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luminnara · 1 month

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Protector | Feyd-Rautha x reader

ANON REQUEST: your marriage to Feyd-Rautha is an arranged one, and your only task is to provide an heir. When you finally become pregnant, your new husband suddenly grows obsessed with you—but does he care about you, or is he simply protective of his progeny?

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, and related talk; canon typical violence

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Your marriage was one born out of duty, not love. You couldn’t even call it a marriage of convenience; there was nothing convenient about leaving your homeworld and traveling across an entire galaxy to marry someone you had never even met before. Yes, the Houses had agreed beforehand that you were to marry Feyd-Rautha, the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and immediately after the deal had been struck you had seen his face and read his writing, but you hadn’t met him until your wedding day.

You had chastised yourself for thinking it could be like the fairytales of Ancient Earth. You, a princess, your betrothed a handsome prince…in the stories of your childhood, he would have whisked you away, off to a great, shining palace full of magical wonders, and you would have lived happily ever after. Instead, your prince had proved to be disinterested in you, busying himself with his arena and his concubines, ignoring you most of the day. The Harkonnen fortress did not shine, nor did it hold any great wonders, and Giedi Prime felt far from magical, with its harsh black sun and polluted landscape.

After your vows, you had naively thought your wedding night would be full of romance. Perhaps you had been holding onto hope as a means to protect yourself, clinging to optimism to distract yourself from your harsh, sad reality. You had been all too eager to shed your dress and veil in Feyd-Rautha’s living quarters, though had not expected them to be ruined by his blade, and you had not expected him to greedily conquer you as if it were yet another battle in the arena. He had slept next to you that night, but had made it painfully obvious that he had no interest in holding you or even touching you, keeping far to his side of the bed while you remained far to yours. In the morning, you had awoken alone, and had realized that it was the beginning of a long and lonely road on your new planet.

Everyone expected an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage, a legitimate heir for the Harkonnen line. Anyone else could have done it—you were of fine breeding, yes, but any of the other Houses could have offered up a daughter to suffer at Feyd-Rautha’s side. Why it had to be you surely came down to the only things powerful men seemed to care about—money and spice. An allegiance with House Harkonnen protected your family, and your small share of spice harvesters on Arrakis added yet another drop into their vast bucket and one less smuggling operation to worry about. Your parents were happy. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was happy.

And you were miserable.

Two months after your wedding, your monthly cycle continued as normal, and you were forced to shamefully inform the na-Baron. After an annoyed sound and a grimace, he bent you over the nearest table and took you for a second time, leaving you to clean yourself up and cry at your husband’s callousness. You didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to care. You supposed he already had everything he could possibly want; wealth, concubines, a throne to inherit…you brought nothing of real value to him, save for the ability to produce an heir.

Time passed, and it became clear that Feyd-Rautha would have to touch you more than once a month if he was to have any hope of fathering a child. You cursed yourself for your apparent inability to conceive—fertility had been one of your parents’ selling points when negotiating with the Baron, and now, you couldn’t even do the one thing that was expected of you. It brought you to tears every night, the stress of being reduced to this and yet still being unable to perform your task. It was maddening, though you knew you were hardly the first woman to find yourself in such a situation. You did worry, however, that you may have been the weakest.

One evening, as Feyd performed his husbandly duties, he noticed a tear slipping down your cheek and paused. You felt a rough hand cup the side of your face and opened your eyes to find your husband staring at you with dark eyes, his head tilted to suggest he was curious.

“Tears?” He asked in his raspy voice that was still so alien to you.

“My apologies, na-Baron,” you looked away from him.

“You are crying.”

You stifled an annoyed sigh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do not worry yourself with me, husband.” You said.

“Tell me.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation you had had since marrying him, and part of you didn’t want it to end. You looked at him once more, finding him still watching you with that unwavering, predatory gaze, and another tear rolled down your cheek and onto his hand.

“I am sorry I have not given you a child.” You whispered.

“Then let me put one into you.”

His tone sent a chill down your spine, frightening and exciting you all at once. That night, Feyd-Rautha did not let you sleep, shocking you with his determination. It was simply because the sooner you conceived, the sooner he could return to his own concerns, you reasoned.

Sure enough, your period did not arrive when expected, nor did the next. A medical test confirmed what you already knew—you were pregnant, with Feyd-Rautha’s child. A Harkonnen child, who would grow up to be just as ruthless and savage as its father, you thought.

Upon receiving the positive result, you immediately set off to tell the na-Baron. He should not be made to wait; you wanted him to know that the entire point of your union was finally achieved, and that you could both go back to ignoring each other as usual. As you walked, you had the worrying thought that he may not even keep you alive after the delivery.

“Na-Baron,” you addressed him upon finding him in his armory.

He looked up from the blade he was sharpening. “Wife.”

“I bring news,” you said, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“Then tell me, before I grow bored of waiting.” He returned to the hunting knife, looking away from you once more.

“I am with child.”

You watched as Feyd-Rautha paused, tilting his head to look at you. “My child?”

“Yes. Who else could it possibly belong to?” You asked, exasperated. “The physicians confirmed it just now. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, looking back at the knife in his hand as he thought. “I see.”

Whatever hopes you had once had for him to suddenly flip his entire personality at the news were quickly dashed by his lack of emotion. You left him there, a hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry, returning to your bed to be alone once more.

-0-

In those earlier days of pregnancy, you were often ill, sprinting from bed to the wash basin nearly every day to be sick. Usually, you were alone; Feyd-Rautha rose early, spending his mornings training and sometimes killing his instructors. Whenever that happened, he would come back, wearing blood and a grin on his face as if he had just won some great contest.

Today, however, he was enjoying a rare occasion of sleeping in. He had begun spending his nights in the center of the bed, crowding you as you attempted to stay away from him. One morning you had even woken up to find his arm throne over you, his body closer than ever. Now, he was sleeping, and you would have been content to let him remain there were you not busy launching yourself over him as you ran to the adjoining wash room.

You missed the way your husband sat up, eyes wide and frenzied as he pulled a dagger from beneath the pillows. When he found the room to be empty and free of danger, he grew confused…until he heard your retching in the next room, and slipped out of bed.

“Wife?” He asked from the doorway.

“What?” You groaned, leaning your cheek on the cool basin.

“…are you alright?”

You sighed. “No, na-Baron, I am not. I mean…I am, I just…”

“You are sick,” he pointed out.

It took every bit of willpower you possessed to swallow down the part of you that desperately wanted to throttle him. “Yes. I am. It’s the pregnancy, the pills from the doctors haven’t been working—“

“This has happened before?” He interrupted.

“Most days, yes,” you felt another wave of nausea coming over you and hunched your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

You never expected to feel a cool hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, nor the feeling of your husband’s chest against your back as he held you.

“Harkonnen women don’t have this problem,” he commented as he held your hair.

It was the least helpful statement he possibly could have made as you vomited once more, and yet it was also quite possibly the best.

“If Harkonnen women have no hair, then what do you pull?” You asked wryly, too ill and too exhausted to hold yourself back.

Feyd-Rautha stared you, unblinking, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “If you are feeling brave, perhaps I will show you one day.”

You let out a laugh as the nausea ebbed, leaning back against him. “Perhaps one day I will finally stop seeing my lunch so many times, and then you can regale me.”

-0-

Your sickness faded as your pregnancy progressed, thankfully, but Feyd-Rautha’s company did not. By the time you were beginning to truly show, he was refusing to leave you alone, demanding your presence wherever he went. As a result, you sat in on many a sparring session, and he made up his mind to abandon the arena until after the baby was born. His sudden change in attitude was shocking; he had never paid so much attention to anything before, and now, his hands were constantly on you.

“I must keep you safe,” he had said when you first asked about it, and had acted as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

You assumed he was protective due to the baby, the precious new heir to the Harkonnen throne. As its vessel, you were afforded some luxuries, but you fully expected that to change after the birth. For now, though, you were content to receive any and all attention your husband saw fit to pay you.

“That went well,” you said one day after the doctor examined you.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Feyd-Rautha growled.

“What do you mean? He’s a doctor,” you laughed, somewhat nervously.

“I did not like it.” His voice was tense.

“I could tell.” You grumbled, dropping your happy façade. He had nearly chased the doctor out of the room, hunting knife in hand. “Examinations are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“No more.”

“But—“

“No more strangers touching you.”

"Doctors help," you protested. "Don't you want your child to be healthy?"

At that, Feyd paused in thought. "...You may have a Harkonnen midwife."

"Because a Harkonnen doctor is too much?" You asked dryly.

He glared at you briefly before looking away towards the door. "Come."

You audibly groaned, one hand on your lower back. "Na-Baron, I am tired. I wish to retire to bed."

He looked back at you, and you caught an expression of distress on his face. "I need to train."

"You train every day."

"Yes." he said it as if it were obvious, but something in his tone suggested more; he made it sound urgent, as if it were something he had to do daily, and missing a single session would be disastrous. "Come."

You heaved a sigh and followed him.

-0-

In the months that followed, your unborn child grew, as did your body. You found yourself becoming large and bloated, your gait slowing as your flexibility waned. New maternity gowns were brought to you, an interesting mix of styles--the flowing, heavy garments of your homeworld meeting the simple, stark aesthetics of Giedi Prime. You found them strange, but at that point, you really didn't care; you would have walked around naked if no one would have stopped you. You spent your days feeling uncomfortable and awkward, with swollen feet and a sore lumbar region. Harkonnen servants brought whatever you needed, and your husband ensured--no, demanded--that all of your food be tasted by someone else while you watched so that there could be no chance of poison passing between your lips.

You wondered if this was simply some aspect of Harkonnen culture that the other Houses weren't aware of or never cared to talk about. Perhaps on a planet as harsh and toxic as Giedi Prime, infertility and infant mortality were more commonplace than the rest of the known universe. Perhaps this possessiveness was common among Harkonnen men, if conception was more difficult for their people.

Whether your theory was correct or not, Feyd-Rautha had certainly become even more attached to you. Not a morning went by when he wasn’t there next to you in bed, and as of late, he had begun waking you up by reminding you exactly how you had ended up like this in the first place. Before your pregnancy, he had acted as though bedding you were a boorish duty he had no choice but to perform; now that you were heavy with child, however, he was more than interested in you physically, constantly touching you with those rough, murderous hands.

You enjoyed the attention, and you enjoyed the way he squeezed and massaged you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t want to break you, you supposed, not right now; after the child arrived, perhaps, but not now. That was a grim thought, and one you had often—what was to come of your after the birth? Would Feyd-Rautha want more children, in case this one died some horrible, brutal, Harkonnen death? Or would you be disposed of, no longer needed after his legacy was secured?

You tried not to dwell on it.

One morning, you roused on your own, without Feyd’s interference. Wondering if he was even still there, you reached out to the side, feeling for him—and you nearly jumped when you felt bare flesh beneath your hand. When you rolled onto your back with considerable effort and turned your head to the side, you saw that your husband was there, still sleeping, and that what you had felt was his exposed chest.

You took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He seemed so peaceful like this, when he wasn’t fighting and killing. You had seen him take lives so quickly that his victims hadn’t even known they had died, and you had wondered how someone could be so dismissive of those around them. The first time you had watched your husband slit a throat, you had nearly vomited, and he had found your revulsion amusing; the most recent, however, you had simply sighed and looked away. You were desensitized, it seemed, just like he was, and now, you slept just as easily after watching him commit horrendous acts of violence as he did now.

