#scurriers

[webbedwidds]

Also a variety of lava monster studies- I had SO much fun drawing Flama- I'm going to draw them all eventually, these are just sketches between commissions!

Also I know the Scurriers aren't kids, but I'd like to think that Beastmaster just carries them about from time to time.

#webworks #lego #lego nexo knights #nexo knights #fanart #Lavaria #Whiparella #Flama #Scurriers

[ledeni-tm]

The mudhorn one is probably my fave just because of that cheeky little jawa. Pack 1 : Original Trilogy Pack 2 : Prequel Pack 3 : Sequel Pack 4 : Fallen Order Pack 6 : Other

#star wars #my art #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #cobb vanth #grogu #baby yoda #jawa #mudhorn #krayt dragon #banthangdep #tusken raiders #scurrier

[freeasfishes]

Reblog for a larger sample size

#me personally I'm a scurrier #mouse #polls #wee little field mouse posting

[xzbat-loverzx]

I just came up with the most stupidest ideas for an AU:

What if after season 2, instead of becoming a weatherman, Jestro became a teacher/assistant/secretary person at the knights academy? I barely have any ideas for it and it 100 wouldn’t make since even within the show however I still don’t understand why they made Jestro a weatherman of all things anyways.

Idk I guess I just really like the whole headcanon of Jestro being disabled and then bonding with and basically adopting students at the knights academy because he sees himself in them.

#Found family tropes produce Happy chemicals for my brain I’m sorry #but also I’m not sorry #nexo knights #lego nexo knights #jestro #nexo knights jestro #au idea #Nexo knights AU #imagine Jestro talking to Izzy about an assignment and she’s just like #‘My bro kicked your ass before and he’ll do it again’ #‘girl you ain’t getting Lance to do shit do your homework’ #or it’s one of those moments where the teacher constantly singles you out over something your older sibling did five years ago #but then he would turn around and beet the crap outta Goldie and Cuthbert at PTCs #He would be put in charge of wrangling Aaron’s younger chaotic siblings #he would be nervous at first before realizing it’s just like handiling globlin s and Scurriers #and then he just gets used to them climbing all over him like koala cubs on caffeine #idk man I just want him to be happy #:’)

[rivalsilveryuri]

*scurries into your askbox and makes a weird unsettling and almost unnoticeable noise and then wuickly runs away*

whart was thar.......... guys . *Gets really scared

#VOICEMAIL #dude .... i wokr up 2 see this after a nightmsre ...and i stared at it so long i calmed down . #the scurrier and scary unsettling noise helped ......... . #oh also my dog does this in the midrle of the night i swear to god. why do pets make weird noises in th3 night amd not elaborate #aauuuuh

[zootycutieart]

It’s still Star Wars Day, and I’ve had quite the bug to make some Star Wars OCs of my own! Bios under the read more.

Keelani is a Jawa from a clan on Tattooine, as many Jawas are. The niece of the clan's shaman, she's primed to be the next shaman, thus helping her escape the "second class" living of being a female Jawa. She's lucky there, because she's only very much tolerated by most of her clan. Rather than tinkering and refurbishing items to trade, she prefers the creativity side, something that unfortunately most customers, along with the Jawas of the other clans during the swap meets, don't care for as much. Keelani recently had her "vision illness", with a vision that's hard to piece together. However, once her vision slowly starts to come true, she's going to have to prove herself and go offworld. Thankfully, she has a few new friends on her journey going on. Divot is a young Scurrier that follows Keelani's clan around a lot. Eventually relenting, Keelani made him her pet, giving him his name after his eye marking that resembled a die pip for the titular game. Tenacious and curious, Divot doesn't know the term "stay here", often following anyone wherever they're going. Annoying sure, but he's so cute that sometimes you can't be bothered with that!

K'Rik has had quite some tribulations with his tribe. They were entirely fine with his transition. They're a bit unsure, but accepting, of him deciding to go mostly pacifist. They're pretty weirded out that he chooses to be friends with that Jawa girl. But if they found out that he just learned he's force sensitive? He doesn't want to know what they'd think there! Thankfully, being friends with Keelani might have its benefits! She's going offworld to figure out her vision, so maybe he could follow her to figure out his new abilities? As long as he doesn't have to fight...at least, unless push comes to shove, or they insult his friends. Pallie is K'Rik's bantha, and she is a very very good girl! She's very sweet, if a bit slobbery with her licks, and sure, she stinks, but that's to be expected with a bantha! While others might think of her as a "roadblock" or "an obnoxious odor in a gigantic fuzzball", K'Rik is devoted to his companion. In fact, threatening her is the easiest way to make K'Rik forget all about that "being a pacifist" thing.

Dendara, as to be almost stereotypically expected of her Rodian culture, was raised in bounty hunter training. However, she decided to twist her ideas up. Also a talented tinkerer, she's done quite a few things: got a ship running, got a droid running, and most importantly, managed to supplement her bounty hunter career with remote controlled drones and bombs. Because of her hidden bounty skills compared to confronting her targets, she's surprisingly awkward and geeky, something that shocks her targets...along with Keelani and K'Rik, two unexpected passengers that she's made a deal with to bring to a specific location. Aside from her bounty hunter skills, she's a huge fangirl of the band Halyx and is very driven in creature rights, earning her a membership in the Galactic Society of Creature Enthusiasts. BD-3L, AKA Beetle, is a BD Unit explorer droid under the ownership of Dendara. Found abandoned on one of Dendara's missions, the Rodian fixed him up to her best ability, and he has proven a very useful ally on her bounties. Being able to handle multiple terrains, he can easily keep up with his owner and help her to access her targets easily. He's a bit shaken by her drones' abilities, but he's kept that to himself. His olfactory sensor is also broken, which is probably a blessing with the cocktail of scents coming from the ship passengers! Catter is a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard and Dendara's co-pilot. Don't let her toxic neon color schemes fool you: Catter is not harmful. But she's also not joyful like other monkey-lizards. She's surprisingly dour and quiet. Rescued during a raid of a testing lab by Dendara, her optimism has been sapped away. However, she's content to be left to pick at things, making her a convenient mechanic and secondary help for Dendara. Warm up enough to see her smile somewhat, and you're sure to be on her good side, though! Fili is Dendara's pet Tooka. Adopted from a shelter, Fili proves to be more of a nuisance than anything else to others. He sleeps where he wants to, he eats what he wants to, and he climbs where he wants to, anyone else around be darned. However, he's wonderful pest control for the ship, and if he's in the right mood, he's a great companion. He learned the hard way that Divot isn't a pest on his menu, a few hearty kicks managed to prove that to him.

#zootycutie's art #star wars #own characters #fan characters #keelani #jawa #divot #scurrier #k'rik #tusken raider #pallie #bantha #dendara #rodian #bd-3l #beetle #bd unit #catter #kowakian monkey-lizard #fili #tooka

[sw5w]

Herd of Dewbacks

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:46:12

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Tatooine #Xelric Draw #dewback #scurrier #womp rat

[aeshnacyanea2000]

You scum, you rat-sucking little worm eaters! You headsdown little scurriers in the dark! What did you bring to my city? What were you thinking? Did you want the deep-downers here? Did you dare deplore what Hamcrusher said, all that bile and ancient lies? Or did you say ‘Well, I don’t agree with him, of course, but he’s got a point’? Did you say, ‘Oh he goes too far but it’s about time somebody said it’? And now, have you come here to wring your hands and say how dreadful, it was nothing to do with you? Who were the dwarfs in the mobs, then? Aren’t you community leaders? Were you leading them? And why are you here now, you ugly snivelling grubbers? Is it possible, is it possible, that now, after that bastard’s bodyguards tried to kill my family, you’re here to complain? Have I broken some code, trodden on some ancient toe? To hell with it. To hell with you.

-- Terry Pratchett - Thud!

#Terry Pratchett #discworld quotes #GNU Terry Pratchett #quotes #Thud! #Sam Vimes

[genuinebluff]

Big Skateboard is here for the scamperers and scurriers.

#genuine bluff #accesible meme #image described #meme dealer #surreal meme #unreality #skateboard #skating meme #skate meme #y2k meme #lol #haha #meme #please share and rb #thanks bbys

[lavandula-ipsum]

Those Wistful Asphodels

Asphodels ch. 1/2

Tags: dark!Luke x Fem!Reader, force sensitive reader, reader is injured, death of secondary characters mentioned, porn with plot, no really most of this is plot, angst, smut, cuffs, non penetrative sex, handjobs, edging, light degradation

Wordcount: 7.4k

Summary: Since Luke Skywalker fell to the dark side, the Rebellion has been facing a fast annihilation. In these dire times when lights go out in the galaxy one after another, a rebel captain with the mission of rescuing the survivors of a fallen base finds herself injured and alone. And, on top of that, the worst of her temptations appears out of the blue.

