#coursing skira

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[figfull]

Coursing Skira!

Oh yeah!

[harkonnen-darkness]

I want to tell you that I had other plans before the X Reader story…

The picture of the woman (found on Pinterest) just reminded me of that. I created an OC back then, with a similar design. Light skin, white hair etc.

I kept some ideas for the X Reader story, but I also discarded many. My thoughts were that Skira's parents wanted Feyd to be the father of her child. Likewise followers of the Harkonnen wanted the folk to ask her to be a worthy warrior. No matter what gender, but the genes were very important. Who would be better than the Na-Baron and another warrior? Feyd, however, was against it at first, didn't want to mate with someone he didn't care for. Neither of them liked each other very much... but nobody cared. Healthy and strong offspring was more important.

It came to that, after which there was no more contact for a few months. Skira was pregnant and the time with him was over. When Feyd and his uncle visit Skira's home planet again (at the request of the baron and Skira's family), the young Harkonnen realizes, when he sees her growing belly, that perhaps he could have treated her a little better after all. At least a little. Skira, however, continues to try to remain cold, with only the rules of tradition in mind. No contact to the father. And especially not to Feyd-Rautha.

Later, a kind of love-hate relationship develops, similar to the one Feyd has now with Reader. However, it was planned the other way around here. Skira has zero trust in Feyd and the other Harkonnen. But no contact with the Atreides either. For her, only her own Folk is important, as they have all been betrayed too many times. She tries to avoid him, but, of course, she doesn't succeed.

I like the X Reader ideas much better now. Feyd doesn't think much of you at first, even if you and your people are followers of the Harkonnen. He only cared about himself. But the fact is, of course, that his thoughts on this will change. At first he wanted you as his partner-in-crime, but you both didn't know, at the time that the Baron and your family were already planning, that you and Feyd would marry. So that a worthy offspring would be born for both sides and the connection between the two worlds would not be broken.

I've kept a few ideas for the X Reader story because I think they fit in. So far, no one has objected. Cool! Now I will call your folk/people Skira(s?).

[jessicas-pi]

completely forgot about my medieval au when i was making incorrect quotes so here have some Incorrect Medieval AU Quotes

Omega: This is a very powerful artifact. We’ll be messing with some forces we don’t fully understand. Cal: That sounds like a dare to me.

---

Caleb: Why would you bite someone? Sabine (age 7): You weren’t there, you didn’t hear what they said to me! Caleb: What did they say? Sabine: "What are you gonna do, bite me?" Caleb: That’s fair.

---

Merrin: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

---

Rex: Ahsoka! Have you no dignity? Ahsoka: Of course not! How long have we known eachother?

---

Carthage: I think we should kiss. Sabine: And I think you should die but we don’t always get what we want.

---

Ahsoka: We have fun, don’t we, Rex? Rex: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

---

Omega: You remind me of the ocean. Merrin: Because I'm deep and mysterious? Omega: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

---

Ahsoka: *about Barriss and Adenn* They make a cute couple, huh? Rex, deadpan: They certainly are standing next to each other.

---

Zeb: Ooh, somebody has a crush Caleb: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Hera I just think she’s cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about her. *Later that night* Caleb, very much awake: Uh oh

---

Ahsoka: Can I bother you for a second? Rex: You're always bothering me, but go ahead.

---

Cal: Did Merrin just tell me she loved me for the first time? Omega: Yeah, she did. Cal: And did I just do finger guns back? Omega: Yeah, you did.

---

Adenn: Punch me in the face. Skira: ...Punch you? Adenn: Yes, punch me, didn’t you hear me? Skira: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ while you’re speaking but it’s usually just subtext.

---

Kidnapper: I have your children Hera: I don’t have children? Kidnapper: Then who’s the boy who just asked for warm milk and made me cut the crusts off his sandwich— Hera: Oh Force, you have Ezra. Kidnapper: —and the girl who headbutted me when I didn’t do it? Hera: Oh, you have Sabine, too. Okay. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.

---

Adenn: I think I'm falling for you. Barriss: Then get up.

---

*Discussing an image of a really hot knife cutting bread* Ahsoka: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife. Barriss: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful. Caleb: if you want information it is Cal: why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?

---

Ai-kel: I’m a fool, not an idiot.

---

Sabine (age 7): Why would you tell on us?! Ezra (age 5): I felt guilty. Sabine: Guilt is a trick emotion. It’s put there by our parents to stop us from doing things that feel good.

---

Korkie: I personally don't think it's possible to come up with a crazier plan. Ahsoka: We could attack them with hummus. Korkie: I stand corrected. Ahsoka: Just keeping things in perspective.

---

Ahsoka: Hey, Caleb? Can I get some dating advice? Caleb: Just because I'm with Hera doesn't mean I know how I did it.

---

Barriss: What is wrong with you? Ahsoka: Loaded question. Elaborate.

---

Sabine: Ezra and I are no longer friends. Ezra: SABINE THAT IS THE WORST WAY TO TELL PEOPLE THAT WE ELOPED!

---

Rex: Ahsoka, no. Ahsoka: Ahsoka, yes.