Feyd-Rautha was handsome as far as Harkonnens went. His skin was smooth like marble, free of the scars and bruises one might expect to see on a warrior. His face, usually so harsh during the waking hours, was relaxed now, and you realized he was beautiful. You couldn’t keep yourself from brushing your fingers over his lips and feeling how surprisingly soft they were, though in a way, this felt wrong. Feyd-Rautha didn’t strike you as the kind of person who would allow this sort of touch, but when would you have this opportunity again? He always rose first in the morning and slept last at night. You never caught him with his guard down, and you kept your hands to yourself during the day. This was the only time you could marvel at him like this.

As your fingers ghosted across his cheek, he twitched, and you froze. Then, to your horror, an eye cracked open, and you knew that he had been awake all along.

When you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist, then covered your hand in his. He held your gaze for several long, strange moments, and you realized that he hadn’t simply been awake—he had been allowing you to touch his face, to explore him in a way you had never been brave enough to before. It felt like a gift, in a way. In his way.

“I apologize,” you breathed, unable to look away from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep.

“I should not have touched you without permission.”

“I am your husband,” he said. “And you are carrying my child. You do not need permission to touch me.”

Somehow, you knew his words carried a deeper meaning. You knew you were one of, if not the only, one on all of Giedi Prime whom he had said those words to. And for the first time since marrying him, you felt that Feyd-Rautha was truly your husband.

-0-

He was with you when the labor began.

You had been lounging in your shared chambers, enduring the final week of your pregnancy. It felt bittersweet, in a way; you had no way of knowing then if you would ever be experiencing this again, and a part of you desperately wanted to hold onto it while the rest was fed up with feeling massive and uncomfortable every day.

Feyd-Rautha had been agitated all morning. It was as if he had known something was about to happen, and he had spent his time barely containing himself as he paced and sharpened knives, attempting to keep to himself and leave you alone and doing a piss poor job of it. You had been ready to chase him out of the room—or at least attempt to—when you felt your waters go and the panic set in.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, you were in your bed, and a shockingly-diligent Harkonnen na-Baron had yet to leave your side. He had briefly stepped into the corridor to bellow at the nearest passerby and your midwife had arrived very quickly as a result, but after that, he had sat down next to you and refused to go anywhere else.

“Is it agony?” He asked as you stood.

You shot him a glare. “I would not wish this sensation on even you.”

He was taken aback by your tone, impressed, even, by the venom in it.

“A short walk about the room may help,” the midwife suggested. “I will assist—“

“No.” Feyd-Rautha was up and at your side in an instant, taking your elbow. “I will.”

You didn’t care who did what, you just wanted it to be over and done with. The labor was progressing quickly, the midwife assured after another check once you were back in bed, and soon, you were wailing and grunting, your face was sweaty, and the na-Baron was staring in awe. You were focused on the task set before you, one hand on Feyd’s arm as you pushed with all your might, and so you could not see the way your husband was looking at you.

When your son was born and crying at the top of his tiny lungs, Feyd-Rautha cut the umbilical cord with a hunting knife and then he stared. It seemed that the entire time, he was incapable of looking away, his eyes glued to either you or the new Harkonnen heir. You supposed he had been too enthralled to order the midwife out of the room, and the woman was smart enough not to push her luck—she did the necessary examinations as quickly as she could, then handed the baby off to you, busying herself with cleaning what looked like a murder scene and gathering the afterbirth when it came. Then, satisfied with her work and the health of the child, she left, and you were alone with your husband and son.

You cradled the infant, tucking him against your breast and pulling the edge of your robe over him in an attempt to keep him warm. He was born pale, like his father, but with a soft layer of hair that made you wonder how much he might grow to look like you. The midwife had said it before she slipped out, and you had to agree—he was beautiful, and you smiled down at him.

A thud startled you and you turned to see that Feyd-Rautha had fallen to his knees at your bedside, looking at you with a reverence you had never seen in anyone before.

“Feyd?” You asked.

He looked between you and your son, and you saw then that something had changed within him over those many months. Gone was the dismissive, uncaring husband you had wed; this Feyd-Rautha had grown to become a protector, one who would fight until his muscles tore from his bones, who would bleed himself dry for you.

“You are stronger than I knew,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek much the way you had with him all those nights ago.

You felt a lump in your throat. “Come here. Join us.”

He did.

Feyd-Rautha sat with you there, in your bed, the very bed your first child was born in. He watched as your son woke from his peaceful, short nap, and he was privy to the private, intimate moment of his first feeding. He held the baby, staring at him in wonder and what may have been a touch of fear, supporting the both of you as he helped you to the bathing room when you were well enough to stand.

“A son,” he said, watching the baby sleep that night.

“Yes.” You mumbled, exhausted and nearly asleep as well. “Are you pleased, husband?”

“I would have been just as pleased with a daughter.”

That surprised you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him propped up on an elbow, watching your son as he slept in his simple Harkonnen manger. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the child. “I can teach a daughter to fight just as well.” Finally, he looked down at you. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected.” You sighed.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am,” you answered him, sleep already dragging you down.

You barely felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you barely heard his voice as he said,

“I am as well.”

-0-

You had expected Feyd-Rautha to grow cold in the weeks following your son’s birth, but he never had. He was attentive, caring for you in a way that suggested he felt some primal urge to drag back great beasts for dinner every night but modern living prohibited that.

Now, you watched as he stood before one of the massive windows within the Harkonnen palace. It was evening on Giedi Prime, but the black sun casted no shadows over the landscape. Feyd-Rautha held your son, whispering to him, and as you watched, you wished the moment could stretch on forever.

“Husband,” you said, approaching him.

“Wife,” he greeted you, turning.

“On your evening walk together, I see.”

He chuckled. “I am showing him everything he will one day rule over.”

“I am surprised you haven’t taken him into battle with you yet,” you said sarcastically.

“I will strap him to my chest so that he might taste the blood of House Atreides,” he said with a grin.

“The youngest Harkonnen warrior the world has ever seen.” You smiled, leaning in to check on what appeared to be a perfectly happy, albeit possibile bloodthirsty, baby.

“What are you doing walking alone?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“Looking for you.”

“And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?”

You leaned into your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. “Drop the baby off with the wet nurse, seduce you, take you to bed and then have my way with you.”

“You have my attention.”

“I thought you might be interested in trying for a girl this time…”

In a blink, he had spun you around and was dragging you down the corridor, and once the baby was safely tucked in with a nursemaid watching over him, you did indeed have your way with your husband. And again. And again. And you realized, as you retired to bed that night, that you were truly glad to have been arranged to marry Feyd-Rautha, heir to the Harkonnen throne and father of your children.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #TW pregnancy #TW labor and delivery #dune x reader

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metroid-prime-ribs · 10 months

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Why Can't Metroid Crawl (Into My Heart)

Prologue

You are a bounty hunter. You grew up during the age of exploration. When things were fun and exciting and new, and the Galactic Federation had just gotten together. Afloraltite was mined for fuel and the Elysians had just signed a treaty with the newly formed Galactic Federation. At the same time, the Space Pirates had been organizing to attack freighters carrying food, fuel, and anything they thought might be worth the taking.

You were born during this era, so you grew up when the Federation Police were still on the scene trying to organize the newly allied worlds into some semblance of unity and order. You remember you were born on a world that happened to be named a ‘core world’, so you grew up with the rapid advancement of technology. You remember how bounty hunters were hired in droves to protect its new citizens while the Federation was still putting together its army.

The hunters were icons. They could be rude as hell, greedy, and borderline evil, and they would still get merchandise made to honor their efforts in the skirmishes with the Space Pirate Confederation and the Kriken Empire. And then when Samus came on the scene… It was like a switch was flipped overnight. Everyone and anyone was trying to find out who or what was beneath that exotic armor and synthesized voice. No hunter had ever been such an unsolvable mystery. You decided to try your hand at the bounty hunting game along with everyone else that year. But unlike most, you stuck with it. Moonlighting at first, protecting your smallish city of only one million and taking on jobs to deliver items, protect clients, steal data, etc.

Now, nearly a standard decade after Samus first hit the scene, you are at the top of the galaxy’s A rank hunters. Apparently you were even good enough that the Federation had personally reached out to you to join the best hunters on a secret mission, so here you are. Time to begin the hunt.

Wake Up

You wake up to the standard alarm on your Device, a soothing melody plays on some kind of old earth instrument that involves hitting pieces of wooden bars of different lengths. It is annoying and you keep forgetting to change the damn thing. You roll out of your hammock, yawn, and stretch all of your limbs in every direction possible from your purple yoga mat. Another human thing that was supposed to help your body become more stretchy or something? Either way, it’s softer than the metal alloy of your ship’s floors. You meander to the cockpit and flip a few switches, disabling the blast shutters, turning on the nav system, and starting the kettle for a hot cup of your morning Red Starburst leaf tea. ‘Ahhh, that hits the spot,’ you think to yourself.

Now that you’ve had your drink and stretches, you feel ready to face the day! And what an exciting day it is, your ship is on course to dock with the GFS Olympus in a little bit so you can join with a small group of hunters that the Galactic Federation has hired for a top secret mission. It’s up to you (and like 7 others) to work in pairs and defeat the galaxy’s next greatest threat after the Space Pirate forces were scattered years ago by the legendary hunter, Samus.

You leave the cockpit and head to the armory of your small ship, checking on the charge status of your Powered Suit. There behind the polycarbonate window lies your livelihood, your second skin, your soulmate. A suit of polygonal armor that you yourself designed and assembled from scraps and alien schematics over the course of a few years working late nights at a bar on your homeworld. One of your human friends compared the shape of your suit to ancient “origami” one time, and while you’re still not sure how it relates to the climax of a sexual encounter, you take pride that someone was able to achieve such a heightened emotional response from it (even if you were hoping for intimidation).

[99%] Charge Completed

The monitor displays that your suit’s energy levels are at maximum, but looking closer, you notice that it also has an update available to your suit’s interface software. You have been ignoring that for a while now.

#metroid #why cant metroid crawl (into my heart)#metroid art #metroid fan fiction #metroid fanfiction #metroidprimeribswrites #metroidprimeribs

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lightwise · 8 months

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Ahsoka Show Episode 2 - Spoilers/Thoughts

Okay, now for episode 2 thoughts. (I've posted my reaction to *that* moment at the end of episode 1, and it's resulting consequences in this episode, in another post).

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT! DO NOT SCROLL IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE EPISODE YET! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Okay, I ranted about my dislike for Sabine's injury here. Moving on.

Literal chaos child. Sabine is the natural successor of the disaster lineage force sensitivity or not lolol. "I uh, I unlocked the map. And then lost it. And then lost all my backups. But everything's fine I swear!" Anakin would be proud.

I gotta say it, Baylon's ship makes me think of the Marauder just a bit.

I am loving these nightsister temples. So cool. Very Celtic/stone circle/mapping the planets and stars vibes.

Ahsoka trying to trace the fight between Shin and Sabine almost felt like she had some Psychometry skills ala Quinlan Voss going on??

AHSOKA PET THE DANG LOTHCAT. YOU MUST PAY TRIBUTE BEFORE ENTERING THE ABODE.

Love that she's so calm feeling that droid coming down behind her before taking it out.

Huyang vs Hera as Sabine almost blows them all to pieces...gotta love it. I need to see Tech and Huyang hanging out together. They would either be besties or drive each other insane.

I really love the practical effects of all the droid and machine builds in this show. It feels even more detailed and realistic than props in Mando.

