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[interdimensionalburnout]

>>You woke up this morning to a light rain and a chill wind, lightly tapping on your palm-leaf shelter. It's dim out, still, the sky is much darker than the weather implies once you look outside. The shelter won't hold, which is fine. As you clicked on the little handlamp you've hung from a woven loop in your leaf-ceiling, bathing the conical space in warm light, you wondered at the comfort in your body, but you missed it, didn't quite catch it until it had passed.

>>You lean up against your duffel bag, chock-full of weapons and gear, like it's a beanbag, and nestle in for a second. You've already had a stretch, sure, but there's a second to be taken in leisure, and once you've relaxed, you're pleased to find you're still... comfortable, at ease. "Don't keep asking yourself, goofball," whispers a voice in your mind. You nod at at that, in concession, and pull your phone out. Which coordinates did you get sent to first, again?

>>The device hums to life, a "phone," turned into a PDA thanks to your insane modification skills. Your powers might be situational, but your thinks, those are universal, now that you're giving yourself some credit for once. A projector in the phone reveals the 3D projection of the local terrain, as much as the camera drone on your coat's shoulder could scan before the weather scared it back home. Most of the coordinates came with a descriptor, and then a name, but as this particular blip registers on the... iffy-quality map (jungles are hard scanning, something you forgot about your little drone until this morning), the only thing the text displays is, "Guilty Cocker Spaniel."

>>You wipe a single, malachite green tear from your good eye, barely able to see through the wet net of joy and lashes, a smile plastered ear-to-ear. You thought you went out and found the old girl years and years ago, when you were living under another name. But that's the name of your ship, you'd know that ship even just by the red dot on a blue hologram map; the clearing it's sitting in is JUST the right-sized clearing.

>>Breakfast is composed of two coconuts you got from the tree you made the shelter from, along with the very last slices of pizza you got when you arrived on Argie nearly twenty days prior (still fresh!). It leaves a weird taste in your mouth that you force yourself to believe is a good omen. Anything less than a good omen today would... well, it wouldn't suck, would it? As you don your duster, hanging from your knife in the trunk of the tree, you realize you feel... lighter than air, comfortable, too, tomorrow would be a new day, if today DID turn out to be a setback. "Landin' on your ass just offers a new perspective, I guess."

>>You're off a minute later, cutting through the underbrush and marveling at the youth of the jungle. You don't have the faintest idea as to how your ship could've got here, but you're a big fan of the locale; somewhere this wild and young, barely even surveyed by anyone, would be a good place to leave a sealed ship. The biggest creatures here can kill a human, but not break into a space ship, and jungle's so young that the floor is still largely exposed sand and soil. On the whole, you're reminded of a stretch of sandbar you used to have a metal shack on, somewhere far in your past. Good times, a little vacation away from-

>>The bag drops from your shoulders, there she is, The Guilty Cocker Spaniel. You're crying, ugly tears of joy. She's copper-orange, like rust with a shine, and built like an asymmetrical mash of storage containers, all clipping into one another. A cockpit emerges from a mini-bridge at the front of the ship, the seat suspended in a bubble "for maximum viewage," a small dog keychain hangs from a monitor in the cockpit. There's only three thrusters, one large one to the left of two smaller thrusters, and only a pair of small, squat directional wings emerging from the bottom of the craft. On the whole, it looks goofy and unwieldy. It's also covered in fresh growth, vines and bushes emerging from every crack that they could get into, find something to hold.

>>You're not sure how she's even here. The last time you thought about The Spaniel, you could've swore she was a derelict hulk, sitting in your lost Sky Garage. But as you've paced the perimeter of the clearing, twice, you're realizing that this ship is alive still, and ready to fly. She's merely in a deep, deep sleep. The last time you seriously flew this ship, you were a different person. You hadn't sneaked across the multiverse, inserted yourself where you didn't belong. You didn't have Partition.

>>You're reunited with one of the first homes you ever really had for yourself, by your own hands, now. And this time, you can really, truly get to meet her. And thank her for taking you back.

[mageless]

Nothing better than getting into a new fandom, dipping into ao3 and immediately seeing an author you already know.

Yes, I’m lost in the labyrinth, but my good cousin Throckmorton is here with a handlamp to show me the way.