Asphodels is a sequel to Pomegranate, a short smut series that has kinda ended up growing a plot. I do think you can enjoy this part without the previous one, since you can infer enough of their dynamic from context. Feel free to check the previous chapters if you feel like it!

WARNING (or the opposite to it?) Even though this is a dark Luke fic, all that happens during the more intimate scenes is completely consensual. Still, Reader isn't in a good place mentally, hence the angst tag. I wanted to make it clear, there's nothing dubious here in that regard.

Enjoy!

The Empire has a new face, one that has brought unprecedented darkness to the galaxy. All kinds of stories have popped up around the new royal core of the regime. From the old throne of the Emperor now rules he who was his loyal shadow, his most deadly hand. And at his side stands a son. Their combined strength has turned the war into a fixed hunt, a pitiful game in which the Rebel Alliance can't but wriggle like a doomed scurrier in a trap.

Some, those who were labeled as hopeless pessimists, would say it all ended the very same day of the betrayal. After all, the Rebellion could stand to lose a commander, no matter how invaluable the feats achieved by Luke Skywalker were. But it was a blow nonetheless. Right after the news came out countless rebels fled their posts trying to save their lives, but it was for nothing. Nowadays even deflectors get mercilessly hunted down by the Empire. Like marked by a curse, every single person who ever belonged to the Rebellion, or even just sympathized with it, gets found. No tiny spark of resistance escapes, lest it ignite new fires of rebellion in the future. Even those who were hopeful at first seriously doubt that prospect a little more every day with each new of lost squadrons and assassinated leaders. 

General Organa remains as one of the last remnants of light in these dark days, even though she’s faded into obscurity. Her whereabouts are kept a secret, much to her own distaste. But it isn’t the time for her to come out at the front of some suicidal attack, it’s the time for caution. To hide and prepare. Fate has taken down yet another path she didn’t want for herself, but also one she’s starting to dread to be unfit for this time.

And meanwhile, (Y/N) wonders how long will it take for the idea that the Rebellion has disappeared to settle. The rebel captain isn’t one to express out loud how hopeless she’s become, not in front of her dwindling companions. But there is not denying it. Rogue squadron is no more. It lasted longer than the others even when it became the most sought after by unrelenting TIE squadrons. (Y/N) knows who leads that imperial offensive, it’s written in the precise counter attacks that always surprise the rebel pilots  in all of their maneuvers, every evasion. There is only one person who knows them that well, just one pilot with that kind of talent. (Y/N) gets sick just thinking of his hand on the trigger, the aim set on another friend. No matter what the rebels try, they’re doomed to fail. Recently she got the news that the last one of the once acclaimed X-wings was shot down. Kriff, not even Wedge made it. She can just cross her fingers and hope that the Millennium Falcon, the most wanted starship in the galaxy, will remain hidden for a little longer.

Even Han has given up all hope. The captain of the Falcon was never a man of faith, but (Y/N) trusts his resolve to help keep alive those few of them who still survive, scattered across the stars. It’s all she has left now, especially when she’s starting to suspect that she won’t be coming back from this mission.

It was her who insisted on making the effort to come here with the mission to establish contact with the rebel cell hiding in the base of Jolah after it went silent. It was her assignment and it has failed even more spectacularly than anyone could have expected. The ambush hit them as soon as they came out of hyperspace to a system crawling with squadrons of TIE fighters and imperial patrols. In the unexpected dogfight, (Y/N)’s starfighter got hit and her pitiful role in the operation suddenly evaporated as she was reduced to managing the crashing of her craft in the middle of the sadistic fireworks around her, fighting the controls to make an emergency landing on the surface of Jolah. Each vertiginous spin separates further away from her companions while they fall to the imperial cannons.

Her damaged X-wing crashes in the middle of lush woodlands, up in the mountains. She hurries to leave the cockpit, fearful because of the black smoke coming out of the engines that the craft might explode. A sharp pain paralyzes her as she reaches for the edge to prop herself up. Even though she can’t move her leg, suddenly heavy and uncooperative, she still tries to get down the ship, slipping when her limbs clumsily let go of her commands. Hitting the ground brings her all the pain she’s been unable to feel until now. This is when she finally sees a piece of a durasteel lever buried deep in her thigh. 

The stranded captain huffs, turning her gaze up to the barely visible battle going on just over the atmosphere. She’s far from a military genius, but she can see that it’s over for her squadron. Even calling it a battle is generous when they were trapped so quickly, like helpless flies.

But she can’t just sit here and contemplate the butchery from afar, there’s no time to despair in the middle of nowhere. Even in this thick forest the Empire will find her vessel soon, so she better put some distance between it and herself. So she just grabs the end of the lever lodged in her leg and pulls, white pain burning through all of her senses while biting on the edge of her glove to try to drown her screams a little. A shriek escapes her when the durasteel finally flies out of her flesh. Thick blood gushes out until she puts pressure on the wound, bandaging it as best as she can with the sleeve she just tore from her shirt. 

Walking will be difficult, but she can’t do much else other than start dragging her aching limbs through the mud and the pain. The feeling that she might faint soon only grows, blood drenching through her poor attempt at a bandage and dripping down her thigh. The beauty around, threads of light cutting through the trees lighting up a forest floor splattered with little white flowers, all seem to be mocking her. At least she finds a fallen branch she can use as a walking stick. However, the sounds of the search party, the buzzing of speeders echoing through the trees, keep her awake and moving. 

Daylight fades along with the signs of imps in the area. It seems she’s safe for now, but she still doesn’t dare to stop for the rest she so direly needs, since she can’t trust herself to not fall asleep. At least her present predicament is easy enough to understand. Imperials running after her life while she bleeds alone in the cold with nothing but a blaster to protect herself. Those are circumstances that make her forgotten rebel resolve bloom again. The dream might be dead but, this way, at least she gets to die a rebel.

(Y/N) keeps avoiding the distant speeders, wondering how long before she’s found. Her fingers have lost sensitivity due to the biting cold, which she takes advantage of to keep dragging herself forward until she’s alone with the faint echoes of birds and the occasional critter running to hide. And, for the first time in months, she lets her sore mind loosen down a little to graze the currents of the Force she’s been fearfully avoiding. 

At least I get to die a rebel.

She expected the sensation of opening her mind to be uncomfortable, even painful, but the Force takes her right back, as if she never closed herself off from it. Even if she’s forgotten herself, the Force hasn’t. 

Who knows, maybe it’s because of all the blood she’s lost, but she’s never felt closer to its embrace. Ah, it’s all almost over.  

Mixed in with the cool currents filling the dried river beds of her mind another flow enters. Her eyes fly open at the realization of what she inadvertently has done. A single tear falls down her cheek as she scrambles to rebuild the barriers that she so irresponsibly let down. In hiding her signature, her brain complains of being denied from the full expanse of Force once again. The trance she was falling in insists on lingering inside of her as she fights to wake up from it. She was ready to let herself fall in the arms of the Force at that time when she’d close her eyes for good to let herself go in peace.

But it is too late now. He has seen her.

There’s no denying his intoxicating presence, a warmth dueling the cold of the forest and looming death inside of her, getting closer by the second. But how? He isn’t supposed to be in the system. His presence pokes at hers, impatience domineering over any intention at gentleness. Where are you? echoes in her brain, like pliers forcing her mind open. 

The rebel huffs and whimpers when she hears the TIE fighter over her head, its buzzing fading as the darkness throbbing at the corners of her vision expands. Desperation alone is keeping her standing, but she has stopped running now. This is as far as she was able to go.

She doesn’t need to turn around to feel the man wrapped in a black cloak right behind her, or his rushed breath as he quickly approaches, or the bursting heart in his chest. 

At least I get to die a rebel, she repeats.

In spite of his speed, his steps barely make a sound on the mud, but each of them is a jab inside of (Y/N). A shiver runs down her back thinking how all the times she’s tried to prepare herself for this have been useless. She isn’t ready to face him again and, most of all, she hates that he finds her like this, unarmed and defenseless, on the verge of passing out.

For a second, her mind gives out and everything turns dark. Cold climbs into her as she collapses forward, only for her fall to be stopped mid air. Her walking stick drops with a soft splash on the puddle before her, and suddenly she can hear the clatter of rain. For how long has it been raining? While she scolds herself for letting the panic wash over the awareness of her surroundings, her attention focuses on the arm holding her by the waist, then to the silhouette towering over her. Another reason to be disappointed with herself. She’d expected to be terrified by this encounter but, instead, under the hood, she finds a sad gaze she can’t bring herself to hate. 