Hera just still doesn't quite feel like Hera to me :/ And it's not MEW's fault at all. It feels like costuming and dialogue choices. Love her talk with Sabine though. I'm fascinated to know what viewers who have never seen Rebels are thinking of these scenes, bc they have no idea the backstory behind these two and the mother/daughter, older sister/younger sister nature of their relationship.

The CGI here is absolutely gorgeous when Morgan opens the star map. I also love how it is much more extensive and detailed than what Sabine was able to get. And the hint of green nightsister magic!

It will be really interesting to see if she's referring to the Chiss homeworld, the Yuuzhan Vong, or something else by "other galaxy".

I really want to see more of Baylon and Shin's history. She is attached to his every word and obeys his commands very seriously. How did he come to take her on as his padawan? When did he find her? What made him abandon the Jedi order (did he have doubts before the Clone Wars? Or just found a way to survive after?) So many questionssss.

Ahsoka and Hera, on the detective trail. Love it. When this series was announced, long before it was apparent that it would be Rebels season 5, I had hoped it would be Ahsoka hopping around the galaxy solving mysteries. This is fun to see.

Guys. I am trying SO HARD to not fall down the "imperial remnants and new republic politics as the galaxy tries to rebuild" rabbit hole that my brain eagerly wants to fall down whenever they start bringing up these dynamics. I was almost losing my mind during the Dr. Pershing episode in Mando season 3, and this is whetting my appetite again. Idk if I will someday need to write fanfiction about this or copious amounts of tumblr posts, but you have been warned. Star Wars and politics and the navigation of the collapse of empire and the redistribution of status and wealth and goods and the devious ways that can all quickly start to fall apart...okay I'll stop myself. When we get to the Mon Mothma episode...heaven help me.

Again, the subtle facial expressions in this show are so good. Not all of the dialogue is escaping cheesiness, but the facial expressions are conveying a wealth of emotions that is backing and grounding each line of dialogue.

This scene. THIS SCENE. Okay, I promised I would talk about Sabine's Jedi training and supposed Force sensitivity that we all have been wondering about since the trailers. I was not thrilled about the idea of Sabine being retconned to be force-sensitive. There's no hint of it in Rebels, and it would feel like a shocking contrast to her lineage as a Mandalorian if it wasn't handled properly. That said, I went into it with a relatively open mind, and have not been overly bothered (more just confused and wanting the backstory) on her and Ahsoka all of a sudden having this master/apprentice relationship that has taken place off screen and that obviously did not go well. Sabine has trained with lightsabers before (the Darksaber and Ezra's lightsaber), and it did make sense to me that she could want to know how to use it more effectively and want to be closer to the practices of what made Ezra who he is in his absence. Why Ahsoka would have agreed to train her...that I am unclear on. I wonder if her failure in that also contributed to her telling Din that she couldn't train Grogu. Anyway, all of this has been a "what the heck are you up to Dave," but I haven't hated it.

All that said, I didn't really want Sabine to be Force sensitive bc I also hate when Star Wars, or Star Wars fans, try to make everyone have latent force abilities in ways that feel like a cop out, like it's the only explanation for a character being cool, or having value, or tying into the plot (I am not trying to call out anyone in particular here, just the concept). Star Wars is not only about Jedi, and while it is almost always about the Force, that doesn't always happen in the highly specialized, exclusive ways we see from force users like the Jedi and the Sith. So, I was hoping, let's see Sabine trying to tap into the fact that the Force is inside everyone, but not everyone can access it to the same capability. Let's see her trying to gain certain skills and practice a way of existing in the world that goes beyond some fancy lightsaber moves and meditation rituals. Let's see a Mandalorian who already has a distinct and powerful way of fighting and philosophy in the world, attempt to mold it with another, almost opposite, approach. And I think that's what we are getting! (maybe this should have been it's own post, oops).

Huyang's no nonsense talk to Sabine is exactly what she needs to hear. For all his sass and directness, he doesn't lack compassion in how he chooses his words with her. And yet he also isn't afraid to eviscerate her (lack of) Force abilities with the most Jedi worthy burn I've ever heard "your skills would fall short of them all." He's been around for 2500 years. I don't think Sabine is force sensitive ya'll. At least not in a conventional way. And yet, Huyang, who has been the keeper of lightsabers and Jedi youngling training for generations, is not at all discouraging her from applying herself to try. His tone is exceedingly gentle with the words "the only time you are wasting, is your own." Is it possible to marry a droid? Pretty sure he's husband material lol.

Also his hands look like medieval gauntlets. So cool. They outdid themselves on the practical effects here.

Star Wars has Solid State Drives?? (Sorry the SSD reference was kind of funny).

Alright, Ahsoka against a droid and a former Inquisitor. Easy peasy.

Hera and Chopper (who looks FANTASTIC btw, there is no distinction between Choppper animation and Chopper live action LOL), in the Phantom and their dialogue back and forth was perfection.

That lil force push and lil backflip midair and lil shoulder turn to miss the lightsaber from behind 👀 please more force usage from Ahsoka! In her own show!

Very interested to learn more about Marrok too. Their stunt actor is really good.

Girlie is pulling out the Mando armor. We're getting serious now.

"It's not loyalty. It's greed."

I liked Sabine's part in this recreation of the end of Rebels, but I didn't really love the retcon on Ahsoka's. Where is her staff? Why is her cloak a different color? Where is Morai? It just fell kind of flat for me. Like the live action hasn't earned the emotional gravitas and hope that this scene held in Rebels. Again Dave, really fascinated to see where you're going with all this.

Finally, Ahsoka's ship is cool. I would travel around the galaxy with her for sure. And, the unique way that holograms show up on Morgan's ship is very, very cool. Can't wait to see what next week holds!

#ahsoka #ahsoka series spoilers #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka show spoilers #ashoka spoilers #ahsoka tano #sabine wren #hera syndulla #huyang #baylon skoll #shin hati #morgan elsbeth #some light ramblings #somelightramblings

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anghraine · 10 months

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I know Space Middle-earth has been done, but thinking Gondor/Númenor thoughts while also vicariously playing Mass Effect with my best friend suddenly got me thinking about LOTR/the Silm in space. More space fantasy than sci-fi, but still.

I've got a lot of ideas, but wrt Númenor specifically, I think it was another planet, part way between Earth and Space Valinor (I think Tol Eressëa is an asteroid or moon or something). Not particularly close as the starship flies. Humans who had fought in their psionic alien pals' epic interstellar war against Space Morgoth were (if willing) brought from Earth to Númenor, a beautiful garden world.

I don't think humans had the technology for FTL travel at the time or access to whatever they'd call hyperspace lanes in this AU. But they did end up developing FTL space travel later and all sorts of wondrous devices that blurred the line between technology and Space Elf magic.

This goes on over a much longer time than in canon, I think, and they functionally become aliens themselves. Some literally are descendants of Space Elves, but regardless of that, they're becoming increasingly like them, esp in regard to physiology and various psionic abilities.

But where Space Elves are immortal, Númenóreans are not, even if they live much longer than their ancestors did, and in their later years, there's a ton of dubious but well-funded immortality research.

They eventually develop their own interstellar empire. They even rediscover Earth in their travels, and although they don't initially realize what it is and Terrans take them for true aliens at first, both soon recognize their kinship. Unfortunately, the end result is that the Númenóreans fold significant portions of Earth into their empire (also as a consequence, Terran humans spread beyond Earth, though it remains their acknowledged homeworld).

The Space Elves have some ancient holdings on Earth as well, I think, and Space Sauron is expanding his empire to all corners, with various bloody clashes until the Númenóreans apparently conquer Sauron's forces and take him as a prisoner back to Númenor. This goes about as well as in canon, and the end result is that Númenor is transformed into a total water world—I'm thinking rather like the one in Interstellar. (Still deciding if the "lanes" to it are destroyed or if you can go to the planet, but will find nothing except watery death.)

The death of the Númenórean high king, his armada, and destruction of the entire capital planet, its infrastructure, and many of its people nearly destroys the power of the surviving Númenóreans and certainly succeeds in breaking it into multiple states, many of which ultimately fall apart. I think there's some further disaster as Elendil's starship fleet escapes Númenor and it gets split up, with Elendil crash-landing on a Númenórean colony and Isildur and Anárion's part of the fleet ending up near Earth.

All three share incredible diplomatic acumen and are able to unite various factions and peoples behind them into two sprawling "quadrants," the Arnor and Gondor quadrants. The Arnor quadrant is the more remote from the Sol system, though a number of Terran groups have long-since settled there, and it does eventually shatter as a Númenórean quadrant under various pressures (the remaining Númenóreans there become helpful spacefarers, essentially).

The Gondor quadrant has a number of struggles—a disastrous civil war in their capital of Osgiliath that leads to relocating the capital to the Sol system, incursions that lead to relinquishing a major system, the loss of Elendil's dynasty. But they're fundamentally holding together at the time that Sauron's old empire reforms. Now they're struggling to survive and to keep Sauron's empire from total conquest of the known galaxy.

#there's a dangerous sort of borderland of contested systems between gondorian and sauronian space #including what used to be a jewel of gondorian space—ithilien #and all sorts of wild scouting and guerrilla missions are carried out there #i thought of having the minas tirith analogue be a different planet than earth #but idk i like the tower of the sun = the planet of the sun #though it's also the name of their actual capital city #anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #fic talk #fic talk: space dúnedain #broader than that but that's what got me thinking about it!#ondonórë blogging #númenórë #long post

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annerbhp · 2 years

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Apparently I’ve been on A03 nearly 17 years now, with only one year in there where I didn’t post at least a chapter of a fic. My A03 account currently has 986,328 hits overall. I wonder if I can get to a million hits before the end of the year? Wild. In celebration, here is a list of fic with the most hits in each year I’ve posted to AO3:

2006 -

five ways Sam Carter got pregnant (SG-1, Sam/Various, cw: non-con)

2007 -

Egeria’s Legacy (SG-1, Sam/Jack) Tok'ra trouble is brewing and Sam gets caught in the middle.

2008 -

String Theory (SG-1, Sam/Jack) Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.

2009 -

The Raggedy Edge (SG-1/Firefly, Sam/Jack, Daniel/Vala, Malcolm/Inara, Kaylee/Simon) During a rescue mission gone awry, Sam and Jack end up stranded in another galaxy where they find themselves passengers on a ship called Serenity.

2010 -

Compliance (SG-1, Sam/Jack) Carter has always been good at following orders.

2011 -

we build then we break (and build up again) (SG-1, Sam/Jack) Sam’s last mission on SG-1, and the life that follows.

2012 -

No fics!

2013 -

Entropy (CSI, Gil Grisom/Sara Sidle) They've been here before. "Forget Me Not" Post-Ep.

2014 -

Reparations (Leverage, Maggie Collins, Maggie&Sophie) Maggie sees the world differently now.

2015 -

Life is What Happens (Harry Potter, Harry/Ginny) It's their life, and they'll do what works for them. It's not like they've ever particularly cared about rules.

2016 -

Hard Day’s Night (SG-1, Jack-centric, Sam/Jack, cw: domestic terrorism) Jack always knew that desk was going to be the death of him, just not quite so literally. When Homeworld Security comes under attack, Jack discovers he hasn’t lost his edge, or his team. Set post-Continuum.