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[chaos-monkeyy]

In case you missed it... Added some smut to the tiny Cassian/Nemik ship tag 😏

Full fic on AO3: Worked up

Explicit, no content warnings ~ Preview down below the gif 👇

“Hey, Clem?” 

Cassian stifled a sigh at Nemik’s muffled whisper from just outside his makeshift tent. “Yeah?” 

A scuffling and spill of moonlight accompanied the rebel kid’s head poking in through the flap. 

“You’re awake too?” 

“Well if I wasn’t before, I am now,” Cassian complained, but he didn’t say it mean. Even if he had been just starting to fall asleep, despite Skeen’s snoring from the next tent over. “It’s fine, come on in. What is it?” 

While Cassian turned a small handlamp on, bathing the two of them and the tent walls in a faint white glow, Nemik scooted inside. He sat next to Cassian’s bedroll, fidgeting nervously; glancing up at Cassian and then away again. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Cassian gently said when the kid didn’t say anything. Admittedly, he was probably only a few years younger than Cassian himself, at most, but… He just acted so much younger in some ways than all the rest of them, it was hard not to think of him as 'the kid' of the group. “You can tell me, whatever’s going on.” 

“It’s… embarrassing,” Nemik mumbled, ducking his head to stare fixedly at his own feet. “You’ll think it’s dumb.” 

“Ah, and so what if I do?” Cassian said lightly, shifting over and nudging Nemik’s shoulder with his. “It’s me, doesn’t matter what I think. And you know, I am an expert on that. I say dumb shit plenty,” he added with a grin, at Nemik’s quizzical look. 

Nemik huffed a laugh at that, glancing up again and nudging Cassian back with a tentative smile of his own. A smile, and a blush. 

… Ah. 

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[bedlamsbard]

1500 words written today. Me: oh, these epilogue scenes won’t take too long to write. Also me: *trying to build the sheer dawning horror of these scenes*

Lazy Christmas day today -- I had no plans except for extended family video call, which was, well, I tapped out early.  (I do not actually know most of the extended family -- this is my dad’s mom’s side of the family -- because I usually only see them once every five or ten years.)  I had vague plans to do other stuff, but I did not do them due to my inevitable “I have a scheduled thing and thus I can do nothing else before it.”  Also, read a book.

Snippet from other side AU concept 11.

There were no bodies that they saw, but there was evidence of hard fighting everywhere.  Whatever had happened to the Chimaera had at least partially occurred on the ship itself – Hera spotted carbon-scoring on the walls and floor, as well as the unmistakable wreckage left behind by grenade detonations.  The source of some of the damage she was a mystery to her, though – places that looked like acid had eaten through the walls and floor, patches of strange mold and fungi that couldn’t have yet made its way through the starship’s thick hull.  Some corridors had collapsed completely, probably when the ship had broken up. The whole ship felt haunted in its emptiness, the echoing silence only broken by the distant drip…drip… of water or some other liquid.  She and Kanan had to walk braced at odd angles where floors had buckled or broken up entirely.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Hera murmured, shining her handlamp over some kind of pulsing orange fungus that covered most of the floor in front of her.  There was enough clear deck that they could have edged around it, but something about the idea made her lekku twitch uneasily.  She didn’t want to get near it.

Kanan studied the fungus with one hand outstretched, his frown deepening, then nodded in agreement. “Let’s find another way.”

Hera sighed in equal parts resignation and relief as they turned around.  The lack of bodies should have been a relief, but she found it just as disquieting as the rest of the ship.  The Imperials might have buried their dead before evacuating the ship, she supposed, but she had assumed they had left before it had crashed.  Maybe not.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chosen Child

20 years ago, many miles off the Coast of the Netherlands

“Edzard, we finally made it.” A man in wire rimmed glasses spoke as he stepped forward.

“Yes… Finally. After all time.” The man responded, his whisper shaking with emotion. He clenched his teeth angrily. “We did it… and with no one from the damned Secret Party to help us.”

