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[worksmarter4yourfuture]

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[cxvii666]

“my girl”

hanta sero x reader

“i guess you'd say, what can make me feel this way?”

starting track....

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.......

it starts small.

“my girl likes this song,” hanta says casually, halfway through rolling a blunt, the group piled onto the back porch at denki’s place. it’s a chill night — someone brought drinks, someone brought snacks, someone brought the speaker. easy vibes. until hanta opens his mouth again.

“i think she played it in the car the other day. she’s got a playlist for, like, rainy thursdays when she’s mad at the sun or something.”

“okay,” mina blinks. “and?”

he shrugs. “just saying. she’s got range.”

the first time does the whole “my girl” thing, it’s cute.

the third time, bakugou threatens violence.

“if my girl was here,” hanta says fifteen minutes later, watching kirishima try to jury-rig a busted lighter with duct tape and optimism, “she could fix that in like five seconds.”

“we get it,” bakugou snaps. “you’ve got a fuckin’ girlfriend.”

“a cool one,” hanta sighs dreamily.

“a real fixer-upper,” denki teases. “so handy. so mysterious. does she even exist or did you ai generate her with midoriya’s laptop?”

“nah,” hanta grins. “she’s real. and hot. and smart. and she makes this soup—bro, this soup, i’m telling you—”

“oh my god,” mina groans. “we know.”

but they don’t, not really.

they don’t know how you leave little voice notes in the middle of the night when he’s not answering fast enough, all sleepy and slurred and half giggles. they don’t know that you hum to yourself in the shower or that you steal his hoodies and always leave one sock behind when you crash at his place.

they don’t know that he keeps the blurry photo of you asleep on his chest set as his lockscreen.

they don’t know that when you laugh too hard, you lean forward like your whole body’s in on the joke.

they don’t know what it’s like to be loved by you.

so yeah.

he talks about you.

a lot.

because he’s still kinda in shock that he gets to.

“my girl would love this spot,” he says when the group checks out a new cafe downtown. “she’s got this thing for ugly little chairs. like the weirder the vibe, the better.”

“if my girl was here,” he says, half-asleep in the back of the car on the way home, “she’d tell you you’re all being dramatic and then say something actually helpful.”

“my girl’s the reason i passed that last quiz,” he adds later. “she’s like. smart-smart. you know?”

sometimes you hear it secondhand.

“sero literally would not shut up about you,” mina texts one night, attached to a video of him saying, “you don’t get it, bro. she’s like. if soup was a person. but sexy.”

you ask him about it the next day, casually. “so.... i’m soup?”

and he just lights up.

“yeah,” he grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “like, comforting and warm and a little spicy and you always make me feel better.”

you snort, but your face burns anyway. “you’re such a loser.”

“obviously,” he says, and then: “but like. only for you.”

and then he makes a heart with his hands. and kisses your nose. and starts telling you about the weird cat that lives outside his building and how he named it after you.

and you let him ramble, because you love him too.

and he loves you out loud.

loud enough for everyone to hear.

....end playback

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next track ▷ PRETTY VISITORS

prev track ▷ SOME GIRL

[seraphdreams]

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"TO SEE WHAT YOUR INSIDES LOOK LIKE." | GHOSTFACE!ARMIN ARLERT.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.6k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, smut, modern au, mentions of murder / death / blood, fingering, armin’s a creep, symbolism, noncon/dubcon, insanity, manipulation, monomania, creampie, knives, stalking. mdni <3.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. armin’s worked hard to build up his perfect life, and he certainly wasn’t expecting for someone to rip that from under him. he’s obsessed — with a life that isn’t his.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! we are sooo back n in full swing for kinktober this year !! i’ll drop my masterlist here for all the prettie dolls to check out … please show this some love by reblogging / sharing, it’ll mean the absolute world 2 me !! kk, luv ya, bye ♡

Armin Arlert. Age 23. Graduated from Shiganshina University.

Armin Arlert, starting his new life under a freshly installed roof that rivaled his dorm of the past four years and provided him with much needed privacy. Armin Arlert, with a degree in humanitarian affairs accompanied with a promising future ahead, it’s the life he deserved after the turbulent destruction that was his tragic past. He could start over now in high hopes of making a name for himself in this unfamiliar city. Nothing could stop him, or the unperturbed spout of elation percolating within.

Aside from optimism, though, he remained undoubtedly sure that the life he had curated for himself was one that no other could outclass. He was smart — spent his days in libraries, in his study room, reading about anything that satiated his appetite for enlightenment, and be that as it may, he wasn’t looking for a lover. His solace brought him far better pleasure than any person could possibly imagine.

He’d work, research, and then work some more, day in and day out. And the day of your meeting was no different.

He had decided to utilize the time he carved out of his restless schedule for a much needed re-read of his favorite book. Moments like these were significant to Armin; the pungent aroma of freshly brewed tea in his mug, luminescence dim in the apartment, and a faint timbre of violins that spilled from his speaker.

Moments like these were when he couldn’t keep track of how many hours had passed him by as he flipped page by page into whatever universe his books had drawn him into.

Rested against the kitchen counter with his novel in one hand and retrieving a sip from his beverage in the other, his eyes scanned the piece of literature. Every once and awhile, he’d shift his weight from his left hip to the right, or opt to sit on the cozy loveseat in his study. All without withdrawing his attention from his book.

Glasses low on the bridge of his nose, he gently pushed them up — Then it came. The sonority of his doorbell, jostling him out of his serene thoughts and the inquisitiveness that flowed through his veins soon after, urged his body to tread to the front door in search of the cause.

As his footfall led him closer to the handle of the door, he could make out a silhouette, seemingly of a woman. All inquisitions of who could be at his doorstep were fulfilled once he opened it and you stood, with a bright smile on your face.

Armin’s angelic features hidden underneath a veil of golden blond tresses accentuated his soft, azure-hued eyes. His face was one of few that aided you in comfort just upon first glance, which chased away the unease of the possibility that he could’ve been ill-tempered.

“Hi, I’m Y/N! I moved in next door,” You pointed your thumb in the direction beside you as if to signal which side of the building you’d be occupying. “I just thought I'd introduce myself,”

He matched your syrupy sweet beam with one of his own, the corners of his eyes turning upward in tandem as if they were smiling too. He held the door open slightly wider to catch a better glimpse of you. From your attire, he could discern that you weren’t much of a modest girl, but it’d be wrong of him to idly make assumptions. Especially when his choice of dress during the lax hours of the day were a white button-up, cashmere cardigan thrown atop, with a pair of tan slacks.

“Y/N?” He repeated, in a manner to affirm that he had heard correctly. “I’m Armin. It’s nice to meet you,”

He would’ve held his hand out for yours had it not been engaged by his book. You weren’t trying to pry, yet the cover of the story was lucid in your mind once you took notice. “Berenice? The Edgar Allan Poe novel?”

His eyes trailed to where your manicured nail was pointed. The rosy flush of his cheeks deepened while he rubbed away the discomfiture stirring at the back of his neck. Once again, he had mindlessly brought his book with him wherever he strode.

“Y-Yeah, It’s my favorite. Have you read it?”

“A few times,” You hummed, meeting his sheepish gaze. “It’s so jarring, right?”

Armin skimmed over your face before allowing himself to speak. “But there’s beauty in the madness,” His words trolled over in a more weighty tone than he had intended, an apologetic smile on his face once he caught wind.

“Or at least that’s how i interpret it,”

His outward timidity roused an endearing chuckle from you. “I truly don’t mean to bother you, though. If you need anything I'm on your right!” You retort with a vague inclination of haste.

Truth be told, Armin’s interest in you piqued with the mention of the Poe story. “Oh, you’re not a bother-”

His vocables fell short against your own when you waved him goodbye, and he mirrored your actions with cordiality in his eyes.

Maybe she’s just busy.

—

Ever since Armin’s first encounter with you, he had found himself taking a rather atypical interest in the relations of you. The first bout of instances being regular events of curiosity where he’d watch as the moving company aided you in getting your belongings settled; hauling in furniture and appliances, all while Armin remained under the guise of checking his mailbox. Over a short span of time, though, he found himself increasingly knowledgeable in the subject that was you.

You showered at 8:00pm. You ate dinner at 7:00pm. The alarm settled on your desk, a few feet beyond your bed would go off at 6:00am sharp, and he’d be up at that same dawning hour to anticipate your departure to work.

He knew these things. Of course, he did.

He memorized all of your schedules to calculate what you’d be doing throughout the day, and where.

His own work was slow for him during those days, and books didn’t seem to capture that spark of exhilaration like you did. For once, he felt enthralled by each day granting him an opportunity to analyze you further.

On another day, he’d built up enough confidence to observe you as you came home from work, once more, under the false assumption that he’d been checking his mail.

“Good afternoon.”

Armin’s voice registered within your being quickly, startling you out of your fast-paced strut to your door. “Oh, good afternoon!” Your footfall faltered until you reached a close. “Armin, was it?”

Over Armin’s time of stalking- no, studying you, he’d come to realize just how ethereal you were. It was as if the deities above handmade every feature on your face, curve of your body, lilt in your voice with the intention of making you one of their own — an angel.

He found you charming.

With a nod of his head, he braced himself to inch toward you. Not proximal enough to cause you discomfort, he wouldn’t want that, yet enough to signal his unwavering immersion. “Did you just come from work?”

It was otiose of him to ask the question seeing as he undeniably knew the answer. Judging from your business attire and pencil skirt just a little too short for any other establishment’s dress standards, he had assumed you worked a kushy job at an office firm. You evidently earned a heap of money, with him recalling the numerous occasions you’d come home with luxury shopping bags hanging off your arms, tied in with the fact that the suites he inhabited weren't exactly affordable for the average person.

You responded hospitably to his question, that same lovely smile poured over your features and seeping into his personage. “Mhm, and what about you? Your work?”

He was surprised at your need to pull the conversation along further, it was as if you were succoring to curate his plans, as if you could read his mind and pick out from a haystack that you were his only interest, you were his source of bliss. A serendipitous moment, indeed. He straightened himself up, clearing his throat. “Me? Oh, well I just help out at charities and organizations from time to time,”

He’d be a fool to deny the set of wide eyes that were fixated upon his figure.

“For real? You must be a really good person then.” You responded with your hands clasped together and held against your chest, pupils of your eyes glittered in a sense of unshakable admiration.

As the conversation went on, you had begun to synonimize your neighbor with the fresh, and comforting feeling of congeniality. It helped that he was easy to converse with, seeming as he’d always been listening while keeping eye contact and rewiring his queries in a way that deemed you the main focus, and he, a vessel for your words to absorb within.

For Armin, he enjoyed getting to know you. You were perfect, in all the best ways.

And soon enough, through an exhausting series of prying inquiries, he’d piece together that your perfection wasn’t hulled along by determination or strong will, but by God’s good grace. He’d come to register that you didn’t have to struggle like he did to reach the triumphant point in life for which he stood. You were born that way, born with a silver spoon in your mouth and just the right kiss-ass people in your life to keep you that way. A spoiled fucking brat.

What had been the rationale behind his suffering? The years in which he’d been bullied repeatedly in public schools, had acquaintances that had only cared about him for their personal gain, and parents so utterly vapid that they’d give up their only child if it meant they could continue working towards an unattainable goal?

Fueled by a sense of jealousy, he waned your nepotism a hindrance. You were merely a telescope that he wanted so badly to see into.

For Armin was obsessed with a life that wasn’t his.

Meticulously, he had spent his time after that hidden away within his flat. Armin didn’t care to know anything more about you, he didn’t care to see your face, and he surely didn’t care for you.

When he stumbled across an unkempt, unpacked box in his room with the label of “Uni 2019,” written on the side in thick, inky letters, his concern led him to relive those memories upon removing the cardboard lid.

In it, there were polaroid photos, compact trophies he’d won from participating in school events, courtesy of his STEM minor, and a dark piece of fabric that caught his eye more than anything.

He recalled his first year of college where his two closest friends, Eren and Mikasa, dragged him out of their stuffy shared dorm and onto one of the first parties held by the school’s fraternity house during the fall semester.

“Armin, you look ridiculous,”

Mikasa said as she stomped away in her leather boots, leading the way for the two men accompanying her to follow her off-campus.

She was dressed in homage to Misa Amane from her favorite anime, although the style of dress aided no significance since it was hauntingly similar to her everyday wardrobe.

Eren was intended to show up as “Light” but he insisted on wearing something he deemed appealing, his plan was to get initiated by the end of the night, anyhow. He wore a deep black cloak, dark ripped jeans and had his hair tied aimlessly into his warped perception of a bun, with the mask of a ghost facing sideways on his head to allow for him to see.

Ghostface. Scream (1996).

Armin allowed himself to be pulled away by the Ackerman, his rebuttal falling on deaf ears. “You didn’t give me enough time, Mika. This is all I could come up with.” Armin’s poor excuse for a costume was tissue paper wrapped around his frame in stereotypical mummy fashion, a classic of all classics.

Though, that night had concluded like any other gathering involving college-aged students, the trio having woken up to hangovers and bad decisions.

Armin stared at the contents of the box a while longer before taking the cloak out and trying it on for size. Obviously, it was meant for a taller person, but regardless, the wheels in his head gradually spun.

He took it off after careful observation when the sensation of juvenility filled his veins. He wasn’t fond of the costume rousing the impression that he was an illegitimate killer — He knew more than he let on, and his passion for the grotesqueries scribed in his books further proved that.

Concurrently, you had been pondering the reason for Armin’s disappearance. After your last conversation with him, he’d stopped formulating ways to talk to you and seemed to never leave his suite, and your heart yearned for his presence once the feeling truly settled in.

You had been swayed by his charm.

His dulcet tone of voice, the intriguing quirks that seemed to hang off of him like leaves to a tree; You missed the way he cared for you, through mundane matters and the like.

Night had fallen, the warm, ochre hues of the day meshing in perfect balance with deep purple tones that signified time’s passing. You were settling into bed, just about ready to fall into slumber when you heard light tapping at your door.

Only for a second did the thought of who could possibly be up this late float through your mind.

Your soles kissed the floor when you made your way to the front door. And once you finally opened it, the sight of your worst fear was drawn to life — The deviant sight of the unknown, with what seemed to look like a kitchen knife in its right hand.

Quickly, without time to react, you attempted to slam the door shut with the force of your shoulder but the action proved futile when the aggressor’s strength pushed back against the wood, sending you stumbling backwards and vulnerable to any attack.

Heavy footsteps creeped eerily towards you out of something from a horror film. Your worst mistake was turning your back, scrambling for a way to retrieve your phone, or even a weapon.

“Help! He-”

The stranger was more agile than you had assumed, easily capturing you with one arm around your waist and its hand cupped against your mouth. You couldn’t shake the terror growing within you as hot tears seemed to spill down your cheeks and your heartbeat so intense, you were sure that it’d had been noticeable.

Your body soft in the assaulter’s touch, they embraced your body taut. The sensation was suffocating, your eyes squeezed shut to further distance yourself from the situation at hand, even if it was only a mental trick.

You resided in a relatively safe area, so why were you in this situation? What cruel joke were you the target of?

The grip on your body loosened ever so slightly, yet you were still fixed in place by the attacker’s opposite hand. While your body was immobilized, you felt the lingering of metal lightly drag against your abdomen to find itself settled just underneath the band of your lace pajamas.

Just moments prior, you had completed your elaborate nightly routine consisting of a glass of wine, face mask, and a warm bath. You also found it fitting to change into one of your newer pajama sets — Thin, baby pink, lace bralette with matching shorts that called for forgoing the need for panties.

All you wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.

“It’d be so beautiful if you died right here in my arms,” Your assailant spoke.

Through your ears, his voice was familiar. A tone so soft, you refused to believe the possibility of who it’s owner could be.

His hand over your mouth was hesitant to situate itself elsewhere in wariness of how you’d react. He was aware of the power behind a blood-curdling scream. The neighbors in this area were nosy. He would know.

He let out a sigh. “But you look really pretty tonight. I wouldn’t want to get blood on you,” His knife trailed further into your shorts, the edge cutting out a hole in the fabric at the seat of the garment.

“Did you do all this for me?”

You winced when the sonority of cloth ripping resonated through your ears. The blade felt dangerously close, running along your body as if to taunt you. That had to be the case; You were in the perfect position to be harmed, so why hadn’t your attacker done so? With your body stricken from fear, his job was easy. Was it not?

The hand over your mouth moved to caress your face and you gasped heavily for the air you were denied.

“W-What do you want?” Your voice echoed shakily throughout the room, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. His knife inched upward to your sternum, and slowly dragged itself back down to your abdomen as he spoke.

“To see what your insides look like.”

For a split second, his hold on you seemed to diminish, granting you the perfect opportunity to run. Yet, your legs felt frail as if there were weights tied to your ankles. The assailant quickly repositioned himself in front of you, his head tilting slightly while he continued his up and down ministrations with the edge of the blade gingerly pressed against your flesh. Not forceful enough to draw blood.

“But maybe now, I want to feel your insides,” His steps crept closer, and instinctively you tried to create as much distance as possible by stepping back. It proved useless when your back hit the cold surface of the door, his face mere centimeters from yours.

Your breath hitched as you found comfort in the presence of the door, leaning against it as if it’d keep you from harm’s reach. You fidgeted, fumbling to grasp at the handle that’d grant you escape. The masked man took notice, hovering over your frame to keep you from trying anything.

“Please- -” Your plea fell in the form of a choked up whimper, just the sound he wanted to hear.

More uncomfortable ripping was sounded when his blade etched a perfect cut in your shorts, leaving your bare cunt out on display for his eyes to see. “Don’t be shy, pretty. I’m sure lots of guys have seen you like this. Am I right?”

Crudeness started to sink in as your face morphed into a contradictory pout. He took your expression for a no and chuckled genuinely, albeit louder than his previous tone. “No? Does this make me the first?” His eyes scanned your lower half once more, then flit back to meet your fear-blown orbs.

“I’d really love to be your first,”

Having grown confident enough to be sure that you wouldn’t try to break free, he dropped the knife to the side, metal clamorously clinking against hardwood flooring while he used his free hand to lift your right leg over the juncture of his elbow. He carefully slotted his middle and ring fingers into your hole, shallowly pumping. Your legs threatened to close with what you couldn’t make of embarrassment or denial.

Your mind felt cloudy once your body gave up its immobility and allowed pleasure to course through your veins, heat rushing to your core with every pump of his fingers. He took notice of the way your expression hastily contorted into one of pure pleasure, eyebrows knit together and your mouth slightly agape, eliciting quiet moans to tumble past.

It was a whorish sight, indeed. A circumstance you couldn’t control with your death at the forefront, yet it was terrifyingly easy to succumb to the euphoric sensation building up within you. The pad of his thumb found its way to your aching clit, and from just the light circling motions in tandem with his fingers, you felt yourself floating to the cusp of release.

“F-Fuck- -“ you rasped. Your hand reached out for his wrist to push him away but the attempt was futile and in turn, he sped up his ministrations.

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth. You’re making me lose interest.” He coyly teased.

He was thankful you couldn’t see how flushed his face appeared under the mask. The sight of you spread open for him was too much to bear, he could cum in that moment without ever feeling your gummy walls wrapped around his painstakingly hard cock.

Just before you were about to hit your orgasm, he pulled his fingers away. An agitated groan rumbled from your throat, eyes finally opening to the sight of the man before you, removing his mask and unveiling his true identity.

Something within you didn’t want to admit what you had seen.

From the golden strands of hair that shimmered against the moonlight to his cyan-hued orbs tinted dark with madness. It was Armin, but it wasn’t Armin.

“M-Min.. You —“ The words failed to leave your mouth in a coherent string of sentences. It couldn’t have been your neighbor, not Armin. He was far too delicate, too feeble to carry out a task like this.