Her blood drips over the little white flowers growing on the ground, defiling them with dark spots.

The longer she stares into the icy blue more memories flood her good conscience. The first time she saw him in that hangar so long ago, when she mistook him for a mechanic, it was him who looked helpless and alone.

I’m sorry it took so long to tell you, he said the last time they spoke.

Ashamed, she tries waving her childish longings away, afraid to know if they are still shared, and fights to stand up on her own. But her leg screams in pain and buckles, her body betraying her resolve by letting out a pained moan. His arms support her through it all. 

“Are you handcuffing me before I bleed to death or shall we wait some more?” she hisses.

She holds a red hand in front of her face and curses under her breath, which prompts a flare of alarm in his aura as he examines her. Judging by her darkened, drenched clothes, it’s a miracle that she hasn’t lost consciousness yet.

“Who did this to you?” It must be the blood loss, but Luke’s presence didn’t feel fully real before hearing his voice. She has always been afraid of his anger because of the choice that came with each one of those scarlet flares, even if they’ve never been directed at her. But that stopped mattering long ago.

Little raindrops run down his dark hood, dripping over the edge. She fights the urge to fix his hair with her fingers. She offers a bitter answer instead. “What do you think? One of your friends, like the ones waiting behind those bushes.”

“I’m alone.”

“I don’t believe you,” she spits. Lately, being lied to feels more comfortable than the alternative when it comes to him. Luke seems saddened by the comment.

“You need to have that looked at. Where is your lightsaber?”

She isn’t willing to answer either of those questions. Instead, his grip tightens around her. Ah, he’s so warm. She yearns to fall asleep in his arms.

She’s so submerged in his signature that she doesn’t notice the movements around them until a branch cracks not far from them. (Y/N) takes advantage of the split second of distraction to reach for his lightsaber. This is it, the moment she's been dreading. She didn't want to do this, she really didn't. But her desires are meaningless now. If she's to fall defending her companions, she will. Luke gazes at her with a mix of surprise and betrayal, but stays still. From the bushes emerges a group of rebels armed with blasters and fiery eyes sunken in their dirty faces. But there’s something wrong. They’re little more than children.

(Y/N) has found the rebel survivors of Jolah at the worst time possible. The act of tearing herself away from Luke’s arms cost her every drop of will she has left, but she manages to strike what must be a very unconvincing defensive stance. Even if she was ready to give up the fight a moment ago, now she owes it to these people. 

His first reaction is to extend a protective arm in front of her, a gesture that the rebels interpret as an attempt to leverage a prisoner to try and escape the situation. She feels the needle sink painfully into his mind as he realizes they want to protect her from him. 

“Release her, you imp. You're surrounded.”

She can feel the shadows leave her surroundings, leaving behind a pale reflection of the forest, of the kids’ angry and scared faces circling in around them. That darkness gathers into the young man's palms, dancing across his fingers with whispers of destruction. And (Y/N) fears, ready to jump into action down a path she’s been running from. 

After a moment to carefully consider the situation, Luke slowly raises his hands. “It seems I'm outnumbered,” he declares calmly.

The rebel captain is still processing what he just said when he offers up his wrists to his new captors. Soon they’re bound in a pair of stun cuffs. It seems it won’t be her wearing them for now.

****

(Y/N) doesn’t remember when she finally collapsed. Maybe the feeling of being surrounded by allies allowed her body to give out, or the vision of Luke being taken flooded her with that impotence she’s become so familiar with. But the first thought that bubbles up as she recovers consciousness is that she doesn’t think those kids ever let her hit the ground.

When she wakes a gentle fire fills the chamber with orange light. The cool sky of a darkening evening at the other side of the narrow crevice in the rock wall reveals that she’s been asleep for at least a whole day. The chamber around her belongs to a humble abode built under rock, rough but cozy. The smell of the herbs hanging from the ceiling fills the room made up of only crooked lines and handmade furniture. Over the fire, a pot simmers.

Her injuries have finally been stitched bandaged properly, and a strong, earthy smell comes out of them. She doesn’t know what kind of medicine they’ve used on her, but she doesn’t feel the need to distrust it. Her flight suit hangs close to the fire, left to dry, though it still has some faint stains of blood. She's been dressed with a comfortable tunic, long down to her ankles, which her injured thigh is thankful for.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” a raspy voice says. An old man just comes through the door, an axe resting on his shoulder. “You almost bled to death. Does it hurt? 

“Less than before.”

He hums approvingly and, leaving the axe resting against the irregular wall, sits by the fire on one of the mismatched chairs. “Calm down, lass. Anyone that still has the guts to face those pigs is welcome in my home.”

She realizes now that her whole body has tensed up. The thought crosses her mind that the old man, even if he seems fit for his age, wouldn’t probably mean a concerning threat to her now that he’s unarmed. It disgusts her. He saved her life and she can’t bring herself to trust even a little. Then again, she can’t sense any ill intention radiating from him. Trusting the Force has not been an easy task in recent times, but she’s too weak now not to listen to it. 

“I thank you for your help, sir.”

“Imoviah. None of that sir nonsense. Tell me, what happened to you? I’m dying for some good gossip. It’s been ages without news other than that bantha poodoo propaganda they feed the local stations around here. We didn’t know about the battle until it was raging over our heads”

“The base on the moon of Jolah was blown up three weeks ago,” she explains, pointing at the pale satellite hanging in the sky. “A small squad was sent to look for surviving rebels, but we had a trap waiting for us. We were following rumors that spoke about some of the survivors making it to the surface of the planet, but nothing sure.”

“So finally someone came looking for it.”

The face of a scruffy child, with tattered clothes and dirt on his face, pokes shyly through the entrance before coming in. He exchanges a few whispers with the old man and, now that she gets to look at him under the light of the flames, she recognizes him.

“Ab?” she asks. “You’re Elise’s kid, right? Your mom is a mechanic in the Rebellion.”

The kid just nods sheepishly just before the old man slaps his knees and gets up.

“I’m afraid that the ones that made it here are just those who couldn’t fight.  Those up there in the base got them out trying not to get the Empire’s attention.”

“And they didn’t run themselves?”

The old man gives her a knowing stare, “Things are not what they were. This isn’t a war anymore. Come, I’ll show you the rest.”

After finding a walking stick for her, Imoviah guides her through dark tunnels carved in the rock, little Ab holding his hand. As they get deeper, (Y/N) can feel more and more pairs of eyes fixed on her from the shadows. Their fear reaches her through the Force. This is the last shelter for the Rebellion left in the Jolah system, keeping those who were left behind safely hidden in these dark and humid passages. Here survive the children of her companions, most of them fallen now, and a few rebels that were too severely injured to flee or fight, all trapped and surrounded by the enemy, their lives depending on the secret of their existence.

And she’s brought the enemy right into their last refuge.

These old passageways have become their fortress. (Y/N) is received as a hero, the first good news in way too long. She’s warned not to venture far on her own, since they don’t know how far the tunnels go or what dangers might she fall into. The adults keep the living area clean and safe for a functioning community of around sixty people, but there are strict rules not to wander, since those who get lost don’t usually come back. The oldest among those who can still fight, mostly between thirteen and sixteen, have stepped up to lead the group. Roles are carefully distributed, since their survival depends on all of them doing their job right. They live off whatever the forest can provide and the help of some sympathizers living in the town half a day away. But Imoviah, a local who’s lived in these woods all his life brewing ardees, is the only one who knows exactly the location of their hiding spot, since he comes and goes on supply runs. 

The competence the kids display saddens her. The war of their parents has made soldiers out of them. 

(Y/N) is glad that the chance to rest her injuries for a bit came while she was unconscious, or she would’ve had trouble hiding from them like a moody teenager. She feels bad for wanting to be left alone, but each of their constant questions poke at her heart. What battles she’s fought, what heroes she knew. The rebel came to Jolah on a mission to evacuate them, but after the attack that took her companion’s lives she doesn’t have any resources to do so. If she doesn’t figure it out, they’re all lost. They can’t keep hiding forever, since it’s only a matter of time before the Empire finds them, and that’s just they haven’t been found already. 

Her senses timidly tread down the corridors, to where the prisoner is being kept. She doesn't feel strong enough to face him yet, so she can just wonder what kind of trick Luke is trying to pull by surrendering himself.

So she lets her allies show her around and feed her while she yearns for the moment she can finally be excused. Of course, after she goes to rest that night, nightmares don’t take long to wake her. She’s used to it by now so, knowing that she won’t be able to fall asleep for a few hours, she decides to walk the scare off and maybe relieve whomever happens to be on watch duty.

