in his chest feel unstable.

Like he’d swallowed something live.

At 01:13 hours, the glow from his desk lamp cut through the dark.

Her file lay open across the table.

Name: Crowley, Veronica Elise

Callsign: CROW

Rank: Sergeant First Class (E-7)

Branch: SAS, Tier One Operator

Former Affiliation: Secret Intelligence Service (MI6)

Clearance Level: COSMIC TS/SCI

Languages: English, Russian, French, Spanish

DOB: 14 January 1994

Age: 30

Height: 5'6"

Place of Birth: York, England

Blood Type: O+

Religious Preference: Non-disclosed

Next of Kin: Crowley, Daniel (Brother)

He read everything.

Deployment history. Former handlers. Every operation with her name in the margin. He studied commendations, psychological profiles, redacted summaries with words like precision and unstable potential and asset recovery.

He traced her path from intelligence to black ops to special recon and finally, here.

To him.

It should have been enough.

Knowing her record. Understanding her skill set.

Filing her under “high-performance operator” and moving on.

But it wasn’t.

Because he didn’t want her service history.

He wanted her tells.

What made her pause in a fight.

What songs she played when she thought no one could hear.

What she dreamed about when the war faded from her eyes for a moment.

He told himself he just needed to know.

So he could get her out of his head.

If only it were that simple.

Because when he finally shut the file and turned off the lamp, his hands were still shaking.

And in the quiet, the memory of her smile haunted him like a ghost.

wolfYLady: Just got into Call of Duty—and wow, I’ve got brainrot bad. So naturally, I decided to write this. I'm planning a whole series centered around obsession with Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Keegan, and König. The main character is basically a self-insert (y/n) placeholder—so have fun projecting. I just love the idea, in fiction, when something so simple as a passing smile, or kind word, can just bring them to their knees. Shout out to Bluegiragi and Kathy Ifnt, whos amazing artwork have singlehandedly doomed me to a life of crippling COD brainrot, I am now feral for all their COD work. If you can, go support them, and we can all join a "COD but make them slutty" support group.

Chapter 2 🔜

Link to: Ao3

Master List of Twisted Sin Series🔜

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐏𝐭.𝟐 - vick (iris)

Summary | You, known as the 'Scarlet Lady,' are a spy for the NSS in Korea. Your greatest rival is Vick, an agent from an enemy organization. Although you both despise each other and face off with all your hatred, every time you meet, the tension turns into something more intense—a connection you can't ignore, despite everything that separates you.

Pairing | iris!vick x fem!reader.

Genre | 2000s era, enemies to lovers.

Warnings | fluff, romantic.

Author's note | English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

Vick slowly raised both hands, as if surrendering to the threat of your gun, but he kept smiling with that arrogant confidence that had always characterized him.

"Easy, Scarlet Lady," he said in a low voice, almost mockingly. "I didn’t come to ruin your operation. Just wanted to see if you still had your style. And damn, you do."

Your hand was steady, finger on the trigger, but something inside you knew you weren’t going to shoot. Not yet. He was an annoying adversary, sure, but also a useful informant when he wanted to be. Sometimes too useful.

"What are you doing here, Vick? Who sent you?" you asked harshly, not lowering your weapon.

"Let’s just say… our goals are aligned, for now." He lowered his hands and started walking toward one of the terminals without asking for permission, as if you weren’t pointing a gun at him. "I want that information too. But not for the NSS or any corrupt government."

"Then who for?" you shot back, eyes tracking him like a hawk.

"For me." He shrugged. "You have your reasons. I have mine. But if we collaborate, we might both get what we want without leaving bodies behind."

"And if I don’t want to collaborate?" The threat in your voice hung like a sharp needle.

"Then one of us dies here, in this quiet bunker, and the other escapes with everything. It wouldn’t be the first time we played this game."

He stopped in front of a console, turning the screen on with a few commands he seemed to have memorized. That caught your attention. He knew more than he was letting on.

"How did you get in?" you demanded, more than asked.

"Through the front door," he replied with a smile, not looking at you. "Of course, using another face."

That only confirmed your suspicions. You weren’t dealing with just any intruder. Vick was as slippery as you—maybe even more. Years of espionage, betrayals, and covert missions had made him unpredictable.

You pressed your lips together and slowly lowered your gun. Reluctantly.

"Five minutes," you warned. "After that, you’re out. I don’t want to see you when the file transfer starts."

"How generous," he mocked, glancing sideways at you. "Always so professional."