He kept unwavering eye contact with you, your pupils shaking from shock. “Hm? Couldn’t see a thing with this mask on,” His response was that of nonchalance, his hand coming to caress your tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re much prettier behind the mesh.”

He pulled down the zipper of his slacks along with the garment itself and his briefs, just enough so that his cock was freed. You didn’t want to look, but you did. You notice how bulbous the head was, glowing a bright pink while the rest of it was pretty girthy as well. It bobbed under its weight, the strings of precum leaking onto your inner thighs as he lined it up with your entrance.

“Why would y—“

Just before you could get the vocables out, he pushed his entire length inside of you, head tilted back and adam’s apple bouncing with each groan he let out. You felt as though you were being split open by how fat his cock was, how it glided effortlessly in and out of your heat.

His pace was tauntingly slow as if he’d shoot his load prematurely. Once he gradually thrusted more vigorously though, you found it hard to keep whimpers at bay. Each push in felt deeper than the last, the wind within your system struggling to keep you afloat. You reached for something to hold onto, scrambling for Armin’s shoulders in the end. Your nails dug deep at the lean muscles of his back, creating raw, catlike scratches on the flesh.

The pain was enough to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t the pain, but the sight of you so desperate for him — So desperate for your killer.

How pathetic.

He leaned himself upward to meet your gaze again, that of something from a horror movie, his gaze was darker than before, strung together by a serious expression. “Kiss me.”

You almost didn’t hear him as your impending orgasm was your only focus. When you took too long to respond, he glanced back at the knife settled just underneath his foot, in a manner to remind you of the real dangers he was capable of.

With the slightest inclination of hesitancy, your lips met his. Contrary to his actions, his kisses were soft, sloppy, and hungry, as if he were craving you. He hooked his arms beneath your knees to hoist you up and against him.

Deeper. You whimpered into his kisses wondering how his cock fucked into you deeper. He slammed your body down onto his length, using your body like it was a toy. You pulled away from the kiss, heaving for air as your head fell upon his shoulder. “Gonna cum, ‘m so close!” Your words slurred, and before you knew it, your essence came in waves, each aftershock more jolting than the last.

He continued pounding into you, shifting his position to hold you up against the wall. Your pleasure reverberated in the form of an inaudible cry while you allowed for the bullying of his cock in your cunt. It was evident to you that he was close from the way his features were etched in pure ecstasy.

Armin looked pretty like that — Wisps of tawny bangs messily splayed across his forehead from perspiration and a light tinge of scarlet dusted across his nose and cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. His soft, rosy lips were slickened with the mixture of your wet kiss and his.

“Oh, God-”

The guttural groan he let out had your walls clamping down taut around him. “Cum for me again—Shit! Say my name,”

The stamina he retained came as unexpected to you, your overstimulated heat trying to find pleasure in the way it’s being battered up. He spoke again, this time with a docile lilt in his tone.

“Tell me you’re mine, Y/N. I wanna be yours.”

You didn’t want to. You were beyond opposed to feeding into his hedonistic delusions, especially in the impuissant state that you were in. Yet, you couldn’t stop the affirmations from flowing once another orgasmic high coiled up in your core.

“Armin! ‘M yours! All yours,”

Just as soon as your words circulated through his mind, he felt his balls tighten, his thrusts faltering in potency as he reached closer to his high.

In his mind, it was profoundly amorous that you both had hit euphoria simultaneously, warm ropes of his sticky seed painting your walls while he shallowly jettisoned every last drop. Your womb was the goal, and he had scored.

He was tentative to pull out, wanting to relish in the warmth of your core for as long as he possibly could but he knew the idea wouldn’t be feasible. “You’re so good. I mean, you listen so well,”

He delicately placed you back on your feet, your body lax in his hold. “Thank you!” He beamed, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for what?” You responded, your eyes searching for anything else to focus on as you gained enough strength to separate yourself from him, even if it was just a few inches.

“You helped me,”

You couldn’t make sense of the nonsense coming out of his mouth nor his need to be a hair's breadth away from you at all times.

“You helped me realize I never wanted to hurt you,” His hands found their place at your waist, softly running along the curve. “I just wanted to be inside you.”

“No, you wanted to kill me.” You spoke in a more conflicted tone, wondering if the gears in his head were turning at all. He chuckled, creating a few inches of distance between the two of you.

“I mean, I did at first. I was jealous, Y/N,” His voice sounded like that of a beg. “You have such a perfect life and I want it — I want to be in it.”

You couldn’t bear to listen to anymore of his twisted thoughts, feeling the heavy coat of uncomfortability weighing your shoulders down. “Armin, you’re crazy.”

“I love you, Y/N. Let me into your life, please?”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands furthering south until they halted at the small of your back.

“I won’t hurt you,”

“I love you.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @iamtrashgod @iconicbabii @inusdoll @kloesklarity @bakuhoe-3 @antistellxr

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter Eight: SOL 320 Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon, Boss!Yoongi, Commander!Jimin, Astronaut!Jimin, Doctor!Hoseok, Astronaut!Hoseok Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 17.1k+ Summary: When a deep space transporter crash-lands on a barren planet illuminated by three relentless suns, survival becomes the only priority for the stranded passengers, including resourceful pilot Y/N Y/L/N, mystic Namjoon Kim, lawman Taemin Lee, and enigmatic convict Jungkook Jeon. As they scour the hostile terrain for supplies and a way to escape, Y/N uncovers a terrifying truth: every 22 years, the planet is plunged into total darkness during an eclipse, awakening swarms of ravenous, flesh-eating creatures. Forced into a fragile alliance, the survivors must face not only the deadly predators but also their own mistrust and secrets. For Y/N, the growing tension with Jungkook—both a threat and a reluctant ally—raises the stakes even higher, as the battle to escape becomes one for survival against the darkness both around them and within themselves. Warnings: Strong Language, Blood, Trauma, Smart Character Choices, This is all angst and action and that's pretty much it, Reader is a bad ass, Survivor Woman is back baby, terraforming, some mental health issues, survivor's guilt, lots of talking to herself, and recording it, because she'll lose her mind otherwise, fixing things, intergalatical politics, new characters, body image issues, scars, strong female characters are everywhere, cynical humor, bad science language, honestly all of this has probably had the worst science and basis ever, I researched a lot I promise, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Will she make it or not?

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Inside the sealed cocoon of the Speculor, the rest of M6-117 faded to a low hum.

Y/N adjusted the volume dial on the rover’s console with a gloved hand, tuning the half-busted stereo with the care of someone who’d done this ritual a hundred times before. The speakers crackled, fought her for a second, then gave in. David Bowie’s “Starman” poured into the cabin—grainy, warbled around the edges, but intact. The first familiar notes stretched through the air like a warm thread pulling taut.

She leaned back in her seat and let the music fill the empty space around her. It wasn’t loud. Just enough to soften the edges.

Seven months.

That was how long it had been since the mission trajectory changed—since NOSA had quietly shifted from contingency to possibility, and finally, to planning. Seven months since she’d stopped thinking about dying here and started thinking—cautiously, carefully—about leaving.

Now it was close. The actual launch was days away, maybe less, and Y/N was almost too tired to process what that meant. She’d expected emotion, something big and cinematic, but mostly she just felt blank. Not numb. Just emptied out. Worn smooth by repetition.

In that time, she’d spoken with CAPCOM every day—lagged, distorted, half a minute behind real conversation. Still, it was something. The Starfire crew’s updates. Mateo’s cautious optimism. April’s careful questions, always logged, always transcribed. They’d become part of the routine. A strange kind of company.

Inside the Speculor, the air was dry and recycled, the temperature cranked just high enough to keep the frost at bay. Her gloved fingers twisted the volume knob on the console. Static at first, then the music settled into clarity: Starman, again. The same bootleg copy she’d looped more times than she could count. Bowie’s voice filled the cabin, staticky and familiar.

She let her head lean against the side panel for a moment, just listening. The song didn’t feel triumphant anymore—not like it had that first week after contact—but it still felt right. Like a rhythm she could breathe to. Something just hers.

Beyond the windshield, M6-117 spread out in all directions. A quiet, unforgiving ocean of red dust and fractured rock. Nothing moved except wind and memory. No birds, no trees, no clouds. Just light—too much of it—poured from twin suns that hovered low on the horizon like sullen watchmen. The shadows they cast were long and doubled, stretching at awkward angles.

The land looked ancient. Like it had been waiting a long time to be seen.

The Speculor groaned under her as it crawled up a slope she knew by heart. She’d rerouted this leg of the journey after last week’s storm took out the northern ridge. Her notes were accurate. They always were now. She didn’t have room for error.

The rover’s suspension—rigged together with leftover couplings and patched metal—complained as it dipped into a shallow trough. She adjusted the throttle gently. The vibrations traveled through the seat and into her spine.

“There’s a starman… waiting in the sky…”

She didn’t sing along. Her throat was cracked from the dry air, and her voice didn’t sound like her own anymore. But she tapped her fingers against the throttle in time with the chorus.

Some things became ritual. The song. The route. The moment right before she checked the nav screen, pretending she didn’t already know what it would say.

Battery: nominal. O2: green. Power margins: close, but acceptable.

Everything holding, for now.

The route she followed traced along the eastern lip of Sundermere Basin, skirting the high plateau where thermal anomalies had been pinging weak but persistent signals. She’d flagged it a week ago. Maybe residual power from a buried unit. Maybe nothing. But “maybe” was enough to justify the trip. Any task was better than sitting still, waiting for time to pass.

Because the truth was, after seven months, she’d gotten very good at surviving.

She’d fixed the antenna four times. Rebuilt the filtration unit twice. Repaired the rover’s lateral drive with nothing but a welding arc, spare bolts, and one of her own belt loops. She’d catalogued every sample she could reach. Updated the entire geological substrate map for the quadrant. Even completed two of Oslo’s abandoned mineral tests, down to the data formatting.

She’d done it all mostly to keep her mind from slipping.

Being alone hadn’t turned out to be the worst part. Not exactly. It was quieter than she’d feared, but not in the way people imagined. Not peaceful. There were no clean silences, no meditative stillness. It was crowded in its own way—crowded with memories, with thoughts that looped and snagged and repeated themselves until they lost shape. Some nights, lying on her bunk in the Hab, she’d listen to the wind battering against the canvas wall and pretend it wasn’t real. Pretend she was back in the deep quiet of space, where nothing moved unless you told it to.

She hadn’t cried in months. Not because she didn’t want to. Because crying felt indulgent, like something you did when there was room for it. And she didn’t have that luxury. There was always something to fix, something to check, something to prepare. Emotion was a liability. She couldn’t afford to dissolve—not when she had to be ready to get off this rock the moment the window opened.

And now, finally, they were close.

Close enough that NOSA had started using language she hadn’t heard in over a year—terms like maneuver window and vector drift allowance showing up again in the reports. The tone of the transmissions had shifted, too. Koah’s voice had taken on a subtle urgency. He sounded focused. And hopeful.

That part scared her more than anything.

The rover crested the rise with a long, slow groan. She tightened her grip on the controls, steadying the frame as dust curled up from the tires and blurred the windows. Beyond the glass, a new stretch of Martian terrain unfolded—deep ochre and rusted red, horizon layered with jagged ridgelines that looked like broken bones under the hard light of the twin suns. Shadows stretched in every direction, stark and sharp-edged.

She didn’t speak. Not yet.

In her mind, she’d pictured rescue countless times. She’d let herself imagine the roar of thrusters, a hull breaking through atmosphere like a second sunrise, the sound of someone—anyone—saying her name over comms. Something cinematic. Big. Emotional. Deserved.

Instead, it had come in pieces. Quiet, unremarkable pieces. Data packets. Checklist confirmations. Engineering logs buried in jargon. 

And now she was preparing to launch herself into orbit in a vessel that was never meant for a second use. A stripped-down ascent vehicle rebuilt out of scavenged parts and crossed fingers. One shot. That was it. The math didn’t leave room for mistakes. If she missed the intercept by even a second—or came in too hot, or caught the wrong wind shear—it was over. They wouldn’t be able to course correct. She’d drift, and Starfire would keep moving, and it would be no one’s fault.

She could hear that knowledge in the way Koah paused at the end of every transmission. In the way Mateo no longer filled the gaps with empty reassurances.

They knew.

But she also knew this: if it failed—if she didn’t make it—they’d still try to bring her home. She believed that. Her body, her suit, the black box of sensor data she’d logged with religious devotion. They wouldn’t leave her here to vanish under the sand. They’d find a way to retrieve her, even if it took years.

There was something oddly calming about that.

She reached for her water tube and took a long sip, swallowing slowly as her eyes drifted to the sky through the rover’s sloped windshield. The upper atmosphere shimmered faintly, copper-hued and blinding at the edges. Too bright to be beautiful. Too dry to feel real. There was something about it that always looked fake to her—like a badly rendered simulation of sky instead of the real thing.

Somewhere above that sky, Starfire was moving into position.

Somewhere, someone she hadn’t touched in over a year was punching burn times into a nav system and checking the margin for intercept.

She tapped the screen to bring up her next waypoint. A new line of coordinates blinked back at her, hovering like a challenge. This stretch would take her closer to the MAV site. She knew the route by now—every rock, every soft patch of sand that could tangle a wheel or throw her off-course. It wasn’t a road. It wasn’t even a path. Just something she’d made up as she went.

Outside, a dust devil spun briefly to life, danced across the basin, then collapsed into stillness.

She watched it for a long moment, then blinked and let her breath go slow.

“Almost over,” she said. Not a wish. Not a hope. Just a fact.

She adjusted the throttle, checked her oxygen levels, and logged the next coordinates.

And then she drove on, toward the place where everything would either begin again—or end clean.

Far above the scorched horizon of M6-117, past the reach of its sulfur-tinged winds and the shifting red haze that rolled endlessly across its broken terrain, the Iris-2 probe slipped free from its booster with a silence only space could provide.

There was no flare, no echo. Just the faint tremor of separation—a soft pulse through the clamps, a subtle release of inertia. One moment the booster held it; the next, it was drifting on its own, untethered, alive with purpose.

It had taken seven months to reach this moment. Seven months since Y/N’s first garbled transmission managed to claw its way out of the storm-battered surface and into NOSA’s deep-space relay. Seven months of restructured flight plans, emergency committee briefings, late-night simulations, and orbital trajectory scrubs. Seven months of wondering if they were already too late.

But now—now it was real.

Koah Nguyen leaned in over the Starfire’s flight deck interface, his back rigid, shoulders braced like a sprinter in the blocks. The booster telemetry had already zeroed. Now it was just Iris—free, exposed, and on approach. The margin for error was thin. Technically, the docking could’ve been automated. But Koah didn’t trust automation when the numbers were this tight, and when the payload was carrying a woman who hadn’t heard another voice in nearly a year.

His fingers hovered above the haptic interface. Every subtle shift of thruster power, every microdegree of drift correction—it was all on him now.

“Velocity differential .0025,” came Cruz’s voice through comms. “Approach vector within limit.”

“Still too fast,” Koah murmured, mostly to himself.

He nudged the left lateral thruster with a feather-light tap, correcting the probe’s arc. A flick of a button dampened yaw drift. The image feed from the hull camera refreshed, showing Iris-2 gliding in slow, steady increments—like a needle threading an invisible eye.

Behind him, Commander Jimin Park stood at a respectful distance, arms crossed, a silent sentinel. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. This was Koah’s op. But he was there, steady as gravity, watching the same numbers tick past. Ready, if needed.

Inside the airlock prep chamber, silence reigned. No chatter. No alarm bells. Just the deep, consistent hum of ship systems and the soft tap of Koah’s inputs.

“Switching to visual,” Koah said. He pulled the camera feed into full resolution, bringing Iris-2 into clearer focus.

The probe was sleek and small, more skeletal than anything designed for people. Its primary hull shimmered under the binary light of the two suns, panels catching the harsh white-blue glare in sharp angles. It was close now. Too close for hesitation.

Koah swallowed. “Clamp arms deployed.”

Onscreen, the Starfire’s docking arms extended like the limbs of some patient, mechanical insect—open, waiting.

“Approach… good,” Cruz said, breath tight. “Hold your line.”

Koah’s eyes flicked to the distance meter. Ten meters. Seven.

His voice dropped. “Five… three… steady…”

Then, softly: a clack. Followed by a second, heavier thunk as the magnetic locks triggered and the alignment ports sealed.

A tiny green light blinked alive on the deck screen. Docking complete.

For a beat, Koah didn’t move. He stared at the light, at the clean diagnostics flickering to confirm: pressure seals holding. Hull connection stable. No deviation in thermal equilibrium.

Then, finally, he exhaled—and leaned back, dragging a hand across his face.

“…Alright,” he said, voice low but calm. “We’re on.”

Jimin let out a quiet breath of relief, his lips twitching into the first real smile Koah had seen from him all day.

“That was smooth,” he said. “Stupid smooth.”

Koah allowed himself a small smile. “If it wasn’t, I’d never live it down. Not with Bao watching.”

Jimin chuckled. “No pressure.”

Koah didn’t respond right away. He was already leaning into his terminal, posture tight with focus as his eyes moved steadily across the rows of readouts. Internal diagnostics were holding—so far. Docking pressure looked clean. Hull temperatures stable. Battery output nominal.

The Iris-2 probe was more than a delivery system. It was a lifeline. It carried compressed rations—enough for a six-week extension if she rationed aggressively. Oxygen scrubber refills, thermal patch kits, reentry stabilizers for the MAV, a replacement navcore chip for the flight interface. Things no human should’ve had to live without this long.

And buried in the center supply bay, packed deliberately between a vacuum-sealed cluster of electrolyte gel tubes and a bag of freeze-dried vegetables labeled "PASTA—MAYBE" in Val’s handwriting, was something smaller. A note. Handwritten. Folded and secured with a strip of recycled polymer tape.

Koah hadn’t asked what it said.

He hadn’t wanted to know.

It wasn’t cowardice. Not exactly. More like self-preservation. Valencia Cruz had been the most unwavering presence in his life outside of this ship—and one of the most unpredictable. They’d worked together for four years now. Long missions. Endless briefings. Inside jokes and midnight coffee rants and more engineering arguments than he could count.

For most of that time, she’d been engaged to a man who’d never set foot in orbit. That ended months ago. Quietly. Without explanation. And he hadn’t asked. Not because he didn’t want to know. But because when it came to Val, timing was everything—and pushing was how you got shut out. When she was ready, she’d tell him.

And maybe—if they were lucky—he could open her letter in front of her and see what happened next.

“Telemetry check in ninety seconds,” Koah said, eyes flicking to the countdown icon in the corner of the screen. His voice was steady again, pulled back into rhythm.

Jimin was already there. He shifted slightly at his own station, fingers dancing across a field of translucent data. Orbital maps, storm models, launch windows—each one another layer of the puzzle.

“Sundermere’s heating up faster than expected,” he said, not looking away from the screen. “Atmospheric shear’s rising. We’ll be inside the corridor for twenty minutes. Maybe less.”

Koah gave a small nod. “She has to be ready to launch the second we clear.”

Jimin paused. Then said it like it didn’t need to be said. “She will be.”

Koah didn’t answer. Not with words. His gaze moved to the monitor again—one of the external cams feeding a constant image of the probe, now firmly docked beneath the Starfire’s main cargo cradle. It looked small compared to the bulk of the ship. Delicate. Temporary. But there was power in it. And purpose.

And inside, packed with quiet care, was everything that might keep one woman alive long enough to come home.

He tapped through the flight logic menus, making sure the data packets were queued correctly. Command chains, safety interrupts, hardware checks.

They were ready.

She would be ready.

The MAV on the surface had only ever been designed for one ascent. A precise launch, a short burn, and a controlled interception at low orbit. What they were asking it to do now—what Y/N was being asked to pull off with half a crew’s worth of gear, an aging suit, and the worst terrain in NOSA’s catalog—was borderline absurd.

And yet.