[kalevalakryze]

 nuhoyir

pairing: bo-katan kryze x the armorer

characters: bo-katan kryze, the armorer, din djarin, grogu, ragnar vizsla, axe woves (mentioned) , sabine wren (mentioned) , ahsoka tano (mentinoed)

warnings: none

notes: based off this post!

Ruling Mandalore was not an easy task for any one person, but… well, Bo could not deny the fresh air at the feeling of seeing all of the people together. Every building risen besides her fellow Mandalorian, Niteowl, Child of the Watch, Bounty Hunter, even those who’d had to remove their armor to survive, as they’d flocked back to their Home in the time it took to rebuild. There was no shortage of things to be done, for the Mand’alor, or The Armorer, who hadn’t once left her side. 

It was a new feeling, for sure, one that took a long time to get used to, but when she bounced ideas, plans, and even random nonsense off The Armorer, she was not ridiculed, she was not being suddenly impeached and thrown away like trash. Instead, The Armorer helped her see open gaps in her thinking, helped her understand how each decision would effect all points of view, instead of the ones she was used to worrying about. 

Even a year after retaking their home, things still weren’t perfect, to say. Mandalorians still fought, and she’d found herself pulled into her own brawl or two, but Skira, who’d finally stepped away from the helmet every now and then, had helped Bo see that there was a strength in walking away, that shed already proved herself, she didn’t need to keep doing so. 

Of course, both women found themselves in their old habits all too often. The habits they’d adapted to to survive were harder to drop than anything. When armor orders started rolling in, and she was still trying to train her apprentices, Skira often needed pulled away from the forge at night, needed help putting down the hammer and washing away the soot from the day. Bo managed to find other armorer’s, not nearly as skilled as Skira, but they’d known enough to keep their own armor maintained, had helped create their children’s armor from beskar alloys, and they were able to handle a large majority off training, until Skira’s schedule could open enough to move everyone a step forward. Even with her own adepts working on armor with her, she was only human, and Bo would still find her in the forge until late at night every couple of months. 

Bo’s survival adaptations had been mildly different. On the off chance that she could be found in her quarters, trying to sleep, she would be near fully armored. She avoided rest like a plague and chased more and more work until she couldn’t hold up to any promises she’d made. She’d be found trying to raise beams and supports, or weld brackets together, so the morning construction crews wouldn’t have to work so hard… The biggest issue had been her temper running shorter than ever the longer she’d deprived herself of sleep, until the smallest mistake in her midnight construction would have her shoving her foot into a beam until the wood would splinter and crack under the force, rendering a large material loss until Skira got a chance to step up. 

Even when she did manage to get Bo to rest, the Mand’alor would adamantly refuse to remove more than her helmet, jetpack, and knee joints, would sleep ready to activate her gauntlet’s blade or grapple, had buried the blade deep into her mattress on more than one occasion when a nightmare would have her tensing and striking out. It wasn’t until Bo-Katan had dropped in her storage room, had clawed at her armor and practically begged for help removing the chest plate, that Skira had decided the best way to help her Mand’alor.

Each night, Skira would pull Bo away from whatever activity she’d holed herself into, would make removing her armor a slow process each night, and would rub out the knots and stiffness in her muscles. It became a tradition of sorts, one both women would look forward to, where Bo would wipe away the mess of the forge from Skira’s skin, and Skira would help relieve the tension of carrying more than just Beskar on her shoulders.

For the last week, both women had been wrapped up in their respective habits, neither able to spare a moment to step away, not when Din was visiting to have Grogu’s first helmet fitted, and Bo-Katan had to handle her first debate with the New Republic over the Mandalore system’s control. 

When Din had landed that afternoon, it was to an all new Mandalore. They’d created a life on the surface to withstand the weather, and had also burrowed into the planet, had started to rebuild the old cities that few could remember from their lives before the purge. Grogu had been quick to run off and tag along with Ragnar, both Mandalorians more than excited to show off the skills they’d learned,

“Be at the forge in an hour, Grogu,” Din called to their retreating backs, a small smile on his lips as he headed to the forge himself, pausing at the sight of the great forge, relit and in full operation. Nearly a hundred hammers echoed a symphony as each worked on some project, but The Armorer’s helm was unmistakable. He’d made his footsteps known as he approached, though he’d made it all the way to her workbench before she’d even looked up. 

“Din Djarin,” She greeted, and eve the vocoder was dripping with exhaustion, causing the silver Mandalorians’ head to move off kilter to the side. “You have come for your apprentice’s armor,” Her gloved hands patted behind her, where half finished projects were waiting. 

“Armorer,” He started, because she was lifting and moving pieces in a cluttered workstation, something he’d never thought he’d see with her. “The kid can wait some time, gar shuk meh kyrayc.” 

The Armorer paused her search, staring at Din for a moment. He had been afraid he’d overstepped for a moment, before she’d exhaled and nodded her head. “This is the way,” Her heart wasn’t in it, he could tell, but she obviously needed rest, and what kind of person would he be if he didn’t state the obvious. He stayed with her as she cleaned her station in seemingly slow motion, stepping in every few moments to lend a hand with moving pieces and closing different mineral treatments. 