However, as soon as she steps out of the chamber she was sleeping in, a cool gust hits her face. The whisper of a voice follows right after, faintly calling. Can it really be her name? She chases after the exhalation through the passages in the dark, enthralled by a strange tingling sensation in the back of her head.

Then she wakes up in an unfamiliar place. Stars flicker above her head, and the cold air hits her face. She’s outside. The instinct to flee back to safety kicks in, but she can’t help notice the concentric circles carved on the floor, lighting up with a bluish glow that turns brighter with the vibrations in her aura getting stronger. As she tries to put a finger on where she has seen the carved patterns before, the lights continue to vibrate in tune with her own signature. She’s no doubt standing in a sanctuary.The symbols climb up to some sort of table, perhaps even an altar, made out of the same rock. She is known by this place, though she doesn’t remember ever being to somewhere so strong in the Force. It feels like she could reach with her hand and touch it.  The swaying of its currents invites her to stay, promising healing and peace. Oh, how dearly she has missed the light, unambiguous and true. She lets the nostalgia wash over her, one that doesn’t belong to her, a gaze turned to years past before this place was abandoned and forgotten. 

However, she isn’t a stranger to those feelings of loss that fill the carved terrace. Where she once held hope, now she grieves for the loss of her comrades and the future that should have been, one where Jedi would rediscover this place. Now that will never happen, and she can’t help the feeling that she has a hand in the erasure of their kind. Not long ago, she still dreamt of being knighted someday, but that path has disappeared forever. The Jedi are dead.

A dreadful realization creeps over her. She hasn’t just led the enemy into a rebel base, but also into a Jedi sanctuary. It seems to have been built on top of the rocky formation under which the tunnels hide, on a high spot unreachable from the outside. It has probably been thanks to its benevolent influence that the refugees have managed to remain hidden but now, because of her, this sacred place won’t be able to protect them anymore.

She runs down the stairs, back to the darkness, flooded by the guilty need to do something.

***

The guard she finds watching over the heavy door of the cell, a teenager holding a blaster awkwardly, insists that she should go back to rest, but she ignores the warning. She needs to talk to the prisoner, for unselfish reasons this time. 

“Go take a walk, will you?” she tells him.

On the way here she’s been forming the idea that maybe she’ll be able to exchange her precious hostage for safe passage out of the planet, at least for those hiding in the tunnels. Suddenly, these children might stand a chance. And maybe she won’t be responsible for their capture.

However, as soon as she steps into the dungeon she’s shaken by her own body’s betrayal, choosing now of all times to remind her of that embrace from earlier that afternoon. Luke’s warmth hasn’t left her yet, nor the memory of his cloak shielding her from the rain with the promise of more to be found under those layers of black robes. It brings a displeased sigh to her lips.

As the heavy door closes behind her, the rebel finds her prisoner standing next to the tiny opening in the wall that serves as a window, his expectant expression immediately turned to her. Those stubborn wildflowers have made their way down there, their pure white heads shyly poking through the opening in the rock. Instinctively, Luke steps towards her, but quickly reminds himself to stop in his tracks. Good. She finds a twisted pleasure in making him wait and wonder, reveling in the agitation of his contradicting thoughts. It makes her feel a little less alone in her uncertainty. After they’re finally alone behind a locked gate she takes her time to sit on a stool, to try and get comfortable in spite of her injured leg, all while avoiding his gaze. She doesn’t know where to start. 

“What are you trying?” At her question, Luke opens his mouth to talk, but interrupts himself. (Y/N) groans. “We both know it’s not a great military strategy to go after an enemy on your own and let yourself be captured by a bunch of children.”

“I had to see you.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Again, doubt. She waves away the whispers of the Force, too angry to listen to his emotions reaching her.

“Actually, no, I don’t. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been a little busy trying not to get killed by your people. Forgive me if I haven’t been considering your feelings while I saw my friends die and starve in the mud. Tell me, how long before your hounds come for these children? Are you gonna kill them? Or do you prefer washing their brains to turn them into soldiers that would go murder their own parents and everything they fight for? The ones you haven't orphaned already, that is.”

In the middle of those accusations, he flinches. One of them makes him angry, then that initial jab turns to a deeper pain. She doesn’t even care which one did it.

“I came here on my own, I swear. No one else knows.”

“Save your promises. I’ve seen how you keep them.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” he insists, his exasperation growing.

“Oh, no, of course not. You’re a saint. I remember you said that, next time we crossed paths, I’d get the rebel treatment.”

Luke raises his bound wrists, like that’s enough of an answer. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Playing the rebel part?” She scoffs, but he’s not done. “Listen, I understand why you’re doing this. But I hoped you’d realize-” he interrupts himself again.

“What?”

Luke swallows thickly, fearing the storm he’s about to summon. “That this isn’t helping anyone. If you just took the help that’s being offered to you…”

“I can manage perfectly on my own, thank you,“ she spits.

“I see how well that’s working out for you.”

His petulant tone makes (Y/N) stand up from her seat with just the strength of her rage, ignoring the painful flare that runs down her leg. “Listen carefully. You’re free to come fight me, imprison me, even try to kill me and it would all be fair. That's what I get for getting into a war. But I won’t hear this talk about how much I need your protection or pity. You don’t get to disrespect me like that.”

Luke clenches his jaw and just stares at her, visibly holding his tongue. There it is again, the darkness congregating in his hands, making his blood pump with wrath. How far does she have to push before he gives in to it?

“And it tears me apart that you'd treat me as your pet,” she spits, more sincere than she’d like.

Because she would crumble down if she looked away, she bravely maintains contact with his unbearable gaze, seeing in it how he considers making her do what he wants. A rotten part of her wishes to see him try, shattering  in the process all remains of tenderness they might still harbor for each other. And even though it inspires genuine horror in her, her anger makes her swallow it up whole. It’s all because of this dark thread buried deep in her chest, pulling out towards him. Until now, she’s been able to drown that pull as background noise as she carried out her duties, but now that Luke is this close it’s brutal. Like a black hole, deep inside she wants to give into the attraction and disappear in his shadow.

And then she realizes she has stood up. She feels like a fool, standing confused and defensive in the middle of the room, her chest pounding furious as if she just climbed up a mountain. The rebel stares at him up and down as she sits again, breathless. 

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything. It’s all you.”

She stares at the floor, shaken by shame. After all the work of hardening her heart, of convincing herself that she hated him, she feels herself slip down again. Luke's voice is but a mere whisper, like he's talking to himself. 

“You can’t lie to me either, can you?”

“It’s just…” As her mental shields come down she can’t help feeling like a lost child. “I didn’t expect this to be so cold.” 

Instantly, Luke has come to kneel before her, eyes raised up to her with a question. It makes it so easy for her to reach for his left hand to softly rest the back against her cheek. Gently melting into each other’s space, she curses herself for letting him in her mind, for having let things go so far in the first place. 

“I bet you regret not killing me when you had the chance,” she says, unsure of why she expects him to laugh. Maybe because it would be easier to stomach than seeing him tilt his head, between horrified and exhausted, and answer earnestly.

“I’m not giving you up. I tried to deny it too at first, before I knew that you felt the same way.”

Luke’s signature wraps around her like a lover’s caress, welding itself with hers perfectly as he delves deeper into her open defenses. It is the warmth, the sweet warmth she has missed, that eases the many loads she’s been carrying on her own. The rebel presses a kiss on his knuckles.

“I hate you.”

Luke offers a soft grin in response, knowing she can pile that on top of all of the other messed up feelings she holds for him. He’s so willing to take them all. “I probably deserve it.”

The one that weighs more now, though, is the void of his absence finally filled again. Her tears for it dried so much suffering ago. His bound hands trace up the shapes of her neck, a reminder that this weakness is shared. She tastes this irresponsible consolation for her sins as her fingers delve into his hair. One defeat after another, loss after loss, (Y/N) has grown small and spent, too tainted with hatred to try and bring him back. She has filled all the time away from him with a half hearted search for hope, and she hasn’t found it.

His breath on her throat relieves her cold skin.

“What are we going to do?” 

“You talk as if there was an option we weren’t to regret.”

“Is that what you want? Something regrettable?” Luke offers, his closeness alluring as she grabs the collar of his tabard and brings him closer. However, they only dare allow their lips to brush lightly in passing. “We could escape from everything. Disappear to some remote place where no one knows who we are.”

“We both know we won’t do that,” she chuckles. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Seeing you consider it for a second was nice, though.”