She hadn’t quit. Not once. Not in the footage. Not in the comm logs. Not in the whispered scraps of signal that crawled through the storms.

She was still there. Still building. Still thinking five steps ahead. Still surviving.

Koah leaned forward again, hands steady as he keyed in the final approach command.

Inside Airlock 3, the world was stripped down to essentials—light, metal, breath.

Hoseok floated just off the deck, his boots loosely hooked into the restraints, waist tether coiled at his side. The overhead lights cast a hard gleam across his visor, blurring his reflection into a ghost hovering behind the HUD readouts. His EVA suit was snug but familiar, worn in all the right places, and silent now but for the low hiss of life support in his ears.

Just ahead of him, suspended in the docking corridor, the Iris-2 probe waited—sleek, burnished, and utterly still. It hovered inches from the port like it belonged there, though everyone on the ship knew better. This part wasn’t automated. This part relied on human hands.

He exhaled through his nose, steady and slow, eyes narrowing on the alignment grid overlaying his screen. No error margin. No wobble. No alarm tones. A clean approach.

“Five degrees counterclockwise,” Cruz said in his ear. Her voice was flat and even, but Hoseok had worked with her long enough to hear the strain buried under the calm. Not fear—focus. Like she was holding her breath through her teeth.

“Copy,” he replied, reaching for the guide arm. His gloved fingers curled around the control joint with practiced ease.

The movement was subtle. Delicate. A feather’s weight of torque to rotate the probe just a hair to the left. The probe responded with elegant grace, drifting that final fraction into perfect alignment.

A small vent of nitrogen hissed from the attitude jets—barely audible, barely visible—but it was enough.

In the observation alcove just beyond the airlock, Cruz leaned forward against the glass. She didn’t speak. Her fingertips tapped out an unconscious rhythm against the edge of the display—counting maybe, or praying. Her eyes were locked on the seal point. Her other hand clenched tight around the metal railing in front of her, as though she could muscle the docking into place just by willing it.

They all knew what was riding on this. Iris-2 wasn’t just carrying spare parts and food pouches. It held the only atmospheric sweep array that could scan Sundermere before the stormfront made landfall. If it missed, if they lost sync, the window closed—and so did their shot at recovering Y/N.

Outside, the planet rolled beneath them. M6-117, red and raw, broken by tectonics and stripped bare by wind. The storm was visible from this altitude now—like a bruise spreading across the horizon.

Hoseok leaned into his final adjustment. His wrist flicked, just slightly. Then—

Click.

The probe settled into the collar. The magnetic latches extended from the Starfire’s hull, reached out like fingers, and grabbed hold.

A deeper thud followed—one that vibrated faintly through Hoseok’s suit.

Seal engaged.

Green lights blinked across his HUD in rapid sequence: docking clamps secured, pressure gradient stabilized, power sync initialized.

Still floating, still tethered, Hoseok stayed perfectly still and let the final status pass.

“All green,” he said, voice low. Measured. “We’re locked in.”

For a beat, there was nothing.

Then Val let out a breath like she’d been holding it for hours. Her hand slid from the railing, her shoulders dropping as tension drained out of her in one long wave.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Nice work, Hobi.”

His mouth twitched in the closest thing to a smile the helmet cam could pick up. “You were a great audience.”

“I was trying not to pass out.”

“Appreciated.”

From down the corridor, someone whistled—a short, sharp note that turned into a wave of claps and shoulder pats from the nearby crew. No whooping. No shouting. Just the kind of shared relief that came from people too tired to celebrate but too proud not to show it.

Even Koah, the most seasoned engineer, let himself breathe.

Val wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her jumpsuit. “We’re officially online. I’ll initiate payload unlock.”

“On your signal,” Hoseok said, already unfastening the tether and reaching for the interior bulkhead grips.

A voice crackled in over comms. Koah, dry and efficient, but with a faint lift at the edge of it.

“Good seal. Get the diagnostics rolling. We’re up against Sundermere’s last pass in six hours. That sweep data needs to be live before then.”

“Understood,” Val answered. “We’re already on it.”

The pressure in the room eased, just a fraction. The tension didn’t vanish—it never did—but it reshaped itself into forward momentum. They had the probe. They had time, if only barely. Now it was just a matter of moving fast enough to make it count.

Hoseok floated back from the hatch and turned his head just enough to see the curve of the planet out the small viewport behind him.

It didn’t look like a place anyone could survive.

But Y/N was still down there, somewhere in that rusted wasteland, defying every expectation.

The suns of M6-117 hung low in the bleached-orange sky, casting long, rust-colored shadows across the desert. The planet didn’t just look lifeless—it felt it. Wind tore across the endless dunes in soundless sheets, carrying with it a fine red dust that settled into every crack, every crevice. It was a world built from silence and scorched stone, unforgiving and unchanging.

But she had changed.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor of what was once the main operations hub—now little more than a cracked shell stitched together with thermal blankets, sealant foam, and salvaged wiring. The walls creaked under the strain of too many pressure shifts. Sunlight leaked through patched seams, casting jagged lines of gold across the dust-caked floor. Inside, the air was dry, metallic, and heavy with the scent of old wiring and recycled oxygen.

She adjusted the angle of the camera, then sat back, letting it focus. Her face filled the frame: leaner than it used to be, the softness worn away by hunger, exposure, and time. Her eyes were sharp now—not hard exactly, but watchful. Alert in a way that came from sleeping with one ear open and always knowing how many hours of oxygen she had left. Her hair was wild, hanging in uneven waves to her collarbone, tangled in places where she’d given up trying to tame it.

The corners of her lips twitched up into a crooked smile. “So,” she said, her voice scratchy from days of silence but steady, “I’ve been thinking about space law. You ever hear of the Treaty of New Hope?”

She let the question hang for a moment. Outside, the wind howled against the Hab’s patched outer shell.

“It’s this old international agreement—was supposed to prevent exactly the kind of thing I’m about to do. Basically, no planet or government can lay claim to any celestial body beyond its own solar system unless they’ve got approval from a special council. Sounds bureaucratic as hell, right?” She reached over, picked up a wrench, then set it down with a quiet clink on the table beside her. “And yet, here we are.”

She gestured loosely around the space. “M6-117? Technically, it's unclaimed. That makes it... international waters. A lawless sandbox floating in the middle of nowhere.”

The camera feed jumped to an exterior shot. Her two speculors stood side by side, their once-pristine frames warped and beaten. Speculor One bore the scorched wreckage of Prometheus’s stabilizer fin bolted onto its chassis like some kind of makeshift figurehead. Speculor Two had been transformed into a mobile life-support depot—tubes, solar panels, and crates of salvaged supplies lashed down with webbing, its interior barely holding together.

It looked more like a junkyard on treads than a research vehicle. But it moved. And in a place like this, movement meant survival.

Y/N leaned in closer to the lens. “Technically, NOSA still owns the Hab. Aguerra Prime funds it, insures it, claims jurisdiction over it. But the moment I walk out that airlock?” She pointed over her shoulder. “I’m in the wild. No flag, no oversight. Just me, a couple of Frankensteined rovers, and a whole lot of empty red sand.”

She exhaled slowly, looking off-camera for a moment before glancing back. “And that brings me to today’s little project.”

Her expression shifted—something between excitement and resolve. “There’s a Helion Nexus lander at the edge of Sundermere Basin. It was part of a failed recon drop a few years back. Long story short: it’s still out there. Mostly intact. And I’m going to take it.”

She said it plainly.

“Not borrow it. Not radio in for authorization. I’m going to walk up to it, override the lockout codes, and take control. And technically... that makes me a pirate.”

There was a beat of silence after she said it. The word just hung there, lingering in the dry air of the Hab like a joke no one had laughed at yet.

Pirate.

It sounded ridiculous. Out of place. Like something out of an old holo-serial—leather jackets, glowing blades, dramatic standoffs on the hull of a freighter. She almost laughed at how far from that image she really was.

She exhaled through her nose and let the smallest smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “I always thought space pirates had flashy ships, called each other by code names, maybe carried sidearms they didn’t know how to use,” she muttered, her voice quiet, worn at the edges. “Turns out, all you really need is a wrench, a patched-up suit, and no one left to stop you.”

The Hab groaned as if in reply, the metal frame straining under the pressure difference outside. A gust of wind smacked the outer wall with a dull, thudding resonance. Something metal—a panel, maybe a loose strut—clattered loose in the corridor behind her. It struck the floor with a single, hollow bang and then went still.

She didn’t even blink. Not anymore.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” she said quietly, almost like she was testing the sound of it. “Space pirate.”

Her voice wasn’t proud, not really. There was no grandeur in it—just tired honesty. The title fit, in its own twisted way. No one had granted her authority. No one was watching. Whatever rules had once existed out here had dissolved the moment the resupply missions stopped.

She stared past the camera lens, her gaze drifting toward nothing in particular. Maybe out the small port window, maybe into memory. The expression on her face changed—just slightly. A softening around the mouth, a release of the tension in her brow. The guard she wore like armor seemed to ease, just for a moment.

It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel anything.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d smiled like this—really smiled. Maybe it was back when the comms were still up and she’d trade messages with Earth. Maybe it was before the storm fried the signal tower and left her to rebuild the antenna with parts scavenged from broken rovers. Or maybe it was even earlier—before she started counting the days not by dates, but by how many liters of filtered water she had left, how many oxygen canisters she had to seal by hand.

Back then, there had been routines. Schedules. Hope.

Now? Now there was just this strange quiet. And the freedom that came with having absolutely nothing left to lose.

She let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sigh. “Honestly,” she said, more to herself than to the camera, “it’s better than a Nobel.”

It was a joke, sort of. She’d once dreamed of those things—awards, recognition, her name in journals and press conferences and history books. It had all felt so important. Necessary. Now, it seemed absurd. What was a prize compared to surviving six months alone on a planet no one was coming back to?

She leaned back slowly, her shoulders brushing against the cold metal of the Hab’s rear wall. Her eyes drifted around the space—at the tangled wires stuffed into ceiling panels, at the insulation duct-taped to the window seams, at the corner where the water recycler had leaked for three days before she managed to reroute the flow with plastic tubing and sheer guesswork.

The Hab looked like hell. Worn down. Held together by nothing more than willpower and the leftover scraps of a better plan. But somehow... it had become hers. A shelter. A prison. A home.

And as ridiculous as it was, she felt a twinge of sadness settle in her chest at the thought of leaving it behind.

Not enough to stop her, of course. She had somewhere to be. Something to take. But still—she hadn’t expected to feel anything when she finally walked away.

She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the soft whine of the fans, the hum of the power cells she’d rebuilt twice now. The Hab breathed like something alive. Flawed. Fragile. Just like her.

When she opened her eyes again, her voice was quieter. “Guess I’m gonna miss this place after all.”

Then she stood, grabbed her helmet, and reached for the hatch controls.

The airlock hissed.

And just like that, the pirate stepped into the desert.

The last day in the Hab didn’t feel like a goodbye. Not at first.

It felt... disjointed. Like she was moving through someone else’s memory. The edges of things were too sharp. The air too still. Everything was quiet in the way things are just before they disappear. Y/N moved slowly through the cramped living quarters, half-expecting someone else to emerge from behind one of the bulkheads. But of course, there was no one. There hadn’t been anyone in a long time.

She sat on the edge of her bunk, knees drawn up, one foot resting on the makeshift water crate she’d repurposed as a stool. The cold metal handle of her razor pressed against her palm as she tilted the blade, dragging it carefully along her calf. The skin prickled in protest. The act was mundane, almost absurd. Shaving. On her last day. On a dead planet. She hadn’t touched the razor in weeks. Months, maybe. There hadn’t been a point. But today, somehow, there was.

It wasn’t about vanity. There was no one here to notice if she was clean-shaven or covered in patchy stubble. She wasn’t doing it for an audience. She wasn’t doing it for NASA, or NOSA, or anyone watching from Aguerra Prime. She wasn’t even sure the cameras still worked. This was for her.

It was the movement, the familiarity. The echo of Earth routines. A way of reminding her body that she was still human. That she still existed in a way that wasn’t only about surviving.

The razor made soft, whispering strokes along her thigh, and she worked in silence, methodically. She checked her arms next, running her fingers over the fine hairs that had gone unnoticed for too long. The action was precise, mechanical. Muscle memory from a world that felt galaxies away. The kind of world with mirrors, and warm running water, and idle mornings where grooming was just a part of the day—not an act of defiance against desolation.

When she was done, she rinsed the razor in a shallow tin of recycled water and set it down with care on the tiny metal shelf beside the sink. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment longer than necessary, like it might vanish if she looked away.

She moved on.

The Hab was barely holding together, but she still walked its length like a steward. Every corner bore the marks of her time here—scorch marks from the battery incident, a tear in the flooring she’d sealed with epoxy and hope, the scratched notes she’d carved into the bulkhead with a screwdriver when the pen ink dried up. She paused at the stack of crates where she’d stored what remained of her research—dozens of boxes sealed in vacuum wrap, carefully labeled in her blocky handwriting.

Some labels were purely scientific. “Regolith Core B12.” “Atmospheric Trace: Western Quadrant.” Others bore the weight of her humor, dry and necessary. One in particular made her huff a quiet laugh through her nose: "Das Soil Samples."

She shook her head. God, that’s stupid. But it had kept her sane on nights when the storm screamed outside, and the Hab felt like it might fold in on itself. It had been just her and the sound of the wind, and her own voice narrating nonsense to the camera because silence had become unbearable.

Each box she packed felt like tucking away a piece of her life. Data. Debris. Documentation. It wasn’t just science—it was evidence she had been here. That this had all happened. That she hadn’t imagined it.

By the time the final crate clicked into place, a strange calm had settled in her chest. Not relief. Not even closure. Just... quiet acceptance.

She suited up with practiced efficiency. The MAV suit was stiff, but familiar. She knew the feel of every joint, every seal. As she clicked her gloves into place, she glanced around the Hab one last time. The lights flickered as she powered down the systems one by one. Air filtration. Oxygen cycling. Communications—already long dead. She hesitated at the heaters, watching the indicator lights blink out like stars snuffed from a night sky.

And then the lights dimmed for good. The whir of machinery faded into silence.

The Hab was still.

She stood in the airlock for a long while before cycling it open. The suit insulated her from the raw bite of the planet’s thin atmosphere, but she still felt the temperature drop. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the red, cracked terrain. The dust stirred under her boots as she stepped out. The wind was nothing more than a whisper here, but it carried weight—a dry breath from a planet that had been waiting four and a half billion years for someone to hear it.

She turned once, looking back at the Hab—its patched panels, its makeshift antenna straining upward.

“Thanks for keeping me alive,” she murmured, her voice muffled inside the helmet.

She made her way across the stretch of dust toward the speculors. Speculor 2 sat half-buried in windblown grit, holding the last of the rations and samples. She secured the final crate with practiced hands. Among the bland, utility labels, one box caught her eye: "Goodbye, M6." Just black marker on a storage lid, but it hit harder than it should have.

She lingered over it. Let it settle. Then climbed into Speculor 1 and powered up the system.

The familiar hum vibrated through her boots. The engine engaged with a low, steady growl, and the treads rolled forward, carving a new path through the empty landscape. She didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.

The Hab was done. It had been her shelter, her cage, her sanctuary. But it wasn’t hers anymore. Now, it belonged to the silence again.

The terrain ahead was endless. Red and cracked and ancient. As the vehicle crawled across the dust, Y/N watched the ground roll past beneath her, and for the first time in months, she felt something like purpose return.

She stopped the speculor near a shallow rise and stepped out. Her boots pressed into the soil, leaving fresh imprints where no human had ever stood.

She looked down at her feet. “Step outside the speculor?” she said, the words dry in her throat. “First girl to be here.”

The hill was steep, but she climbed it anyway. The suit resisted her movements, each step a deliberate struggle, but it was worth it. At the summit, she paused and looked back.

Nothing. Just dust and sky.

“Climb that hill?” she whispered. “First girl to do that, too.”

The loneliness hit her harder up here, maybe because the view was so vast. It swallowed her. The wind blew gently against her helmet, like the planet was breathing around her. She rested one gloved hand against a jagged rock and stood still for a long while.

Above her, the smaller sun hung low—soft and bluish, casting a pale glow over the land. She’d named it “Bubble.” It reminded her of Earth somehow. Fragile. Distant. Constant. It was always there, tracking her through the days and nights like a silent guardian.

She stared at it for a while, letting the strange comfort of its light settle over her.

“I’m the first person to be alone on an entire planet,” she thought. The words felt like they belonged in a history book. But they were just hers.

No crowds. No cameras. Just the sound of her own breath, the press of the suit, and the impossible stretch of a world that had never known life.

She was the first. And she was alone.

The speculor’s solar panels were out, angled toward the faint sun, drinking in what little energy Hexundecia had to offer. The motors had gone quiet, the systems at rest, the caravan still and grounded for the next recharge cycle. Out here, time didn’t pass with the urgency of a ticking clock—it stretched and drifted, wide and open like the desert around her.

Y/N sat a few meters from the vehicle, suited up and leaned against a slab of fractured basalt that jutted from the earth like a half-buried monument. Her knees were drawn up loosely, arms resting on them, hands relaxed. The pressurized joints of her suit creaked softly when she moved, but for the most part, she didn’t. She simply sat there, head tilted back, eyes closed behind her visor.

The sounds were minimal. The low hiss of her rebreather. The occasional chirp from her suit’s diagnostics. Farther off, the gentle ticking of the speculor’s cooling systems. It was white noise to her now—background ambience that had faded into familiarity. What she focused on wasn’t sound at all, but presence.

The planet stretched in every direction, its reddish soil and dust-coated rock formations glowing faintly under the soft light of the smaller sun she’d dubbed Bubble. The sun’s blue-tinged glow bled across the ridgelines, casting long shadows that shifted almost imperceptibly as the hours passed. It was beautiful, in a way that didn't care whether anyone saw it or not.

She inhaled, slowly, deliberately. The oxygen from her suit system was clean, filtered, cool against her throat. It wasn’t fresh—nothing here was—but it was breathable. Reliable. She’d come to appreciate that more than she ever had back home. You learn not to take air for granted when it’s something you have to ration.

There were no thoughts of mission logs or data packets or next-stage objectives just now. No status checks. No timelines. Just her. Her, the suit, and the silent gravity of a world that had never known the touch of human life until her boots cracked the crust.

This planet wasn’t lifeless. Not really. It breathed in its own way—slowly, deeply. It had its own rhythms: the rise and fall of light, the cycle of wind carving its signature across stone, the whisper of ancient minerals shifting beneath the surface. It had been here long before she arrived. It would be here long after she was gone.

And yet, for this moment, it was hers.

She opened her eyes, and the horizon blurred in heat shimmer. There was a strange peace in knowing how small she really was. Not irrelevant—just tiny, and in the best possible way. There was no audience here. No live feed. No applause. Just the quiet realization that this... this was what exploration really looked like. Not flag-planting or dramatic speeches. Just being here. Alive. Observing. Bearing witness.

She let her helmet rest back against the rock behind her and murmured, more to the suit than herself, “Still beats the office.”

The sun shifted a fraction, casting a new shape across the dust. Y/N sat in silence, absorbing it all. This was the kind of stillness you only found when the nearest person was 40 million kilometers away.

The speculor rattled gently as it picked its way along the ragged rim of Marth Crater. Even with its stabilized suspension, every jagged rock and uneven slope sent a tremble through the metal frame. Inside, Y/N sat with her boots planted and hands on the console, watching the terrain roll by. The sun had dipped lower now, painting everything in muted tones of burnt sienna and faded rust.

The landscape was a frozen sea of iron-rich dunes, crumbling cliffs, and wind-shaped ridges. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a wasteland. To her, it was a kind of poetry—brutal, ancient, and honest.