2017 -

The Changeling (Harry Potter, Ginny-centric, Harry/Ginny) Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

2018 -

we can’t control (watch me unfold) (Harry Potter, Harry/Ginny) It’s a simple arrangement. Between her grueling quidditch schedule and his mysterious auror duties, Ginny and Harry find time to have spectacular sex with no strings attached. It’s incredibly uncomplicated. Except when it isn’t.

2019 -

lips long parching (Harry Potter, Harry/Ginny) Going solo to her ex’s wedding is not exactly Ginny’s idea of a good time, but thanks to a smuggled flask and a rather sullen Harry Potter, it’s about to get a lot more interesting.

2020 -

in my head we do everything right (Harry Potter, Harry/Ginny) It’s not as easy as it sounds, going from hypotheticals to reality. Harry and Ginny navigate life after Hogwarts. Third in the Armistice Series.

2021 -

my kingdom come undone (The Untamed/CQL, LWJ/WWX) --if I am doomed to death, then at least I could be killed by you-- Wei Ying has lost control and there is only one person who can stop him. It's Lan Wangji’s greatest fear unfurling right in front of him.

2022 -

break upon your shore (The Untamed/CQL, LWJ/WWX) Wei Ying’s attention has chased Lan Wangji since the first day they met—relentless, unforgiving, his eyes always looking. One day Lan Wangji can’t help but look back. (WIP)

#annerb fic #retrospective #fics with most hits #don't think i didn't notice all my porniest fics are in there #lol #doing this makes me feel better about my writing desert lately #it's okay #look how much i've accomplished #and how i will always go back to lower case poetic titles #one million hits #can i get there?

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nikkeisimmer · 1 year

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Warning: SWTOR post incoming.

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SWTOR: Breaking Cultural Norms

Miria’situ’tadec gazed upon the towering buildings of the Capital City of the Republic and wondered how many millennia it had taken to reach this level of civilization. Not a bit of natural ground was visible amidst the towering skyscrapers that dotted Coruscant. Everything was covered over with duracrete from the horizontal to the vertical surfaces. It was a home only a duracrete slug could envision as home (food and accommodation in one). Having just come from Tython and finishing up her Jedi training, she marvelled at the difference between the Jedi Homeworld. Yet scant decades earlier Coruscant had been laid waste to by an invasion by the Sith Empire.

Buildings that were laid waste to during the Sith Invasion were now towering miles above the surface of the planet in record reconstruction time. And plenty more were destined to go up. Whole cities thrived in each building. Trillions of beings. Millions of species of sentient and non-sentient creatures called this planet home and each one knew suffering from the aftermath of the Sith invasion.

Qyzen muttered an epithet in Dosh that roughly translated to “Herald, this is a dead world; no places for prey; no place to increase score. Scorekeeper will not be pleased.”

“I understand your frustration, Qyzen,” Miria said. “But we need to help Master Yuon. I don’t know what’s causing her illness and until we’ve exhausted all measures we can take to cure her that can be found on this planet, we will stay.”

“I’m not saying we leave, soft one, we stay until we find cure for Yuon. All I say is dead world causes much discomfort for soul”. the Trandoshan looked out at the buildings, as far out and as tall stretching in all directions as the eyes could picture.

The dome of the Senate Tower towered far above Miria staring up from the main concourse. The magnificent backdrop of towering buildings that stretched far above and far below encouraged her to look up to behold the towering edifice that was the legislative center of the galaxy. Yet it was still a tiny section of this enormous city-planet.

“…scum-sucking Chiss…” an epithet hurled into the air from the teeming throng of people didn’t allow her to spot her verbal attacker. Even her Jedi robes didn’t protect her from the spiteful glances given to her species. After all her species were known to be in league with the Sith Empire. There were few Chiss to be found in Republic space. Chiss were distinctive: blue skinned with black or blue hair, fine aristocratic features; glowing red eyes with pupils and irises not readily apparent; Miria’s features were strikingly attractive even to humans; who were notoriously xenophobic to any species other than their own.

She ignored the attacker but mentally mapped out potential avenues of escape open to her should the caller cause more disturbance.

“Caller cause you disturbance”. Qyzen said simply. “Maybe caller need lesson in politeness. You are Jedi Knight; should be good enough for people.”

“One can’t control what others think, Qyzen.” Miria smiled calmly at her Trandoshan companion. “We will be fine. Let’s keep walking towards the Tower. Master Yuon awaits.

Qyzen gave her a skeptical look. “If you say so, Herald”. Yet he squared his shoulders, took firmer grip on his staff and scanned the crowd for any signs of that hateful miscreant, who probably now noticing the Trandoshan Companion scanning the crowd to find him, did not utter a peep lest he get his head caved in by the reptilian bodyguard to the so-called “scum-sucking Chiss”.

Fortunately, their walk to the Senate Tower passed with no further incident and Miria sighed a deep breath of relief as the arch of the main entranceway to the Senate Building passed overhead as she entered.

She was supposed to meet another Jedi; a healer somewhere in this gigantic edifice that was the Center of the Republic. As she took a moment to stand still and look upon the “Grand Hallway” her mouth hung open in awe; not just of the opulence and grandiosity of the building but the sheer size. The entrance rotundas were large but the Grand Hallway dwarfed the rest with its height. You could stand thirty Grans on each other’s shoulders and still not reach the bottom of the walkways supported by duracrete pillars the size of tree-trunks.

One could seriously get turned around in here.

And she did. There were multitudes of hallways; plenty of alcoves and dead-ends to get oneself thoroughly turned around in. Miria was certain she would need a search party to find her after going down the wrong corridor for the sixth time.

But finally, she managed to find the location where she was supposed to be headed to down a corridor off the main hall of the Senate Tower and through a number of frustrating turns that had her once again wishing fruitlessly for a holomap of some sort so she could orient herself she found the office where they were to meet.

#SWTOR #Star Wars The Old Republic #non-sims #Miria'situ'tadec #Chiss #Jedi Consular #post images to be added

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spritiez · 5 months

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Guys I have an AU for SU that I rlly wanna post about bc the cup head fandom is dead apparently and it didn’t get the attention and asks I wanted it to 😭😭

Basically to sum it up,

All of gem Kind started somewhere. The Refractal Galaxy. A large cluster of planets and systems consisting of gems.

The rulers are the first gems to ever accumulate in the universe. One gem made purely of sunlight. All the suns in the universe. One gem made of moonlight and starlight. All the moons and stars in the universe.

Daumand and Dagmand. Or, Golden Sun Diamond and Silver Moon Diamond.

(Au= periodic symbol for gold. Ag= periodic symbol for silver)

These two gems collectively rule over four colonies.

White, Black, Light Grey and Dark Grey.

Whites colony is the one we know and love. White, Blue, Yellow and Pink.

At the time, White was upset with how she was being treated by her curator (Daumand) and escaped the Refractal Galaxy. They ended up in our galaxy. The galaxy that earth resides in.

Pink diamond had been in production and had been taken on the ship with White, Yellow and Blue.

White, Yellow and Blue know of their two creators, but Pink never finds out. In this AU, I go off of the theory that Pearl originally belonged to White (due to her gem being on her head, other pearls gem placements reflect the diamond they serve) and she remembers them too. However Pink pearl didn’t exist at the time and had no clue of their existence.

Homeworld doesn’t know of their existence either. Just White, Yellow and Blue. (And their pearls).

Dagmand gets frustrated with how her sister treats her like an inferior, though later we find that Dagmand is in fact the superior gem in combat and ability in general. So she runs away to whites colony as “Moonstone” a gem who never got produced but White ‘apparently’ liked enough to keep around. White is aware of Moonstone’s true identity, while the others aren’t. She places Moonstone into pinks colony, to protect her on earth and observe her.

(I’ll type another part to this soon, this is all you get for now. If you want more please like and follow!! I have a comic idea for this but I apologise about slow uploads as I’m a student and work so I only have one day free.)

#art #artist #AU #steven universe au #su au #fanmade au #au story #storyline #steven universe

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kariachi · 1 year

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Quick Argit 10 fic. Rook gets an illusion as old as sapience shattered.

“I admit, I used to be quite put out you never took the form of a Revonnahgander, despite supposedly being able to become any sapient species.”

Argit rolled his eyes. The only things more annoying than stubborn fans was apparently naïve, backworld, stubborn fans apparently.

“First off, do you know how many fucking sapient species there are in this galaxy alone? Every pouch couldn’t fit them all, it’s ridiculous. Second, what utility would I get out of becoming a Revonnahgander?” Blonko blinked, swallowing his food before answering.

“We are a very agile species, flexible, natural climbers, adaptable to many harsh environments-”

“Pretty much never seen off your homeworld,” Kevin cut in around a mouthful of food. He swallowed and continued. “Sorry to tell ya, you lot are in the same group as humans, Ickthyperambuloids, and a damn good chunk of the rest of the galaxy. Just not anything overly special.”

“I don’t know what the shows tell you about me,” Argit said, refilling his bowl, “I don’t vet them beyond the early shit-”

“Variable, most of them greatly exaggerate your good traits.”

“This, from my own man.” Kevin flashed him a teasing grin. Fucker was lucky he loved him so much. “Anyway, I’m not running around changing shape for the fun of it. Pretty fond of the way I am.”

“You need to gain weight.”

“Besides that. I use the Omnitrix for utility purposes- work, heroing, shit like that. You lot aren’t common enough off your homeworld to use as a disguise, and you don’t bring anything to the table by way of utility that another species doesn’t do better.” Blonko’s jaw tightened, like he was trying not to take offense at what was the simple and unaltered truth. With an amused noise, Kevin reached across the table to pat his shoulder, which confused him enough to break him out of whatever line of aggravated thought he was going down.

“It’s okay, my species is in the same boat. I’ve only ever seen him become a human when we’re on Earth, and even that’s only because the place hasn’t officially made first contact yet.”

“The suffering I do for you.”

“Love you too, Hedgehog.”

“That, makes sense,” Blonko allowed, nodding his head like it might make the concept easier to swallow. It sat a little sour in Argit’s stomach, breaking that ‘Revonnahganders Are Special’ illusion, but it was destined to happen at some point. Most everyone went through it, realizing that they weren’t the most specialest of all. There were very, very few species that brought something truly unique to the table, and a large percentage had nothing more to brag about than any other species that reached sapience. Even Erinaens only had their quills and magic to set them apart, and that just put them in categories with hosts of other species who were venomous or highly magical. “I think I will refrain from telling my young brother though.”

“Yeah, let him dream.”

#fanfic #i don't have *much* in the way of argit 10 ricocheting around my head #but it's the only thing ricocheting around my head #yes this is an arvin au fight me

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mortallyclearwonderland · 1 year

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Bo Katan vs Satine Kryze

I want to talk about the topic that not a lot of people seem to bring up, not here, nor on You Tube.

Both Bo Katan and Satine Kryze are not great leaders. They care about their people (allegedly but I'll get to it). But that doesn't equal being a capable ruler.

Let's start with Satine cause she is the lesser evil of the two.

Her being a pacifist but also defending herself isn't hypocrisy. What about her not killing the literal terrorist who threatened her life, the life of Obi-Wan who she loves, and an entire ship full of people? Hesitating to kill someone, even a bad person, when you haven't killed anyone yet isn't that out of the ordinary. If anything I have more gripes with Obi-Wan being apparently more worried about looking good in front of Satine than stepping up and killing a guy.

But even then to me, it looked more like neither of them wanted to provoke him and accidentally blow up the ship.

Good thing Anakin saved their asses and neither of them had to make a hard choice.