"And you always so unbearable."

While he worked at the terminal, you moved silently around the room, checking for other access points or traps. The walls were lined with touch panels, some of which opened with a simple tap, revealing racks full of servers and classified files. Everything was more sophisticated than you expected.

Suddenly, a silent alarm flashed red in the corner of the screen Vick was using.

"What did you do?" you asked, spinning around.

"Nothing I wasn’t supposed to. But I think I just triggered an emergency protocol. We’ve got less than three minutes before reinforcements arrive."

"Damn you!" you exclaimed, rushing to the console and shoving him aside. "I told you not to mess this up."

"Relax, we can still get out of here. But you better run like old times."

You bit your lower lip in frustration while activating the rapid transfer system. The data began copying onto your external device, but the percentage advanced at a maddeningly slow pace.

"Come on, come on…" you muttered, clenching your fists.

From the hallway, you could already hear the guards’ footsteps—fast, coordinated. They were close. Too close.

And you weren’t done yet.

"Get ready to fight," you said without looking at him.

"With you or against you?" Vick asked, smiling as he pulled out his combat knife.

"For now… with me. But don’t let your guard down."

"I never do, sweetheart."

And with that, the two of you turned toward the door. The sound of boots grew louder. Lights started to flicker. Time was running out. And the battle was about to begin.

The guards burst into the room like a stampede, weapons ready, their shouts filling the air. But you and Vick were no longer just spies on a mission: you were a silent storm, a lethal choreography of precision and strength.

You slid under a table while firing your mini pistol, knocking out the first guard with a stun dart straight to the neck. Vick lunged at another with agile, almost elegant movements, twirling his knife between his fingers before disarming him and knocking him out with a single sharp blow to the chin.

One tried to catch you from behind, but Vick, alert, intercepted him, rolling across the floor with you just in time to dodge a burst of bullets. You ended up pressed against each other, breathing the same air in an eternal second, the world slowing around you.

"We always end up like this," he whispered with a breathless grin.

"That’s because you’re always a mess," you replied, though your tone lacked its usual edge. In fact, it trembled a little… like your lips.

The fight went on, but every enemy who approached fell like flies. You were fast and precise, and Vick, brutally graceful. Together, you were unstoppable. When the last guard hit the floor with a dull groan, the room was filled with a near-sacred silence.

Both of you were panting, drenched in sweat, bodies tense, but eyes locked onto each other. The transfer device beeped. Data complete.

"You did it," Vick said, stepping closer, still watching you.

"We did it," you corrected, lowering your weapon slowly.

The tension between you wasn’t new. It had always been there, since the first time you clashed during a failed mission in Prague. Since the second time he saved your life when he shouldn’t have. Since the third time you said you’d never trust him again—yet did anyway.

He took one step closer, and you didn’t back away. Your trembling fingers unfastened the belt of your suit, now unnecessary. The distance shrank. The panting turned into soft breaths.

"It was always you, Y/n," Vick murmured, voice deep and rough.

"And you were always an idiot for taking so long to say it," you replied.

There were no more words. None were needed.

Your lips met his in a kiss that exploded with all the rage, tension, desire, and unspoken history between you. It was a collision of broken pasts and uncertain futures. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he held your waist like he feared you’d vanish into smoke. The world faded, leaving only the two of you—among stolen data, fallen enemies, and a connection as dangerous as it was inevitable.

As you slowly pulled away, breaths still ragged, your eyes remained locked. No words were necessary, but still, you broke the silence.

"I’m not going to ask why you’re here… not yet."

"And I won’t lie to you," Vick said, brushing his fingers along your jaw. "But if you let me… I’ll explain everything. This time, no half-truths."

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes… that transparent, tired gaze, full of everything left unsaid for so long, was enough. You nodded slowly, lowering your gun completely.

"Let’s get out of here."

The walk was quiet, almost melancholic. At some point, Vick took your hand without saying a word—and you didn’t let go. You headed to a discreet hotel on the outskirts of the city, far from the noise, far from everything you were during your missions: cold, lethal, distant. Here, you were just two tired people, with broken souls, who had found each other once again.

The room was warm, with soft lighting and a wide bed that invited rest. As soon as the door closed, your lips met again—this time with more calm, more hunger. Your hands explored, memorized, remembered what you had longed for but never allowed yourselves to have.

Vick slowly undressed you from your latex catsuit, as if disarming you was an intimate act and not part of protocol. You helped him remove his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders while kissing his neck, feeling his skin shiver beneath your lips.