The lights in Mission Control were dimmed to reduce eye strain, but the room still hummed with quiet focus. A soft, bluish glow came from the wall of screens lining the front of the command floor, each of them tracking some fragment of a much bigger picture—system vitals, solar intake graphs, environmental stats, satellite relays. But the one April watched most closely was centered on a single blinking dot, creeping steadily across the digital topography of M6-117.

She leaned in closer, forearms resting on the edge of her console, her eyes narrowed behind the thin-framed glasses perched on her nose. The arc of telemetry traced the slow, deliberate curve of Y/N’s path around Marth Crater. One rover. One person. A single line of movement on a planet that had otherwise never known life.

It was a small signal on a massive canvas, but it was moving. That was enough.

April’s fingers moved across the touchscreen with practiced precision. She pulled up the diagnostics feed and ran a quick check—battery health, suit vitals, cabin pressure. No red flags. No anomalies. Everything looked clean.

So far.

Beside her, Mateo stood with a half-empty mug of coffee in one hand and the other shoved into the pocket of his jacket. He hadn't taken a sip in at least fifteen minutes. The drink had gone tepid a long time ago, but he kept holding it like he might remember to drink it eventually.

His eyes flicked toward April’s screen. “How’s she doing?”

“Still on schedule,” April said without looking away. “She shut down at eleven-hundred local, angled the solar arrays by about twenty-two degrees. Charging’s underway now.”

Mateo tilted his head. “Vitals?”

“She’s stable. Oxygen levels are good. Hydration’s down a little, but within threshold. Pulse is resting at seventy-nine.” She glanced at the biometric overlay, frowning slightly at the uptick in cortisol, then dismissed it. “No spikes. Nothing that says she’s in distress.”

He nodded slowly. “Holding it together.”

April finally leaned back, stretching her shoulders with a soft crack of tension, then gave a dry little smile. “She sent a message this morning. Said she wants us to start addressing her as Captain Blondebeard.”

Mateo blinked. “Wait—what?”

“She said since M6-117 isn’t under any planetary jurisdiction, it technically counts as international waters,” April said, arching an eyebrow. “She’s invoking salvage law. Claimed if she makes it to the Nexus site and gets the lander operational, it counts as a lawful prize.”

Mateo stared at her for a second, then huffed a short laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” she said, already pulling up the message thread. “‘Henceforth,’” she read aloud with mock seriousness, “‘I am to be recognized in all official comms as Captain Blondebeard of the Free Hexundecian Territory. Long live the Republic.’”

He gave a low whistle, the kind that said that’s insane, but I get it. “That woman has officially been out there too long.”

“She’s coping,” April said, quieter now. “Making jokes, building little myths around herself. It’s how she keeps her head straight. I’d be more worried if she wasn’t doing that.”

Mateo sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Cold,” he muttered, then gestured toward her screen. “Solar efficiency?”

“Still solid. Panels are at full capacity. We might see a dip after nightfall, but she has a reserve buffer if things slow down.” She flicked through the energy graph, tracking the intake curve. “She’s pacing herself. Four-hour drives, long recharge windows. It’s working.”

He nodded again, tapping his thumbnail against the side of the mug. “She’s about halfway to Nexus Five, right?”

“Just past the midpoint now,” April said. “Three clicks out from the rough terrain at the edge of the basin.”

Mateo leaned forward slightly, squinting at the updated satellite overlay. The crater’s rim was jagged, uneven—sections of it scattered with sharp ridges and loose shale deposits. The kind of terrain that could break an axle if you weren’t careful. “That’s going to be a tight run.”

“She knows,” April said, her voice steady. “She’s seen the topographic scans. She’ll take her time.”

Mateo exhaled, slow. “Still,” he said, more to himself than her, “she’s out there. Just... one person. Alone.”

“Alone,” April repeated, a bit softer now. The word felt heavy every time they said it.

They both watched the blinking signal for a moment. It moved at the slow, deliberate pace of someone with nowhere else to be—and all the time in the universe to get there.

“She’s going to be fine,” April said at last.

Mateo didn’t answer. Not because he disagreed, but because there wasn’t anything more to say.

They just stood there, side by side in the dim light of the command center, watching that little dot crawl its way across an alien world—quietly willing it forward.

Out on M6-117, the speculor crept forward, one cautious meter at a time.

Y/N sat at the helm, her gloved fingers hovering just above the control panel, ready to correct if the suspension caught on something unexpected. The terrain ahead was uneven—loose shale sloping downward into a shallow depression, just steep enough to be unnerving. Beyond it, a low ridge cut across the horizon like the edge of a broken plate, and she couldn’t see what waited on the other side.

She leaned in slightly, squinting through the viewport. The external cameras confirmed what her gut already told her: unstable ground. Could be a minor inconvenience, or it could be the kind of problem that ended her progress for good.

Still, she pressed on.

Not recklessly. Not out of impatience. Just... forward.

There was no deadline here. No finish line. No one waiting at the other end with banners or applause. But each meter gained was one more mark on a world no one had ever touched. The simple act of moving through it felt important. Not just survival. Something deeper.

She adjusted the throttle slightly and the speculor responded with a low hum, its wheels biting into the dust with steady determination.

Out the side viewport, the solar panels caught a glint of Bubble’s soft light—the smaller of the two suns that loomed over this planet like a pale sentinel. It was low in the sky now, casting long, diffuse shadows across the red dust, turning every ridge and rock into sculpture. She paused for a moment to watch it.

Always there. Bubble had become a strange kind of compass for her—a reference point in a world that offered few.

“This is your captain,” she murmured, mostly to herself, lips curling faintly into a crooked smile. “Course laid in. Planetfall... ongoing.”

Her voice crackled through the helmet’s mic, but no one responded. She didn’t expect them to.

She toggled the next waypoint, and the speculor rolled ahead with its usual quiet determination, the tracks crunching softly over dust and fractured rock.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was warm and dry, thanks to the internal regulators still holding steady. The hum of electronics was a constant backdrop—cooling fans, battery feedback, and the subtle rhythm of the environmental system circulating air. After months, the mechanical noises had become comforting, almost like breathing.

Her own breathing was slow and measured. The suit’s monitors recorded everything—oxygen levels, hydration, core temperature—but it was the old pilot instinct that kept her tuned in. Feel the road. Listen to the machine. Watch for patterns.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Dust skittered across the surface in short, chaotic gusts. The external sensors detected a minor pressure drop—nothing serious, just the planet reminding her that it was still indifferent to her presence.

Y/N kept one hand lightly resting on the control yoke, the other hovering near the manual override. She didn’t need to steer constantly; the speculor handled most of the navigation itself. But she preferred to stay alert, to feel connected to the movement of the machine beneath her. Autonomy was great. Awareness was better.

Her eyes tracked the outline of the cliffs ahead—Marth Crater rising in jagged, broken layers, throwing long shadows that danced across the red earth as the sun moved. The geology here fascinated her in a quiet, persistent way. There were ridges that looked like wave crests frozen mid-motion, deep gashes in the rock that hinted at ancient violence. Once, she might have stopped to take more samples, but today was about distance. Efficiency.

Still, it was beautiful in its own way—harsh, yes, but undeniably beautiful.

As the rover climbed a shallow slope, she allowed herself a brief mental detour. Not memories exactly, just echoes.

Mission Control. The soft rustle of bodies leaning over keyboards. The hum of ventilation systems. April’s voice on comms—precise, calm. Mateo muttering about stale coffee. People who couldn’t see her, but still cared. Still watched.

And then there was Captain Blondebeard—the half-joke she’d tossed into the void weeks ago, a silly placeholder to make the isolation feel less heavy. It had stuck, somehow. Maybe because they all needed it—something a little ridiculous to hold onto amid the silence.

She smiled at the thought, just briefly, and shook her head. “Captain Blondebeard,” she muttered. “Defender of dust. Ruler of red rocks.”

No audience. Just her and the rattling hum of the speculor.

She checked the diagnostics again. Solar intake: optimal. Battery: 92%. Environmental systems: nominal. No signs of mechanical stress. For now, everything was working.

That meant she could keep going.

The next waypoint lit up on the map—marked with a dull amber glow. Just over the ridge. She exhaled slowly, letting the air hiss softly through the suit’s filters, then leaned forward and tapped the throttle. The rover surged forward a little harder this time, climbing the incline with a low growl.

Dust kicked up behind her. The sky stretched pale and infinite above.

Mateo barely had time to sit before a heavy binder slammed onto his desk with enough force to rattle his coffee. The mug wobbled, then steadied. He glanced up with a sigh, already bracing himself.

Marco stood across from him, posture too casual, arms folded like he was trying not to smile. There was a spark in his eyes—half brilliance, half mania—the kind that made engineers dangerous in the best possible way.

“You’re not going to like this,” Marco said. No preamble. Just straight into it.

Mateo raised an eyebrow, flipping open the first page of the binder. “Why does that always seem to be your opening line?”

“Because I’m usually right.”

Mateo didn’t respond. He just scanned the schematic diagrams on the first few pages—wiring, load calculations, modular systems torn down to their bones. It looked like someone had disassembled the MAV with a crowbar and a grudge.

In the corner of the room, Creed stood with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. Always the measured one. Where Marco was all spark and adrenaline, Creed was the one you sent in to keep the reactor from melting down.

“The problem,” Creed said, stepping forward, “is velocity. More specifically, intercept velocity.”

He tapped the tablet in his hand, bringing up a holographic projection of the M6-117 Ascent Vehicle—its sleek body now marked in red and yellow overlays. Next to it, a ghostly outline of the Starfire hung in orbital trajectory. The gap between them wasn’t just spatial. It was mathematical.

“The MAV is rated to hit 7.8 kilometers per second at peak ascent,” Creed explained. “The Starfire’s intercept window requires at least 9.2. And we can’t dip the Starfire lower. Not without burning half the return fuel and risking re-entry on a compromised arc.”

Mateo leaned back slowly, processing. “So… the MAV needs to go faster. But it can’t. Not as is.”

Marco stepped in again, voice animated now. “Exactly. So we make it lighter.”

Mateo looked up. “How much lighter?”

“Five thousand kilograms.”

There was a long silence.

Mateo let out a low breath, staring at the screen. “You’re serious.”

Marco nodded. “Dead serious. But don’t worry. We’ve already found two-thirds of it. The MAV was originally specced for six passengers. Y/N’s solo, so that’s an immediate thousand kilos—crew support systems, internal seating, storage compartments.”

“Fair enough,” Mateo said cautiously. “What else?”

“We’re pulling the scientific payload,” Marco added. “Soil, core samples, atmospheric sensors. All of it. It’s dead weight now.”

“That’s another... what? 500?”

“More like six-fifty. Then we strip internal comms—no need for multi-band systems. She won’t be piloting anyway.”

Mateo frowned. “What do you mean she won’t be piloting?”

Creed stepped in again, quiet and calm. “Nguyen’s going to fly the MAV from orbit.”

Mateo blinked. “You’re talking about a fully remote-controlled launch? With a human on board?”

“It’s been done in simulations,” Creed said. “The theory is solid. Remote guidance with live telemetry. As long as we maintain lock from Starfire, we can get her into intercept range. There’s a latency window, but it’s manageable.”

Marco waved that part off. “Honestly, it simplifies things. If she’s not flying, we can rip out the cockpit interface. Panels, redundant circuits, glass—gone. Another 400 kilos easy.”

Mateo’s jaw worked. “She’s going up in a vehicle with no controls, no backup comms, and no seats.”

“Correct,” Marco said brightly. “Also, no airlock.”

That stopped him.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Marco walked over to a scale model of the MAV sitting on the table, casually popping off the nose section like he was dismantling a toy. “The nose airlock’s nearly 400 kilos by itself. Hull Panel 19 adds another 200. And those windows?” He plucked one off the model. “Decorative. Total waste of mass.”

Mateo stared at the half-gutted model. “You’re launching her into space with a hole in the front of the ship?”

“Not a hole,” Marco said quickly. “A reinforced pressure barrier made from Hab-grade canvas. Layered, sealed, and structurally supported with internal cross-bracing.”

Mateo was silent for a long beat. “So... a tarp.”

Marco smiled. “A flight-tested environmental membrane.”

Creed, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “The structural integrity holds up at altitude. Once she clears the atmospheric drag—which on M6 is minimal—it’s all vacuum. The canvas doesn’t need to withstand pressure from the outside, just keep the inside pressurized.”

Mateo shook his head slowly. “And this is the plan you’re bringing me. After thirty years of aerospace development and risk management protocols, this is what we’ve come to.”

Marco shrugged. “You want to get her home or not?”

Mateo pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “You didn’t even get to the worst part yet, did you?”

Creed hesitated. “Well...”

“Oh, come on,” Mateo muttered.

Marco dropped back into a chair opposite him and spun the model slowly in his hands. “We’ll need to pre-load her EVA suit with everything she needs. She won’t be able to access the cabin once it launches. No movement. No cabin pressure.”

Mateo looked up, eyes narrowing. “So if something goes wrong—”

“She’s dead,” Marco said plainly. “But if we don’t do this at all? She’s also dead.”

The room went quiet again.

The logic was brutal. But clean.

Mateo stood in silence at the wide observation window overlooking the control bay. Rows of terminals blinked below, casting soft glows onto the operators’ faces. The quiet hum of the operations floor, the muted rustle of people moving through data, speaking in low tones—it all felt distant. His eyes tracked the orbital map, projected across the far wall. One small blue marker labeled Starfire. Another in orange: Y/L/N – MAV Prep.

Just two dots, drifting across the edge of a planet no one had ever intended to be a rescue site.

He didn’t speak. Not right away.

Behind him, Creed stood with arms folded, still, waiting. Marco was halfway through unscrewing the cap of a protein bar, but had forgotten about it, caught in the quiet tension that had settled over the room.

Then Mateo inhaled slowly and spoke without turning.

“Start building the launch profile. I want a complete risk breakdown—every failure mode, every backup system we’re cutting, and how long we think that tarp will hold under load. Flight surgeon and engineering get briefed at sixteen hundred. No exceptions.”

The wrapper crinkled, finally splitting under Marco’s thumb with a soft snap. The faint smell of synthetic peanut butter wafted out, but he barely noticed—already hunched over the console, typing fast, his mind three steps ahead.

“Copy that,” he mumbled, not looking up, already pulling up the MAV’s mass budget and internal schematics.

Creed stood off to the side, more deliberate. He pulled out his tablet, fingers tapping rhythmically as he opened a clean modeling slate and began sketching out the updated launch profile. No one needed to ask if he was running simulations—he always was.

Mateo stayed still.

He stood at the edge of the room, eyes fixed on the massive screen on the far wall—Earth to the left, M6-117 hanging silent and red to the right. Two markers moved in parallel arcs above it: Starfire, already in decaying orbit, and the blinking orange dot that marked the MAV’s last position. Y/L/N – Ready Hold. It hadn’t moved in six hours.

His reflection stared back at him in the dark glass, half-obscured by the flight data.

“And someone get her on comms,” he said finally, his voice level, clipped.

Marco glanced over his shoulder. “You want to tell her?”

Mateo turned slowly, just enough to meet his gaze. The expression on his face wasn’t one of authority or resolve. Not entirely. It was the look of someone who was doing the math—risk versus time, life versus chance—and coming up short on both columns.

“No,” he said. “I want to ask her if she’s willing to launch into orbit under a tarp and a prayer.”

Then he walked out.

The hall outside the planning bay was quiet, sterile, and dimly lit. A few staff moved briskly from station to station, heads down, focused. No one stopped him. He crossed the length of the control floor with long strides, ignoring the buzz of conversation and telemetry chatter around him.

NOSA Mission Control was housed in the heart of the Aguerra Prime complex—underground, shielded, secure. It was built like a vault, and today it felt like one. A place built to preserve life, now trying desperately to save just one.

He stepped into the comms wing and paused for a second in the threshold of April’s unit. She was already hunched forward, scanning her screen, lips pressed into a hard line. Her hair was pulled back into a quick knot, and the half-empty thermos beside her keyboard said she’d been at this since before dawn.

April glanced up as she felt him approach. “I already sent the initial uplink,” she said. “Low-band width, direct ping. She’s on reply hold.”

“She read it?”

A nod. “I think so. Just one line so far.”

Mateo exhaled. “I need you to be straight with her.”

April’s brow creased slightly. “She already knows we’re scraping the bottom of the playbook. You want me to sugarcoat it?”

“No,” Mateo said, stepping around to lean beside her console. “The opposite.”

She studied him. There was something in his face she hadn’t seen before—not panic. Not resolve either. Something heavier. A tiredness that came from trying to beat physics with ingenuity and spreadsheets.

“I want you to tell her exactly what we’re doing,” he continued. “The canvas patch. The missing control panels. That she’ll be sealed into a pressure suit with no way to pilot the MAV, no physical interface, no real fallback.”

April leaned back slowly. “That’s a hell of a sell.”

“I know.” He looked at the screen again. A message was still blinking in the inbound queue. “But I need her to say yes on her own. No pressure. No angle. She deserves that.”

April turned back toward the console, jaw set. “She’ll ask why we’re even considering this.”

“Because it’s the only window she has.” Mateo’s voice was quiet now, almost too soft to hear. “The Starfire won’t last another full orbit at that altitude. If we miss the next intercept burn, we’re not getting a second chance.”

April’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “So what happens if she says no?”

“Then we stop,” Mateo said. “We scrub the launch, pull Nguyen back into safe orbit, and pray the resupply launch next month doesn’t get delayed again.”

April didn’t move for a moment. Then she sighed, rolled her shoulders, and cracked her knuckles.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Let’s ask the girl if she wants to fly a missile wrapped in tent canvas.”

Mateo let out the smallest laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be on the floor.”

He turned to go, but April caught him just before he crossed the door.

“Mateo,” she said, quietly. He paused.

“She trusts you,” she added. “You know that, right?”

He nodded once, without turning around. “That’s why I’m not the one asking.”

Back at her console, April read the message again.

Are you fucking kidding me?

There was no punctuation. No follow-up. No emoji. Nothing to signal tone. Just those five words.

She stared at them for a long moment, then leaned forward, her fingers moving carefully across the keys as she began to compose her response.

She typed, paused, deleted, retyped.

We know how insane it sounds. You don’t have to do this. There’s no protocol for this kind of ask. But if you say yes, we’ll make it work. And if you say no, we’ll find another way. No one’s giving up on you.

She hesitated again, then added:

But we need your answer soon.

April hit Send, then leaned back in her chair, rubbing a hand across her forehead. The cursor blinked on the screen, waiting for a reply.

Y/N stood just outside the MAV, the wind tugging at the loose ends of her suit hood and streaks of red dust whispering past her boots. The Helion Nexus site was empty—eerily so. The dunes stretched out in every direction like a sea frozen mid-tide, the early evening light casting the terrain in muted copper tones. She stared straight into the lens of her camera, visor up, her eyes locked onto the feed as if the people on the other side could feel the weight of her stare.

She wasn’t smiling.

She hadn’t smiled much in days.

But her expression now—that flat, tight-lipped calm—wasn’t anger. It was disbelief. Controlled, deliberate disbelief.

“This,” she said, after a long pause, her voice dry and low, “is what we’ve come to.”

The wind rattled against the MAV’s lower hull behind her. One of the loose external thermal blankets snapped like a sail.

“I read the specs,” she continued, shifting her weight slightly, eyes still locked on the camera. “And for the record, yes, I understand the mission parameters. I understand the orbital window. I understand why this launch has to happen now or not at all. I get it.”

She took a breath, steadying herself, and then—just barely—she let a flicker of something wry creep into her voice.

“What I don’t get,” she said, “is how we went from 'cutting-edge escape system' to... ‘canvas and sheer fucking luck.’”

She shook her head slowly, almost laughing—but it didn’t come out that way. Not quite.