It wasn’t long before Grogu’s babbles reached his ears, and his head turned to watch as Bo-Katan entered the forge. She held Grogu on her hip, and was offering him a tired smile. The two were having some kind of a conversation, he never understood too much, even now, but it seemed like she was just content to have someone listen as she explained her stance on the New Republic’s patrol routes. 

“Lady Kryze,” The Armorer spoke first, as Grogu wiggled in Bo’s arms until she got close enough for him to jump the gap between his father and her, landing in Din’s arms with a self satisfied babble. 

“I assume you also were on the receiving end of the Clan of Two’s most polite ‘you look like bantha shit’ as well?” Bo spoke, her smile tugging at her lips as her hand moved to clap Din’s shoulder as he bowed his head, and rest her hand on Grogu’s head for a second. 

“It appears that way,” The Armorer deflated only slightly, before her head turned to Grogu. “I see you are learning well, Din Grogu,” Her words were met with another babble, and a satisfied smile on the apprentices mouth. “I am sure Ragnar will have no trouble finding both of you a place to stay, If you have the time, until I can properly finish the armor you’ve sent me the measurements for?” 

“Take your time,” Din confirmed as he shifted his son in his arms, his heavy sigh filling the air as Grogu started to pull on a loose leather tassel from his bandolier. “I may need to see how well your training grounds have come along,” And then he was dipping his head and stepping away once more, departing as the two leaders of Mandalore finally got a chance to look at each other for the first time the entire week.

“Busy week?” Bo questioned dryly as they both headed to the exit, side by side, hands brushing as they made their way to surface. 

“indeed, for you as well?” 

“I could sleep for the next fifty years,” Bo confirmed as they walked the familiar path to their home. A thin layer of dust had settled in their absence, but both women decided it would be an issue for a later them. 

As Bo ran a bath in their recently installed plumbing, Skira handled removing her own armor and setting it on the stand in their bedroom. By the time the condensation rose from the fresher door, The Armorer was already stepping in to start helping Bo, who’d been uselessly fumbling with the straps to her chest plate once more. 

They were silent as they both settled into the large tub, Skira settling between Bo’s legs, leaning back against her front as the redhead started the soothing process of helping her clean away a weeks worth of nasty work, fingers brushing her hair from its braid as carefully as she could. When she was clean, and she could feel Bo’s lips pressing into the back of her neck, more so out of finding a way to lean into her from behind, the shorter woman stood.

Bo had blinked tiredly up at her when she’d stepped out of the tub, but one glance had the woman scooting forward, water rippling and licking at the edges of the tub as Skira settled back in behind her. 

The only sound in their home were Bo’s quiet groans as Skira rubbed out each muscle, staying well until the water grew cold before either of them were close to willing to leave the calm sanctuary. It was when Bo’s head had dropped back against her shoulder that Skira finally made the executive decision to get them moving, unplugging the drain while Bo gathered the towels.

When they were dry, Skira was the first to settle into bed. They didn’t need to worry about finding room for Bo-Katan’s sewer drake, thanks to Axe petsitting when he’d noticed both women’s schedules growing busy (it helped that Ragnar loved the thing, too). Bo-Katan had been quick to shut the lights off and settle into the all too familiar position in Skira’s side, their legs tangling as a strong arm draped across Skira’s broad hips. Sleep came faster than ever for either woman that night, with Bo pressed close and her breath fanning against her neck, Skira was able to nod off in peace. 

Morning came almost too soon, though, Skira couldn’t be upset with the view. Bo’s hair was a sprawled haphazard mess against her chest, her nose crinkled just a bit, with her hands fisted comfortably into the blankets near her chin. A bird hooted at the bedroom window, though she could not say it was one she ever recognized. With squinted eyes, she tried to place the green feathering, but. Kept coming up blank. 

“Good morning,” Bo’s sleepy voice broke her peace. It was quiet, deep, and raspy, and combined with the woman pressing further into her chest, Skira couldn’t help but to comb her fingers through messy red hair, and press her lips to a forehead, textured with a battle scar, and the lines of spending too much time overstressed. “ ‘soka's bird,” Her Mand’alor grumbled into her skin, before pressing soft kisses against her shoulder and chest. “Mentioned visiting with ‘bine,” Bo continued sleepily, before her head settled back on Skira’s chest. “They’ll wake us up if they blow anything up, back to sleep,” 

And well, who was she to disobey a command from her Mand’alor? It wasn’t like she would ever be able to move to tear the woman off her chest, that would be a cruelty she could never wish on the woman whose story had once been one of warning, that she’d watched turn into one of redemption, and the story she wound up falling in love with. 

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 8: Skira (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Skira. n. revenge; feud.

Summary: After an angry outburst at Cid's, you're recognized by a stranger, and forced one step closer to confronting your past.

Chapter warnings: stranger danger; one situation reads similar to SA but the character is just Weird; major angst; reader does indeed have an Imperial background; lying; secrets; Cid; both Star Wars and irl cursing; if I missed any please let me know!

Word Count: 3,204

Read it here on AO3!

< Previous chapter | Next chapter >

The midday Ord Mantell sun is a welcome change from the damp swampiness of the planet you left just a few days ago. As you trail the squad back to Cid’s, Omega clings to your hand. She’s not spoken of the holoscan again, and she’s not left your side since that first mention. And for your part, you don’t want to be apart from her either. Her small palm is warm in yours as you guide her through the crowded marketplace.