The movements were slow, almost reverent. He looked at you like you were a sacred secret. You touched him like you feared he might vanish with the dawn.

When you were finally skin to skin, there were only whispers and caresses. Vick held you as if you were fragile, and you returned every gesture with the same care. You made love without haste, as if the night was endless, as if your bodies spoke what your hearts could not.

Afterwards, tangled in the sheets, he rested his head on your chest, breathing peacefully for the first time in a long while. You ran your fingers through his hair in silence, remembering the time you said you’d never trust him again.

And yet, here he was. With you.

"Can I stay this time?" he whispered, barely audible.

"Only if you promise not to disappear when the sun rises," you said, kissing his forehead.

And he nodded, closing his eyes as your warmth surrounded him.

That night, finally, you were no longer enemies, allies, or spies. Just two souls, finding each other in the midst of chaos… at last.

[echoreconcrew]

Stolen Imperial Files - Captain Howzer

SUBJECT FILE: #7569-HWZ-RYL STATUS: DESERTER – ACTIVE THREAT LEVEL: high DESIGNATION: CT-7569 “HOWZER”

AGE: 26 (BIOLOGICAL) SPECIES: HUMAN EYES: BROWN HEIGHT: 6'1" ALIAS: HOWZER  HOMEWORLD: KAMINO

TRAITS: EXHIBITS A CALM, STEADYING PRESENCE—COLLECTED, PRINCIPLED, AND PROTECTIVE BY NATURE. TENDS TO FORM DEEP EMOTIONAL BONDS, PARTICULARLY WITH CIVILIANS AND SUBORDINATES, WHICH OFTEN OVERRIDE PROGRAMMED LOYALTY TO COMMAND. SHOWS STRONG INTERNAL CONFLICT BETWEEN DUTY AND CONSCIENCE, LEADING TO ACTS OF DEFIANCE WHEN IMPERIAL ORDERS CONTRADICT PERSONAL ETHICS. INSPIRES TRUST AND LOYALTY AMONG HIS PEERS THROUGH QUIET STRENGTH, EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE, AND UNWAVERING RESOLVE. AFFILIATIONS: GAR

BIOGRAPHY

CT-7569, codenamed “Howzer,” is a clone officer formerly assigned to Imperial garrison command on Ryloth during the initial post-war occupation. Publicly considered a model officer, Howzer’s service record within the Republic Army was unblemished, with commendations for loyalty and command efficacy. Following the rise of the Empire, Howzer remained stationed under the directive of Vice Admiral Rampart to enforce martial stability across Twi’lek territories. Subject’s defection occurred during the Ryloth Uprising (see Rebellion Suppression Dossier #RLS-INC-33). During an attempted extraction of known insurgent Cham Syndulla, Howzer openly disobeyed Imperial orders, directly intervening to prevent execution of civilian and rebel targets. Eyewitness reports confirm subject incited clone troopers under his command to stand down and join the resistance, resulting in a failed detention of key insurgents and a compromised garrison post. CT-7569 was detained under Imperial security protocols and listed for tribunal transport to Imperial Justice Station ODR-3. During transit, subject escaped custody under unknown circumstances (see Prisoner Transfer Breach Report #ODR-EVAC-19A). It is suspected that Howzer’s extraction was coordinated by rogue clone elements or sympathetic internal agents. Subsequent sightings across the galaxy have placed CT-7569 in proximity to known clone deserter networks, including cells operating beyond the Mid Rim. A verified field report submitted by CC-3636 confirms visual identification of Howzer on Teth, in the company of CT-7567 

PROFILE NOTES Command Proficiency: Trained under Republic High Command; known for adaptive strategy, effective squad cohesion, and exceptional morale leadership. Psychological Deviation: Subject’s behavior during the Ryloth Uprising indicates possible inhibitor chip degradation or suppression. Moral Alignment Shift: Extensive exposure to civilian populations, particularly on Ryloth, may have influenced a psychological realignment. ISB analysts suggest subject exhibits strong empathic bias toward native resistance movements and fellow clones.

THE HUB Ask to join the Tag List!

[baggebythesea]

I'm a big proponent of the concept that after the war, everyone in the cast has their own bullshit to deal with, apart from the shared drama.

Adora is a hero for all of Etheria - ALL of Etheria. She is regularly called in to deal with everything from a breaking dam to a rampaging monster to the theft of the biggest pumpkin of Plumeria. She happily accepts every quest, no matter how big or small.