They were two men wearing headlamps and yellow caving gear, staring with mud streaked faces at a door as tall as a five-story building. It was made of solid wood and carved with a great tree with a coiled snake squeezing the trunk. It stood as a testament that once upon a time, the Netherlands was covered in forest that hosted massive trees, that these trees were worshiped for the spirits they contained. The ancient writing carved on the door paid homage to those woodland spirits that served as guardians for what was now hidden behind them. Even if they had a tank, they would not be able to push this door open. This door had stood alone for centuries since the beast left it in 1222, but once upon a time, it had been easily accessible to the Royal Frisian dragonslaying family. This door was at the end of a maze of tunnels and a carefully guarded secret. 

They were a full 5 miles underground. The air was dry and the darkness was absolute. There was no sound of water or wind. Only their own breaths in the cool air that stayed a steady 56 degrees fahrenheit. They were able to find this place by setting off explosive charges and then listening to the feedback by ultrasound. Still it was years of work and millions of dollars of equipment and personnel to finally reach the front door of what they believed to be Midgarslaang's tomb. 

The man in the wire rimmed glasses was Eggerick Donia, a peerless scientist and expert in alchemy, and Edzard Galama’s personal friend. From the time he could write, he was fascinated with draconic science. He had an affinity and understanding of how they thought and had made many recent discoveries, including making certain assumptions about grammar in their languages that proved to be correct. Now he stood in front of the door. He pulled out a white slip of paper and tried to wedge it through the crack, but it would not go through. “Hm. I can’t get any real readings. The chamber is hermetically sealed. The Midgarslaang is legendary for its poison. Let’s put on our gas masks now and test our equipment.”

The men paused and shouldered oxygen canisters and slipped their heavy rebreathers over their heads. They wouldn’t be able to verbally speak but Edzard gave him a thumbs up to indicate he was ready. They piled explosive charges against the door, C4 and dynamite, just enough to blow it open without demolishing the tunnel itself. The two men hurried away to give themselves plenty of distance from the blast. In the enclosed space, the shockwave from the explosion would go much farther and faster and hit with greater force. Despite their care, the boom flattened them to the floor and they covered their heads as rocks rained down on them and a blinding haze of dust filled the air. The doors shook in their place and a hole large enough for them to drive a truck through, crashed open, sucking air into the hidden chamber, taking the dust with it.

The two men waited a bit and when all was quiet, they stood from their crouched positions. Eggerick motioned for Edzard to move forward and they cautiously picked their way through the rubble. Their bright handlamps at last shined a light on a chamber that had been plunged in darkness for centuries. It dwarfed them in scale. It was large enough to comfortably house a jumbo jet and a perfect size for a dragon. But it was empty save for a box shaped stone formation in the center of the room.  

The stone formation was carved with serpents and winding draconic script. A circular trough ringed it and five other straight troughs radiated out a few feet from it like sunrays. At the end of each ray, a mummified and blackened human form was frozen in a kneeling position. Eggerick hurriedly retrieved his camera and started taking pictures. He crouched, taking photos of each kneeling form, their hair, the remnants of their rotted clothes, their jewelry. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice that Edzard took off his gas mask. He paused and raised his hand in a warning but Edzard just shrugged. “The air from outside rushed in here. I figured it was fine.”

Eggerick put one hand over his masked face and shook his head, then he kept taking pictures.

“Could this be a dragon egg? I thought the Midgarslaang left?” He reached out to touch the centuries old layer of dust on the stone casket only to have his hand slapped away by Eggerick.  Edzard glared at him. “Oh come now, we’re going to blow this place up. We can’t just leave this here and we can’t take it with us. It is part of the floor.”

He pointed downward. Sure enough, this stone coffin appeared to have been carved from solid rock. In fact, the channels that were carved in the stone floor were also connected to the box.

Eggerick finally removed his mask from over his sweaty hair and fixed his gaze on the kneeling corpses. “Whatever is in there… Our ancestors gave their lives to seal it. Those channels carved in the floor are likely to receive their blood. They truly must have fallen to the dragons if they resorted to using such a forbidden technique. Their clothing suggests this ritual took place close to the time where the family was wiped out by the old Secret Party. Perhaps the accusations of falling to the dragon’s side were true.”

“Or they weren’t true and they fell to the dragon’s side to survive.” Edzard lifted his eyes up to the high ceiling.

Eggerick sighed in deep regret and then he lowered his head. “I’m going to erase these photos.” He said, opening the UI on the back of his camera.

“What are you doing?” Edzard reached out to him in alarm.