None of you are in any rush to see Cid, so without even really talking about it, you’d all decided to take the scenic route through the market. Bustling with the lunch crowd, the market is a riot of sensations: the scents of spices and cooking meats; the sharp cries of merchants hawking their wares; the explosion of colors in every direction. Your focus is split between leading Omega through the throng, and keeping an eye on Hunter. He’s usually okay in busy places like this if he’s prepared, but you’ve watched him fight off enough headaches in the past several months to know the early warning signs. So far, so good. 

Omega squeezes your hand. “Can we get Mantell Mix?” 

Her eyes are big and pleading. You couldn’t say no to her even if you wanted. Tilting your head in the direction of the snack stall, she beams at you. The two of you diverge from the squad’s path to squeeze between other market goers, murmuring excuse me and sorry and behind you. 

The Pantoran woman behind the cart must recognize Omega, because as you stop in front of her stall, she hands over the carton to Omega. 

“Bill to Ciddarin Scaleback?” the woman asks in accented Basic. 

The taste of bile rises in your throat. You’d had no idea that Omega and Wrecker have been putting themselves further in debt just to have a snack. Biting your tongue, you merely shake your head at the woman. “How much?”

Surprise flits across her face, her eyes darting between you and Omega, before stuttering out, “Um. Seven credits.” 

You count out ten from your personal stash—dwindling though it is—and drop them on the cart. “The extra is for a free refill for my friend when she comes back next, understood?” 

She gawks at you for a moment, then seems to shake out of it and scoops up the credits. “O-Of course. Anything for my regulars.” 

You offer her a curt nod and, turning, smile at Omega’s widemouthed expression of wonder. 

“Thank you, Nav,” she says in an awed voice. 

“Anytime, kiddo,” you say with a shrug. “You deserve it.” 

As she munches happily on the multicolor snack, you guide her back in the direction of the squad with one hand on her shoulder. Omega knows her way back to Cid’s from here without issue, you know, and you’re finally starting to learn the landmarks that will lead you in the right direction—the blue milk corner stand, the ripped green awning of the pawn shop, the constantly overflowing trash bin at the entrance to the alleyway. But you also know that the boys will worry if you suddenly disappear with their sister.

They’ve paused outside a scrap and parts dealer, piles of twisted and garbled metal heaped on the old cart. Echo gestures with a grumpy expression at a cylindrical piece, and the merchant glances at Tech, who uses his HUD visor to translate.  

You and Omega sidle up next to Hunter, who offers a warm smile. “Was wondering where you two went off to.” 

“We got Mantell Mix!” Omega chirps. “Wrecker, here, have some.” 

Wrecker turns at his name and brightens at the sight of the snack. “Thanks, ’Mega!” 

“Thank Nav,” Omega says. “They bought it with their own credits.” 

Blinking, you kick yourself mentally for not telling her to keep that between you two. Hunter looks at you in sharp surprise. You just offer him a half-shrug. “We can talk about it later.” 

Omega stands on her toes to peer over the parts dealer’s table, and you gently scoot her forward so she can see better. Withdrawing your hand from her shoulder, your arms cross over your chest, feeling the need to defend yourself against Hunter’s lingering gaze. Uncomfortable warmth blooms in your chest under his scrutiny. 

“What?” you finally say, knowing he can hear you over the surrounding chatter. 

“You should have just billed it to Cid.” 

You scoff. “You guys are in enough debt without worrying about whether the kid’s happy. It is quite literally the least I could do.” 

His face remains twisted into a frown for a moment before softening into the breath of a smile. “Thank you. For taking such good care of her.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” You rub at the back of your neck, biting the inside of your cheek. “I care about her. Not just gonna let her be unhappy.” 

“I—”

Whatever Hunter intended to say gets cut off as Echo turns away, cradling the part in the crook of his cybernetic arm, saying, “Alright, let’s go.” 

Hunter gives you one last pensive look before following his brothers back toward Cid’s. You feel rooted to the spot, gazing with a slight furrowed brow at his retreating back. 

Omega bumps her shoulder against your waist. “Coming, Nav?” 

“Yeah,” you say, “yeah, of course.” 

You observe the way each of the boys’ shoulders tense the closer you get to Cid’s Parlor. Even Omega, with her snack now finished and carton discarded, seems more subdued, kicking at loose pebbles in the alleyway. And you can’t say you blame any of them, if the painful knot of anticipation twisting your insides is any indication. When the door slides open, you’re a little surprised to find the barroom completely devoid of activity; not even Bolo and Ketch are here, uncharacteristically. 

“Cid?” Hunter calls into the empty room. 

“In the back,” comes the muffled reply. 

“Let’s just get this over with and get back off-world,” you mutter under your breath. Omega shifts her grip on your hand to lace her fingers through yours and squeezes; Hunter gives you a sidelong glance. But none of you speak any further as you shuffle into the back rooms to Cid’s office. 

As usual, her desk is cluttered with junk that she probably calls ‘treasure.’ You recognize one of the more recent artifacts you did manage to scavenge, broken apart and its mechanical guts unraveled, and you curl your lip in displeasure. What good was recovering this kriffing stuff is she’s just going to destroy it? 