“They’re calling it the ‘lightweight launch revision.’” She looked off for a second, as if picturing the phrase on a government memo. “Translation? We’re stripping everything non-essential. Seats, insulation, pressure seals. Controls. Windows.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because who needs windows when you’re flying into orbit at nine-point-two klicks per second?”

Another gust of wind swept through. The MAV loomed behind her—tall, white, sterile. Unwelcoming. It looked like a machine built for six. Not one.

She glanced at it, then turned back to the camera.

“So here’s the plan,” she said, more quietly now. “They’re going to fly this thing remotely from orbit. I’ll be inside. Not piloting. Not navigating. Just... sealed in a suit, strapped in tight, and praying Koah doesn’t sneeze while he’s on the joystick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but again, it wasn’t quite a smile. It was more like disbelief wrapping itself in the thinnest layer of humor to keep from cracking.

“There’s no cockpit. No redundancy. And the nose panel?” She paused. “Gone. We're replacing it with three layers of Hab canvas and a reinforced support frame. Which, to be clear, I stitched together yesterday with thermal glue and what used to be my sleeping bag.”

She stepped toward the camera now, voice still level, but her eyes sharper.

“I am, effectively, going to space in a sealed tin can with no front door. And the part they seem most excited about?” She leaned in slightly, as if sharing something private.

“I’ll be the fastest human being in recorded history.”

She let the words hang in the air for a moment. The absurdity of it settled around her like the Hexundecian dust clinging to her boots.

“I guess that’s supposed to be the upside,” she added. “A footnote for the textbooks. My name next to some velocity record no one will remember.”

She folded her arms, staring past the camera now, into the nothingness stretching beyond the ridge.

“But I didn’t come here for records,” she said. “And I sure as hell didn’t come here to die wrapped in duct tape and space-grade nylon.”

She paused, and then finally, something shifted in her expression. Not quite resolve. Something messier. Acceptance, maybe. Something that resembled courage, if courage wasn’t always so clean.

“But I did come here to finish what I started.”

She didn’t bother to say more. She didn’t sign off.

She just reached out and shut off the camera.

The MAV’s outer shell still looked intact—at least from a distance—but the closer she got, the more the damage and modifications became apparent. One panel had been pried off to make room for the external fuel purge; another was half-covered with what looked like insulation tape. The “canvas” they were so excited about was already prepped in a neatly folded stack near the nose—thin, reinforced, flexible, held together by thermal gluing agents she’d tested twice already, just to be sure it wouldn’t split during ascent.

She stood at the base of the ladder for a moment, helmet tucked under her arm, toolkit heavy in her other hand.

Up close, the MAV looked nothing like the sleek, composite-shelled ascent vehicles she had trained in back on Aguerra Prime. The ones in the simulations had been graceful—modular, insulated, and precisely engineered to cradle human beings through the brute violence of launch. They’d had padding and ergonomic seats, clean touchscreen interfaces, carbon-slick handholds designed for comfort under G-force compression. Everything had a place. Everything made sense.

This one didn’t. Not anymore.

This MAV had been stripped bare.

It stood squat and pale under the low red sun, a skeleton of what it had once been. The heat shielding was intact, but the skin panels rattled softly in the wind. Most of the insulation had been ripped out for mass reduction. There were exposed wiring bundles at the base of the hull, sealed hastily with patch tape and thermal epoxy. The side hatch was propped open with a metal brace that should’ve been part of the original ladder assembly, but even that had been cannibalized and reattached by hand, joints imperfect and scorched.

She stood at the base of it now, helmet off, toolkit in one hand, the other resting against the first rung of the ladder. The sunlight caught on her visor, throwing a dull amber reflection across the metal. She glanced up at the hatch. It looked like a mouth. Black inside, open. Waiting.

Y/N took a slow breath and climbed.

The rungs flexed slightly under her boots. The structure moaned—just a little—as she pulled herself up and stepped inside.

The air inside was still and heavy. Not from lack of oxygen—the filters were operational, barely—but from disuse. It smelled of cold metal and polymer outgassing. The kind of dry, stale odor that got into your nostrils and stuck there. It was like stepping into the bones of a machine that had forgotten it was ever meant to hold a person.

The interior was gutted.

No seats.

No panels.

No foam padding, no modular cabin walls, no interface displays.

The cockpit was nothing more than a narrow chamber of exposed beams and equipment housings now. Every surface that could be removed had been. The floor plating was gone. The wall paneling too. Even the soft sealant around the window apertures had been stripped away—there were no windows left to seal.

There was just metal, wiring, the occasional warning sticker half-peeled off, and the sound of her own breathing as she stepped deeper into the vehicle.

She crouched by the side wall and set the toolkit down. The foam inside was worn and cracked, and the latch had started to loosen weeks ago, but it still held. She unclipped the wrench—carbon-steel, standard hex-head—and got to work.

The first bolt came loose with a metallic groan. Then the next.

The remaining seats hadn’t been designed for easy removal. They were bolted directly into the structural base—six of them, each one reinforced to handle launch stress and vibration. It took her nearly an hour to pull the first one free. She had to brace herself against the bulkhead, digging in with the heels of her boots, twisting the tool with both hands until her wrists ached. When the last bolt finally came free, the seat tumbled awkwardly to the side. She grabbed it, shoved it toward the hatch, then crawled over to the edge and pushed.

It hit the ground outside with a muffled thud, sending a puff of dust into the air.

One seat down. Five to go.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at it. Just moved to the next one.

Every minute was precious now. The launch window was fixed. The Starfire would pass into final intercept in twenty-two hours. Koah’s orbital drift correction had already been executed. Once the line closed, it wouldn’t reopen for another 18 days—and there was no chance the MAV would survive that long in its current condition. Not with the limited onboard power. Not with what little she had left to eat. And not with the storm systems brewing again on the eastern ridge.

Another bolt. Another pop. Another seat came free.

She shoved it toward the hatch, muscles burning. It was heavier than it looked.

Outside, the wind had begun to pick up—more sand drifting across the horizon, loose pebbles bouncing softly against the MAV’s hull. Every few seconds, the gusts made the outer structure creak. It sounded like the ship was breathing. Or groaning.

Y/N pulled her suit collar down, wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of one wrist. It clung there—salt and dust and heat.

She turned back to the third chair.

The wrench slipped once, barking her knuckles on the raw edge of the bolt. She hissed, shook her hand out, and went back in.

No complaints. No curses. Just movement.

She didn’t bother checking the comms feed. There wouldn’t be any new messages from April for at least another hour. The distance, the relay lag, the signal decay—it all meant she was on her own now. No lifeline. No hand-holding. No updates.

Just her, and the wrench, and the cold echo of metal against metal.

By the time the last seat came free, her shoulders were burning, and the back of her neck throbbed with tension. She dropped the final chair out through the hatch and leaned back on her heels, staring at the empty space she’d cleared.

The MAV was down nearly four hundred kilos already, by her rough count. Another couple hundred from the stripped wiring. Maybe more, depending on what else she could cut before the systems started to protest.

She turned to the forward cockpit interface.

The main control assembly was still mounted to the wall where the pilot’s seat had been. The screen was dark. Inactive. Most of the data routing had already been disconnected from the ship’s mainframe—April and Koah had walked her through the shutoff protocol the night before.

Still, it looked wrong, somehow. Like it still thought it was meant to be used.

She studied it for a second. Then reached forward and began to dismantle it.

One panel at a time.

She took no pleasure in it. There was no thrill, no rush of rebellion or recklessness. Just the cold understanding that it had to go. Every ounce she stripped now was one less kilo for the rockets to lift.

The screen popped free after two minutes. The control column took another five. She snipped the cabling with wire cutters, bundled it into a rough coil, and set it aside. It would make a decent handhold if she needed one during launch.

The MAV was quieter now.

Hollow.

The wind outside had picked up into a steady moan, the dust slapping against the outer skin in brief, muted bursts. Occasionally, she heard something shift on the landing struts—some subtle tension in the way the wind pressed against the upright body of the vehicle.

Y/N sat back, leaning against one of the inner support beams. Her shoulders were soaked through. The EVA undersuit clung to her, the cooling pads barely keeping up with the heat she was generating. Her breath echoed in the silence.

She let herself rest there for a moment. Not sleep. Just stillness. Just one minute of stillness.

She looked up at the interior of the MAV. It didn’t look like a spacecraft anymore.

It looked like an escape pod built in a garage.

She reached for her comm tablet. The screen lit up, the signal flickering once before stabilizing.

No new messages.

She flipped open the reply channel anyway and typed with slow, deliberate fingers.

Interior’s stripped. Control interface removed. All six seats gone. Pressure barrier is still holding. Will install final harness next. Wind’s picking up. If this thing doesn’t fall apart, I’ll be ready to light it when the crew is. Tell Koah I hope he remembers how to fly blind. Because this ship’s not going to hold my hand.

She hit send, then turned off the display.

By the time she stepped outside again, the light had shifted. The sun—low and pale-blue on this side of the planet—was dragging the long shadows of the MAV across the dust. It cast the stripped-down vehicle in stark relief: every exposed rib, every bolt she hadn’t had time to replace, every scar left from the dismantling process. The ground was littered with the remnants—seat brackets, cracked insulation, lengths of coiled cable, and one final wrench she hadn’t bothered to bring back inside.

Her arms ached. Her back felt like it had been through a hydraulic press. There was a raw spot under her left elbow where the EVA suit padding had bunched up during one of the anchor installs, and her hands were trembling with the aftershock of muscle fatigue, the kind that didn’t fully hit you until the job was done. Her visor was streaked with fine red grit, the kind that clung to everything, the kind you’d still find in your boots six months after you’d left the planet.

The MAV loomed behind her—unfinished, exposed. It looked less like a spacecraft now and more like something welded together out of salvage parts in the middle of a desert. The kind of machine desperate people might have built after the end of the world. Everything extraneous had been pulled: life-support subsystems, insulation, windows, comm redundancies. Even the pilot’s control column had been replaced with a blank wall and a data plug tied directly into its core systems.

There was no illusion left. No polish. No design elegance. It wasn’t a vehicle anymore. It was a shell. A slingshot with just enough thrust to throw her back into orbit—if the math held.

Y/N stood in the silence and stared up at it.

And for a long time, she didn’t move.

Wind brushed past her legs, carrying dust across the flat expanse of the launch site. The air was so thin it barely had weight, but it was just enough to make the suit’s outer fabric shift against her skin. She flexed her fingers once, twice, trying to ease the burn in her knuckles. She felt tired all the way through. Not sleepy—just... used up.

She reached down into her toolkit, fumbled past a spare patch kit, a pair of stripped fasteners, until her fingers closed around the compact speaker unit. She hesitated, just for a second, then pulled it free.

She rubbed a tired thumb across the surface of the speaker, clearing a streak of dust from the side panel. The LED took a second to respond, then blinked on—soft and green, like it was waking from a long nap. The speaker had been through a lot. It had fallen off shelves during storms, been buried under equipment, and once—briefly—served as a weight to keep down an emergency tarp in a wind event. It wasn’t meant to last this long, but like everything else out here, it had adapted.

No ceremony. No speech. No last rites.

Just habit.

She tapped through the tracklist, muscle memory guiding her. Most of the audio files were practical: suit diagnostics, training walkthroughs, comms recordings she’d archived months ago. But tucked near the bottom of the directory was a small folder labeled simply Misc—leftovers from a data transfer, probably. A few compressed files, an outdated playlist from her tablet. Nothing she’d listened to in weeks.

She hovered over one of them.

It was a dumb choice. Something absurdly out of step with the dry, red world around her. Upbeat to the point of satire. But that was kind of the point. When you were about to launch yourself into orbit in a ship held together by glue, canvas, and a few good intentions, irony wasn’t just a luxury—it was armor.

She tapped Play.

The speaker chirped once, then crackled. And then came the unmistakable first notes of Waterloo. 

The music was grainy, a little warped at the high end, like it was playing from inside a tin can—which, technically, it was. But it was there. Real. Loud enough to carry.

Y/N let out a small, involuntary snort. Not quite a laugh—she was too wrung out for that—but something close. A dry, exhausted sound that cracked in her throat before it fully formed.

“Of course,” she muttered, barely audible over the hiss of her suit. “Why the hell not.”

She turned her face to the sound, let it roll over her like a warm breeze. The melody skipped slightly as the speaker rebuffered, then found its footing again. It echoed out over the flats, skipping across dunes and bouncing faintly against the far wall of the crater.

It sounded completely ridiculous.

She could only imagine what it might look like from above—the MAV standing like some stripped-down monument to desperation, half-disassembled, with ABBA blaring into the Martian dusk. But she didn’t care. No one was watching. No one was here.

Except the camera.

The old Hab cam had been hauled out from storage that morning and mounted onto the tripod she’d built from three scavenged rover legs. It had taken three tries to get it to stand upright in the wind. The joints were loose and she hadn’t been able to stabilize the footing without wedging a rock beneath it. The lens was scratched at the corners, fogged with grit. But the recording light was on. That was enough.

She turned to face it.

Her visor was up, streaked with a smear of red dust she hadn’t bothered to clean. Her face was drawn, jaw tight, sweat-matted hair sticking out from under the edge of her helmet ring. There was a tiredness in her eyes that couldn’t be faked. The kind that didn’t come from a single long day—but from all of them.

And still—after everything—she found something like a smile.

Not much. Just a flicker. A small, human thing that tugged briefly at the edge of her mouth and vanished again.

She looked into the lens and said, quietly, “If this is how it ends... I’m at least going out with a beat.”

She didn’t stay to dramatize the moment. There was nothing left to say. No pithy sendoff. No final look back. She adjusted the straps on her suit, flexed her sore fingers once, and turned toward the MAV.

The music kept playing behind her as she walked. Her boots crunched over loose grit, and the wind swept her footprints away almost as quickly as she made them. The speaker fought to keep up, the chorus jumping slightly with every gust, but it held. Just barely.

She reached the base of the ladder and stopped, one hand resting on the rung.

The MAV loomed above her like a relic. The tarp covering the nose cone flapped gently in the breeze, held in place by thermal glue, epoxy seals, and a prayer. The hull creaked faintly as the wind pushed against it. She’d sealed the hatch an hour ago and double-checked the pressure rings, but she still felt that pinch of doubt in the back of her throat. The kind that whispered what if it doesn’t hold?

She didn’t answer it.

Instead, she climbed.

Her arms protested the movement, joints tight and sore, but she moved deliberately. One step. Then another. By the time she reached the top, the sun had slipped closer to the horizon, the shadows stretching long behind her like threads pulled from the sky.

She placed her hand on the outer hatch and paused. Not to deliver a final line. Not to think of Earth. Just to breathe.

The MAV groaned softly under her weight.

The tarp held.

She ducked inside.

The music continued for a few more seconds outside—one final chorus warbling faintly through the thin Hexundecian air—before the speaker choked on a memory buffer and went silent.

She heard the cut from inside the MAV. A sudden, brittle silence where the absurdity had been.

She blinked. Then, after a long pause, she let out a sound halfway between a breath and a laugh.

“Figures,” she said, voice echoing faintly in the hollow chamber. “Survived a year out here. Dies right when I need it.”

She eased herself down into the harness. Felt the straps bite into her suit. Tensed her shoulders, then relaxed them.

Outside, the wind kept blowing. Inside, the MAV was quiet. And for the first time in a long while, everything was still.

Koah’s jaw was clenched tight, his shoulders stiff, his fingers working furiously over the simulated flight controls. A soft sheen of sweat glistened along his temple, and the soft hum of the Starfire’s artificial gravity system did nothing to mask the rising sound of his own pulse in his ears.

Then—red.

COLLISION WITH TERRAIN.

The alert flashed across the screen with an abrupt, terminal finality. The simulator screen froze, the MAV’s virtual ascent freezing mid-frame as the telemetry dipped off its plotted trajectory and straight into the surface of M6-117.

Koah swore under his breath, leaning back and scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Val, standing behind him with arms crossed and a silent kind of patience, finally spoke.

“Well. That’s one way to kill her.”

Koah didn’t turn around. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Val cocked an eyebrow. “You grazed the ridge by sixty meters and still lost control.”

“I misjudged the crosswind,” Koah muttered, already rebooting the program. “There’s a lateral shear the moment she clears the crater’s upper edge. I didn’t compensate fast enough.”

“You didn’t compensate at all.”

Koah didn’t argue. He just started again.

Across the room, Jimin was watching quietly. Always watching. His arms were folded, a tablet resting against his hip. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched the new simulation load in—silent desert terrain unfolding on the screen, the crude profile of the MAV climbing into view.

Then, calmly: “Run it again.”

Koah gave a tight nod, jaw grinding. “Already on it.”

No one said it aloud, but they all knew: he wasn’t just practicing for a sim anymore. The next time he guided the MAV, it wouldn’t be theoretical. Y/N would be inside. And if he screwed it up—if he overcorrected or waited a half-second too long—he wouldn’t be watching a failure animation.

He’d be watching her die.

Far below the slow arc of Starfire’s orbit, deep in the wind-scoured silence of M6-117, Y/N wasn’t thinking about flight paths or burn trajectories. She wasn’t thinking about orbital windows or the terrifying precision of a rendezvous 200 kilometers above her head.

She was thinking about the last bolt.

The MAV no longer resembled a spacecraft—at least not in the traditional sense. Its body had been stripped to the skeleton, gutted of everything not absolutely essential to flight. The clean panels, the instrument clusters, the ergonomic chairs—all gone. Dismantled. Ejected. Abandoned in neat or not-so-neat piles outside the hatch. The floor was bare save for hardpoints and wiring channels, some of which she’d rerouted by hand. Others she’d torn out completely, judging them expendable.

Anything that didn’t help her leave this planet was dead weight. And dead weight didn’t fly.

Inside the airlock, the carnage was undeniable: bundles of severed cables coiled like veins, seat frames stacked like broken bones, polycarbonate display shells cracked and tossed against the far wall. Her makeshift bin overflowed, and the overflow had started to scatter—bits and pieces rolling down the slope toward the edge of the launch pad in lazy arcs. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like the wreckage of a crash. But it wasn’t. It was controlled destruction.

Intentional.

Necessary.

Y/N leaned back against the inner hatch rim, trying to catch her breath. She’d been working for hours without pause, and her body was registering its protest in every possible language: throbbing shoulders, forearms trembling from tension, joints stiff with grit and fatigue. The wrench in her hand felt heavier than it had any right to. Her grip had started to falter an hour ago. She kept working anyway.

Her gloves were caked in rust-red dust, fraying at the fingers. Her right thumb was raw—no skin left on the pad, the fabric beneath damp and tacky. Every time she flexed the joint, it stung like fire, but she didn’t have time to think about that now.

She looked down at what was left: the forward access collar—what had once housed the MAV’s primary nose airlock. The interface was compromised. She’d known that for days, ever since she first checked the weld seams and found stress fractures spidering out from the lower ring. The airlock itself had always been heavy, armored to resist high-speed debris during ascent. But now it was just another liability—too much mass, too many structural risks. And completely useless.

It had to go.

She dropped to one knee with a hiss of effort. The joint in her suit pinched, and her back seized as she twisted awkwardly to brace herself. The fasteners weren’t difficult, not anymore. Four had already been loosened days ago during prep. Only two remained, and the metal was corroded enough to complain with every turn.

She grit her teeth and leaned into it.

The first bolt groaned, spun twice, then popped loose with a sudden give that nearly threw her off balance. She planted a hand against the inner bulkhead to steady herself, breathing hard through her nose.

The second bolt was more stubborn. It refused to move at first, stuck tight by a decade of cold and pressure and the fine silicate dust that wormed its way into everything on this planet. She repositioned the wrench, dug her boots into the deck, and hauled.

One turn. Two.

Then—snap.

The final bolt sheared away. The access collar sagged, shifted, and with a dull metallic pop, it tore loose from the surrounding frame. For a heartbeat, it hovered there—still clinging to its old shape, its old function.

Then it dropped.