A) Obi-Wan toughens up and stops caring what his ex thinks of him and does what they both know he did in the past and will do in the future, kill a dangerous person threatening the lives of others.

B) If Satine killed him she would've had to accept that sometimes you have to kill people to save yourself and others. She would have to see thinks not only from her point of view ''You're bad for participating in war even though you were the ones attacked first and you just protecting yourselves.'' Of course, Clone Wars are more complex than good vs bad.

This brings me to my second point.

Satin saw right through Palpatine's plan to occupy Mandalore.

She was kind of in a lose-lose situation. If she agrees to another army occupying her homeworld and, given the record of other planets saved by the Republic, be completely wrecked or let her guards/police/army do things themselves. Even tho they are no match for a criminal underworld.

And that brings us to criticism number three.

Her army or lack there off because she demilitarized Mandalore. I think I don't need to point out how stupid that is to have no army. Even if you're a pacifist and don't intend on attacking anyone that doesn't mean you will never get attacked yourself. Especially when the war is going on just a stone's throw away from your home planet.

Going from what we showed in the show this ''demilitarization'' meant that either you stop being warmongering warriors which value strength over anything else or go to the moon.

And that's when the lack of explicitly shown backstory rears its ugly head. Everybody has their own point of view. From the Death Watch's point of view, Satin is disrespecting her and their culture for trying to make it more peaceful and doesn't deserve to call herself a Mandalorian.

From Satin's point of view, she banished aggressive warmongers.

The timeline of when the Death Watch became a terrorist group is crucial. If they turned ''true Mandalorians'' supremacy when they were still living on the planet and Satin's idea of dealing with them wasn't throwing their asses in jail but banishing them to their moon which doesn't even change that much because they can travel to Mandalore no problem, then she's an idiot.

If the Death Watch formed after the banishment that means that instead of cultivating their culture and creating their own society on the moon and showing the Galaxy who is ''better'' they decided to turn into a terrorist group and eventually take over the planet.

''But Satine's military is so weak! The Death Watch had to come in and save them! It means that they're right!’’

If you think that then you fall for their manipulation.

Let's not forget how the whole crime underworld attacking Mandalore and making the Death Watch look like heroes was a genius plan concocted by Maul. These attacks were staged, and Death Watch knew exactly when and what was going to happen, giving them a huge advantage. They just show up and deal with the problem before the actual guards could even get there. They are careful to not kill each other or civilians, only the guards. That way they show how ''peaceful'' they can be and how useless the guards are.

We have no idea how it would've turned out if all those crime syndicates were actually trying to fight and win and the Death Watch was supposed to be a regular military without their enemies giving themselves on a silver platter.

youtube

It’s getting long. All in all, Satin isn't that bad. She's not perfect, no one is. But she also had a lot of things stuck against her that were outside of her control and I doubt if anyone could have handled it better.

In part two I'm going to tear into Bo Katan.

#Satine Kryze #bo katan kryze #Bo Katan #star wars #star wars the clone wars #mandalor #Mandalorian

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cool-cube · 10 months

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the last alien in the playlist & also the most powerful: Safespace!

Species: Spacekeeper

Homeworld: Edge of The Andromeda Galaxy

Abilities: Safespace is basically glorified, cosmic container. His body can expand infinitely to store away any type of matter. This could range from something as small as a rat to as large as an entire dimension. When contained, the matter is effectively frozen in time, preserving it until the object is released. His body is also extremely durable & is capable of withstanding potent acids, cosmic rays, extreme temperatures & much more.

Weaknesses: Safespace doesn't have many known weaknesses other than his storage limit. While he can grow to the size of an entire dimension, it would leave him so tired that he would be forced to go into a state of hibernation for days on end with no way of awaking him.

Trivia: The Spacekeepers where designed by the Ancient Galvan Machine Gods (which are apparently a thing. look it up) as a way of storing entire universes. The project they originate from was never completed so the cosmic energy that was made "shaped itself" from the blueprints left behind by the machine gods to finish creating The Spacekeepers. They are currently trying to stitch together their own planet at the edge of the Andromeda Galaxy by taking chunks of other planets from other universes & attaching them to one another to form said "franken-planet".

#ben 10 #ben 10 alien #ben 10 oc #ben 10 series #ben ten #ben 10 omnitrix #omnitrix alien #ben 10 omnitrix alien

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magnetarbeam · 11 months

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Baby's First Rebellion (WIP 2)

Wedge's datapad pinged. The second he recognized the tone, his stomach dropped.

He activated the device's screen, read the message from Iella, and read it again.

Wedge clenched his first around the datapad, barely noticing and absolutely not caring for the cracks appearing on the screen.

For a second, he hated everything. He hated the Galactic Alliance that rewarded him for decades of distinguished service by dragging him out of retirement and taking him prisoner. He hated Jacen Solo and all the atrocities he had committed in the name of ensuring the security of the Alliance. He hated the government of his homeworld that kicked him out because he wanted to fight their war the right way.

"Daddy?"

He hated everything that would put his daughter in this much pain.

With an effort, Wedge calmed himself, and looked into Syal's eyes.

"You saw it too?" There was no sense dodging the subject.

Without another word, Syal held up her own datapad. The screen displayed only a single image: A screenshot from an official Galactic Alliance holonews broadcast, proclaiming Syal Antilles, former Captain in the Alliance Starfighter Corps, to be wanted for treason committed at the Battle of Centerpoint Station.

"I know what I did back there," Syal said, and it didn't take the experience of a parent to notice her barely suppressed tears. "I shot and killed a loyal Alliance pilot. But I hoped…"

Wedge dropped his datapad and hugged his daughter with all the strength he had to give her.

"I guess I hoped they wouldn't notice or something," Syal said, her devastated voice carrying an undertone that made clear that she had just realized how little sense that actually made.

"It's okay," Wedge told her. "You can let it out, Syal. I know you need it."

At this, his daughter's tears began to flow. Wedge lost track of time as they stood there, his daughter in his arms, catharsis dripping from the corners of her eyes as he hadn't seen in… kriff, he didn't have any idea how many years. There were a handful of Jedi within earshot, mostly performing last-minute upkeep on their StealthXs before they left Endor for good, but none appeared bothered by the pilots' display of emotion.

"I hoped I could still do my duty," Syal said softly, once the tears ran out.

Wedge took a second to compose his response. It had never been this apparent how new his kids were to this. Syal had lived her entire adult life and most of her adolescent years under the same government. Before that had been the Yuuzhan Vong War, where the moral issues had essentially boiled down to "kill or be killed." Since she was old enough to decide such things for herself, Syal had wanted to fly in the cockpit of a Galactic Alliance starfighter.

Something Iella had referred to in her message came to mind.

"You know what else they said in that broadcast?"

Syal shook her head.

"They said by committing treason, you're following in your father's footsteps."

For the first time in this conversation, a spark of light appeared in Syal's eyes.

"Well," she said, her tone reflecting that light, "I guess they're right about that."

"Of course." Wedge gave a nostalgic smile, which quickly hardened as he considered his next words.

"You're too young to remember what the galaxy was like under Palpatine," Wedge said firmly, "but take it from your old man: that's what Jacen Solo is turning the Alliance into."

"Uncle Tycho said the same thing," Syal recalled. She took a series of deep breaths, and then her face brightened as if reaching an important revelation.

"And that's where you started," she said. "The original Rebellion."

"Yeah, kid," Wedge said, hoping with all his heart that he was correct in his guess of where she was going with this.

Syal pulled back from the hug, but there was no hurt in the gesture.

"I know you were a little disappointed when I used a different name to join the Alliance," she said, in a tone that was the closest she'd ever come to apologizing for that. "I mean, thanks for supporting me in it anyway, but it's pretty obvious in hindsight.

"I wanted to be able to prove myself on my own merits, without everyone always comparing me to you," she said. Then, quieter: "I didn't think I'd ever be good enough."

Wedge blinked. She had never said anything about that part. "If you fly for another decade or two, Syal," he reassured her honestly, "you'll be a better pilot than I've ever been."

Now, he decided, was not the time to recall what he'd just as honestly told Tycho on Toryaz Station, back as this was all starting: "Came close to getting me too, considering how green she was."

In the present, Syal beamed, the expression sullied only by the layer of disbelief behind the radiance of her eyes. "Do you really mean that?"

#star wars legends #legacy of the force #wedge antilles #syal antilles

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duscarasheddinn · 2 years

Photo

Yesterday in Spore, I finally got a Captain of mine up to Rank 10, the highest rank possible.

It took me quite a while due to needing to find adventures that rewarded plenty of Sporepoints (experience for Captains, which can only be obtained on a mission the first time you complete it) but was still easy enough for me to complete.

His name is Stitch, named after the Disney character. Being a Shaman, his Rank 10 title is Spiritmaster. Since I apparently got all of the Diplomat parts after I got all of the Zealot parts, I gained the suffix “the Wise”, which I assume is the one you get for having all four Diplomat parts.

His full title is Spiritmaster Stitch the Wise.

The way Captain accessories work is that captains you can actually play can unlock up to ten accessories out of a pool of thirty two. Each archetype that can be an NPC empire (there are ten in total if you don’t count the Grox’s unique archetype that NPC and playable empires can’t be without hacks and/or mods that I don’t have, but Wanderer and Knight are treated as Diplomat and Warrior respectively and no NPC empire in the galaxy spawns as either, leaving eight that NPCs can be) has a set of four parts, which have to be unlocked in a certain order. If you get all four of a certain archetype’s accessories, then you get their consequence super-weapons (which is a good thing; consequence is associated with being negative but can also be positive or neither good nor bad). This means that with the Galactic Adventures expansion pack, you can have up to three consequence super-weapons: the one your archetype gives you and two that you unlocked with accessories.

In Stitch’s case, he has Return Ticket from being a Shaman, Fanatical Frenzy from unlocking all four Zealot parts, and Static Cling for unlocking all four Diplomat parts. Return Ticket makes a wormhole you can enter to instantly return to your homeworld, Fanatical Frenzy converts a Space Stage colony owned by another empire into a colony of your empire (balanced out by it breaking the Galactic Code and thus making nearby empires hate you, something just two other abilities also do [those being Gravitation Wave, which destroys any sentient species on the planet from Tribal Stage to Space Stage, and Planet Buster, which I don’t think I need to tell you what it does but should inform you that it deprives you of a planet to conquer]), and Static Cling disables vehicles or at least spaceships and turrets with the intent of being useful for diplomacy but in practice sounds like it could be used for attacking other empires.

#spore #maxis spore #spore game #spore 2008 #maxis #ea #electronic arts #spore screenshot #spore galactic adventures #spore captain

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galacticgraffiti · 2 years

Text

ꔫ⋆ Holiday Special ⋆ꔫ

Inspired by @pinkiemme's wonderful, wonderful redraw of the Holiday Special Boba, I am having some soft thoughts about the beauty of Boba Fett. This ficlet is not particularly about the holidays, but I thought it was fitting for today since he came from the deliciously sweet pastel world of the Holiday Special.

all credit for this artwork goes to pinkiemme.

Rating: General (though some very slightly spicy thoughts) Wordcount: 3.3k Warnings: hallucinogen in the air (not an aphrodisiac), the beginning of some soft feelings, appreciation for the beauty of Boba, mentions of carnivorous flora

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You get up so abruptly that Boba jolts awake in the pilot’s seat.

“I’m going out there,” you say, already climbing down the ladder. You blink up at him when he leaps out of his seat, fingers closing around your wrist and pulling you back up.