“Boys, Tiny,” Cid greets as you all file into her office. She appraises each of them for a moment before her gaze settles on you. “Red.” 

You merely blink in acknowledgement, settling into one of the two chairs across from her. Omega remains standing at your side. 

As if she expected nothing less, she shrugs and steeples her fingers in front of her. “We need to talk, fellas.” 

“What’s on your mind, Cid?” Echo asks. 

“Business is not as booming as it has been,” she says. “Clientele base has been declining. And without a steady stream of incoming revenue, I’m gonna be forced to call in a number of debts.” 

You squint at the veiled threat in her words. That knot of anticipation twists tighter into a coil of anger, your heart beating a little harder. 

Hunter’s fingers brush against your shoulder as if to say, Relax. You take a steadying breath and nod once for his benefit. 

“We’re doing the best we can,” Echo is saying. “But our efforts are only as good as the intel we’re given.” 

“Don’t pin this on me, Killjoy,” Cid says, voice dripping with wounded pride. “I tell you what I know.” 

“But not everything,” Tech points out without even glancing up from his datapad. 

Cid scoffs, her green scales glinting dully in the yellow desk light. “Client confidentiality. You understand. No, the problem here is that you’re all a bunch of highly trained operatives, and nothing to show for it.” 

You stand so fast your chair screeches across the stone floor and clatters as it topples over. Shrugging away Hunter’s warning hand on your back, you glare down at Cid, nostrils flaring as you do your best to breathe. Anger thrums through your veins, bile stinging your throat again at the sheer audacity of the Trandoshan. 

She narrows her eyes at you. “Got something to say, Red?”

“Yeah,” you spit. “I am sick and kriffing tired of you playing the victim, Cid. Next time you want a job done, maybe do it yourself.” 

Spinning on your heel, you push past Hunter and Tech to yank open the office door. You’re halfway out of the alleyway back to the main thoroughfare before the red rush of rage fades. You stumble to a halt, shoulders sagging. Leaning against the nearby duracrete wall, you close your eyes. Kriff. You probably just ruined the squad’s chances at continuing to work. Where else can six people hide from the Empire? The Outer Rim remains largely unaffected, but you figure it’s only a matter of time before those untouched regions come under the purview of the Empire. 

The duracrete wall is rough and cool against your forehead as it drops forward against it. Kriff, kriff, kriff. You can only imagine what the boys are saying to run damage control back there. 

“Spare credits?” croaks an unfamiliar voice. 

Peeking your eyes open, you startle a little at the proximity of a disheveled Rodian man, filthy clothing ripped and torn, a bundle of blankets slung over one shoulder. His turquoise skin is gaunt against his cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you say, “don’t have on me right now.” 

“Hmph.”

The Rodian makes no move to shuffle away like you expect. Quite the opposite. You  shove away from the wall and backpedal as he rushes up to you. His grip on your wrist is stronger than you might’ve thought, a wiry strength not betrayed by his unkempt appearance. 

“Get off me.” You yank against his grip to no avail. As you reach for your blaster, his other hand shoots out to grab that wrist as well. “Kark, get the fuck away from me!” 

He pushes you back against the duracrete wall and peers with bulbous red eyes at your face. Nose wrinkling at the rank scent of unwashed body and clothes, you strain away as best you can. You aim a kick at his groin—but Rodian anatomy is different, and he does not double over in agony like you’re hoping. Panic truly begins to claw at your spine now, your nerve endings frazzled and singeing. 

“You look familiar,” he mutters. “I seen you before?” 

“No,” you grit out between clenched teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”

Ignoring your pleas, he tilts his head. “No, I’ve seen your face somewhere. I never forget a face, me.” 

Your thoughts flash to your squad. If ever they were to be on time for once, this is it. 

The Rodian tsks with a shake of his head. “Ah. I know. Your face, all over the wanted boards, that’s where I seen you.” 

“What?” Your attention snaps to the man now, eyes widening before narrowing in suspicion, despite the ice that floods your veins. “What boards?” 

“In the main square,” he says, then cackles like you’re sharing an inside joke. “Oh, my luck is finally up. You—” 

“Get away from them,” cracks a sharp voice. 

Both you and the stranger snap your heads to the side. Relief nearly punches a sob out of your lungs at the sight of your squad approaching with half-raised blasters, determined sets to their jaws. Echo locks eyes with you. At his nearly imperceptible eyebrow raise, you nod. I’m okay. Thank you for coming. 

“We won’t ask again,” Hunter says. His blaster comes up to chest height now. 

The Rodian gulps and releases your wrists at last. With a scowl, you reverse the situation and jerk him in an arc around you to slam his front against the wall. Twisting his arm up at a painful angle behind his back, you press against him. He whimpers. 

“Nav, what are you—” 

“Wait,” you snap at your squad, then pull on the Rodian’s arm, eliciting a yelp. “You, what were you about to say before my friends showed up?” 

“I- I don’t know!” he cries. “I don’t remember.” 

“I think you do,” you say. “You know my face. How?” 

“Y-Your face,” he stammers, “in the square. Credits.” 