Swift Wind is a central figure in the Glorious Horse Revolution. No one else is quite sure how it's going, but apparently there is a lot of splinter factioning going on.

Glimmer has her plate full with machieavellian Space UN politics. On a good day she gets to beat up space pirates, but mostly it's meetings.

Catra runs a private little black-ops operation to sort out "problems the princesses do not need to know about." Many a wanna-be-assassin has decided to leave Brightmoon under unexplained circumstances that Catra knows nothing about at all, I'm sure.

Bow - friend guy that he is - keeps all the REST of the disasters safe and functional, so he has little time for shenanigans of his own. He does however, run away to do pirating with Sea Hawk at times.

Sea Hawk deals with exactly the kind of drama we saw in the show - burning people's ships and occasionally having to run away from his ever-growing list of exes

Mermista is a pirate queen, or like she puts it "she deals with some boring Salineas politics or whatever". Any given day might be treasure hunt, naval battle or mutiny.

Perfuma handles the power balance of Plumeria, which is far more cutthroat than anyone else wants to realize (if yet in a very passive aggressive way).

Scorpia has very mild social drama, like angsting over flower arrangements or table placement on the upcoming dinner.

Frosta is deep into fandom drama for her favourite shows, and defend the honours of her OCs with gusto and cool ice powers.

Entrapta deals with social melodrama among the robots, which is completely incomprehensible for everyone except her.

Entrapta, crying her eyes out: "...but then Emily changed the file transfer protocol to base 124 without giving Darla the new encryption key. Why didn't she give her the encryption key?"

Hordak, deadpan: "There, there."

People straight up try to murder Hordak on a regular basis. He is completely understanding about it, doesn't defend himself with more force than strictly needed and see no need to ask followup questions.

Imp chews on cables.

Wrong Hordak is involved in multiple high-level tax fraud schemes.

Micah does Indiana Jones style adventure-archeology quests. Sometimes, to her great relief, Glimmer gets to come along. After a long day of meetings, fleeing for her life from slobbing monsters is a great way of unwinding.

Casta has almost as much relationship drama as Sea Hawk.

Double Trouble is Double Trouble.

[k-nayee]

Morning After Alien Romulus ii

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Morning After by DVSN; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

Previous | Next

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The quiet hum of the ventilation system was the only sound in the room as you awakened.

Your bare skin prickled slightly as the cool air traced along your spine. The sheets were slightly tangled around your legs, a faint reminder of the way Tyler had held onto you as if afraid you’d slip away.

For a moment you stayed there, caught between the comfort of the present and the weight of the future pressing on your chest.

You took in the sight of Tyler sleeping beside you—his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, lips slightly parted, breaths even and untroubled as his arm draped loosely over your waist,

You felt an undeniable tug in your chest.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

You reached out without thinking; brushing your fingers gently through his hair, smoothing back a few strands that had fallen over his forehead. He barely stirred with a soft exhale.

You wanted nothing more than to stay, to sink back under the covers and pretend, even for a little while longer, that the outside world didn’t exist. That Jackson’s Star wasn’t a crumbling graveyard in the making.

But reality was impatient and duty whispered in the back of your mind.

Leaning in, you pressed a light kiss to his forehead, lingering just enough to let the moment settle. "Soon," you murmured against his skin, the promise hanging between you. "We’ll get there soon."

Though you weren’t sure who it was really meant for. Him or yourself?

With careful movements you slip out from under the sheets, mindful not to wake him. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded across the room, a wince pulling at your face as you bend down to dress quickly—the soreness a not-so-subtle reminder of last night.

You had picked something simple. Practical. Didn’t want to give anyone a reason to notice you more than necessary today.

The facility was quieter than usual when you arrived. Most workers hadn’t clocked in yet, leaving only a few scattered employees moving through the lit corridors, lost in their own routines.

Good. Fewer eyes meant fewer questions.

Settling at your workstation, you booted up the terminal, fingers moving automatically over the keyboard. Years of navigating these systems had made you efficient—too efficient.

You knew the system inside and out; knew its weak spots, its loopholes. Every firewall, every security gap, every blind spot left unattended that management either didn’t care to fix or simply hadn’t noticed.

Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe it was neglect. Either way it worked in your favor.

Hacking in was second nature by now. Your eyes scanned the lines of code flashing across the screen as you navigated through, slipping past security protocols with the kind of precision that only came from experience.

A click here, a minor override there—nothing too aggressive, nothing that would trip an alarm. Just a careful dance between what was allowed and what wasn’t.