“I know what this is… this is the knowledge of the Cocoon. This is … the dragon’s secret of immortality.”

Dragons were not truly immortal. However, they had a form of rebirth that allowed a mortally wounded dragon to seal itself away and gradually regenerate over hundreds of years. When it woke up, it was reborn in an embryonic state and its memories were lost from its prior life. It would need to feed to regain its strength again. The Midgarslaang had been slain by the hero Donar and Donar had supposedly died with it, according to the legend, but his body was never recovered. In 1222, the Midgarslaang burst out of its tomb in an ethereal form and fled north, revealing its former resting place. And yet, no one is recorded ever coming down here. It was suspected that the Frisian family had found something. The well constructed tunnel appeared of draconic make, but it's clean and clear condition suggested that this passageway had been maintained.

Eggerick leaned away from Edzard’s grasping hands. “This is forbidden knowledge. It’s no use to us. Let’s take a few artifacts and use the last of our explosives to destroy the passageway.”

“We have so little left of our heritage! We came all this way! We spent years! Millions of dollars! You can’t be serious!” Edzard wrestled for the camera and in response, Eggerick threw it to the stone floor where it shattered.

“I am serious! If this knowledge gets out, you know what will happen. You know it!” Eggerick’s shout reverberated through the cavern and the two men faced each other. He pointed to the shattered camera as he spoke in a trembling hiss. “Men and women will be sacrificed for the immortality of the highest level of the Secret Party. You and I will be killed for what we know! Just like they killed our ancestors! Thanks to them we all come from a lowly maid. Our generations of careful breeding were wiped out in a single night! You think they will let us live?! They will use this for their own ends! They will truly be dragons!”

Eggerick stared at the camera. Tears ran down his face. “We got the answers we sought. We can climb back to the surface and confirm their use of forbidden knowledge. We can’t come back up to the surface and leave a record of this or history will repeat itself. You know it!” When he looked up, he looked down the barrel of a gun. Eggerick gasped and his body tensed, but he didn’t have time to do anything else. The bullet rocked him back against the stone coffin. He slammed into it and collapsed. The exit wound on his head left a long bloody trail that dripped down the draconic he’d just been photographing.

Edzard lowered the pistol, pale and trembling. “Traitor. Traitor to your blood.” He whispered. “You were my friend. We came all this way and you would…”

The report echoed a wordless condemnation. Edzard’s heart beat against his ribs and he sucked air in a panic for a few seconds before tossing his pistol away.  “Don’t worry… I’ll rebuild our heritage. Starting here… starting now.” he picked up the camera and picked through the pieces to find the SD card, praying and hoping that something would be left on it. As he did, a dark red rivulet came into his peripheral vision.

Eggerick’s blood was starting to run from his head into the channels carved into the box in an increasingly fast flow, being drawn out of it. Edzard knew Eggerick came from the highest quality lineage their family could muster. They both did. But the box was actually responding to the blood. A loud thump and the top of the box lifted slightly, coughing out dust. Unwittingly, Edzard had sacrificed Eggerick to the mechanism to open it.

Edzard's heart raced and his breathing accelerated. He dashed forward and pushed against the heavy stone lid. It didn’t budge and he had to pause to catch his breath. Friction and weight made it difficult for even his strength. But he tried again to force the box to open, pushing with all his power. As he did, he chanted. “I came all this way. I came all this way! I will NOT let us die out. Never! Never!” 

He ranted like this, roaring and crying, both over his lost friend and his forgotten heritage that was now hanging by a single thread in his hands. Finally, with a loud yell, he pushed and the lid crashed to the ground. He leaned on the box, breathing hard and peered inside with his headlamp. His eyes suddenly widened and rolled with tears, he started to laugh and cry at the same time. He looked insane with joy!

He reached in and carefully pulled out a small sleeping child, a baby that appeared to be one month old. It was naked, pale but it was breathing. He pulled his glove off and felt it. “You’re warm. You’re…”

He held the baby to himself and leaned back against the stone casket, laughing and sobbing. He slid down to the floor where he sat, trembling, overcome with emotion. “You’re hungry… You must be…” He reached down and plunged his finger into his old friend’s blood and held it against the baby’s lips. When it opened its eyes they were piercing gold and looked at the world coldly, like a reptile.