The ice coursing through your body hardens. Oh. Oh no. Releasing the man, you stagger back and watch with unseeing eyes as he darts off. You feel your breath coming in harsh gasps now, and you can only imagine the floating holoscan of your face flickering in the Imperial wanted boards. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. This is how it ends, you realize. This squad is the best thing to happen to you in a long while, and you’re about to lose them. Your connection to the Empire—as tenuous as it is—is about to cost you every person you’ve ever held dear.

“Nav?” Hunter’s gentle hand on your shoulder matches the caring tone of his voice, but you flinch nonetheless. 

“I- I’m sorry. He said he’d seen my face before,” you say, face numb. 

“Yes, in the market square,” Tech says. “That is what he said.”

“He probably saw you give credits to that Pantoran woman,” Omega says. Her wide eyes are full of concern as she peers up at you. “There were a lot of people there.” 

They don’t suspect. 

Slick, sickening guilt clashes with the soaring sense of relief that floods through you. “Right. Yeah, yeah, that’s probably all he meant.” 

Shaking off the anxious haze, you blink and offer a tight smile to your squad. “How, um, how did it go with Cid?” 

They all share a look you really don’t like, one that is fidgety and ashamed. After a long moment, Tech speaks up: “Iridonia.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“It is not an optimal situation,” Tech says.

“If you’d rather sit this one out, Nav, we understand,” Echo says with a kind smile. Behind him, Wrecker nods enthusiastically. 

You nearly feel the weight of Arien’s lifeless body in your arms once more. You haven’t been to Iridonia since you brought her back, despite keeping in semi-regular contact with her village, and you know this can’t be just coincidence. 

But you owe it to her, to yourself, and to your squad to return. You say, “I’ll be fine. Let’s- Let’s just get going.” 

When the Marauder winks out of realspace, entering the comforting wash of hyperspace, Omega approaches you in the cockpit. “What’s Iridonia?”

“The planet a friend of mine was from,” you say. “She died fighting the Empire.” 

Emotions flicker across Omega’s face: sadness, understanding, melancholy. You know her thoughts are full of her missing brother, Crosshair, right now. With a tired smile, you ruffle her blonde curls. 

Echo swivels the co-pilot seat around, his scowl deeper than usual. “You holdin’ up alright, Nav?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you repeat. “It’s a big planet.” 

“I would not be surprised if Cid gave us the direct coordinates to the village your Arien was from,” Tech says from the pilot’s seat. 

The notion makes your stomach turn, and you have to stand. Pacing the back wall of the cockpit, anxiety gnaws at the edges of your stomach. “Only one way to know. What, exactly, is she sending us there for?” 

“You’re not gonna like it,” Echo warns. 

“I already don’t like this,” you say with a heavy sigh. “Just tell me. Please.” 

Echo hesitates only one moment more. “She wants one of their grave goods. A— Tech, how did she describe it?” 

“A ritual pod utilized in the Zabrak burial custom of ushering their souls back into the Force,” Tech says. “Often made with incredibly rare and valuable cactus sap that is said to produce the strongest hallucinogenic in the Mid Rim.” 

You gape at the back of his seat. You’re only vaguely familiar with Iridonians’ burial customs, having left before Arien was laid to rest, but you know how proud her people are. The insult this will pose to them....

“No,” you say. 

“No?” Tech asks. His voice is thick with confusion. 

“We’re not doing this.” 

“Unfortunately,” Hunter says as he steps into the cockpit, a grimace contorting his skull tattoo, “we don’t have a choice. It’s this or she sells us out.” 

You choke on air. “What!?” 

“Our hands are tied,” Hunter says. You sense the apology under his words, when you’re the one who should be apologizing. This whole situation is your fault. Everything with Arien comes back to it being your fault. The cockpit swirls as you hold back a sob, the sudden wave of emotion nearly enough to knock you off your feet. She’s dead because of you. It’s a thought you’ve shoved down for months now. 

You swallow thickly. “I’m so sorry.” 

Hunter’s broad hands are warm and comforting where he rests them on your biceps. “You said what the rest of us were thinking. Don’t be sorry.” 

Tears well in your eyes. If you only knew. You open your mouth to tell him, tell them all, finally be rid of this suffocating guilt—but still you cannot make the words unstick themselves. Still there is a barrier.

Hunter pulls you into a warm embrace, cradling your head to his chest, and a sob wracks your body. Dimly, you’re aware of the other filing out of the cockpit to give the two of you some privacy, but your thoughts are raging, tempestuous and tumultuous and utterly crushing. You’re going to lose this squad—you’re going to lose Hunter—because of your own selfishness. You cling to him. 

“Cyare,” he murmurs against your skin. “Talk to me.” 

Hiccupping, you can only shake your head. “I don’t- I don’t know how.” 

He holds you for what feels like an entire eon before the anxiety gripping your heart loosens at all. Swaying, he rubs one hand up and down your back to soothe you. And he only lets you go when the ship’s hyperdrive alert blip blip blips on the main console. 

“Coming out of hyperspace,” he says in a low voice. Sliding the levers back, you watch the vortex of hyperspace shrink into starlines, and starlines condense down into stars. The familiar, dusty visage of Iridonia engulfs the viewport. It’s only then that you realize your hands are shaking. 