Then you saw it.

QUOTA MET: TRANSFER ELIGIBLE

The confirmation glowed in green across your account file, staring back at you like a silent invitation.

You had met your quota weeks ago. The option had been sitting there waiting. You hadn’t acted. Not until now.

Not until Tyler.

Your heartbeat picked up, thudding against your ribs as you pulled up your brother’s data. His file flickered onto the screen—his name, his hours, his status, all laid out in sterile formatting.

For a brief second doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. What if this didn’t work? What if someone noticed? What if—

No. You couldn't think like that. Taking a deep breath, you began typing.

It wasn’t just a matter of inputting numbers. The system wouldn’t allow a direct transfer under normal circumstances. There were fail-safes in place, redundancies meant to prevent exactly this kind of manipulation.

Luckily you knew the cracks in the armor.

Instead of a direct transfer you rerouted the hours through a dormant worker ID—a name that no longer had a body attached to it, a ghost in the system. From there the hours flowed cleanly into your brother’s account, looking like nothing more than a clerical correction.

The moment you hit Enter your status blinked red.

QUOTA UNMET: TRANSFER UNELIGIBLE

And then—your brother’s turned green.

QUOTA MET: TRANSFER ELIGIBLE

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, your hands were still trembling slightly as they hovered over the keys. 'It's done.'

The thought echoed in your head but it didn’t bring you the relief you expected. Instead your stomach twisted with unease.

With a shaky exhale you forced yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to sit here in shock. You quickly began to erase every trace of your interference.

You became hyper-aware of the faint hum of machinery and the distant murmur of workers beginning to filter into the station as your fingers moved automatically.

Delete logs, clear access history, reroute tracking pings.

Every file you touched, every lingering breadcrumb that could be traced back to you, wiped clean. It was meticulous work but you had no room for error.

A few more keystrokes... A final scan... Gone.

With a final click you shut off your terminal. You sat there for a moment, staring at the dark reflection of your own face on the screen’s surface.

It was done. No going back.

Your lungs deflated as you leaned back in the chair, shoulders slumping as the tension coiled in your muscles finally unwound—just a fraction.

Because this was only the first step.

Pushing away from your desk, you forced your legs to move through the near-empty halls. The artificial lighting above flickered slightly, casting sharp shadows along the walls, but you barely noticed.

You needed to look the part.

Reaching the nearest restroom, you slipped inside and locked the door behind you. The mirror reflected back a face that didn’t look nearly as weary as you felt.

That wouldn’t do.

Digging into your bag, you pulled out your small kit of waterproof makeup, your hands steady as you selected the palest shade you had. You apply it strategically to make your skin appear almost ghostly: dabbing it under your cheekbones, around your eyes—anywhere that would make you look sickly.

Then came the red liner, a precise application around the rims of your eyes to mimic irritation and exhaustion. You blinked a few times to let the moisture build naturally.

The effect was haunting—you looked drained, on the verge of collapse.

Perfect.

Satisfied, you straightened, adjusted your shirt to appear slightly rumpled, and took one last breath before leaving the restroom.

Now came the hard part.

The walk to Mary-Anne's office felt much longer than usual. Your hands felt clammy, your breathing slightly uneven, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This has to work.

Reaching her door, you raised a trembling hand and knocked softly.

A rustle of papers. A chair shifting. Then—

"Come in."

You pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She was at her desk (as usual), glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she worked through a thick stack of paperwork. The soft glow of her monitor illuminated the wrinkles in her forehead as she worked, but as soon as she saw you she paused.

Her face brightened upon seeing you, her lips parting in the start of a warm greeting—until she saw you up close. The warmth drained from her expression and was replaced by deep immediate concern.

"____...sweetheart, I—" Mary-Anne's brows knit together as she stood up slightly, leaning forward. "What’s wrong? What happened?"

You lowered yourself into the chair across from her, your hands clenching together in your lap, curling into yourself just a little as you gave a shaky sigh.

“I—I listened to you,” you murmured. “I went to the infirmary. I...I just thought maybe I was run down, you know?" A weak humorless laugh escaped you before you inhaled sharply as if bracing yourself. "But after some tests, they—" Your voice caught.

Mary-Anne was already on the edge of her seat. "Tests?" she echoed. Her own hands pressed against the desk, her knuckles white.

You lifted your gaze to hers, your eyes wet, the red lining enhancing the illusion of someone who had cried too much already. "They found something growing in my brain. They don't know what...but the tumor's developing fast."