What’s out there still finds the way to invade their intimacy, much to (Y/N)’s growing feelings of dread. “I can either be a good rebel and take you prisoner or fuck you and go on pretending nothing happened afterwards. Not both. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m in a bit of a predicament at the moment.”

Even now, she finds herself playing the twisted game of seeing how far she can take him, maybe in the hopes of finding something ugly to punish herself with. Instead, Luke opens up to her. 

"Alright. Use me then.” Luke lets out a brief laugh, though a certain bitterness can be felt through it, as if even he resents his own impulsive streak. “Ask for any ransom you want and you will have it."

"Like I'd trust the Empire."

"You wouldn't have to. You'll use my personal code to talk directly to the person you need.”

(Y/N) stands up from her seat, too exhausted to feign dismay, and takes clunky steps around the room. She really hadn’t woken up contemplating that she’d be ending her day with a chat with Vader. Luke stays down, next to the stool, as if he didn’t have the upper hand in this in spite of being captive.

“Same issue.”

“Whatever I promise to you, he will honor it. I swear.” Heavens, he’s a brat. “I get it, you loathe the idea. But I also might be getting a feeling that you have some urgent demands.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

“The Jedi sanctuary.”

Her jaw tightens. “Not really mine to give away, is it?”

“Then it won’t hurt, will it?” Her nostrils flare at the comment, but she keeps silent. Even if she doesn’t fully comprehend its importance, she’s not keen on the idea of letting this sacred place be potentially defiled. However, it’s true that she really doesn’t have much of a choice. 

“There’s something else I want,” he continues.

“Spit it out.”

“I just want you to answer some questions.” Her eyes narrow. That is too vague and she has too many secrets she’s not willing to give away. “Don’t worry, they won’t endanger anyone’s life.”

The rebel snaps her tongue and shifts in her seat. But nods. “Alright. You’ll have them answered.”

Well, as much as she hates the situation, maybe she has the chance to take this to good port. Do something good. Hell, she can’t remember the last time she thought of herself as a good person, back when she was so eager to struggle for reasons she can’t even remember anymore. Acting in hopes of making her dead master proud, like he could see her, feel foolish now. However, there’s one thing she misses from her past righteous little self, and that’s knowing how to fight. Yeah, perhaps she was too hard on herself back then. Maybe she was good. However, that illusion fades as she voices this one command.

"Put your hands against the wall.” This is far from wise and she hates herself for it. However, her common sense has been taken captive by the lovely confusion blooming on Luke’s face. “You can either do it or wait for me to change my mind."

That candid expression she’d missed so much in him dissolves into a bratty smirk. "Yes, ma'am."

She doesn’t appreciate the attitude, not when she’s this angry. There’s a second when he’s with his back turned to her, handcuffed wrists against the wall of the cell, that she considers listening to reason and leaving. Instead, the challenge becomes appetizing. Afraid to let her doubt be read, she steps closer. Luke inhales sharply as she reaches around and, carefully at first, palms over his trousers. She quickly finds what she’s come looking for. 

“Is this your usual reaction whenever you come chasing after me? No wonder you put so much effort in hunting me down.” 

Luke shudders when she presses on his erection more boldly this time, revealing the prolonged aching he’s been hiding. Exactly what she needs to hastily undo the fastenings, eager to make most of the little time they might have for this. The rebel lightly rakes down the soft, light brunette hairs of his happy trail, making him sigh. Satisfied with her first little incursion and desirous for another one, she gives a generous lick to her palm before sliding it into his pants, while her other hand tugs down on the waistband of his underwear before digging her fingers into his hip. She rubs wet circles around the sensitive head of his cock, already painfully swollen and pink, and takes delight in the soft whimper she gets in response to her slightly aggressive and sudden attentions. But she decides to be merciful and softens the touch with the first stroke down the full length. She intends for this to be quick but she still wants to enjoy it a little.

“Here I come to talk business while your thoughts drift somewhere else entirely,” she teases. Luke hums something that’s meant to sound like an apology. It succeeds at softening her tone. “Don’t worry about it, I got you. Next time, just ask.”

While he leans against the wall, he can get a good view of everything she’s doing. It’s only fair, since she loves to watch his enthralled face progressively let go of that put together facade he exhibited at first, the red deepening across his cheeks and his eyes brimming with filthy pleas, like he doesn’t believe this is happening to him.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grabs her collar and brings her up, her back hitting the wall. Before she can protest her lips are captured in his, needy and warm and sloppy, as his palms cup her cheeks, one burning hot and the other cool leather.

“Please, love. Faster,” Luke begs through the tiny gap he allows, making the grip between her legs tighten around nothing. The mere touch of her own clothes there has her already burning for more. The rebel melts at the sight of need painted in the glossy eyes of her enemy, at being held so sweetly after so long, and realizes that she can’t get angry at him. 

“That’s it. Ask me anything,” as she happily complies, her hand dancing with soft movements of his hips, a low moan forms from the back of his throat. “I can’t get enough of your pretty face when you do.” 

Whispering more praise, she covers Luke’s throat with open kisses. Her free hand climbs up his torso, hard fingers tracing the toned shapes under the black robes. Upon reaching his chest she pinches and twists slightly, stealing a surprised whimper that tells her that she's succeeded at finding a nipple 

Suddenly, rustling on the other side of the door freezes them both in place. Her hand suddenly stops, but she keeps it tightly wrapped around him.

“(Y/N),” Imoviah calls, “are you alright in there?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” (Y/N) answers, enjoying the sudden shame spreading all over her lover’s face. “Negotiations are going well.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

Luke’s hips start rolling with short, irregular movements. He’s tried, but he can’t help himself any longer. She covers his mouth and gives his dick a light squeeze and twist that brings out a delicious, hot moan to be muffled against her palm.

“Not for now. The prisoner has proven to be quite cooperative.”

“Alright, then. Give me a holler if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Imoviah. I’ll be with you shortly” 

As the steps walk away, she slowly resumes her thrusts, slightly opening the fingers over Luke’s mouth to trace over his lips. Not before long, he’s sucking on them. 

“Suddenly worried about your reputation? That's cute.”

He just whines through her fingers, a glint of hurt pride in his teary eyes. Slowly, his hands descend from the wall to sweetly stroke down her face, down her throat. However, as soon as they reach her collar, a violent flare of fear blares inside her brain, bouncing through every corner that makes her abruptly grab his bound wrists and return them to their original position, over her head and against the wall.

Luke calls her name with visible concern, but before he can voice it she grabs the back of his hair and increases the pace until he’s out of breath and out of words. And she’s not done yet, because then she retreats her hand so she gets to watch him grow desperate, throbbing miserably, shameful pleas molten into incoherent whining.

“See? You know how to behave.” Finally, she decides it’s time to reward him with more stimulation, swirling the precum around his pink head with thorough fingers before resuming the long awaited strokes. “I’m so in love with your cock.”

The answer is little more than a sighed strain of clumsy thank yous. Pleased with how cute he’s become from just fucking her hand, she brings him closer now, and allows him to rest his head in the crook of her shoulder. No one knows, not a single soul, that the deadliest man alive becomes a squirming mess both when he’s touched and when he isn’t. Her hand answers to his desperate motions with the fast pace he’s begging for, set on bringing him over the edge this time. While words seem to be escaping Luke right now, the soft whimpers in her ear confess how close he is, how hopelessly he craves for his own undoing by her hand.

However, her attentions are suddenly interrupted by the sound of steps outside the cell again. They’re faster this time, with a sense of urgency to them.

“Miss,” the guard, again. “It’s the Imps! They’re scouting the area. They haven’t found any of the entrances yet, but there’s talk of running away.”

“No, that would be more dangerous. Round everyone inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Luke drowns a frustrated whine in her shoulder. The rebel turns her head back to the man panting against her neck, and gently runs a hand through his hair.

“You gotta go,” he groans.

“Luke…”

“It’s fine, really. Go,” he insists, gently pushing her hands away. The pain travels through their bond to her in the form of an unbearable thirst, as if it wasn’t perfectly visible to her already. She’d hate leaving him like this, so he distracts her with a hasty, breathless kiss. “There’s no time now, sweetheart. You gotta run or you’re gonna regret it. And be sure to bring my comlink, quick.”

#sorry to leave it at that i promise the next one has all the spice #pomegranate #my writing #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader #smut #dark luke skywalker #sith luke skywalker #is it a slow burn in the smut scale if they've reached this point without penetrative sex

[didyoutrydynamite]

I have a Grimm idea I think you'd like.

The Scurrier. The Battle Grimm

Appearance: The Scurrier is roughly three inches in length and around an inch in height. With one inch long mandibles. Its Carapace is solid white while its four legs and two pincers and underside are black.