He thought it was forbidden knowledge he was seeking but what he found was so much more. What he found was a direct link to the bloodline of the past. And he had just barely rescued it. Perhaps this was a test, a loyalty test of the old realm to see if the surviving members of their magnificent family would be worthy of its resurgence.

“Are you a dragon?” He whispered, gazing down at the little boy. “What are you?” He sniffled, inhaling his own tears while still laughing. 

He held the baby close in his arms. “I don’t care. You’re mine. You’re ours. Our future.”

------------

Cassell College, Amber Hall

Edzard Galama now stood, watching Dominic take his vows of royalty, his rightful place as King, with a worrying reluctance. His upbringing had been corrupted by that bloodline traitor who stole him away and raised him as a normal human, but he could not let anything stop him from his own goal: to bring back his noble family. The baby was now a young man and now stood with the Black Scale Sword, an alchemy blade that was fabled to corrupt all who touched it. Although his hand trembled at the power of that weapon, he stayed still as the words “Long Live the King!” were shouted in his honor.

These people had been gathered from around the world, but most of them were half-breeds or less, the remnants of a bloodline diluted with time. More importantly, they were loyal, with a heart that beat for the Dragonslayers of Old Frisia and who welcomed its return to greatness with eager eyes and faces.

Dominic barely understood the importance of his role, much less cared about it. Edzard had to convey that importance in months when it should have been spread out over years. However, Dominic had not broken under that harsh treatment. Even as he rejected his reality, he grew stronger, more ferocious, and more cunning in his attempts to escape the confines of the monastery. When physically breaking out of his cell didn’t work, he learned to escape by hiding in the laundry. When that was cut off, he drugged his nursemaid. When that failed, he sabotaged the locks. Each time, Edzard punished him, beating him until he couldn’t move any longer and letting him lie in pain until his own high purity dragonblood healed his wounds. Knowing what would come after each failed escape, once he realized the agony he would have to endure, when cornered, Dominic stopped trying to escape. He started to kill his captors. He started to hunt them and the guards of his prison realized that they had been locked in with a true monster. If Dominic didn’t escape, then he would simply take the lives of those around him until he was the only one left. But isn’t that fitting for a young dragon as well? To eat those closest to them and grow in power?

Edzard spent his best years searching maps of old ruins and found this boy, only to lose him to a traitor and search again. His hair was greying and his cane was his weapon, but the journey was not over. It would never be over. Dominic grew to hate him. He was sure he would die by that young man’s hand. Only then, would his work be complete. He sighed quietly to himself as the din died down in the room.

Dominic stood still for a few more seconds before collapsing to the floor and groaning in pain! Edzard’s eyes widened in horror. In his heart he denied what could be happening, that the sword could be corrupting him! If he was turned into a Death Servant, it would all be over! “Quick! Get the sword away from him!”

Sylke was the fastest to his side. She’d cut her hair short, almost to her scalp and was dressed in a Cassell Uniform as a male student. That left her sure footed and quick as she leaped into action. She knelt and reached for him, rolling him over.

The black arc of the sword sent her reeling back. Her eyes were wide, looking down at the tip that nearly cut her throat open. Dominic rose up like a lion and reached, not in an attack but for her weapon! Her dodge to the side only served to pull it cleanly out of the holster. She stood in front of him, disarmed while he aimed at her with pitiless eyes. The bullet tore a hole through her suit, turning the fabric into confetti, and she went reeling back. Meanwhile, Dominic ran towards the three sacred women. They screamed and cried  and hurried out of the way, dropping their sacred artifacts. Behind them was the staircase and he leaped up the stairs, shooting behind him twice and striking a man through his shattering champagne glass. He grimaced and fell to the floor. He fired again, this time at a woman, striking between her shoulder blades as she tried to turn and flee. She fell into the arms of her lover.

The ceremony was now in disarray, three people were badly injured and possibly dead. Edzard Galama couldn’t help but smile.

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[geeky-writes]

The Phoenix Project - Chapter 1 Preview

Behind? Read the prologue HERE 😊

********

Twenty-eight years post-Battle of the Continents

“Here you are, Mr Stark,” stated the burly military officer as he pulled to a stop in front of a modest three-bedroom house, lit only by the pale light of the moonbeams streaking through the clouds. Tony scowled as he gathered up his pile of books and notes and pulled his handlamp from his jacket pocket, trying not to think about just how many credits the military was wasting by escorting him home when he could’ve just as easily driven himself.