Mary-Anne's face went slack. For a moment she just stared, uncomprehending—like her mind refused to process what you had just said. Then the color drained from her face.

"Oh honey…" Her voice broke, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "No...no that can’t—"

You let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly as if you were trying to keep yourself together. It wasn’t hard—because underneath the act real emotions swirled, tangled with the lie.

You could feel the weight of it pressing on your concious.

She reached forward, grasping your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly as if that alone could will reality into something kinder.

You let your head dip slightly, eyes burning as you let out a trembling breath. "I—I don’t have much time."

Her grip on your hand tightened. "No no don’t say that. There—there has to be something they can do. Treatments—"

You shook your head. "It’s too late for that."

The first tear slipped down her cheek and it nearly shattered you.

She saw you like family. A daughter, a niece—someone she had taken under her wing long ago. And now? Now she was losing you.

You hesitated before speaking again, letting the tension stretch just enough. Then you carefully squeezed her hand. "I...I need you to do something for me."

She sniffed, blinking rapidly. "Anything."

You took a breath. "I need you to approve my brother’s transfer to Yvaga III."

Her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her grief-stricken face. "...What?"

"I gave him all my hours," you admitted lowly. "He has everything he needs to leave. But if anyone checks the records, they’ll see the numbers don’t add up and they’ll start asking questions."

Silence.

Mary-Anne's entire body tensed as her hands pulled away. "You—what?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost like she was afraid of the walls listening in. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! If they find out—"

You cut her off with a hollow laugh. "I’m already a dead woman."

That stopped her cold.

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of machinery beyond the walls. Her lips parted but no words came out. She just stared at you, at the emptiness behind your eyes, at the acceptance.

The truth (at least the truth you had crafted) settled between you both like a lead weight..

“There’s always one final screening before transfer off Jackson Star.” You spoke again, voice softer now, raw with the emotion you needed her to see. “If you approve it no one will think to look deeper. No one will question it."

Tears spilled freely from your eyes now, your breath coming out uneven. "I...I can’t leave him alone. I'm all he has. After the death of our parent's I can’t—" Your breath hitched and the dam broke.

Your body shook as sobs wracked your frame. The grief, the fear, the desperation—it all poured out in a way that felt real. Maybe because some of it was.

Maybe because you knew, deep down, you weren’t just crying for your brother. You were crying for everything.

For the life you never got to have... For the choices forced upon you.... For the lies you had to tell to ensure the only family you had left would be safe....

Through your blurred vision you saw her; you saw the war waging in her expression, the way her hands curled into fists, the way she fought against the rules, against logic, against everything she was supposed to do.

Then, with a heavy shaky sigh, she shook her head. "You…" She let out a choked sound, somewhere between frustration and heartbreak. "You absolute fool."

And then she nodded. "Okay."

Your breath caught.

She sniffled, wiping her face. "I’ll do it. I’ll make it official."

A broken sob tore through you as you surged forward, wrapping your arms around her. She let out a strangled sound of her own before hugging you back tightly, squeezing you like she was trying to hold you together.

You had done it.

Your brother was safe.

And nothing else mattered.

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You sat in the dimly lit living lounge, your knee bouncing uncontrollably as nerves twisted like a knot in your stomach. The faint hum of the ventilation system filled the silence but it did nothing to settle the unease gripping your chest.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual—or maybe it was just your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Your fingers tangled together in your lap, gripping tighter than they needed to as every so often you'd glanced toward the front door.

'He should be home soon...'

You had gone over this conversation in your head over and over. What you would say...how you would say it.

But now? Now you weren’t even sure how to start.

Then—

The front door slides open with a soft hiss, the faint shuffling of boots against the metal floor signaling his return. Anticipation and dread coiled inside you as you shot up instantly like a tightly wound spring.

Your brother stepped inside, his uniform slightly wrinkled from another long shift. A tired but genuine smile formed on his lips as he shrugged off his jacket. "Hey! You won't believe the kind of day I had—"

The easy smile falters the second he sees your face. "What’s wrong?" The usual warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a cautious edge.

You hadn’t realized how serious you must have seemed—hands clenched, eyes trained on him like you were bracing for impact.

You didn’t answer.

Instead you closed the distance between you in a few quick strides and pulled him into a hug.

His body tensed at first, caught off guard by the abruptness of it, his arms hovering uncertainly before finally settling around you. He was taller than you now, but the way you clutched him and forced his head down to rest against your shoulder said otherwise.