Basic Abilities: Its mandible and forward pincers are capable of tearing through most materials with ease with only specially treated steel and dust barriers able to withstand them. It also produces an acid that when come in contact with living tissue causes said tissue to combust.

Unique ability: Unlike most Grimm which as they age develop more bone plate armor and gain intelligence, the Scurrier instead remains the same visually but starts to secrete a pheromone that attracts more of its species into its proximity, developing a type of hive mind similar to Bees and Ants, that can, if left to its own, cause untold damage to entire settlements, including well established cities.

Threat level: 5. Unlike other Grimm which have threat levels that are highly affected by their age and intelligence, Scurriers, due to their fact ability to converge with one another extremely quickly and ability to bypass most standard defenses, are an extremely deadly threat.

Note: Children being able to step on and kill these Grimm does not negate their threat. Treat every sighting as though it is a level 5 threat. Underestimate these things at your own determent

YIKES. Imagine falling into a pile of razor mouths. Reminds me of that giant ant scene from Indiana Jones. I like it!

#creatures of grimm

[burnwater13]

Concept art by Christian Alzmann. The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 3, The Streets of Mos Espa. Boba Fett stands next to the rancor running his hand over it's head, while the creature lies down.

Din Djarin appreciated that Boba Fett had learned to respect the rancor and treated it like he would have treated a massif or a Loth cat, but he couldn’t imagine doing the same to such a large critter. It seemed to him that whenever he and a huge critter crossed paths, the bounty hunter was always the one who ended up the worse for it. 

The ravinak on Pagodon had damaged the Razor Crest’s port side landing strut. That had cost a packet to fix. Then he nearly got stomped by the blurgg and shamed by the Ugnaught for his trouble. Of course there was that mudhorn. It destroyed his armor and all he got for all that was the opportunity to buy back the parts of his ship and the pleasure of repairing it without proper garage facilities. 

Then he’d had no choice but to bring the kid back to the client. He needed that camtono of beskar to put his armor right. Neither he nor the Ugnaught could fix it. That had to be done by a Mandalorian Armorer and the only one he knew was back on Nevarro. So he goes back there and those Kowakian monkey lizards were always too close. If you were missing something on Nevarro odds were even that one of those monkeys had grabbed it and you’d have a hell of a time getting it back. 

At least when he went to Sorgan the critters were small and blue. Spotchka blue. His first layer was that color now thanks to the time he spent in those damn krill ponds waiting for the marauders’ AT-ST to take it’s final, fatal step.  He was glad that he wasn’t part of a Mandalorian tribe or enclave after that. The amount of harassment he would have gotten was more than the value of having others of his kind around to remind him how easy it was to fall away from the Creed. 

And the kid, the kid loved all of those critters. Even the mudhorn. Which, Din Djarin, considered was just the sort of thing he would have liked at that age. Whatever age the kid really was. He certainly didn’t act like any fifty year old the Mandalorian knew, but then Din Djarin knew so few of them. Maybe they were like children and he’d just never noticed. He supposed that he could ask Bo-Katan. She knew more Mandalorians than he did. 

But that wouldn’t change the fact that Grogu found the critters fascinating. The reptavians on Nevarro, the massifs, bantha, and Krayt dragons on Tatooine, even the ice spiders on Maldo Kreis. Neither one of them every wanted to see those critters ever again, but  they had been fascinating from a couple parsecs away. Much like the mamacore and it’s offspring. Awful up close and personal, but fascinating when you were reviewing their biology, habits, habitat, and population from the nice safe interior of a starship on the other side of the galaxy from them. 

There had been times when Din Djarin had wondered if Grogu just attracted the critters. He knew there were people like that. They could walk through the loneliest place on any planet and every critter, person, life form, what have you, would find them. He remembered meeting one of them on the Wheel. 

The space station shouldn’t have had any ‘wild’ critters on it. But when he walked into the tavern on the lower ring, there she was, a young woman, surrounded by all sorts of critters. Scurriers, ysalamiri, gorgs, and all manner of tiny rodents. She seemed to be talking to them and when she noticed him looking at her, she said something and they all zipped away. All but one ysalamir, which wrapped itself around her ankle.

She had nodded at him and paid attention to her drink and he seemed to just forget about her. He did whatever he was there to do, but when he went back to his ship he noticed that ysalamir laying near it. When as asked it where its friend was, the creature ran across the docking bay and he noticed the young woman just moving out of sight, with a long line of small critters following her. Maybe Grogu was like her?

It was funny that he remembered her while thinking of the critters. He’d tried to remember that strange meeting that wasn’t really a meeting on The Wheel for years, but it was just the critters that brought her back to his mind, where she seemed to disappear just as easily. Maybe that’s why Grogu and Fett and even that young woman, whoever she was, liked the critters. Large or small, terrifying or delicate, if you remembered the critters, then you remembered the people who had met them.  

After all, Din Djarin was never likely to forget the Krayt dragon and all the people he’d met because of that critter. Or the blurggs. Or the reptavians. Even those wretched spiders would always remind him of Niebla, the Frog lady and her husband and children. And he and Grogu would be bound together because of that mudhorn. It had become their clan name and would be part of their line for generations. 

Perhaps that was why Fett liked the rancor. Together they were unforgettable. 

#calendar prompt a day #din djarin #grogu #the book of boba fett #boba fett #the rancor #unforgettable

[hisownworstinvention]

Hi guys. My splatoon agent headcanons if you even care ALL OF THEM ARE AROACE FOREVER

Captain / Agent 3 - they/he/she aroace genderfluid, 19yo

5'10" Inkling

He's not mute she just. Prefers to not speak because their voice is very quiet and they don't like raising it so they prefer to use sign language

They like to keep to themself and she avoids talking to others unless he Has To. He is awkward as all hell and she dreads the idea of Interacting With Other Beings oooohhh the googlies

SHE'S TRYINF HER BEST. AS CAPTAIN. He has never done this in their life they're NEW TO THIS guys

THE AUTISM BLASTER + depression

Still feels guilty as hell about the fact they almost beat Eight to death and they apologize for it as much as he possibly can

Caffeine drinker 4000

People look at her and go like "Girl what happened to your face" and he shoots them a death glare and they shut up

Introverted

Agent 4 - they/she aroace demigirl, 16yo

Shortest of the agents. Like 4'11". Pipsqueak Inkling

Im going to be honest she doesn't know what she's doing but they try their best so it's ok we forgive them

AUDHD 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

They have a loud voice and people have to tell them to be quiet and it makes her sad

Her favorite activity is frolicking /j unless

They tried to smuggle an Octarian (specificslly an Octoball, which they heard about from Captain then promptly ran off to find) to keep as a pet and moped for like weeks when they were told that they can't do that and it isn't legal

She really really likes talking to people and goes on for hours about the randomest shit ever and people love her for thst

SLEEPS LIKE A DEAD PERSON like. In the family guy death pose too. It's ok guys they're alive

Has vocal stims like "YOU USED TO CALL ME ON YOUR CELLPHONE 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥" and "I'm 1! Boioioing" (I am projecting)

Full of childish whimsy and wonder

She's surprisingly tough for someone so small

Extroverted

Agent 8 - they/them aroace nonbinary, 16yo

5'7" Octoling

Selective mutism. Sometimes they talk sometimes they're like ☝️☝️☝️☝️👂👂

Inklings SCARE THEM. The googlies. They arent scared scared but very intimidated

OTH #2 fan only second to Agent 4 who is the world's biggest fangirl

AUTISM ✌️✌️✌️😇😅😀😃😆😀😅😀🤣🤣🤣🫠 And anxiety and ptsd too I think

Shy as all hell I think they'd rather get crucified than make a phone call (4 usually helps them with that since theyre like. Roommates or something isnt that canon I forget)

They really like gardening even though theyre kind of bad at it there's just like a bunch of dead plants all over their house (they don't know they're dead)

SCARY GOOD AT FUCKINH. SQUID CANDY CRUSH AND SQUID BEATZ

They can't play piano. At all. Theyve tried so many times they can't do it

After the events of Side Order they have gained a strong dislike of gelatin

They keep insisting it's fine and they're not mad at Captain but he does NOT listen and keeps apologizing

Introvert

Neo Agent 3 - they/it agender aroace, 14yo

5'4" Octoling

THE SCURRIER

AuDHD 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Completely mute. Doesn't really know sign language either and doesn't show any interest in wanting to learn because apparently everyone understands them just fine

It zones out really often and kind of just. 😐😐😐😐

It is SCARILY flexible. Them after contorting their body in ways not even squid jesus could imagine (it thinks it's funny)

Smuggled a Smallfry out of Salmon Run and is banned from Salmon Run (Also for beating the shit out of Mr. Grizz and squidbagging him after)

They draw pictures of their friends a lot and everyone's (especially Captain's) walls are covered in little doodles of them

It looks up to Captain a lot. They think 4 is nice and they think 8 is just. Really badass they also want to save the world not once but twice

It squidbags people it doesn't like COUGH MR GRIZZ COUGH

Introvert (as far as everyone is aware)

The end 😝😝

#headcanon #splatoon #agent 3 #captain 3 #agent 8 #agent 4 #neo agent 3 #new agent 3

[materassassino]

Idk if you’re still taking prompts (I follow you on Twitter) but I would love 12. “It looks good on you.” With dinluke if you’d like…no pressure tho ofc!