“You can’t,” he commands, voice still rough with sleep. “I don’t know what’s out there, I have no read on the atmosphere.”

“Whatever,” you huff. “We know it’s breathable. We’ve seen creatures hopping about.”

“Just because they can breathe here doesn’t mean we can,” Boba murmurs, hand still gripping you tight. “That’d be a stupid way to die, girl.”

“Ah well. I’ll take a breath mask, I’ll be fine. Anything is better than being stuck in here even an hour longer. I can’t- I can’t stay in here anymore.” You wave your hand dismissively. “We know there’s oxygen out there, that much the reading did tell us before the fucking ship died.”

“Still doesn’t mean the air is breathable for humans,” Boba mutters but his grip loosens slightly. You pull your arm back, an odd disappointment settling in your stomach now that he is not touching you anymore. You are… you are no one to him, really. The daughter of a noblewoman - Boba was hired to protect you and bring you to the new mining planet your mother acquired so you could oversee the negotiations with the natives.

You would never have gotten to know him, you are sure - your journey was only supposed to last a few days. But apparently, there are some people after the most famous bounty hunter in these parts of the galaxy, and though the enemy was destroyed by Boba’s laser cannons, you are now stranded on a deserted planet with your intended protector. And you have been for over a week.

Help is on the way, Boba keeps on saying, but you can’t escape the feeling that it might take a while yet, and you are bored out of your mind. This world looks so interesting, so wonderful and full of colours you’ve never seen before. So different from your homeworld. The ship is… safe, yes, but it is also boring as all hells, and Boba is not exactly talkative company. He is hard to read, so quiet and intimidating and yet you feel oddly safe with him. You don’t know him, even after being stuck with him in this close space for many rotations, but you have caught small glimpses that make something inside you stir. The way he always asks if you have drunken enough water. How carefully he cleans his weaponry. The way he sometimes vanishes even within this small space and the quiet murmurs you’ve heard that sound like prayer in another language - Mando’a, maybe, to judge from his armour. One word that keeps popping up - Jango. You don’t know what it means, if it’s a name or something else entirely, but the way he says it, with so much reverence and admiration warms your heart. Small glimpses of this intouchable man you never would have known if not for coincidence. Maybe you’d say the force stepped in, if you believed in that kind of thing.

“Don’t get yourself killed, princess,” Boba rasps now, voice rough and deep as it always is through his vocoder. You blush at the nickname.

“I’m not a princess,” you mumble and he chuckles.

“Seems close enough to me.” You can hear the grin in his voice and your heart wants to gallop out of your chest. You know so little about this man, nearly nothing but his reputation and the sound of his voice - you have never even seen his face - but he holds an incredible attraction, an aura that is inescapable and that drips with confidence and yet a strange melancholy and loneliness you can’t quite place. He is intoxicating to be around, while your presence seems to leave him completely indifferent, and to your annoyance, that only makes him more interesting to you.

“I’m going,” you say now, voice more decisive than you are actually feeling.

“Fine. I’ll watch you choke from my front row seat,” Boba rumbles and you have to laugh. He rarely speaks unless something absolutely needs to be said, but once he does talk, he can be so dramatic, so exaggerated sometimes. An odd trait, another piece of the puzzle that does not fit anywhere and intrigues you to no end.

“I think we got some Mantell Mix in the back if you want snacks for the show,” you retort and Boba chuckles.

You want to hear this sound over and over again, you want to be the one that makes him laugh like that forever and ever. You wish you could put a face to that incredible voice. Even before you got stuck here, his voice was what captured you, that deep rasp, that unusual accent you have never heard before - the way that soft l rolls off his tongue, the way he pronounced his own name when he introduced himself to you. How you can never quite capture or imitate those syllables, no matter how hard you try. Boba Fett.

“Go on then,” Boba says, voice suddenly serious again. “You’re not a prisoner. I won’t stop you, I’m not responsible for your actions.”

“Actually-“ you start, because technically he is responsible for you right now. But if he will let you leave, you shall not argue with that. You know the ship has an air filtration system and pressuriser, but you swear the air in here has been getting staler and staler; filled with sweat and the desire that radiates from you when you toss and turn on your cot at night, his visor following you to your dreams. Boba seems unfazed by the warm temperatures and any desire you may have let slip. Maybe once or twice you could have sworn you felt his eyes on you, but how could you ever tell behind that dark visor?

You step over to the ladder and throw one last look back over your shoulder. Boba wiggles his gloved fingers in an ironic goodbye when you slide down, and you hear the airseal to the cockpit hiss behind you as you climb down the ladder. He’s locked himself in - good. At least he is being responsible even if you are out of your mind for doing this. But you can’t bear it, not after years of being stuck in that kriffing fortress your parents called a home. You were finally getting out - and to be stuck here, now… It has become unbearable.

You breathe in once, twice, you put on the breath mask and then - you push the button to open the ramp and step out into the suns.

Maker, this planet is beautiful, lush pastel flora, sweet little creatures jumping about… It’s a paradise, and you can understand why Boba is getting suspicious. Nothing is that perfect, there is always that one fatal flaw…

Your mask beeps - the scanner seems to have found no harmful substances in the air and is giving you the all-clear. Why did you not do this sooner again? You can’t remember, it’s so beautiful out here. How could you ever think there would be anything dangerous?

You risk a glance up at the cockpit just to see the top of Boba’s helmet peek out from the front shield. You giggle at the image your brain spits out - him on his tippy toes, standing on the pilot’s seat and holding onto the console, pulling himself up so he can look down at you. You give him a thumbs up, and take off your mask, still giggling.

The air tastes… wonderful. Fresh and clean and like something you can’t quite define but it’s definitely pleasant. Sweet and lush and full of life. It is just as beautiful as you had hoped, better even, after all those days spent in the grey half-light of the ship. Being out here feels wonderful. There is so much space, so many things to see, to taste and breathe in the air, the plants soft beneath your fingertips as you wander away from the ship. You are in awe at this place, a little slice of paradise in the middle of a war-torn galaxy. There is millions of planets out there, so many undiscovered by anyone but their native inhabitants, and finding this one seems almost too good to be true.

You almost wish there was no help on the way right now though a few minutes ago you could not wait to leave. But now that you’ve left the ship, now that you are out here, the worries of the past days simply vanish. You wish you could stay here and forget about your responsibilities for a while… And you wish Boba would stay too. You want to get to know him, beyond his tough humour and sarcasm. You want to look behind his armour and into his soul, because you are sure he has one, just as you are sure he has a heart beneath that armour. A heart steeled by his life, of course, yet kind at the core, shimmering like beskar.

You stop yourself - where did that thought come from? Your head is swimming slightly, and you feel lighter than you usually do - the overwhelming urge to frolick in these lush fields of greenery overcomes you. It’s so pretty here, everything bursting with life and joy, and you want to be a part of it, to become a part of this planet, this beautiful planet where everything is nice and the world is alright. You want to dance until you fall down and let yourself be buried by the greenery, let yourself be swallowed up whole so you can stay. You… shouldn’t- but why again? You can’t remember.

You smile and throw your head back, turning in circles with your arms stretched wide. Spinning and turning, fingertips tracing the soft leaves, you dance until all you can do is laugh, until tears run down your cheeks from the joy that fills your heart. Nothing has ever felt so good, so light and good. Life is beautiful, everything is beautiful and sweet and kind, and the world is spinning and it’s nice, so nice, you could lose yourself forever here…

There is a sharp sting in your hand, but that’s okay, it’s not too bad, and you don’t look down. It’ll pass, it will all pass if you just stay here, in this moment, happier than you’ve ever been in this beautiful world-

The smack of a palm against your face brings you back. You yelp and hold your cheek, but a rough hand closes around yours and pulls it back from your face. You struggle and wriggle, but when you can finally move freely again, all you can feel under your fingers is not skin but plastoid. And then the world is just gone.

***

You wake on a cot, uncomfortable duralloy digging into your back and you shift, slowly blinking awake.

“Welcome back, princess,” a husky voice says beside you. You tilt your head, confusion rolling off of you in waves. You were alone, alone in paradise, happy and full of sweet liveliness… You turn to the side and stare into the face of a stranger. He is beautiful- Gods, he is so beautiful. Dark eyes, cool yet full of concern, a wide nose with freckles sprinkled across it. Plush lips and a round jaw that makes you want to lick along it, to scatter little kisses along, to worship it-

You don’t realise your finger is tracing the stranger’s lips until his hand closes around your arm and pulls you away from him.

“Careful, princess,” he warns. Something about that nickname awakens a memory, something about the voice is so familiar…

“You’re pretty,” your voice says, but the words are slurred and somehow seem to linger in the air even after you closed your mouth. Did you even say anything at all? It doesn’t feel like it; your tongue is so heavy in your mouth. There is a flash of a toothy grin from the man beside you before a stern look settles on his face.

“I need you to keep breathing, princess. You inhaled too much of it, gonna take a while to get it out of your system. Don’t remove the mask, can you do that for me? Just close your eyes for a little while. Rest.”

Your eyes slip shut - why would you disobey this beautiful voice? There is no reason to, anything that sounds so pretty must surely be right, must surely have your best interest at heart…

***

When you wake once more, your head is icy clear, but your limbs are heavy, nearly impossible to move. You twist your head just to meet the steel-dark eyes of- Boba? The man wears Boba’s armour but no helmet, and he sits like him, legs spread wide, his fingers dancing over the comm as he types up a message.

“Boba?” Your voice is rough and scratchy, and without looking up he points towards a glass of water on the bedside table.

“Drink.” You’d know that voice anywhere. It is him, it is Boba, without his helmet, sitting right beside you. You have a vague memory but you can’t quite grasp it before it is gone - did you see his face before? No, you couldn’t have…

You chug down the drink in record time. You are parched, you did not even realise how much so until you saw the liquid sitting there.

“Boba, what happened?”

He pauses, then shrugs and finally looks up from his comm. The sight of him takes your breath away - you thought you must have misremembered, no face is that pretty, no one can actually look like this. You thought you had dreamed it, but if you did, he looks exactly like whatever your brain conjured up. You are staring at him, your mouth slightly agape as you drink in his beauty until that sharp memory from earlier pierces your brain, the details now clearer than before.

“Did I… did I call you pretty?” you ask quietly, embarrassment tinting your cheeks dark.

“Hm-hm,” he nods, keeping a completely straight face and you cringe. “There is… there seems to be some kind of hallucinogen in the air, princess. Breath filter didn’t recognise it because technically it’s not deadly, not unless combined with some of the more… interesting parts of the flora.”

You stare at him in confusion and he huffs.

“Carnivorous plants,” he explains casually. “That hallucinogen makes you forget all about the dangers, it… lowers your inhibitions, you could say. Until you wander into reach of one of those plants-“

“You saved me?” you interrupt him, thinking of that sharp sting in your wrist. When you look down, you can see the raised skin where the plant must have wound around your arm. It looks inflamed and irritated and once you start thinking about it, there is a dull throb in your arm, and it feels oddly limp. Boba shrugs in answer to your question.

“I don’t get paid if you’re not here to be delivered, princess.”

“Hmph.” You consider for a while. “Why’d you take your helmet off?”

“Had to,” Boba murmurs. “Couldn’t find your breather, you must have lost it in the jungle, so-“

“You gave me your helmet?” you exclaim, the thought seeming so intimate, so unseemly. It makes your blood run hotter, you in his helmet while his face is bare.