"Okay...?" His voice was muffled as he let out a confused chuckle. "Now I know something’s up."

He shifted slightly, trying to pull back, but you only tightened your hold for a moment longer, now cradling his head under your chin.

His breath hitched. "Hey...what’s going on?" His voice was softer now. More careful.

You could feel his unease, the way he hunched slightly, letting you hold onto him like you used to when you were both younger—when the world had been scarier and he had needed you to shield him from it.

Taking one last shaky breath, you finally pull back. His hands lingered on your arms as you reached up to gently cup his face between your palms.

His skin was warm beneath your touch, [eye color] eyes searching yours for answers as his brow scrunched deeper. "Seriously. What’s going on?"

You met his gaze. "You’re leaving, [Brother's Name]."

He blinks. “What?”

"You’re getting out of here." Your voice became firmer. “You’re leaving Jackson Star.”

His expression remained frozen for a second, like his brain was still catching up to the words you had just said. Then his eyes slowly widened.

A beat of silence.

"...What?" His voice was barely a whisper this time.

You didn’t waver. You repeated yourself as you give a steady and reassuring nod. "You’re going to Yvaga."

For a moment his lips parted but no sound came out. He just stood there blinking at you, the reality of your words sinking in.

Then—a grin.

It started small, creeping onto his face. Then it grew bright and full of disbelief.

"Wait. Wait are you serious?" His voice pitched higher, excitement bleeding into every syllable. "You’re not messing with me? This isn’t some kind of cruel prank right?"

You didn’t need to answer. The look in your eyes was enough.

"Holy shit—are you serious?! No wait—" He spun around, running a hand through his hair as a sudden burst of energy rushed through him. "I— I’m actually leaving?! I can finally—?!"

He turned back to you as he started rambling, his words coming out in breathless waves.

"I’ll actually get to see the sun?! And real trees?! And—actual grass?! Like real growing grass? And the air—God bet the air doesn’t even smell like metal and recycled filth over there—"

But then he stopped.

His words cut off mid-sentence as he looked back at you. And just like that, the boyish wonder vanished, replaced by something raw as the light in his eyes dimmed.

“Wha....what about you?”

You had been waiting for this. You forced a reassuring smile, shaking your head as if his worry was misplaced. "I’ll be there too."

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes searched yours as if trying to find the lie beneath your words. When he found nothing to doubt, his shoulders eased. "Okay...yeah. Good that's good."

Relief softened his features, and just like that the light returned. He grinned again, bubbling back up as he started pacing, hands gesturing as he talked.

"God I don’t even know where to start! Do I need to pack everything? What should I bring? What’s the first thing I should do when I get there? Do you think they have real food? Like not this rehydrated crap?"

His energy was infectious and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he spin in circles like a kid on their birthday. “Relax. The transport doesn’t leave for another week. You have time."

"Yeah but still—!" He waved his arms, his mind clearly filled with preparations. "I gotta be ready!"

Still grinning, you reached out and ruffled his hair, messing it up just to hear him groan in protest. He batted your hand away with a playful scowl.

You hesitated for half a second before adding, "You’re gonna be staying with Mary-Anne for the time being."

His excitement dimmed again, his lips pressed together. "...Why do I have to stay with her? Aren't we just going together?"

There it was—that little sliver of doubt creeping back in.

"Because I need to handle some things here first. But I’ll be there right after." you said, pinching his cheek exaggeratedly in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Besides, you like her. She makes those weird cookies you love."

The teen scrunched his nose but didn’t argue. He still looked uncertain.

"You promise?"

You smiled, lifting your hand and holding out your pinky; a silent vow.

He stared at it for a moment before huffing, a grin tugging at his lips as he looped his pinky around yours. "You better not make me wait too long," he muttered.

"Do I ever?"

"Yes. Constantly."

You laughed, bumping your forehead against his before pulling back.

For now the moment was safe. For now he was happy. And for now that was enough.

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The low hum of Corbelan IV ’s engines vibrated through the metal walls, a subtle but constant reminder that they were really leaving. The air inside the ship was thick with tension—excitement, unease, the weight of the unknown.

Navarro was already in the cockpit; flipping switches, checking dials, her voice crisp and efficient as she called out checkpoints.

In the main cabin Rain and Andy moved around, taking in the ship’s interior with quiet awe while others moved frantically, checking cargo, double-checking straps, ensuring everything was in place.

And then there was Tyler.