Probably nothing like what you had in mind, but my brain is refusing to engage today, lol.

Send me a pairing and a prompt!

--

To say it was a surprise would have a gross understatement. It was a shock to the very core, the sort where a good hit with a woodoo feather would’ve knocked Cobb flat on his ass. Not only was Mando married, but it was to the Larses’ wide-eyed runt, Wormie Skywalker. Who, granted, had filled out nicely in the years since the Lars homestead was burnt to the ground and he’d vanished. Were Jedi supposed to wear pants that tight? Cobb wasn’t sure. He wasn’t complaining, anyway, a nice ass was a nice ass.

He threw back his – fifth? He’d stopped counting a hot minute ago – glass of Luranian brandy (the good stuff, fit for a king, Cobb supposed wryly) and eyed the way Mando was staring at his personal piece of arm candy. He couldn’t read shit through the helmet, but he could damn well read body language and Mando’s made him smirk. He was besotted, it was easy enough to tell. Across the room, Skywalker was dancing with his sister (a long-lost twin, like something from a cheap holodrama), spinning her in a circle and laughing all bright and blinding.

“You’re eatin’ him with your eyes under that helmet, huh?” Cobb said, teasing. Mando startled, turning to look at him, shoulders suddenly tense – flustered.

“N-no,” he lied, making Cobb snort.

“Sure you are, can tell a mile away. Take a blind man not to notice.” He raised his glass at the bartender, who swooped over to give him a refill. “Don’t be ashamed, Mando. He’s your husband, you can look all you want.” He quirked his eyebrows suggestively.

Mando dipped his head, staring pointedly at the floor now, very much not at Skywalker. Cobb really hadn’t expected the man to be so damn coy about it, like a schoolkid with his first crush. It was adorable, actually. Throughout the evening Cobb had had his perception of Mando completely turned on its head: this wasn’t the same man that strode into Freetown and demanded the armour off his back, willing or not. Scratch that, it probably was, but that Mando had been in a different place. A place of fear, distant from everyone except the kid, off on an uncertain quest with an uncertain outcome. This Mando, the Mando beside him now, well… he had stability. He seemed serene, not glancing warily over his shoulder, not stoic and distant. They’d conversed, which had been as much a shock to Cobb as the whole marriage thing. And while Cobb could have been a little bitter, a little jealous, that the person to draw that out wasn’t him, there wasn’t much of a point. Plenty more scurriers in the Dune Sea, after all.

The brown Wookiee headed over to the dancefloor and handed the kid to Skywalker, and Mando’s helmet rose again, locked on the sight.

Skywalker was cradling the kid like he was born to, probably asking a question, because little Grogu clapped his hands excitedly and Skywalker laughed. He then began to sway to the new song that had just started, and Cobb heard a small intake of breath, crackled through a modulator, beside him. He grinned.

“It looks good on you,” he said.

“What does?” Mando asked, confused. He didn’t tear his gaze away from husband and son, stilled transfixed by the sight of them.

“Settlin’ down.” Cobb downed his shot and gave Mando a clap on the pauldron. “Go dance, fool.”

Mando tensed. “I don’t dance,” he mumbled.

“What kind of man doesn’t dance with his own husband!?” Cobb exclaimed with a gasp, and Mando seemed suitably chagrined by that. “Go on! Get!”

Cobb watched him awkwardly hurry off, leaning back against the bar and chuckling to himself. At least it was another Tatooine boy that snatched him up. He’d claim that as victory by proxy.

#star wars #dinluke #the mandalorian #din djarin #cobb vanth #luke skywalker #grogu #chewie cameo! #pixie writes #prompts

[arlydarkfire]

Dwaggy

[Dwah-Gee] noun

1. A little creature. A blight upon this earth. A scuttler and a scurrier. Some may say a scrungler. In many ways akin to a Dragon but so, so much worse.

2. Me!

#dragon #vtuber uprising #envtuber #monster girl #dwaggy #arlyposting #artlydarkfire

[quarantineddreamer]

Synchronous Scars (click for AO3)

A RebelCaptain centered Andor AU

The night the garrison on Ferrix is blown up, a strange girl arrives on the Andor's doorstep, and Cassian receives a strange, new mark -a scar in the shape of a star. ~~~ When Jyn awakes in an unfamiliar place, a strange boy sleeping by her side, she discovers a scar from a blaster wound she can't remember. ~~~ There's no time to think about any of this when you're always running -chasing after some semblance of peace, desperately searching for a lost fragment of home and a path forward. 

Maybe one day.

I am nervous, crying, screaming, throwing up, and excited to start sharing this fic! It will be updating biweekly on Sundays (though if chapter 1 gets enough of a response I might be tempted to post chapter 2 sooner, because...Jyn ♡). 

I am going to be fully cross-posting the fic here on top of posting on AO3 so people read on whatever platform they prefer. Hope you enjoy! 😱

Chapter 1 

“She was all alone?” 

“There were others –already running by the time I got there- they didn’t look back.”

“Who do you th-…with…” 

Cassian scowled from his hiding place behind the living room wall as Maarva’s voice grew fainter. How was he supposed to know what was going on if Clem and Maarva insisted on speaking so quietly? 

Nevermind that it was late and he was meant to be sleeping and that Maarva had swiftly locked his bedroom door the moment Clem had burst in from the cold, calling urgently for medical supplies. Whatever was happening the couple clearly did not want him involved. 

Which, of course, only intensified the curiosity surging through his fifteen year-old mind. 

As soon as Cassian was sure the entryway was clear, he had made quick work of the lock on his bedroom door –Maarva didn’t yet realize he’d picked up that trick- and crept quietly through the hallway to spy on the action. 

But the brick wall he leaned against was thick and a pile of crates was obscuring his view of the cot Maarva had hurriedly laid out and whatever, whoever was resting on it. 

Cassian knew he needed to get closer if he stood a chance at gleaming anything informative from the hushed conversation Maarva and Clem were having. He eyed the space between himself and the tower of crates, recalling faintly games of lost and found with Kerri back on Kenari. She had forced him to learn quickly how to move silently along the forest floor –she had always been the expert at the game, always craving a greater challenge. ‘Too easy, Kassa, too easy!’ she’d laugh, before dashing away to take her turn to hide. 

Cassian shook his head to clear away the memory, swallowing against the choking sensation that always seemed to settle in his throat when he thought back to his old life. The life of a different person. 

He slowly stepped forward, careful to keep his eyes on the shadows of Clem and Maarva in case they came his way. Several hammering heartbeats later he had made it safely to his new perch behind the crates and was fighting the urge to release a sigh of relief. He knew Clem might hear it. The man had ears like a scurrier. 

“She doesn’t look much younger than Cass,” Maarva was saying. 

Cassian wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but fought a small smile. He hated when Maarva and Clem used it in front of any of the other kids on Ferrix, but a small part of him appreciated the sign of affection, familiarity. 

“She’s not,” Clem agreed, and Cassian thought he caught the posture of the man’s shadow crumple slightly. 

Maarva sighed. “Then how did she get tied up in all of this?”. 

“You’ve heard the stories, it’s becoming more common. Orphans with hatred for the Empire and nothing left to lose make perfect recruits…” 

There was silence for a moment, and Cassian knew Maarva and Clem were probably having one of those strange wordless conversations they sometimes had, where nothing was said aloud, and yet Cassian sensed there was always an exchange of something between them. 

“I’ll go get more bacta pads.” There was the sound of Maarva’s feet scraping the floor. 

“We’re out,” Clem said grimly. “She’ll have to make do with the bandages we have.”

“I could go check with the Caleen’s-”

“No. Too far –the patrols are on edge tonight. They’ll take any excuse…”

“You think that has anything to do with her and her friends?”

“Maybe, I did find her by the wreckage, but I-”

“C-C-Cassian, what are you d-doing?”