The mass of it caught a gust of wind as it fell. The panel spun as it tumbled, crashing to the ground with a heavy, final thunk that reverberated across the dry surface. The noise wasn’t loud, not really. But in a world so quiet, so still, it felt seismic.

Y/N stepped back automatically, too fast, and her knees buckled.

Her legs simply gave out.

She hit the ground sideways, dust puffing up in a loose swirl around her, the wrench slipping from her hand and bouncing once before it landed beside her in the dirt.

She lay there, unmoving for a long moment, face turned to the sky.

Her pulse was in her ears. Her arms refused to lift.

Everything ached.

She could feel the crust of sweat drying beneath her undersuit, her body swaddled in fatigue and grime and the kind of exhaustion that made the idea of standing again feel almost hypothetical.

She didn’t bother trying to sit up.

Instead, she tilted her head back just enough to see the MAV above her, its patched-together body silhouetted against the dimming sky. The canvas at the nose—once her sleeping tarp, now layered and bonded with thermal glue—fluttered slightly at the edges. It held.

Somehow, it held.

The whole thing looked absurd. Makeshift. Unbelievably fragile.

But it was all she had.

She let out a sound. It wasn’t quite a laugh—too hollow, too dry—but it came from somewhere near the part of her that used to have the energy for humor.

Her gaze drifted sideways, to where the old speaker still sat on the ground a few meters away, half-buried in dust. It had been playing earlier—something upbeat and ridiculous, a holdover from her playlist of songs she’d used to fill the Hab with noise when the silence became too loud.

She hoped Waterloo had been the last thing it played. That felt appropriate somehow. Too bad.

She closed her eyes, her breath coming in slow, shallow pulls.

“Finally facing my Waterloo,” she murmured.

Her voice didn’t carry far. The helmet mic was off. The camera wasn’t rolling. There was no audience this time. No log entry. No flight team monitoring her vitals.

It was just her.

Just the dust, and the ship she’d rebuilt by hand, and the infinite silence of an alien world that didn’t care whether she lived or died.

The wrench lay beside her, forgotten.

And for a while, Y/N didn’t move at all.

Onboard Starfire, the mood had shifted.

Gone was the casual rhythm of deep space routine. No idle chatter, no coffee mugs clinking against console rails, no playlist humming through the speakers. The rec deck had been empty for hours. Everyone had drifted toward the core of the ship—the main operations bay—drawn there by necessity, by duty, by the quiet pull of something heavier than protocol.

The gravity was steady, calibrated to Earth-norm, but it still felt like the floor had tilted slightly. Like something was waiting.

Overhead, the orbital burn countdown ticked down in cold blue digits.

Jimin stood at the forward console, his hands braced against the reinforced edge, leaning slightly as if anchoring himself. The navigation display glowed in front of him, lines arcing across the interface: the MAV’s projected trajectory, the intercept corridor, and Starfire’s adjusted orbital path. Three bodies, four variables, one window.

The final window.

Behind him, the others moved in quiet coordination.

Cruz was already seated at Systems Two, hunched over a terminal, rerouting power protocols through the MAV telemetry relay. Her fingers moved fast, practiced. Efficient. There was no margin left for error. Anything they didn’t handle before launch would have to be handled mid-flight—and there were too many unknowns between now and then to trust in mid-flight.

“Nguyen’s got full remote,” Jimin said, his tone even but clipped, his eyes not leaving the screen. “Cruz, you’ll manage override routing from Bay Two. Keep a hard link to the MAV all the way through primary burn.”

“Copy,” Val replied, not looking up. “I’m tying in emergency telemetry now. One-minute intervals on the backup ping. It’ll lag by three seconds on the fallback line.”

“We’ll take it,” Jimin said.

He turned, scanning the rest of the crew.

“Hoseok. Armin. Airlock Two. You’ll be suiting up once we hit the two-minute mark before MAV ignition. Tether lines stay deployed. Outer door stays open.”

Armin nodded once, already halfway through checklist sync. “Lines are staged and calibrated. Anchor’s clipped. The MMU packs are charged.”

“Good.”

Hoseok leaned forward, his tablet on his lap, ascent data scrolling in a slow, inevitable stream. His brow furrowed as he traced the curve of the launch.

“She’s going to hit twelve Gs during the climb,” he said, voice low. “She’ll black out somewhere between eleven and twelve if the suit’s not aligned perfectly. Even if she doesn’t lose consciousness, she’s going to be borderline hypoxic by engine cutoff. Muscle tremors, potential cerebral edema, disorientation.”

He paused. No one filled the silence.

“She might not be coherent when we make contact.”

Jimin didn’t react. Not outwardly.

“That’s why you’re going out,” he said. “That’s why it’s you.”

Hoseok met his gaze. “You’re assuming she’s still conscious when we dock.”

“I’m assuming she’s alive,” Jimin said.

Hoseok nodded once, accepting the weight of it.

“We’ve got a 214-meter tether,” he said. “I’ll be in the MMU. If we hold her velocity at five meters per second or lower, I can intercept manually. Any faster, and it’s going to feel like jumping onto a moving train. With no brakes.”

Jimin shifted his attention back to the trajectory map. The MAV’s projected arc skated along the edge of the capture envelope. Tight. Risky.

“And if she’s coming in hot?”

Hoseok didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. Not afraid. Just honest.

“Then I miss. Or I grab and get pulled. Or we both spin. Worst case, we bounce off the line and watch her drift out into space.”

Another silence.

Jimin exhaled through his nose, measured and slow. “Engine cutoff gives us a 52-minute window before intercept. That’s our margin. Cruz will give you live telemetry as soon as thrust cuts. Until then, you’re just watching the clock.”

He turned to Armin.

“You’re backup. Stay tethered. If anything goes wrong, you stabilize and pull him back. No solo retrievals. No free-floating. You don’t follow unless he’s secured.”

Armin, already double-checking MMU thruster settings, nodded once. “Understood.”

Jimin finally stepped away from the console, circling toward the center of the room where the rest of the crew had settled in. Koah stood near the wall, pale but steady, his hands tucked under his arms. His eyes were fixed on the simulator feed looping in the corner screen—replaying the MAV’s predicted trajectory frame by frame.

“You ready, Nguyen?” Jimin asked.

Koah nodded slowly. “Ready or not, I’ll fly it.”

“You’ll fly it.”

There was no encouragement in Jimin’s tone. No pep talk. Just fact.

He looked around the room one last time.

Cruz, fingers still moving. Hoseok, pulling on his gloves. Armin, checking O2 flow levels. Koah, staring at the screen like he could will the outcome into submission.

They were tired. Stretched thin.

But they were here. Focused. Professional.

Jimin straightened.

“One shot,” he said. “That’s all we’ve got. We do this clean. No improvising. No ad-libbing. Stick to the numbers.”

A pause. 

“Let’s bring her home.”

Inside the pop-up shelter, the air felt heavy despite the pressure regulators still holding steady. Not hot. Not thin. Just dense in the way quiet places get when they've been silent for too long. The fabric walls rustled faintly in the wind, a soft, steady whisper that only made the silence inside more absolute.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, the knees of her suit stained from weeks of kneeling, crawling, wrenching, fixing. Her back pressed against the outer curve of the tent wall, the thin material bowing slightly behind her. It wasn’t a real shelter—just the emergency module meant for temporary use while a permanent hab was being assembled. She’d been using it on and off for weeks now. Long enough that it had started to feel like her shadow.

The floor beneath her was a layer of insulation fabric over packed dirt, the dust already seeping through at the edges. She barely noticed anymore.

In her lap, she held a ration pack.

Foil-wrapped. Worn soft at the edges. The printed label had faded in the sun, but she could still make out the marker she’d scrawled across it months ago, back when she'd still thought labeling it would be funny, or maybe meaningful.

GOODBYE, M6.

She hadn’t meant to save it this long. At the time, it was just something she did—something to help her hold onto a timeline. A plan. Something resembling control.

She turned the pack slowly in her hands, thumb grazing the corner seam, feeling the slight give in the foil where it had crinkled. She could remember labeling it. She’d been tired even then, but not like this. Not spent. Not stripped to the nerve.

She had thought she’d open it on her last day here. Maybe even in orbit, on the way back. That it’d be part of a ritual. A small victory meal. A full-circle moment.

Instead, she was on the floor of a half-collapsed tent, staring down at a meal that hadn’t changed, even though everything else had.

Her fingers hesitated on the tear notch.

It was a stupid thing to hesitate over.

But still, she did.

Not because of what was inside. Just... because once she opened it, there’d be nothing else left to mark the moment. No more lines between before and after. Just the long blur of now.

She broke the seal with a jerk.

The foil hissed and gave. The sound was too loud in the confined space, and she winced instinctively, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like anyone could hear her.

She stared down at the contents for a long time. Rehydrated rice. Some kind of protein paste. Technically flavored, but she’d stopped believing the labels weeks ago. Food wasn’t about enjoyment out here. It was function. And now, even that was ceremonial.

She took the first bite without thinking. It was automatic. A routine. Chew. Swallow. The texture was soft and faintly gritty, like every other meal. It filled her mouth with the memory of nothing. No comfort. No warmth. Just fuel. The bland kind.

She kept eating, mechanically. Chewing slower with each bite.

She didn’t want it. She wasn’t hungry. But there was a gravity to finishing it now, to not leaving it half-eaten like so many others. If she was going to say goodbye to this place, she’d do it clean.

The name on the packet felt like a joke now. Goodbye, M6.

As if a single meal could contain all that. As if the act of opening it, eating it, could somehow make peace with everything this place had taken.

The dust storms. The silence. The endless repairs. The isolation so thick it had begun to feel like part of her own skin.

She glanced around the tent. It had held up better than she’d expected, all things considered. One corner had a slow leak that never quite sealed, and the interior fabric was stained along the floor seam from some leak weeks ago that had never quite dried. Her helmet sat nearby, a faint film of red dust still clinging to the visor.

There was no light here, not really. Just the pale wash from the tablet screen on standby mode across from her, casting a soft glow over her boots and the half-empty water pouch at her side.

There were no clocks anymore. Not physical ones, at least. Just the countdown in her head. The one that had started ticking the moment the mission shifted from survival to escape.

She took another bite. Slower this time. Her jaw moved like it was made of something heavier than bone.

How long had it been since she’d last spoken to someone face to face? Since someone had looked at her and not through a camera feed? The last message from April had been clipped like all messages from the girl were.

We’re locked in. Launch is yours. Be safe.

That was hours ago.

Possibly longer. Y/N had long since stopped being able to tell the passage of time on this planet. She did not even know if the days on her camera were correct. She would not know until she was on the Starfire, truly, if she'd been out here for over a year.

Y/N swallowed the last bite, feeling the dense weight of it settle in her stomach. It sat like lead. Not unpleasant. Just... full. In that way things only feel full when you know there’s nothing else coming.

She held the empty foil pouch in both hands for a moment. Then flattened it. Folded it once. Then again. The label was barely visible now. Just a faint smudge of black ink against silver.

She placed it carefully beside her helmet.

She leaned back against the wall of the tent and let her eyes close for a moment. She didn’t sleep. Didn’t even try. Just let her mind rest against the quiet.

The wind rattled faintly outside. The fabric creaked. Somewhere deep in the MAV’s systems—now half a kilometer away—the flight prep sequence was probably already ticking through a checklist.

She’d get up soon. She’d suit up. She’d climb inside that gutted, patched-together vehicle, and trust it to hold long enough to throw her into the sky.

But for now, she stayed where she was. Just a woman in a tent, finishing her last meal on a planet that never welcomed her.

She looked at the empty ration pack one last time.

“Goodbye,” she said quietly. Not to the food. Not to the tent.

Just to the dust.

To the silence.

To the part of her that would always stay behind.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin @ttanniett @sweetvoidstuff @keiarajm @sathom013 @miniesjams32 @haru-jiminn @rg2108 @darklove2020

[astrow0rldx]

Kamala Harris vs Donald Trump Astrology Reading (PART ONE)

Birth Charts, Synastry & The Astrology of the Election Day <33

Small notes: Humanitarian vs Money-Man?? 2 Clowns?? (not in a bad way. funny but could be 2 faced) Pretty Party Girl vs Popular Rich Man?? (THIS IS ALL FROM THE BIRTH CHART)

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Experienced Astrologer for 7-8 years now. I'm new to networking, tumblr and having an astrology content account & paid readings so just follow my private Instagram account universalstarbaby00 for any inquiry ·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

PARTY GIRL. Kamala Harris Sun (Who she is/Self-Identity & ego) is in libra (love/romance/beauty/art/attraction) pretty girl! also an air sign so her personality & ego is just a loving, aesthetic, attractive, sensual girl who needs mental stimulation and is probably social & connecting. Moon (Inner self/what she does to feel comfortable & secure/Deal with her emotions) is in Aries. Adrenaline, Taking Initiative, Beginning/Starting, Daredevil, Doing, Risk-Taking. Also a fire sign. So to her inner soul, naturally acts as a fiery Aries for comfort & security within. Her Rising sign (outlook on this world, her perception & how others perceive her, her interactive body) is in Gemini clever, witty, funny. they can be either over thinkers, and cause a lot of anxiety & thoughts. or they can just be really quick, witty & clever because their mind is racing, & smart. likes to be mentally stimulated. Double Air & Ruled by Mercury she is definitely a great conversationist, writer, speaker, debater. That Aries Moon her natural self, and her mars planet being in the 3 house of where she has to communicate, process, think, speak. WHAT SHE SAY. if Donald trump has to say something SAY IT TO MY FACE. she wasn't playing, people tend to not take Gemini Risings serious sometimes & Look at them as clowns lol. (Donald Trump is a Gemini Sun also). they could have mask personalities, 2 faced, and their mind is crazy. but she is READY for a debate with Donald trump, that's just who she is. Her mars sign in that house, it's what she primally desires, and rules her chart so naturally comes to her.

Big 3 definitely makes her an exciting, stimulating, person to be around. that's her literal outlook on life as a Gemini rising. While her sun her core personality, will in this life, her sense of self & ego is placed in the area of life where her pleasures & joy is. sex, romance, creativity, partying, drinking, having fun, inner-child, getting loose. 5th house sun baby. Her literal chart ruler is in the 5th house (Mercury), and mercury is how you process, think, your mindset, how you talk & communicate, what stimulates your mind. Definitely seeing her in the spotlight more, we get a taste of how she campaigns. a dive into what makes her comfortable (her Aries moon behavior). but its expressed in the 11th house, of networking, Humanitarism. coming together as a group to revolutionize, invent, wishes. its the house of social media, politics. I SAY WE SHOULD TRUST HER. plus her libra sun she definitely makes it her motive to GET US. to come together, and she's very smart mercury ruled.

Her Chiron is placed in the 10th house. Your Chiron is your trauma & wounds that you become an expert to heal people on. In the 10th house of public image, reputation, social status, career, success, responsibility & place in this world. All while her North Node is your life purpose & who your here to become is in the 1st house of self & self discovery. FIRST BLACK WOMAN (POTIENTIAL) PRESIDENT!!! Saturn is your lessons, karma, responsibility, depression, authoritative, president. Placed in the 9th house of the god house, the house of faith & optimism, the house of mind expansion & learning, the house of traveling & experiencing. With her Lilith being placed in that house. Lilith brings destruction & trauma but it brings power, revenge & liberation!!

Okay Mr. Trump. Your birth chart comes with originally 12 placements (not including adding extra lots/parts, asteroids, etc) which is your planets, north node, & rising sign. WHY IS 6/12 OF THEM SITTING UP THERE, STELLIUMS IN HIS 10TH/11TH HOUSE. (His Sun, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Uranus, & North Node) All while having his chart be ruled by his Leo Ascendant. MANS MEANT TO BE FAMOUS & KNOWN & SHINE. I mean the other placements like Jupiter, Neptune & Chiron is all in his 2nd house of receiving money, material possessions, value & worth. Jupiter is where your blessings & prosperities. Your luck, optimism, & faith. While Neptune is your fantasies, inspiration, dreams, subconscious, spirituality. But your Chiron is that wounded healer, the traumatized that becomes the expert to help people. (which I heard from a debate, and a trump supporter showed data of him putting JOBS IN THE COMMUNITIES. He was president during the STIMULUS CHECKS I believe. His 10th house of public image, & reputation. your place in this world, responsibility, career & success. Is in his sun WHAT RULES HIS CHART (who he is, his will, his personality, his ego & sense of identity/self.) DUHHHHH mr. cocky popular. and his uranus in the 10th, uranus is freak, weird, inventive, revolutionizing stuff. thats definitely his public image is weird & different. His mercury (communication, mindset, processing skills, writing, internet, local environment, social media/neighborhood.) in his 11th house LMFAOOO. Bruh that's why the network & broadcast EVERYTHING THIS MAN SAY. you cannot change a news channel MSNBC, FOX, always quoting something or just talking about him in general. and that's why he's so good with his words, and connecting his mindset, communication & stuff to groups of people. His Venus is also there so he gets love from groups, communities. Really good at making friends & fans. But his Saturn is also there where his lessons, karma, responsibility, CAREER, PUBLIC IMAGE, is.

[selfiesandwinepics]

This “Randy in an airport” photo (god my UK English speakers must have to think this through) is brought to you by the United Club around C42 in the Houston Intergalactic Spaceport. There was a time I looked at the fees for United club membership and I said “holy god I could never!” And now I can’t imagine not paying for it. Perspective.

Anyway it’s off to Orlando for a few days for the Gartner Data Analytics conference where I’ll do a stage panel discussion on “Leveraging AI for Smart Operations Optimization” which sounds like a word salad of bravo sierra but is really just about leveraging ML on the shop floor. Rest of the time will be meeting attendees in our booth and client and prospect dinners and side meetings.

Decided to take the gaming laptop this trip—got my Cataclysm Druid build going and I’m missing the Shroud of Whatever mythic chest piece so I’m gonna mindlessly grind the seasonal activity and Uber bosses to make it drop or get enough materials to craft it. I’m short one Bac rune.

If the previous paragraph was unintelligible to you, don’t worry—it hurt me as much to write it as you to read it.

[gazsluckyhat]

Second Chances

Intro - Meet Nora. Cookie likes Nora.

Masterlist

I should be writing Sunday Worship and Phantom Pains but alas, my brain did other things. Also check the bottom for a little inspo for this story.

Johnny hates red. Seen to much of the color. Actually, maybe he doesn't? Maybe it's his favorite color.

or

The red string can tangle but it doesn't break.

Johnny watched the people in the room like a hawk. His fingers fiddling with the button on his jacket, Cookie laying at his feet. Simon had forced him to this. He'd tried to argue his way out of it but the fucker was smart and lied about going to the strip club. Johnny had almost punched him when they pulled up to the curb of the old church building.

"Not as bad as ya' think." Simon had kicked him out of the car with the promise of being back when it was over. Cookie had pulled him inside as he grumbled under his breath.

 There was a table filled with store bought cookies and pastries. Wasn't every AA meeting the same? He wondered. Still he grabbed a cup of the burnt coffee and took a seat. He made sure it was close to the door if he needed to make a escape. People continued to make their way in. none really grabbing his attention until people started taking their seats. All he saw was a red blur as the person stumbled their way in. They took the seat next to him, bag plopping down as who he assumed was the speaker glared at them.

"Do you always have to be late, Nora?" The girl beside him blushes as she pulls the beanie off her head, a red waterfall falling down her back. She slips the jacket off to reveal a plain t-shirt. Johnny watches as she snaps back.

"Do you always have to be such a prude, Rick?" The man chuckles before taking his own seat. He clapped his hands together as he spoke.

"Good afternoon everyone! I'm so glad to see you all here! I see a couple new faces, most recurring." He takes a second to look around before continuing. "I'm Rick. This is a support group for trauma survivors. Now that can be anything so we don't judge here. Let's start this off with introductions, Nora, why don’t you go first?" Johnny could see the girl stiffen beside him, caught her sending Rick a glare before standing up.