“Yep,” Boba shrugs it off as if it is nothing. “Now the air filtration system has to be cleaned out before I can put it back on again.”

“How did you breathe out there then?” you suddenly ask. If you had no mask on, and you were wearing his helmet-

“I didn’t,” Boba says quietly. You stare at him.

“I was so far away from the ship, Boba, you could never have-“

“I’ve been trained for much worse. I knew what needed to be done, so I did it. Your mask was the only one on the ship. Didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”

“You gave me your helmet,” you whisper, still too stunned to speak properly.

“Like I said, not really a choice-“

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter. A grin tugs at the corner of Boba’s mouth, but it’s so small you think you may just be imagining things. Before you can stop yourself, more words tumble out of your mouth, a flush creeping up your neck even as you utter them.

“I’m glad you took it off.”

Boba is silent for a second, leaning back in his seat, legs spread wide. He tilts his head as he so often does when he is asking a question. You wonder if he knows how much his body language betrays.

“Why?”

Now it’s your turn to consider your answer.

“… because it saved my life,” you say quietly, but Boba just shakes his head.

“The truth, princess.”

Your heart beats faster, breaths picking up and escaping you in little whimpers when he bends closer to you, so close his warm breath fans over your face. You can’t think straight, not when he is that close, and he smells so good-

“…because I think I’ve never seen a face more beautiful than yours,” you press out, the words tumbling into each other as if it won’t be so embarrassing if you just say them fast enough.

“Maybe not all of the hallucinogen is gone quite yet,” Boba raises an eyebrow. “You seem to be imagining things, princess.”

“I’m not,” you say before you can stop yourself. “You’re pretty. Losing-my-mind pretty. Want-to-worship pretty. So beautiful I thought I’d imagined seeing you when I first woke up.”

A deep groan escapes Boba’s throat, his lips almost ghosting over yours but he holds back, even with his body hovering so close to you that you can feel his warmth, even with his hands on either side of your head as he leans over you, even with his eyes burning into yours with an intensity you think might make you implode.

“Boba…” you whisper, trailing off because you don’t know what to say.

“Ask me,” he rasps and you know what he means, what he has to mean because you want it- you want it so fucking bad.

“Kiss me,” you say, and even though you meant it to sound like a question it comes out as a demand, and Boba is chuckling as his lips meet yours. Your heart flutters - finally; his laughter without a vocoder, finally a face to put to your favourite sound in the world. Finally.

“You’re too sweet for me, princess,” Boba mumbles against your lips when he pulls back. “Too sweet, but I still want you.”

You are on fire, on fire for him when he kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Boba’s hands start exploring the ways he can make you shiver under his touch and the world is filled by the taste of him. It’s better than you could ever have imagined, better even than the dangerous paradise outside - the paradise he saved you from. I want you.

“You can have me,” you whisper and the world explodes when Boba smiles at you, a light blush creeping onto his face.

“Mesh’la,” he breathes and then his mouth is on yours again and the world becomes bliss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

A little present if you will. Just because you all mean the world to me.

@ethenae @adancedivasmom @kakashibabe02 @kik51199 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @asaucecoveredsomething @book-of-baba-fett @mando-amando @gotomarvelgal @muffledgorillaviolence @elegantduckturtle @samanthacookieone @imalovernotahater @thefact0rygirl @corrabell @nomercyforthewarrior @msfett @ashotofspotchka @milf-obi-wan-kenobi @hayley-the-comet @ladykatakuri @deewithani @meabravo @fivesarctrooper @rowansparrow @maygalodon @levi-llama @solidago-sempervirens @sithdjarins @daore @mavendeb @lackofhonor @spacedothooters @perpetual-fangirl900 @imtryingmybeskar @clonecyare @sharpbarnacle @djarrex @tenderclio @lightan117 @echoskama @ittybittykylo @equalityforcats @mssbridgerton @holding-on-to-starwars @nymphwriting @paintballkid711 @stardust-galaxies @kotemorons

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fluff #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fanart #galawrites #galas tender thots

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madhyanas · 3 years

Text

a place at the table

Pairing: Din Djarin x gender-neutral!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 [mild]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Spoilers for s2ep3, Chapter 11! Reader uses they/them pronouns. References to drowning, not explicit. Descriptions of freezing/extreme cold. One reference to Chapter 9 (s2ep1). Din being as self-sacrificing as always. Din’s particular brand of Mandalorian family values. Pining, yearning, affection - just think soft.

A/N: well then. first time posting for din! this has been cooking since ep3 came out, i’m just slow. it’s soft!! and worried!! and din severely procrastinating his own identity crisis!! they’re really fuckin married, guys. lovely stuff. also, if you can’t tell, i adore frog lady. and bo-katan. mwah.

BIG thank you to @justrunamok, @pettyprocrastination and @generaldamneron for beta-reading <33

gif credit: @captrex - from the post here. thanks!

masterlist

You thought you knew cold.

Days and nights in the Crest have acquainted you with it. A hollow metal hull in the depths of the galaxy, surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of nothing. Keeping the heater on burns fuel that you can’t afford, not with three mouths to feed. Space is cold, as cold as it could get.

And then you nearly drowned.

The briny depths of Trask are frigid, you’ve come to realise. Logically, you know it’s nowhere near the freezing vacuum of space. That’s real cold; true, absolute zero. But the thing about water is that it gets everywhere. The searing, ferocious chill of it had slammed all mental processes to a halt, petrifying your rationality before all else. It drenched your clothes, your hair. Snaked into your nose and seeped into your lungs. Rushed you as a swarm; no other sensation was relevant.

At the time — scrabbling at a grate hanging overhead, right there but always just out of reach — it’s what you imagined carbonite to feel like. Conscious but consumed.

Space is cold from a distance. Water freezes from the inside, cracked and jagged and burning.

So you should be grateful for your saviours. Mandalorians, unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Which is to say, unlike Din.

There’s a lot to think about. So many things have happened in the span of a day that you can barely keep track. And beyond all else, you want to ask how Din’s coping—

“Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld.”

—but there are more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne,” the red-headed woman explains.

Bo-Katan. She speaks regally, like she’s been on that very throne before. More importantly — like she’d earned it. In truth, she scares you. All three of them do, these new Mandalorians who show their faces — they scare you in the way Din did back when he was just a gruff, faceless employer. A tinge of instinct; a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

What she’s saying is important, you know that, and you can’t place the onus on Din to handle it after the day he’s had. But you can’t bring yourself to focus either. You’re barely holding it together as it is, taking mild, balmy comfort in his and the baby’s presence on either side.

The three of you, together. Right now, at this table, that’s the only thing keeping you from splintering right down the middle.

Even with a steaming bowl of broth in your hands, your fingers ache with the chill. It hurts, regaining body heat. Hurts as feeling returns to your toes. Hurts to clench your jaw, to stop it from chattering. Hurts the delicate skin of your face, thousands of icy needles jabbing into the nerves. There’s a pounding between your ears and behind your eyes. You’re tired, and you suspect Din is, too.

You really do want to ask how he’s dealing with…this. The Way has been part of his life — and part of yours, in as much of a lifetime as you’ve known him — for many, many years. An oak tree, offering security and strength to the garden. How must he feel, stoic at your side, to see these three fell theirs so easily?

An identity crisis is the last thing Din needs.

What he needs is a break. You need him to want a break.

A coo at your elbow catches your attention. The baby — safe and warm, thank the Maker — seems fascinated with the water dripping from your hair, patting his hands into the small puddles forming on his high chair and giggling at the splashes. It’s as if he was never swallowed whole in the first place; that’s another thing you’re going to recall decidedly later. Nonetheless, he bounces back fast, your child.

You smile, hearing your teeth click, and pet the sensitive spot between his ears. He blinks at you sweetly.

Someone clears their throat.

You look up, startled, to find three pairs of eyes on you. Expecting. None of them saying… anything.

The other woman, the one with braids on her forehead, slurps her slithering noodles without blinking. Unnerving, to say the least.

“Sorry,” you blurt, more on reflex than anything else. “Did I… miss something?” The uncertainty in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Beneath the table, a broad thighs shifts to press against yours. Comforting. You glance at its owner.

“It’s… Mandalorian business.” Bo-Katan tilts her head. Her gaze flits between you and Din, polite and clear. “I’m sure you understand.”

You blink, bemused. “Oh?”

And then you realise.

She’s asking you to leave.

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up. One of her partners smiles ruefully in your periphery, and you are struck with the distinct feeling of being other. “Of course.”

That’s… well. It’s justified, is what it is. She’s right. You aren’t Mandalorian.

You stand quickly, and the chair grates against the floor unpleasantly. You manage not to cringe, somehow.

There’s a free table on the other side of the cantina, you think you saw it as you entered. Should you take the baby? No, Din’s never liked being away from him, even if you’re there. But they’re armed, all three of them, and you don’t know them, even if they did save your life, saved the baby’s, saved Din’s—

There’s a hand at your elbow.

“They stay.”

Din’s voice is unyielding. He hasn’t moved at all besides his grip on your arm, keeping his visor trained on Bo-Katan, who raises a brow.

No one says anything for a long, tense beat. Until—

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Bo-Katan says bluntly. It’s something you don’t have the nerve to state aloud. Something Din is apparently ignoring, however much you’d never believe it.

He stays silent.

“It’s okay,” your murmur, and the silver helmet you know turns to you fractionally. Barely anything, and you know you’re heard. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still staring Bo-Katan down. “I don’t mind.”

There are three sharp, foreign gazes on you, and your newly-rejuvenated toes curl in your boots. After so many days bundled up in the Crest, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be watched and unwanted. The company inside had never made you feel that way.

“They stay,” he insists, making you jolt. “As is their right.”

Bo-Katan’s half-smile is faintly amused. “And which right is that?” she asks, like she already knows the answer. It seems like they all do, daring Din to state this mysterious ‘right’ that you’re in the dark about.

“It is their right as a member of my clan.”

The gloved fingers on your elbow tighten, leather creaking ever so slightly but just enough to remind you to breathe.

You blink at the silver helm dumbly, forgetting your onlookers for the time being.

He’s— He means that. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean. Every word is measured, deliberate. He chooses his words like he chooses his weapons; they’re specific, well-cared for. Only to be used when necessary. Which suggests that—

Well. Maybe you should sit down.

As you do so, the woman opposite Din releases a slow, steady breath — Maker, you’d almost forgotten she was here — and squares her shoulders.

“Very well,” she says coolly. Her eyes flit to you, appraising, searching, before returning to Din. “As I was saying…”

And then you tune out again, ever so slightly. The information is going in, but you’re not truly registering its significance. Stupid, really, considering Din’s quite literally just fought for your place at the table. But you do.

You stare at the chipped, stained wood as if it holds the answers to questions you don’t know how to phrase. The baby babbles something incoherent, trying to get your attention, so unjustly denied to him, and you offer a finger for him to hold.

Clan. As in, part of. It’s new.

It feels like a small, three-fingered hand, gravelly warmth next to your thigh, and a hand pulling you back to the table.

———

Tracking down the Frog Woman and her husband isn’t too tedious. Trask’s daylight hours are long, for a moon, so even after Din’s aside with Bo-Katan and her people, it’s barely dark as you make your way to the inn.

“It won’t be long,” Din had assured you. “I go with them, assist with their mission, and come back within a day. Routine transport raid.”

Them. Their. It didn’t bode well that his so-called brethren are this… dissimilar.

“Last time you helped someone out, you got swallowed by a desert dragon.”