Cassian swore and turned, without hope, to shush B2EMO –knowing it was already too late. The droid had not bothered to use any semblance of stealth. At least he did Cassian the courtesy of a low hum of apology as Maarva and Clem rushed over. 

“Cass? How did you-”

Hoping Maarva might not think too much about the implications of a certain bedroom door mysteriously unlocked if he spoke first Cassian cut in, “I heard Clem come home and he sounded worried so I came to see if everything was okay.” Not a complete lie… 

Crossed arms and a quirked eyebrow told Cassian that Clem bought none of this explanation. “Did you see much from down there?” he asked. 

Cassian hurriedly came to his feet, brushing dust from the knees of his pants. “I had just…dropped something?” he offered.

Clem’s mouth twisted in a way that suggested his careful mask of stern disappointment might have had an amused rival. “You’re a terrible spy.”

“Everything’s fine, Cassian, it’s just been a long night. Back to bed you go.” Maarva always was the stricter of the two. Motherly in a way that was both familiar and distant to Cassian –a tickle of a memory that stretched even further back than his days playing lost and found with Kerri.

But as Maarva moved towards him, hands prepared to usher him away, Cassian stepped back and his eyes sought an ally in Clem. “Who is ‘she’?” he asked quietly. 

Clem glanced at his wife, and there it was again, that silent discussion between them. 

Cassian tried to be patient and not feel left out, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see a small, mud-crusted pair of boots curled at the end of the cot. Who did the boots belong to? And why were they here in the Andor household in the dead of night?

Something must have been decided between Clem and Maarva, because when Cassian pulled his eyes back to them, Clem was watching him. “We don’t know her name, and we’re not certain where she’s from,” he told the boy honestly. “But she needed our help, so I brought her here. Do you understand?”

Like you brought me here? Cassian wanted to say, a brief flash of resentment rising in his chest, that familiar desire to tug on the string of what if creeping into him –cold and fierce in such a way that it hurt to resist. What if I hadn’t gone on that ship? What if I had gotten away from Maarva? Would I still be alive? Would Kerri be with me? What if Maarva hadn’t decided to play ‘hero’ and left him alone like he’d wanted…  

His eyes wandered back to the muddy boots. He wondered if the stranger had people waiting for her at home. If Clem’s ‘rescue’ of her had been consensual, or if she would be as confused as he had been to be ‘saved’. Lost and lonely and angry and afraid…

Clem was watching him, Maarva too. Cassian forced himself to set aside his own issues and focus again on the mystery in front of him. Now wasn’t the time for another fight. Besides, they’d all been getting along recently; Clem was even showing him how to refurbish old parts, teaching him the way a father would his own son. And truly, he had no one else. 

When he’d managed to taper his bitterness somewhat, Cassian gave a brisk nod and waited for Clem or Maarva to speak again.

Clem placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a small, sad smile. “She’s hurt, and she won’t be awake for awhile,” he explained. 

“And we’re out of bacta pads,” Cassian murmured regretfully. 

Maarva shook her head and buried a hand in her curls with a chuckle. “You’ll listen when you should be sleeping, but when I ask you to tidy your room you’ve got dust in your ears, huh?”

Cassian shrugged.

Maarva rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, giving in. “I’m going to go get more supplies,” she declared, and B2EMO followed her as she made for the hallway and its storage closet. 

To Cassian’s surprise, Clem also followed, leaving him alone in the room. The faint light of a lantern cast a halo of white onto the figure on the cot. It called to him like a beacon. 

Dark splatters of blood marked the floor, Cassian followed them until he was standing beside the mysterious girl.

Maarva had been right. She looked to be about his age, maybe a year or so younger. Her dark hair was slipping free from a ponytail, errant strands laying across a too-pale face. Dry blood accompanied them, smudged on her cheek, but there was not enough light for Cassian to tell whether or not the blood belonged to her.

Maarva or Clem had placed a blanket over her, but it had slipped, revealing a bandage wrapped tightly around her torso. Blood was already beginning to seep through, a crimson flower blooming on the left side of her thin frame.

The girl’s face began to contort, her brows knitting together, a deep frown settling. She muttered something indistinct –maybe a name. 

Cassian felt a pang of sympathy.  When she began to tremble, he reached to reset the blanket. 

A hand seized his wrist in a vice-like grip. Eyes, green as the trees of Kenari, caught his, wide and panicked. She was upright, panting as though caught mid-sprint, and her skin was clammy and feverish against his. 

“You’re okay –it’s okay,” Cassian murmured, hoping she could understand him, trying to convey as much calm as possible –a challenge, considering his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when she startled him. 

“Where am I? What’s happened?” The emerald eyes were flicking about the room –assessing, preparing-  settling anywhere but his face. Her fingernails had begun to dig into his arm.

Before Cassian could form a reply, the girl began to tug at his wrist. “Let go of me!” she demanded, spitting fury, an injured animal caught in a trap.

“Careful!” he said forcefully. Then, with more gentleness, “Careful…you’re hurt.” He tapped his fingers against her forearm. “And you’re holding onto me.”

The girl blinked at him, some of the wild confusion beginning to fade from her face, replaced by a deep, deep exhaustion. Her hand loosened somewhat on his wrist. “Who…” She blinked again, her eyes struggling to keep focus on him, stubborn, determined, even as she began to sway. “Can’t st…” 

He could tell her instincts were waging war against the weight of the blood loss and using his free hand, he began to gently guide her backwards so she could rest her head on the cot’s pillow. He could see the helplessness on her face as she looked up at him, the fear. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. “You’re safe... We’ll take care of you.” 

She shook her head. “That’s a lie,” she muttered. “No one cares…”

“I do,” Cassian insisted, even though he wasn’t sure why he should, just knew that the girl’s hand was still at his wrist as though to anchor herself there, and that, whoever she was, whoever she had been until arriving in Ferrix, she was alone now. He knew what that felt like. To be alone and afraid and forced to put your trust in the hands of strangers. 

She stared at him, and for a few seconds he thought she may hang on to consciousness, as she scanned his face for signs of dishonesty and seemed to decide, with some surprise, that there were none. 

But then her head hit the pillow in earnest and she was gone again. 

Her fingers dragged across his wrist as the last of her muscles relaxed. 

Where her hand had been Cassian felt a sharp chill as night air settled against his skin. 

Her arm dangled off the cot now in a limp, lifeless manner he found upsetting.

“Cass? How’s she doing?” 

Maarva and Clem had returned, fresh bandages, an ancient-looking pharmpac, and sewing kit in hand. 

Cassian glanced at his adoptive parents briefly before turning back to the girl, taking her elbow, and settling her arm in a more comfortable position. “We should hurry,” he murmured, feeling oddly tense. 

He allowed himself to be nudged aside as Clem and Maarva sprung back into action, peeling away bandages and wiping away blood. Cassian watched from a distance, barely hearing Clem when he expressed concerns that the expired pharmpac would not be sufficient to hold the girl under; he caught himself flinching as Maarva set to work stitching the girl’s wound, his stomach twisting until he forced himself to look away. 

When they had done everything they could for their patient, Maarva and Clem stepped away. They didn’t appear confident in their work, and Cassian felt a shiver run down his spine. His skin was prickling. Had been prickling since the moment the girl’s hand had left his skin. 

“We should try and get some sleep. There’s nothing more to be done tonight… I’ll beg a bacta patch off of someone in the morning,” Clem said. 

But what if that’s too late? Cassian shuffled his feet, feeling unsettled. Sleep seemed about as ridiculous an idea as inviting an Imperial officer over for dinner. 

“What’s the matter, Cassian?” Maarva asked. 

He itched at his wrist, feeling as though he had waved it through an electric current. “I want… Can I sleep out here? In case she needs m-us?”

Clem and Maarva shared a glance, confused, but to Cassian’s relief they seemed too tired to argue. “Fine. Grab a spare blanket from the storage closet so you don’t catch a cold,” Maarva instructed.

Cassian nodded mutely, but did not move. Clem squeezed his shoulder good night. 

Minutes later, the room was silent, but for the gentle buzz of the lantern and the shallow breathing of the injured girl. Cassian was still rooted in place.

The problem was, for some strange, irrational, completely insane reason he did not think he could leave the room, could leave her, for even a second. The storage closet was just around the corner, but even that was too far. 

So, instead of the comfort of a blanket, Cassian found his jacket in its usual place –flung over one of the crates. He pulled it over himself as he settled into Maarva’s armchair, directly by the girl on the cot. 

He watched, and waited, and counted every breath. 

Until eventually, sleep pulled him away…

#rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain fanfic #andor #jyn erso #cassian andor #jyn x cassian #slow burn #b writes #synchronous scars