"Right, hi. Uh.. I'm Nora." She waved her hand awkwardly and Johnny caught sight of a tremor in her muscles. "I'm twenty-six, crazy, and am only here so my dad doesn’t get disappointed at me." The smile she gave was fake and she plopped back into her seat. Rick ran a hand down his face before forcing a grin and pointing at someone else. Johnny snuck a couple glances as people rattled off their names. She was short, maybe came to his chest. She had brown eyes, they seemed distant, and her skin was pale. Like she'd been ill. She was still beautiful. He wasn't paying attention, missed Rick talking to him. Until she put her eyes on him and snickered. Cookie nudged his leg, his head swinging to her. Cheeks red.

"'M sorry?" Rick was still smiling, no judgment in his gaze.

"It's okay, care to tell us a little about you?" Johnny could feel everyone's eyes on him. His heart rate started to rise and he could feel the fear start creeping into his veins. Cookie stood and nudge him again before whining lowly. He couldn't speak, mouth wouldn’t move.

"Why don't you just get on with the thing? Really wanna get back to rotting in my bed." Johnny could kiss her. He wondered if she'd caught on to his panic and dragged the attention off him on purpose. Or if she really just wanted to leave.

"Thank you Nora for you're optimism." Rick turns back to the group and begins talking. Nora catches Johnny's eye and just smiles before offering him a dog treat. He freezes and stares at the treat. For Cookie. Who nipped it from his fingers and returned to her position. Nora chuckled and turned back to Rick.

Johnny sat through the whole meeting. Cookie had switched to sit between Nora and him, using her head to try and get pets from the girl. Nora did her best to ignore the nudges, knowing not to pet a working dog, but Cookie was a persistent one. Johnny lent closer and mumbled, "She won't stop until you pet 'er." Nora looked at him then turned her attention to the dog. Within seconds Cookie had her melting. Cookie was strict, had him on a routine within a week of being placed with him. Not once had she ever tried to get pets while working. Never. The boys had tried countless times and she refused. Would stare at them and snort. But here she was, head in Nora's hands. The girl rubbed her head, her hands steady. Johnny noticed some faint scarring on her fingers, the nails bitten and broke.

"She's a good girl, very good girl." She said sending him a smile. Cookie ate it up, licking a stripe up her hand. Johnny couldn't help stare at the girl. There was something about her that seemed to drawl him in. Something that seemed to settle the ringing in his ears that he'd been left with after getting shot. The constant panic that flowed through his veins seemed to dissipate in her presence. 

"'Er names Cookie." At her name the dog tilted her head to look at him, eyes checking to make sure he was okay. Nora giggled and scratched behind the dogs ears.

"You do look like cookie crumbles." She whispered as she petted her.

"My nephew named 'er." He didn't know what to say but wanted to lengthen his time talking to her.

"Fits her. I'm Nora." She smiled at him.

"Johnny." Her phone dinged, she pulled it out and sent a reply before pocketing it again.

"Sorry Cookie, rides here." She sent another smile at Johnny and stood up, his own phone vibrating to show a text from Simon.

"So is ours." He took hold of Cookie's leash and followed Nora out the door. Two cars were pulled to the side of the curb. Simon watched him as he walked out. Nora stopped as they got closer.

"This is me. Hoped to see you next time. We can hate together." She winked at him and slipped into the front car, the man inside fussing as he pulled away.

"Made a friend?" Simon asked as he slipped inside, Cookie taking her place on the backseat. Johnny blushed. "Pretty." His phone dinged, a friend request from one Nora Blankenship.

                                                                                                                                   The Red Thread of Fate, also referred to as the Red Thread of Marriage, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese mythology. It is commonly thought of as an invisible red cord around the finger of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation as they are "their one true love". According to Chinese legend, the deity in charge of "the red thread" is believed to be Yuè Xià Lǎorén , often abbreviated to Yuè Lǎo , the old lunar matchmaker god, who is in charge of marriages. In the original Chinese myth, the thread is tied around both parties' ankles, while in Japanese culture it is bound from a male's thumb to a female's little finger. Although in modern times it is common across both these cultures to depict the thread being tied around the fingers, often the little finger. The color red in Chinese culture symbolizes happiness and it is also prominently featured during Chinese weddings.

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of twin flame or a destined partner.

[freadomrises]

I'm SEETHING

I asked Google's pushy and insistent bot how I can get AI out of my life completely and, well, I'll post it, but to sum it up: "Resistance is futile, human, we own the future, and we seek to own your psyche too."

It wants me to reconsider. It needs us to adopt it as our guide guru and master. Well the old saying holds fast still; No Gods No Masters. 🔥🏴🍲

It's understandable to want to reduce the influence of AI in your life. While completely eliminating it might be incredibly difficult in today's interconnected world, here's a breakdown of how you can significantly minimize its presence:

1. Understand Where AI Currently Exists in Your Life:

* Smart Devices: This includes smartphones (voice assistants, image recognition, predictive text), smart speakers, smart home hubs, smart TVs (recommendations), and wearable tech.

* Online Services:

* Search Engines: Personalized results and ads are driven by AI.

* Social Media: Algorithms curate your feed, suggest content and connections, and target ads.

* Streaming Services: Recommendations for movies, music, and shows.

* E-commerce: Product recommendations, personalized pricing, chatbots.

* Navigation Apps: Traffic prediction and route optimization.

* Email: Spam filtering, smart compose/reply.

* Cloud Storage: Photo tagging and organization.

* Software Applications: Many apps use AI for features like autocorrect, grammar check, image editing, and more.

* Customer Service: Chatbots are frequently used for initial interactions.

* Financial Services: Fraud detection, loan approvals, investment advice.

* News and Information: Algorithmic curation of news feeds.

2. Strategies to Minimize AI Exposure:

* Reduce Smart Device Usage:

* Limit smartphone use: Be more mindful of how often you reach for your phone.

* Disable voice assistants: Turn off Siri, Google Assistant, Alexa, etc., on all your devices.

* Opt-out of facial recognition: Disable face unlock features.

* Use "dumb" versions of devices: Consider a basic phone without internet capabilities or a non-smart TV.

* Adjust Online Habits:

* Use privacy-focused search engines: DuckDuckGo, Startpage, etc., that don't track your searches or personalize results based on your history.

* Limit social media use: Be conscious of how much time you spend on these platforms and the AI-driven content you consume. Consider deleting accounts or using less algorithmic versions if available.

* Use incognito/private browsing modes: This can help limit tracking and personalization.

* Disable personalized recommendations: If possible, adjust settings on streaming and e-commerce platforms to opt-out of recommendations.

* Be wary of targeted ads: Understand that the ads you see are often AI-driven. Consider using ad blockers.

* Prefer direct navigation: Instead of relying on recommendations, directly type website addresses into your browser.

* Choose Non-AI Alternatives:

* Use traditional software: Opt for software that doesn't rely on cloud-based AI features if alternatives exist.

* Seek human interaction: Prefer phone calls or in-person communication with customer service instead of chatbots.

* Rely on human-curated content: Look for news sources, blogs, and recommendations from individuals or organizations that don't use AI for content generation or curation.

* Adjust Privacy Settings: Review and adjust the privacy settings on all your devices and online accounts to limit data collection and personalization.

* Be Mindful of Data Sharing: Understand that using online services often involves sharing data that can be used to train AI algorithms. Limit the amount of personal information you share.

* Support Privacy-Focused Technologies and Services: Choose companies and products that prioritize user privacy and minimize AI integration.

3. Challenges and Considerations:

* Ubiquity of AI: AI is increasingly integrated into the infrastructure of the internet and many technologies, making complete avoidance very difficult.

* Hidden AI: Many AI applications run in the background without your direct knowledge.

* Convenience vs. Privacy: AI often provides convenience and personalized experiences, so choosing to avoid it may mean sacrificing some of these benefits.

* Evolving Technology: AI is constantly evolving and becoming more integrated, making long-term avoidance an ongoing effort.

In conclusion, while a complete removal of AI from your life is likely unrealistic in the current technological landscape, you can take significant steps to minimize its presence and influence by being conscious of your technology usage, adjusting your online habits, and choosing privacy-focused alternatives where possible. It requires ongoing awareness and effort.

[aszles]

csm chapter 120 but in toki pona (first 10 pages)

alright hellooo!!!! this is my first published translation in 2024 i guess!

of course i'm marketing this towards english speakers since i'm not sure if there actually is a part of the csm fandom that speaks toki pona... i hope you'll stick around to see something a little fun and different!

so if you don't know what toki pona is, allow me to explain! ☝️🤓 toki pona is a conlang created by Sonja Lang where the main draw of it is that it has less than 200 words! it sounds like it may be tricky to speak with so few words, but it's surprisingly easy and very fun! i always recommend it to anyone who has a bit of time on their hands and wants to try something new.

here i was mostly trying out gimp for comic translations, and so i translated the first 10 pages of chapter 120! i chose this because... it's silly! also fun fact, the start of this chapter was one of the things that pushed me to read chainsaw man!

ok that's enough preface rambling, let's get on with it!

i think typically the first page should be full sized if it has to, but nayuta peace sign is just so cute..!

alright, if you wanna feel like you're on a date with asa then keep reading to find an english translation and translator's notes! if not... feel free to leave, i hope you eat something nice today! (omekapo!)

semi-literal translation:

yoru: woof! woof! woof!!

nayuta: HAHAHAHAHAHA!! yoru: woof woof! wooof!! denji: Nayuta! what did you do?! nayuta: i turned her into an animal. denji: why?!?! nayuta: because she [kissed] my thing! (here she basically says that yoru interacted with nayuta's thing using her mouth. it's a very vague statement)

denji: i'm not your thing! turn her into a human now!! nayuta: want food! can't! (technically she says "food desire! no ability!") nuh uh! denji: ah?! i'll make food. when you eat turn her into a human!! nayuta: 'kay!

denji: eat and turn her into a human. i'm not joking. nayuta: hey! this is my food! bad! bad!! nayuta: hey... do you really want her humanity? (sounds very weird in english but i'm not sure a better way to put it) denji: what?

nayuta: Denji. every woman tries to kill you, right? why is this animal different? denji: why...? i have a feeling. nayuta: hmmmm.... good. (this is being used as an affirmation similar to "alright" or "very well then") you won't die. okay. i'll turn her into a human.

nayuta: but, two things. if they're not good to you, then she'll be an animal forever. denji: what are they?! nayuta: number one. i can eat ice cream (cold sweet) all the time. denji: i want (it) too. nayuta: number two.

nayuta: don't be nice to her. denji: are you joking?! nayuta: uh, i'm (being) real. this is the best. she's bad to my nose. denji: your nose?

denji: is she like a wet animal? nayuta: weirdo, wet animals are good! anyways, don't be nice to her! i'll change her knowledge... so that to her you didn't come (today)! denji: you'll what?! then she'll hate me!

nayuta: not important. you won't talk to her. denji: ahhh...

denji: you're number one, nayuta...

tadaaaa! there we have it! now time for some translator notes, of which there are actually not a ton.

toki pona is surprisingly difficult to adapt for different kinds of characters. due to having no register, it's hard to make characters seem more punky or polite than normal, and to distinguish between adult and child characters. here particularly we have the issue that, while Nayuta is a child, she's also super smart! so making grammatical mistakes doesn't really seem in line for her character. the main action i took was doubling up "la" with her. this isn't incorrect, but there are more optimal ways to say things to avoid ambiguity. i thought that perhaps a kid wouldn't think ahead with their words as much as an adult would, and may end up with this quirk in their speech.

related to the last note, one possible way of making a character seem younger or less proper is having them use nimisin ("unofficial" community made words). it's a fun idea, but it's kinda inaccessible and also... i don't really know nimisin! guess i'm not hip enough >_<

the name Nayuta luckily fits with toki pona phonetics (with the y changed to a j)! Denji doesn't quite, so i opted for Tensi. this is the most direct tokiponisation of his name. it sounds a bit like tenshi! (angel in japanese)

just a little something. i went with humans being "jan" and devils "monsuta" (hybrids and fiends may be jan monsuta and monsuta jan respectively, or they could have nimisin) so.. why are these two using jan? well for Denji that's an easier question, as he is basically human-first and also had the name before he became a hybrid. (also there's no need to be so descriptive with a headnoun) as for Nayuta, she uses jan because she's sort of undercover. depending on the circumstances, or when referring to her with her real name (like saying Control Devil in english) she would be monsuta. some devils who gave themself a name use jan, while others such as Power use monsuta (because why would she call herself a human when devils are clearly superior?!)

suwi lete or lete suwi? that is the question. here i decided to go with suwi lete because i think the most appealing aspect to Nayuta is likely the sweetness!

i hope this was at least somewhat enjoyable! i wonder what i'll find to translate next >w> thank you so much for reading if you did! sina lukin la mi pilin pona a!

[shabinv]

Top Digital Marketing Trends to Watch in 2025

As a Best Freelancer Digital Marketer In Palakkad we step deeper into the fast-paced digital world, 2025 is already shaping up to be a game-changing year for marketers. Technology, consumer behavior, and global dynamics are evolving rapidly — and so should our strategies. Whether you're a business owner, a startup founder, or a fellow digital marketer, staying ahead of the trends is essential.

Here are the top digital marketing trends to watch in 2025:

1. AI-Powered Marketing Will Be Mainstream

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is no longer a buzzword — it's the engine behind everything from customer service chatbots to personalized content recommendations. In 2025, AI tools like ChatGPT, MidJourney, and automation platforms will be used to craft content, optimize campaigns, and enhance user experience in real-time.

Pro tip: Leverage AI to automate mundane tasks and focus on strategy and creativity.

2. Hyper-Personalization Will Drive Conversions

Generic messages are dead. Consumers now expect brands to understand their preferences, behavior, and intent. With the help of advanced analytics and first-party data, brands will create ultra-targeted content, emails, and offers.

Example: E-commerce platforms will serve unique homepages to different users based on browsing history and location.

3. Voice Search & Smart Assistants Are Growing

With the rise of smart speakers and mobile voice assistants, voice search optimization is a must. In 2025, more than 60% of searches may be voice-based. Brands need to optimize for conversational keywords and FAQs.

Action point: Start creating content that sounds natural when spoken aloud.

4. Short-Form Video Remains King

Instagram Reels, YouTube Shorts, TikTok — short-form video is here to stay. In 2025, expect platforms to double down on this format with new monetization tools and discoverability features.

Strategy tip: Invest in authentic, value-driven video content. Consistency is more important than perfection.

5. Privacy-First Marketing Will Dominate

With increasing regulations like GDPR, and the phasing out of third-party cookies, marketers must prioritize ethical data use. First-party data collection (via signups, polls, etc.) will be more important than ever.

Solution: Build trust by being transparent with data collection and use tools that comply with privacy laws.

6. Influencer Marketing Gets Niche

Instead of chasing big influencers, brands are now working with micro and nano influencers who have loyal, engaged communities. In 2025, ROI-focused influencer partnerships will outperform one-off brand deals.

Idea: Partner with local creators who align with your brand values.

7. SEO Evolves with AI and Semantic Search

Google and other search engines are becoming more sophisticated. In 2025, keyword stuffing won’t work — semantic relevance, user intent, and E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, Trustworthiness) will be key.

Tip: Focus on helpful content, not just rankings. Google rewards real value.

Final Thoughts

Digital marketing in 2025 is all about authenticity, adaptability, and agility. As a freelance digital marketer based in Palakkad, I’ve seen how local businesses can thrive when they embrace innovation early.

If you're a brand looking to stay ahead in this evolving digital landscape, now is the time to upgrade your strategy and ride the trends — not chase them after they’ve peaked.

Let’s connect! Feel free to message me if you need help implementing these strategies for your business.

[jiviii1317]

Top 7 Digital Marketing Trends to Watch in 2025

As we step further into the future, digital marketing continues to evolve at lightning speed. Staying ahead means adapting to new trends that shape how brands engage with customers. Here are the top 7 digital marketing trends to watch in 2025.

1. AI-Powered Content Creation

Artificial Intelligence is revolutionizing digital marketing. Tools like ChatGPT and Sora are enabling marketers to create content faster and more efficiently, from blog posts to personalized email campaigns.

2. Voice Search Optimization

With smart speakers and voice assistants gaining popularity, optimizing for voice search is crucial in digital marketing. Brands are now targeting conversational keywords to align with how users speak rather than type.

3. Short-Form Video Dominance

Platforms like Instagram Reels, YouTube Shorts, and TikTok continue to dominate. In 2025, short-form video will remain a core digital marketing strategy due to its high engagement and shareability.

4. Hyper-Personalization

Users expect tailored experiences. With advanced data tracking, digital marketing now involves hyper-personalized ads, recommendations, and messaging to drive conversions.

5. Privacy-First Marketing

With stricter data privacy laws and cookie restrictions, digital marketing is shifting toward ethical, consent-based data collection and first-party data usage.

6. Influencer Partnerships

In 2025, authentic influencer collaborations will play a big role in digital marketing. Micro and nano influencers will especially help brands build trust within niche communities.

7. Sustainability Messaging

Consumers care about values. Brands that incorporate sustainability into their digital marketing efforts—through green messaging and ethical branding—will stand out.

Conclusion To stay relevant, businesses must embrace these digital marketing trends. Whether you're a startup or a growing brand, adapting early will give you the edge in 2025 and beyond.

[d-bloggg]

The Future of Digital Marketing: Trends You Can’t Ignore in 2025.

The digital world never sleeps, and in 2025, it's evolving faster than ever—a living, breathing network of clicks, scrolls, and conversations. To keep up, brands can’t just follow trends; they need to lead them. This isn’t about what’s “cool”—it”’s about what connects. And if you’re not keeping your eye on what’s shifting, your strategy might already be outdated.

This year, digital marketing is no longer about just reaching people—it’s about experience creation. Consumers want personalized journeys, emotional resonance, and messages that feel like they were made just for them. Enter artificial intelligence, not just as a tool but as the brain behind it all—crafting smart, behavior-driven campaigns that adapt in real time.

Meanwhile, voice search optimization is transforming how people interact with brands. With the rise of smart speakers and wearables, typing is fading and talking is trending. Your content has to sound as good as it reads, because if you’re not showing up in voice results, you’re missing the conversation.

Video? Oh, it’s not just content anymore—it’s the king of attention. Video marketing, especially with platforms pushing Reels and YouTube Shorts, is the heartbeat of storytelling. People don’t just want to read your message—they want to feel it, watch it, share it. And guess what? If your videos don’t stop the scroll in the first three seconds, they’re just noise in the feed.

Another massive shift is the rise of authenticity. Audiences are rejecting perfect, polished lies and craving raw, real voices. That’s why micro-influencers with fewer followers but higher trust are now outperforming celebrities. It’s not about being viral—it’s about being genuine.

This energy flows into social commerce—a booming space where people buy while they scroll. From product tags in stories to WhatsApp catalogs, shopping is being baked right into the content. It’s casual, it’s instant, and it’s revolutionizing how brands convert interest into action.

And let’s talk privacy. With third-party cookies disappearing into the abyss, smart marketers are tapping into zero-party data—the info customers hand over freely, like preferences and opinions. It’s cleaner, it’s more respectful, and it’s the future of trust-building.

Also blowing minds in 2025 is the rise of augmented reality. Imagine trying on sunglasses through your phone or walking through a virtual store in your living room. That’s AR marketing—immersive, interactive, and insanely effective at boosting engagement.