When the ship’s landing gear touches down, you already recognize the landscape outside. The barren, twisting trees and prickly cacti that reach for the sky mirror the ones you see in your nightmares. Exhaling a shaky breath as the ramp lowers, you stumble onto the familiar sandy ground of Arien’s village.

Suqu, the elder, steps forward with arms spread wide. “Ah, (y/n), how good it is to see you. We feared the Empire might have gotten you when we did not hear from you last lunar cycle.” 

You give a tight smile, arranging your expression into a mask of politeness, and bend into a shallow bow. “Suqu, my apologies. My new companions and I have been...busy.”

Tag List: @the-hexfiles @idoubleswearimawriter @fjordg

[familiarmatchmaking]

All the new familiars from the Thunderhead Savanna! I encourage everyone to read the tooltip descriptions for some neat lore.

The two bosses at the bottom are: Thunderstomp / Rockback Charger

Falconclaw Warrior / Condorwing Champion | Golden Lionsnake / Roving Lionsnake

Flesh Forager / Dire Vulture | Greattusk / Pale Greattusk

Dustfeather Sphinx / Magpie Sphinx | Quillrunner / King Quillrunner

Plainstrider Bard / Wintermane Minstrel | Raptorik Wanderer / Raptorik Herder

Ampelope / Starry Ampelope | Unburdened Billy / Roundhorn Rager

Coursing Skira / Grassland Skira | Rapid Grinfin / Heckling Hydrena

Thunderstomp / Rockback Charger

[naphiatra]

Coursing Skira

Indigo/Plum/Cyan

[hellenicherald]

Hellenic Holiday ideas?

So I'm looking for ideas on how these upcoming events can be celebrated solo and/or for our discord server. I have a couple ideas but i feel like theyre meh. 6/1 noumenia - Ritual, of course! 

6/3 Arrephoria - craft hangout? On this day, begin to finish unfinished projects and to clear away debris and what is no longer needed, to make room for the new.

 6/11 Libation to Zeus  - Ritual?  I think we should do the libation for zeus and the celebrations for Skia and Dipolieia/ Bouphonia on the same day.

6/12 skira - community meal / movie night? Skiraphorion was the month of the final harvest of the grain and thus another major agricultural festival took place during this month, the three-day long Skira (Skiraphoria). The Skira was one of the few days when the women of ancient Athens would gather in public. The women withheld intercourse from the men on the day of the Skira, eating garlic to encourage them to stay away. The festival also involved a race to a shrine of Dionysos by young men carrying vine branches. According to Parke, the winner would receive a drink made of wine, honey, cheese, grain and olive oil–all the fruits which Athena Skiras was asked to bless 

 6/14 Dipolieia/ Bouphonia - Vegetarian recipe share? 

 6/21 solstice 

 6/30 athenian new year / noumenia 

[sar-arts]

in the spirit of breaking out of my comfort zone (and encouragement from @mandoposting) here’s a snippet from my oc focused wip :) my ocs are incredibly self-indulgent and there is so much context lacking but i’m more than happy to answer any questions!! because most of my oc lore lives in my head rent free so that’s just how it be lmao. um i’ll leave some super basic context in the tags!

-

Bringing herself back to the present, Maila could no longer keep her focus away from the center of the room: Aslain himself. Her longtime friend looked much older than she remembered seeing him, even though it’d only been a handful of months since their last meeting. His once gleaming fur now looked dull, his eyes were sunken in, and if she didn’t know the monarch so well she would have believed he was well and truly ill. The thought alone sent a chill down her spine. He was sat in a makeshift chair, but he looked like he was about ready to fall asleep.

Of course, he had run himself ragged in the time since Skira’s destruction; it was just like him to put his people’s needs above his own. There had been no Maila around to keep his sleep or drinking schedules intact, after all. Despite how exhausted the king looked, though, the budding glee on his features as he registered her presence was unmistakable.

“Maila,” Aslain elected to greet her in Basic rather than Skir, his rough, guttural accent like music to the Jedi’s ears. Jumping off of his chair with a forced ease, Copper tensed as the king approached, but Maila waved him down with a paw. She immediately closed the distance between them, barely holding in a laugh as she felt her commander’s surprise, each of their heads resting atop the other’s shoulders as they met in a familiar embrace. “I can’t begin to describe how good it is to see you well.”

“And I you, my dearest friend,” Maila mewed softly. Her Basic was less accented than his, for obvious reasons, but centuries on Coruscant had been unable to completely scrub her Skiran accent away. The two friends parted hesitantly, with Maila turning to face Copper. “My companion here is Commander Copper, of the 296th Legion of the Galactic Armed Regiment.”

“Your Highness.” Removing his bucket, Copper gave an awkward bow. Neither of them missed the sudden intakes of breath from both Aslain and Hyenae. The left side of Copper’s face was covered with scarring, leaving part of his lip as well as a good portion of his curly red hair missing, but his gruesome features didn't stop him from being the kind-hearted Commander that Maila had grown to know over the past couple of years. He was one of Maila’s dearest friends, alongside the King.

[fr-familiar-bracket]

[mybeingthere]

L'Enchanteur pourrissant, Guillaume Apollinaire, Andre Derain, 1909.Between 1904 and 1910, André Derain established his career as a painter through his affiliation with the Fauves, or "wild beasts." This was the appellation he, Henri Matisse, Maurice de Vlaminck, and others came to be known by due to their highly experimental use of sharply contrasting colors in bright hues applied with spontaneous brushstrokes. 