“That wasn’t last time.”

“Still counts.”

Childish, perhaps. Petulant. But correct.

The problem was, so was he. There was no choice.

Now, Din leads your party of three briskly down the street.

Since his father had manually adjusted the drift range on the crib beforehand, the child has no issue being carted along express-style, making curious noises at the various fishing apparatus he sees scattered around the port.

You don’t have such luxuries as the little womp rat, so you’re left to frantically try and match your Mandalorian’s pace. The lingering shivers wracking your frame are shoved aside for the wheezing burn beginning to creep up your sides.

“Hey, uh, Mando?” you ask, somewhat out of breath. “You think you could slow down? You’re going a little fast—”

Your shoulder clips a passing Quarren roughly, spinning you round with the force of the collision. The point of impact throbs unpleasantly, painful but superficial. Stunned, you can only blink as the tentacled man snaps something unintelligible in your face. An apology sits ready on your tongue and you open your mouth to speak, before a solid wall appears between you.

A breathing, unyielding wall of leather and beskar, glowering at the Quarren silently as you’re turned away, closer into the gentle bend of his hold. Quietly surrounding, protecting. Something else you’re not used to, from when it was just the three of you in the ship. But this feels… good. It feels like it’s yours.

The other man balks, and leaves with a grumble under his breath.

Din glances around above your head, ever aware, ever cautious. “Stay close,” he murmurs and—

You could probably pinpoint the exact moment your body temperature spikes, as a large, gloved hand comes to rest on your lower back. “Oh. Okay.”

The rest of the walk passes you by.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he says tersely, having slowed his pace considerably. There’s an apology in there somewhere; you can hear it. “But you’re soaked, and you’re cold. You need to get warmed up.”

You smile. It’s really not the time, but— “Are you offering?”

A huff from the modulator, and he shakes his head silently. Less rejection, rather than fond exasperation.

“You must be cold, too.” The realisation dawns on you in an instant. Oh, Maker. He’s been freezing for just as long as you, now. If not more, since he hasn’t eaten anything warm.

The next shake of the helmet is more insistent, purposeful. “No. I wear more layers than you do.”

“You dived into the ocean, Din.” His name is hushed, spoken after a quick look to confirm that no one can hear you.

“So did you.”

“I was pushed, that’s not the same thing.”

Din doesn’t respond, and your smile dims. He seems to hesitate for a moment, before pressing a button on his vambrace, and the baby’s crib floats a little closer.

Oh.

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk. You regret bringing it up.

But his hand doesn’t stray from your back.

——

The building is small, cozy. Barely a couple of stories tall. And, to your delight, it’s warm.

“Thank you for having us,” you tell the Frog Woman gratefully. One of their towels is wrapped around your shoulders; a placeholder until you can find a clean, dry change of clothes. You feel better already. “We’re sorry to impose like this.”

She croaks something vaguely welcoming and you smile, keeping a shrewd, wary eye on the baby — now staring at the egg canister with wondrous intent, reaching his stubby little hands out from his place clutched to your chest. Now there’s something to keep you occupied for the evening.

A hand on your shoulder, warm and light, and you turn around. Din tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll be going,” he says, barely a whisper past the lip of the helmet.

“What? Uh, Mando, hold on!” Halfway out of the chair already, you stare at him incredulously, before turning back to the expecting parents. “Just— Just a second, please. Could you take the baby?”

However disinclined she may be to your carnivorous terror, the Frog Woman takes him into her hands gently. She’s sweet, kind. You hope she understands the depths of your appreciation.

A polite nod from Din to the couple. “I’ll be back for them soon.”

He follows you into the narrow corridor. The door slides shut behind you both.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment, tugging the edge of the towel at your shoulders. Your mouth opens and closes, faltering around words that don’t have the courage to form.

“I…” You deflate. “I just— I wanted to ask you that. Before you left.” It’s a foolish question. What’s wrong, like his entire way of life hasn’t been upended in a heartbeat by a careless show of face. Like the Way hasn’t just crumbled at his feet like wet sand, trodden on by three strange pairs of boots, scorched by familiar jetpack fuel.

He doesn’t say anything. No tilt of the helmet, no sinking shoulders. Nothing. Just keeps looking at you, visor tilted down to your face.

There’s a reasonable distance between you. Not professional by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for him to be comfortable in semi-public. The corridor is empty, and you can’t hear any footsteps.

Except Din’s, when he steps forward.

You feel your features soften in time with the pounding of your heart. “Din, love, please—”

He pulls you into his chest, plucking the wind from your lungs in a surprised, candied puff into the worn fabric of his cowl. His arms snake around you, securing you to his sturdy frame, and by reflex, yours mirror the movement on him. The helm’s hard, flat surface presses against the side of your head tightly; an anchor tugging on the seabed.

You feel him inhale, a ragged, rattling thing that has your stomach sinking. You only hear that sound when he’s injured, stumbling back to you with a bounty and a nasty, jagged stab wound or two. Only when he’s injured but oh, isn’t he?

It’s hard to tell how long you remain like that. Wrapped around and in between each other. Feeling each other breathe in and out, like the push and pull of the tides. It’s worth it, for the fading of tension in Din’s shoulders. Not removal. But an ebb for the flow. You’ll take it.

“There is a lot,” he rasps, modulated into your hairline. “You know that. And I can’t focus on what needs to be done if I think about it.” You feel him sigh, draping into your arms even further. “I can’t afford that.”

You try to keep your voice calm, soothing. To avoid the hot press of tears threatening to clog your throat. “Okay. That’s, that’s— Okay.”

You sound like a fool, parroting your own words. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Din agrees. There is something shaky in his voice, and you would give anything to wrench it from his chest and throw it into that Maker-forsaken ocean. Let it drown for all you care.

For now, though, this is enough.

You move to step back, just a palm’s breadth away, and his arms unlock to let you do so immediately. His gloved hands slide down to nestle in the dip of your waist.

You look at Din consideringly, wondering if you could push for later. Later, to discuss the revelations he’s been bombarded with. Later, to talk about what you’re doing to do. Later, to finally get him to rest his weary bones.

Urgent, but. You decide to let him be. For now.

There’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask about anyway.

“So.” You smile wanly, treasuring the jewelled glint of beskar through the thinnest film of tears. “As a member of your clan, huh?”

Din sighs. Bracing, grounding. Returning to the present, where you’re just here to see him off. Where you have a baby waiting inside to keep from snacking on your hosts, and he has a hijacking to initiate. His fingers press tighter into your skin.

He appreciates the subject change.

“You already know my name,” he says quietly. Shrugs. “I’d say you know more about me than anyone else.”

You take a second to mull that over. Enjoy the taste of it in your mouth, the weight of it in your heart. He is such a precious thing to know.

Without thinking, the word leaves your lips in a bright gust of affection. “Same.” The helm tilts. “You know more about me than anyone else, too.”

He nods, a small, barely-there movement. More to himself than to you, you suspect.

“Good.”

Elastically, achingly slow, Din leans his head down. You lift yours up. When your warmed forehead meets beskar, a kiss from which you feel deprived, yet glutted, you’re inclined to agree.

“Stay safe,” you whisper. Your heart fogs and clouds on the metal, right above where his lips would be.

His thumb strokes across your waist. And you know he will.

——

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars fic #reader-insert #gn!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian chapter 11 #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #the heiress #my writing #sw #bit nervous about this one #we'll see how it goes huh

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niqhtlord01 · 3 years

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Humans are weird: Space Borders

The concept of a species claiming ownership of their homeworld is not an uncommon occurrence in the expansive universe, but what is somewhat more odd is that same species claiming sole dominion of the surrounding space of their system and regulating traffic in an out of it and even in some cases denying outright any form of access.

It was a long standing unspoken rule between galactic communities that space would be a neutral ground and that all could travel freely across the stars. This was done in the hope that such openness would promote more degrees of cooperation between species and create a sense of galactic unity that would transcend such divides as biological, traditional, and ideological.

This had been the tradition of the civilized universe for countless generations and though there had still been divisions between species and tensions kept just below the surface for different species they had remained quiet and respected the unspoken rule of the star ways.

That was of course before the introduction of humanity.

When the first Windala explorer ship stumbled upon the human home system they were met with a small fleet of armed ships that blocked entry into the system. Outnumbered and outgunned the Windala ship fled back to the galactic core to report the discovery of a new system filled with space fairing people.

Rulers debated the aggressive nature these beings had taken at the sight of a single ship and thought them to be barbarians, but after careful consideration of the situation it became the general consensus that these "humans", as intercepted communications had revealed that was what they called themselves, that this could have been their first contact with another space fairing species and felt threatened.

A formal delegation was assembled along with the galaxies most advanced translating units and a small contingent of escort ships for protection and the second attempt at first contact was made.

Once again after arriving in the human system the delegation was met as before by a fleet of human ships. This time the number of human ships had doubled and some larger vessels were counted among their number that dwarfed the delegation ship and appeared to be heavily armed.

The delegate fleet made no moves and remained standstill as a wide array of messages were sent out across the the signal spectrum in an attempt to communicate with the humans. After several short cycles the frequency the humans used was detected and communication began. Over the course of the following days and months a dialogue was established and humanity learned of the wider galaxy at large now at their finger tips.

During these crucial moments traffic into and out of the human system was blocked until the delegation had finished their work to ensure no misconceptions were made that the humans were being attacked. After the talks finished however the ban was lifted and the wider galaxy was given free access to the sol system.

Or so they thought.

Shortly after the gates were opened numerous species were reporting that they were being stopped at the edges of human space. Human ships were intercepting them at jump points and requesting their "papers". These papers appeared to be some form of documentation stating their travel to the human system had been approved by the human government.

Naturally many of these merchants did not have such documentation as they often acted independently from their governments and were turned away. There were those though that felt either insulted or did not fully understand the human concept of documentation and attempted to bypass the human intercept forces.

These merchants were quickly boarded by surrounding ships and taken into custody as breaking human law. While this was a serious concern for many galactic governments what was more dire was when some armed merchant men refused to be boarded and opened fire on the human vessels. This action brought swift and overwhelming retribution from humans as a fleet of their warships would then be dispatched with all haste to either apprehend or destroy the merchant man that had attacked them.

It quickly devolved into a diplomatic nightmare as numerous governments wished to now go to war with humanity forcing a second diplomatic mission to be sent to earth. Despite repeated explanations about galactic unity humanity refused to let any outsider into their system without permission from humanities government.

Insulted by their brazen defiance the delegation left humanity and said if they wished for such isolation they could have it and created an exclusion zone around the sol system thinking that by cutting them off from the galactic community they would suffer.

This had the opposite effect however as many species had seen the value of trade with humans could be and had behind closed doors gone through the long confusing halls of human politics to gain access to their system. These species ships were then given full access to the sol system along with free trade and matching rights of all within the human domain and these trading species rivals quickly watched as they had come to gain massive wealth by securing trade with humans on human terms.

Despite the galactic exclusion zone ruling of the sol system more and more species began to trade with humanity. Even more worsening than the exclusion zones apparent failure was that now other species were demanding to have their own territorial rights enforced. Humanities defiance had inspired them to bring forth old grudges, territorial disputes, trade practice disagreements, and cultural conflicts to the forefront and they had begun enforcing their own border policies that extended into space.

Within roughly ten human years after their discovery the ideology of territory in space became the new established norm and the once free trade universe devolved into a star map of lines, borders, and no go zones across the entire universe.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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