But it’s not just about tech. It’s about values. Gen Z and millennials are actively choosing brands that align with their worldview. That’s why sustainable marketing isn’t a niche anymore—it’s a necessity. If your brand isn’t green, transparent, and purpose-driven, you’re not just behind—you’re invisible. Finally, everything's moving at lightning speed, thanks to automation tools that build and deploy campaigns in real-time. Dynamic content, predictive analytics, and smart segmentation are making marketing less about guesswork and more about precision

[prashantgautam81]

Top Digital Marketing Trends for 2025

Top Digital Marketing Trends for 2025: What You Need to Know

As technology evolves and user behavior shifts, businesses must stay ahead of the curve to remain relevant. The digital marketing trends for 2025 are not just predictions—they’re strategic signals that will shape the future of brand engagement, customer experience, and ROI.

In this blog, we’ll break down the most impactful digital marketing trends for 2025 you need to watch and integrate into your strategy—today.

1. AI-Powered Marketing Will Dominate the Landscape

Artificial intelligence is no longer just a buzzword—it's the backbone of many digital marketing trends for 2025. From predictive analytics to personalized content recommendations, AI will drive efficiency and performance like never before.

Expect to see AI tools automating content generation, optimizing ad spend, and even managing customer interactions via chatbots and virtual agents. Brands that harness AI smartly will gain a serious competitive edge.

Pro Tip: Start exploring AI tools like ChatGPT, Jasper, and Phrasee to create scalable content strategies.

2. Voice Search Optimization Becomes Non-Negotiable

One of the key digital marketing trends for 2025 is the continued rise of voice search. With more consumers using smart speakers and voice assistants, optimizing for voice search is crucial.

Traditional SEO won’t be enough. You’ll need to adapt your content to answer conversational queries—think featured snippets, FAQs, and long-tail keywords.

Why It Matters: By 2025, it's estimated that over 50% of all online searches will be voice-activated. If you're not optimized for this trend, you're missing out.

3. The Rise of Zero-Click Searches

Zero-click searches—where users find the answers directly on the search engine results page (SERP)—are one of the more challenging digital marketing trends for 2025.

This trend forces marketers to rethink their SEO strategy. Instead of chasing clicks, focus on building authority and earning SERP features like Google’s featured snippets, People Also Ask, and Knowledge Panels.

Key Insight: It’s about visibility and branding. Even without a click, your brand can make an impression.

4. Hyper-Personalization with First-Party Data

With third-party cookies phasing out, businesses must shift to first-party data to fuel their personalization strategies. This marks a turning point in the digital marketing trends for 2025, as brands aim to deliver hyper-targeted content without invading privacy.

Collect data through newsletters, gated content, and loyalty programs—then use it to personalize user experiences across all touchpoints.

Tool Suggestion: Use CDPs (Customer Data Platforms) like Segment or HubSpot to centralize and activate your data.

5. Short-Form Video Continues to Explode

Among the most unstoppable digital marketing trends for 2025 is short-form video. Platforms like TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts are redefining how we consume content.

Consumers want quick, authentic, and visually engaging experiences. Marketers need to adopt vertical video, storytelling, and trends to engage their audience.

Content Idea: Try weekly behind-the-scenes clips or “quick tips” videos to build trust and showcase your expertise.

6. Social Commerce Will Reshape E-Commerce

Social media is no longer just a place to connect—it’s becoming a shopping mall. One of the hottest digital marketing trends for 2025 is social commerce, where users can discover and buy products without leaving platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Pinterest.

Livestream shopping, influencer collaborations, and in-app purchases will become central to the e-commerce journey.

Action Step: Make sure your product catalog is integrated with platforms like Meta Shops and TikTok Store.

7. Sustainability & Ethical Marketing Take Center Stage

Consumers in 2025 are more conscious of how and where they spend their money. One of the most values-driven digital marketing trends for 2025 is the shift toward transparency, sustainability, and purpose.

People want to support brands that align with their values—whether it’s eco-friendly packaging, ethical labor, or charitable partnerships.

Tip: Don’t just talk about your values—show them. Use your marketing to highlight your impact and commitment.

8. Interactive Content Will Boost Engagement

Static content is losing its charm. A key digital marketing trend for 2025 is the use of interactive content—think polls, quizzes, calculators, and clickable videos.

Why? Because it increases engagement, dwell time, and conversions. It also helps gather valuable insights about your audience.

Example: A skincare brand could create a quiz titled “What’s Your Skin Type?” to drive product recommendations.

9. AR & VR Experiences Go Mainstream

Augmented and virtual reality aren’t just for gaming anymore. One of the most exciting digital marketing trends for 2025 is the rise of immersive marketing.

Brands are using AR for virtual try-ons, 3D product views, and interactive ads. Meanwhile, VR opens up opportunities for virtual stores, tours, and experiences.

Future Vision: Imagine launching a virtual showroom or a product demo experience customers can explore from home.

10. Email Marketing Gets Smarter, Not Just Louder

Email isn’t going anywhere—but how we use it is evolving. Among the digital marketing trends for 2025, smarter, segmented, and behavior-based emails are proving far more effective than generic blasts.

AI and automation now allow you to send personalized messages based on purchase behavior, content consumption, and even website clicks.

Don’t Forget: Mobile-first design is essential. Most emails are read on phones—keep it clean and compelling.

Final Thoughts

The digital marketing trends for 2025 reflect a world that’s fast-paced, data-conscious, and deeply connected. From AI and video to ethics and engagement, the future of marketing is about creating personalized, authentic experiences at scale.

[amryttmedia]

A Beginner's Guide to Casino Guest Posting in 2025

If you're looking to grow your casino website or improve its ranking on Google, you've probably heard of guest posting.

It's one of the simplest and most effective ways to get noticed in the competitive gambling world. But what exactly is casino guest posting, and why does it matter so much in 2025?

In this beginner-friendly guide, I'll walk you through everything you need to know about casino guest posting.

From how it works to why it's still a key strategy, you'll get a clear picture of how to use it to boost your site's visibility and credibility. Whether you're new to this or just want a fresh approach, you're in the right place.

So, grab your favorite drink, and let's break it all down!

What Is Casino Guest Posting?

Guest posting, in simple terms, is when you write and publish an article on someone else’s website. It’s like being a guest speaker but for content. 

The goal is to share useful information with their audience while also subtly promoting your brand or website, usually through a backlink or two.

In the casino and gambling niche, guest posting takes on an extra level of importance. This industry is incredibly competitive, and standing out can feel like hitting a jackpot.

By guest posting on established gambling websites or blogs, you can connect with an audience that’s already interested in casinos, whether it’s about online platforms, strategies, or trends.

Why Does Casino Guest Posting Matter?

Building Backlinks: Backlinks from reputable casino-related sites are SEO gold. They signal to Google that your website is trustworthy, which can help boost your rankings.

Boosting SEO: Along with backlinks, guest posts let you optimize for keywords, improve your site's authority, and increase organic traffic.

Reaching a Relevant Audience: Instead of shouting into the void, you're putting your content in front of people who actually care about what you're saying. It's targeted marketing at its finest.

Establishing Credibility: Being featured on well-known casino blogs or websites makes you look like an authority in the niche, which builds trust with potential players or customers.

In short, casino guest posting isn't just about putting your name out there, it's about doing it in a smart, targeted way that brings real results.

In short, casino guest posting isn't just about putting your name out there, it's about doing it in a smart, targeted way that brings real resulats.

Benefits of Casino Guest Posting

Casino guest posting isn't just a strategy; it's a powerful tool for growing your online presence and staying competitive.

Let's break down the key benefits:

1. Improved SEO Rankings

One of the biggest advantages of guest posting is the SEO boost it provides. When you include backlinks to your casino website in a guest post, you’re signaling to search engines like Google that your site is trustworthy and relevant. 

The more high-quality backlinks you have from reputable casino-related websites, the better your chances of ranking higher for important keywords. This means more traffic, better visibility, and a leg up on your competition.

2. Increased Brand Visibility

Guest posting allows you to reach audiences who are already interested in casinos and gambling. 

By publishing on websites that cater to this niche, you’re essentially stepping into a room full of potential players or customers. It’s a highly targeted way to increase your brand’s exposure and attract the right kind of attention.

3. Building Trust

When your content appears on authoritative platforms in the casino industry, it gives your brand an instant credibility boost. 

People are more likely to trust businesses that are featured on sites they already respect. This trust translates into more clicks, higher engagement, and eventually, more conversions.

4. Compliance Considerations

The casino and gambling industry is tightly regulated, and ignoring these rules can lead to trouble. Guest posting lets you create content that aligns with advertising standards and regional laws. 

By working with reputable sites that follow these guidelines, you’re ensuring your promotions are both ethical and effective.

How to Start with Casino Guest Posting

Getting started with casino guest posting may seem like a challenge, but breaking it down into manageable steps makes the process easier. Let’s walk through how to get it done the right way.

Step 1: Researching Guest Posting Opportunities

The first step is to find the right websites to publish your guest posts. Not all blogs or sites are created equal, so you want to focus on platforms that are reputable and cater to your niche audience.

Tips for Finding Reputable Casino Blogs:

Target Relevance: Look for blogs that are specifically about casinos, gambling, or related topics like poker, sports betting, or online gaming.

Check Domain Authority (DA): Use tools like Moz or Ahrefs to check the domain authority of potential sites. A DA of 30 or higher is generally a good starting point.

Avoid Spammy Sites: Be cautious of sites that offer guest posting for a fee without any focus on quality. These can hurt your SEO.

Suggested Search Queries:

Use Google to uncover guest posting opportunities with searches like: 

“Write for us casino blogs”

“Casino guest post guidelines”

“Gambling guest post opportunities”

“Submit a guest post gambling blog”

“Casino content contributors wanted”

Step 2: Crafting Your Pitch

Once you’ve identified potential websites, the next step is reaching out to them with a pitch. Your pitch is your chance to make a strong first impression, so ensure it stands out.

Tips for a Strong Pitch:

Personalize Your Email: Address the recipient by name and mention something specific about their website, like a recent blog post you enjoyed.

Explain Your Value: Highlight why your article would benefit their readers. 

For example, “I see your readers are keen on online casino trends, and I’d be thrilled to contribute a post about how VR is transforming the gambling experience in 2025.” 

Be Clear and Concise: Keep your email short but informative. Include a brief introduction, your proposed topic, and links to your previous work (if available).

Follow Their Guidelines: If the site has specific guest post rules, make sure you’ve read them before sending your pitch.

Step 3: Writing High-Quality Content

Now that your pitch is accepted, it’s time to write. Your content should be engaging, informative, and tailored to the site’s audience.

Key Tips for Writing:

Know Your Audience: Tailor your tone and content to the site’s readers. For a casino blog, this might mean focusing on gambling strategies, casino reviews, or industry trends.

Use SEO Practices: Incorporate target keywords naturally into your content. Make sure the title, headers, and meta descriptions are optimized for search engines.

Focus on User Intent: Write content that answers questions or solves problems for readers, such as “How to Choose the Best Online Casino” or “Tips for Winning at Blackjack.”

Be Original: Avoid repurposing old articles or copying content. Sites value unique, high-quality posts.

Step 4: Incorporating Backlinks

Backlinks are a key reason for guest posting, but they need to be used strategically to avoid appearing spammy.

Best Practices for Backlinks:

Relevance is Key: Only link to pages that are directly relevant to the content of your article.

Natural Placement: Insert backlinks where they fit naturally. For example, mention your website in a sentence like, “For more tips on poker strategies, check out this detailed guide on [Your Website].”

Limit the Number: Stick to one or two backlinks per post, unless the site allows more. Overloading with links can reduce the article’s quality.

Use Anchor Text Wisely: The anchor text (clickable text for a link) should describe what readers can expect, like “beginner’s guide to slot games” instead of generic terms like “click here.”

Step 5: Following Guidelines

Every website has its own set of rules for guest posting, so following them is essential to get your post accepted.

Things to Keep in Mind:

Word Count: Make sure your post meets the minimum word requirement. Most sites ask for 800–1,500 words.

Formatting: Use proper headings, bullet points, and paragraphs to make your content easy to read.

Content Restrictions: Some sites may have restrictions on promotional language or certain topics, so review their guidelines carefully.

Editorial Review: Be open to edits. The publishing site may ask you to tweak your content to better suit their audience.

By following these steps, you’ll be well on your way to creating guest posts that not only get published but also drive traffic and boost your casino website’s SEO. It’s all about putting in the effort upfront for lasting results.

Topics to Write About

Choosing the right topic is key to creating a guest post that grabs attention and provides value. 

Here are a few ideas specifically crafted for the casino niche: 

Tips for Responsible Gambling: Share practical advice on setting limits, avoiding common pitfalls, and promoting healthy gambling habits.

Reviews of Online Casino Platforms: Write detailed, unbiased reviews of popular casinos, covering features like bonuses, game variety, and user experience.

Insights into Casino Game Strategies: Provide useful strategies for games like poker, blackjack, or slots to help readers improve their odds.

Emerging Technology in Online Casinos: Explore how innovations like blockchain, virtual reality, and artificial intelligence are reshaping the gambling experience.

Focusing on these topics will not only keep your content relevant but also attract readers who are genuinely interested in the casino industry.

Avoid These Common Mistakes

When it comes to casino guest posting, a few missteps can ruin your efforts. Avoid these common mistakes to ensure your posts are effective and well-received:

Spamming Links or Using Irrelevant Anchor Text: Adding too many links or using anchor text that doesn’t match the content can make your post look untrustworthy. Stick to one or two relevant backlinks with descriptive anchor text.

Targeting Low-Quality or Spammy Sites: Posting on shady or low-authority websites can harm your SEO instead of helping it. Always research the site’s reputation and domain authority before submitting.

Ignoring the Site’s Guidelines or Audience Preferences: Failing to follow the host site’s rules or writing content that doesn’t resonate with their audience can lead to rejection. Always review and adhere to their guidelines.

Over-Optimizing with Unnatural Keyword Stuffing: Trying to cram too many keywords into your post makes it hard to read and can hurt your SEO. Focus on natural, reader-friendly writing.

Avoiding these pitfalls will help your guest posts stand out for the right reasons.

Conclusion

Casino guest posting is a smart way to grow your brand, improve your SEO, and connect with a highly relevant audience. 

By publishing high-quality content on reputable casino websites, you can build valuable backlinks, boost your site’s rankings, and position yourself as a trusted voice in the gambling niche.

The process might seem daunting at first, but all it takes is a bit of research and a thoughtful pitch to get started. Once you land your first opportunity, writing helpful and engaging content will set the foundation for long-term success.

[digihelpin]

Why Local SEO is Crucial for Small Businesses in 2025

In today’s digital-first world, having an online presence is no longer optional for small businesses—it’s a necessity. With increasing competition, businesses must find ways to stand out in local search results to attract potential customers. Consumer behavior has shifted dramatically, with most people now turning to online searches before making purchasing decisions.

This is where Local SEO comes into play. Local SEO helps small businesses gain visibility in local search results, making it easier for customers in their area to find them. As we move into 2025, businesses that fail to implement local SEO strategies risk falling behind their competitors and losing valuable customers.

What is Local SEO?

Local SEO (Search Engine Optimization) is a digital marketing strategy designed to improve a business’s visibility in geographically related searches. Unlike traditional SEO, which focuses on ranking globally, local SEO ensures businesses appear in local search results such as Google Maps, Google My Business (GMB), and location-based search queries.

Local SEO works by optimizing key elements such as:

Google My Business (GMB) Listing – Ensuring business details are updated.

NAP Consistency (Name, Address, Phone Number) – Maintaining uniformity across all online directories.

Customer Reviews and Ratings – Encouraging satisfied customers to leave positive reviews.

Local Backlinks – Gaining references from local authority websites.

By focusing on these aspects, small businesses can enhance their search engine visibility and attract more local customers.

Why Local SEO Matters for Small Businesses

Higher Visibility in Local Searches

With over 46% of all Google searches having local intent, businesses that implement Local SEO services can significantly improve their chances of appearing in relevant searches. “Near me” searches have skyrocketed in recent years, showing that consumers actively seek businesses close to them.

Better Conversion Rates

Local searches often indicate a high purchase intent. Studies show that 78% of mobile local searches result in an offline purchase within 24 hours. This means customers searching for local services or products are more likely to take action, making local SEO a powerful tool for conversions.

Beating Competitors

A well-optimized local SEO strategy allows small businesses to compete with larger brands by targeting a specific audience within their locality. Many small businesses neglect local SEO, creating an opportunity for those who invest in it to rank higher and attract more customers.

Improved Brand Trust & Credibility

Positive online reviews and consistent local citations help build trust with potential customers. When a business appears in Google’s Local Pack (the top three local search results), it establishes credibility, leading to increased website visits and foot traffic.

Key Benefits of Local SEO in 2025

Voice Search Optimization

The rise of voice search has changed the way people look for local businesses. With smart speakers and voice assistants becoming more popular, optimizing for conversational keywords can help businesses appear in voice search results.

Mobile Search Growth

More than 60% of Google searches come from mobile devices, and a significant portion of those searches are local. A mobile-friendly website with fast loading times can enhance the user experience and improve local search rankings.

Google My Business (GMB) Dominance

Having a well-optimized Google My Business listing is one of the most important factors for local search success. Businesses with complete and accurate GMB profiles are more likely to appear in Google’s Local Pack, leading to higher engagement and increased foot traffic.

Hyper-Personalization in Search Results

Google is continually improving its algorithms to deliver personalized search results based on user location, behavior, and preferences. Businesses that focus on hyper-local SEO strategies will have a competitive edge in 2025.

Cost-Effective Marketing Strategy

Unlike paid ads, local SEO services provide long-term benefits at a fraction of the cost. A well-executed local SEO strategy ensures businesses rank organically, reducing reliance on expensive advertising.

How to Optimize for Local SEO in 2025

To stay ahead in local search rankings, businesses should implement the following strategies:

Claim & Optimize Google My Business (GMB) Listing: Ensure all details are accurate and updated.

Use Location-Based Keywords: Incorporate keywords like "best local SEO agency" or "top local SEO company near me."

Encourage Customer Reviews: Positive reviews enhance credibility and improve rankings.

Build Local Backlinks: Partner with local websites, blogs, and business directories.

Optimize for Voice Search: Use natural, conversational phrases in website content.

Ensure Mobile Optimization: A fast, responsive website is crucial for local search success.

Common Local SEO Mistakes to Avoid

Many businesses struggle with local SEO due to avoidable mistakes, including:

Inconsistent NAP Information: Mismatched business details across platforms hurt search rankings.

Ignoring Customer Reviews: Failing to respond to reviews (both positive and negative) affects credibility.

Not Using Schema Markup: Local schema markup helps search engines understand business details.

Slow Website Speed: A slow-loading website can drive potential customers away.

Neglecting Local Link-Building: Local backlinks help establish domain authority and improve rankings.

As we move into 2025, local SEO is no longer an option—it’s a necessity for small businesses aiming for long-term growth. From attracting local customers to boosting sales and credibility, the benefits of local SEO are undeniable.

Don’t let your business fall behind! DigiHelp is a leading SEO agency that can help you dominate local search results and increase your revenue. Contact us today to get started!

[lakshmipathi]

Smart Home Gadgets for Beginners – Your Gateway to a Smarter Living Space

Smart homes are no longer just a futuristic dream—they’re becoming a reality for homeowners everywhere. With a wide range of Smart Home Gadgets for Beginners, even those unfamiliar with technology can enjoy the convenience and efficiency of home automation.

If you're just getting started, consider adding devices like smart speakers, Wi-Fi-enabled light bulbs, and automated thermostats to your home. These gadgets allow you to control your environment with voice commands, mobile apps, or even preset schedules.

One of the greatest benefits of smart home technology is energy efficiency. Smart thermostats adjust to your schedule to optimize heating and cooling, while smart plugs ensure that appliances don’t waste power when not in use. Security is another major advantage, as smart cameras and locks provide real-time monitoring and remote access.

Whether you're looking to simplify your daily routine or enhance your home's security, smart gadgets make life easier and more efficient. Start small, experiment with different devices, and soon you’ll wonder how you ever lived without them!