“Thanks for the ride,” Tony muttered as he slid out of the car. He activated the handlamp, following the bright yellow beam as it led him towards the front door and hoping the noise from the lumbering vehicle wasn't loud enough to wake up his son.

As much as Tony would enjoy seeing his precious boy’s face after working late yet again, it wasn’t worth it for Peter to miss out on the rest he so desperately needed. The boy needed all the sleep he could get, and Tony could no longer afford to be selfish about it. Not if he wanted Peter to make it to his twelfth birthday.

As for making it beyond that, well… Tony preferred to not think about that. Not if he could help it.

Fumbling for his keys, Tony finally managed to get the door unlocked on the third try, waving off the military goons as he stepped inside the black-as-pitch living room and set his stack of stuff down on the coffee table. Then he slumped down onto the overstuffed couch, tipping his head back as he rubbed at his aching temples. It had been a very long, very exhausting day but Tony knew that he couldn’t rest yet. Not until everything that he’d prepared for the new Air Corps class was completed to his satisfaction.

If he was ever going to convince the military leaders to give his more outlandish ideas a chance Tony knew he would have to blow them away with his more conventional ideas first, and that meant being as prepared as humanly possible. Even if it was only something as simple as teaching the next round of cocky flyboys how to navigate the newest line in aircraft finery.

Six brand-spankin-new X-302 aircrafts, all just waiting in the hangar back at the base for the pilots lucky enough to get to try them out, and costing an upwards of thirty million credits.

Each.

With a heavy sigh, Tony loosened the tie from around his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, lolling his head in the direction of the decanter of whisky tucked over in the corner, the amber liquid a dark shadow against the lower third of the fancy container. It was on nights like these when his cravings were the worst, when his very fingers itched to hold the glass and he could almost taste the whisky on his tongue, burning its way down his throat and sending warmth blooming across his chest. But Tony hadn't had a single hard drink since Peter’s emergency trip to the hospital back when he was three years old and he wasn't about to now, no matter how badly he wanted it. If this cockamamie plan of his was going to have any possible chance of success then he couldn’t afford to slip up.

If he were braver he would’ve banned it from the house altogether, especially since Howard’s indulgence in the whisky—and dependence on, for that matter—had been steadily increasing over the years. As it was, Tony tried to justify it by telling himself that very few things brought Howard Stark any true joy, and so if the occasional glass—or three—happened to provide him with just enough to help make Tony and Peter’s lives a bit easier, well, then Tony supposed it was worth it for the peace it provided.

With three Stark men all living under one small roof they definitely needed the peace, and lately Tony had just been too exhausted to put up much of a fight.

Kicking off his shoes, Tony flung his tie in the general direction of the armchair and pushed himself up to his feet, grabbing his stack of books and following the glaring beam from his handlamp as he headed down the short hallway towards the bedrooms. Peter’s door was cracked open, as per usual, so Tony peeked inside, relieved to see that he was sleeping peacefully.

Or at least as peacefully as he could with the massive oxygen mask that covered most of his face. Peter wasn't quite to the point where he needed the extra boost during the daytime hours yet, but Tony knew it would only be a matter of time before he got there, and then—

Nope, Tony thought firmly, shaking his head. Not gonna think about it.

The full chapter will post on Monday, March 30th 😊

[fsesafe]

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All-purpose flashlight for explosion hazardous areas

Features:

High-power CREE LED

Two-mode beam, 25 and 100 lumens

Operating time up to 15 hours

Recharge in 2h 30min

Zones 21 and 22, temp class 4

LED-bar indicator for battery capacity

Optional emergency function (EM)

Shock resistant enclosure with strong plastic and aluminum

Specially toughened 3mm thick glass lens

Warns of a low battery by flashing the light beam when there is about 20 minutes of operating time left

Comes with strong belt clip and wrist strap

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[pranshusingh]

OMR recently published new report titled "Hand Lamp - global trends, market share, industry size, growth, opportunities, and market forecast - 2019-2025" to its portfolio. This latest industry research study analyses the Hand Lamp by different segments, companies, and regions.

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