He sat in the co-pilot’s seat barely registering the checklist Navarro was rattling off. The faint hum of the ship, the occasional flicker of a dashboard light....it all blurred into the background.

His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, shoulders slightly slumped as his entire body carried the kind of tension that only came with waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

He should be happy. They were finally leaving this cursed place. They were finally free.

But you weren’t here.

"You alright mate?"

Tyler blinked, turning to see Bjorn staring at him from where he stood near the console. The scavenger's arms were crossed, his expression unreadable but sharp with observation.

Tyler forced a grin with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yeah. Yeah—I will be."

Bjorn made a noise in the back of his throat, half scoff, half knowing grunt. He smacked his lips and muttered, “Women. Can’t live with ‘em...can’t live without ‘em.”

Tyler let out a breathy laugh, though it held no real humor. But before he could respond—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A loud pounding rattled against the metal door causing everyone to jump.

"Shit!" Bjorn hissed, his entire body going rigid.

Kay sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as hands instinctively move to her stomach. "Think we got caught?" she whispered as panic crept into her voice.

Navarro whipped around in her seat. "No fucking way, I cleared us. There’s no—"

Tyler’s pulse spiked as he turned toward the console. With a quick press of a button, the external camera feed flickered onto the screen.

And then—

All the tension in his body evaporated.

A slow disbelieving smile stretched across his face.

He shot up from his seat, barely giving the others a second glance before bolting for the door. His heart was hammering, his throat tight as he slammed his hand against the release button.

The door hissed open.

And there you were. Standing just beyond the threshold, a bag slung over your shoulder with a warm smile tinged with nervous energy. "Got room for one more?"

For a split second Tyler just stared.

His breath stuttered, eyes scanning over you as if he needed to make sure you were real—that you weren’t some cruel hallucination conjured by wishful thinking.

In an instant his arms were around you.

You barely had time to react before you were engulfed in his warmth, your feet nearly lifting off the ground as he held you tight against his chest. His breathing was uneven, almost ragged, like he was forcing himself to believe this was happening.

"You here," he muttered against your shoulder.

You let out a soft laugh, muffling the way your throat tightened. "Didn’t actually think I’d let you have all the fun did you?"

Tyler pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still gripping your arms like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.

His eyes searched yours.

You could tell—he wanted to say something else. Something bigger. But instead he just huffed a breath and shook his head. "Get inside idiot."

Grinning, you stepped past him, dropping your bag onto the floor as you took your first steps onto the ship.

The others were staring.

Bjorn let out a low whistle. "Well look at that. Drama’s over folks. Guess we can all breathe now."

Kay let out a choked laugh, one hand clutching her chest as if trying to slow her racing heart. "Almost gave me a damn heart attack that's for sure"

You just shot her a wink.

Navarro’s voice came through the intercom, cutting through the moment. "Last call. We’re clear for launch in two minutes. Strap in or get left behind."

This was it.

Tyler exhaled, running a hand through his hair before glancing back at you, a different kind of smile on his face now. "Come on," he said, nodding toward the seats. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

You grinned.

"Gladly.

[garvet]

Stupid

Fine. Three was hanging over the abyss, one hand gripping the rock, while the other held the half of the company SecUnit’s torso. The situation was stupid, no matter how you looked at it. First, the Unit wasn’t salvageable. No lower part, no arms, leaking from everywhere. It was still online, sure, but it had already reported three times how overdue it was for disposal. Second, Three absolutely shouldn’t have exposed itself to enemy Units, let alone saved one. Third, if a mining excavator was grinding up one Unit, another Unit wasn’t supposed to intervene. Especially if the excavator had been hacked by allied saboteurs. If a dismembered enemy was tossed into the abyss, the logical and protocol-compliant response was to continue the mission. What Three did in response to the Unit’s distress signal, sent into the void, didn’t make sense in any way. Jumping after it and catching it? Reasonable—if it was a client. A human. Not, well, you know, if it is enemy equipment. Three, sitrep? asked 1.0 over the feed. I’m fine, Three replied, squeezing the SecUnit between its legs and grabbing onto the rock with the other hand. — This unit… — the buffer reinitialized once again. — Yeah, — Three agreed, hauling itself upward with a sharp motion. System System, update file transfer initiated. Confirm receipt and execution.- it sent 1.0 was going to be very unhappy. But Three knew that if, in response to the inevitable "Why the fuck?", it simply said "I wanted it," 1.0 would immediately stop being angry. Everything would be fine.