During these same years, Derain and other Fauve artists achieved similarly striking, emotive effects in prints by exploiting stark contrasts between the white paper and the black ink. In his woodcuts of this period, Derain cut out the blocks so that heavy outlines mark the boundaries of flat, simplified shapes and linear patterns.Derain's illustrations for L'Enchanteur pourrissant, a prose poem by Guillaume Apollinaire, clearly show how the artist's interest in both African carvings and the woodcuts of Paul Gauguin informed his woodcut technique. His bold figures evoke the text but are not tied directly to it. While this approach represents a departure from traditional illustrations, the layout of blocks of text, page-sized prints, decorative elements, and illuminated letters all hark back to elements in early printed books.

This combination of traditional and modernist components appeared again in 1943, when Derain created Pantagruel with publisher Albert Skira and master printer Roger Lacourière. Here Derain uses the white-line woodcut technique colored with the hand application of inks on a single block, a process known as à la poupée. The imagery he uses to depict scenes from this ribald sixteenth-century satire by François Rabelais resembles early playing cards. Among the six hundred printed works Derain made in the course of his career, nearly half served as book illustrations. In addition to woodcut, he exploited the expressive potential of a wide range of intaglio and planographic techniques in his prints.

Publication excerpt from an essay by Jennifer Roberts, in Deborah Wye, Artists and Prints:Masterworks from The Museum of Modern Art, New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 2004, p. 73.

[jessicas-pi]

medieval au incorrect quotes: the threequel

Barriss, tending to Ahsoka's wounds: How would you rate your pain? Ahsoka: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

---

Sabine (age 7): I wish I had more enemies. Ursa: I’m sure you will someday, honey.

---

Makheta: My lady, why are you on the floor?! Ahsoka: I'm depressed. Ahsoka: Also I was stabbed, can you get Rex, please.

---

Caleb: Where's Ezra, Sabine, and Jacen? Hera: They're playing hide and seek. Caleb: Where? Hera: I don't think you get how this game works, love.

---

Ahsoka: I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude.

---

Sabine: There there, Ezra. Ezra, upset: Thanks, but how did you get into my room? Sabine: Great question—

---

Barriss: Ahsoka, remember when you said you weren’t going to interfere with my love life? Ahsoka: No, that doesn’t sound like me at all.

---

Caleb: *pretending to joke* So when are you going to go out with me? Hera: I don't know. When are you going to ask me to? *later* Zeb: And you just ran away?! Caleb: I didn't expect her to flirt back!

---

Ai-kel: If I'm extra sarcastic with you it probably means I'm flirting with you or you really annoy me and I can't handle your crap... have fun figuring out which one.

---

Sabine: WE'RE GETTING MARRIED, DI'KUTS! Ezra: AND WE'RE ABOUT TO MAKE IT EVERYBODY ELSE'S PROBLEM!

---

Ahsoka: You know, it's at times like this that I really wish I had listened to what Rex told me. Korkie: Why? What did he tell you? Ahsoka: I don't know. I didn't listen.

---

Ahsoka: What's it like, having a kid? Caleb: He's the reason Hera and I wake up every morning. Ahsoka: Aww. You're gonna be great parents. Ezra, earlier that morning, barging into Caleb and Hera′s room and jumping up and down on the bed: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!!

---

Sabine: Remember when you didn't try to solve all your problems with attempted murder? Ketsu: Stop romanticizing the past.

---

Merrin: This is bothering me. Cal: Well, we are digging up a corpse. Merrin: No, not that. That is... fairly par for the course, actually.

---

Rex: I'm going to remind you to be respectful. Ahsoka: I will politely decline.

---

Ursa: What do you have there, Sabine? Sabine: THE DARKSABER! Ursa: the wHAT—

---

Ai-kel: People are always asking me if I'm a morning person or a night person. Ai-kel: And I'm just like, 'Buddy! I'm barely even a PERSON!'

---

Cal, lifting up an ancient tome written in Old Sith: Oh, gods. Do you know what this is? Omega: It’s a book. There’s a lot of those in here, this is the archives.

---

Adenn: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Lady Offee a little bit. Skira, holding Adenn's sketchbook: You doodled your wedding invitation, vod. Adenn: No, that's our joint tombstone. Skira: My mistake.

---

Sabine, age 7: I'm only civil because I don't know any swear words.

---

Caleb: We might have gotten into a bar room brawl back in the city. Depa: Well, that was entirely predictable. Caleb: One of us punched a gang member. Depa: Garazeb? Caleb: Hera, actually. Depa: Oh, that was going to be my second guess.

---

Makheta: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance? Ahsoka: No. Ai-Kel: No. Makheta: Didn't think so.

[princeescaluswords]

Funny that Scott is called "obsessed" with Allison yet an unsettling amount of fan work has Stiles and Derek not only in an inherently unbalanced relationship but attached at the hip 24/7 lol, no life outside each other, all other relationships take a backseat to their tru luv. But we know racist fandom is mad Scott dare be the main character & have other friends and interests.

You can track every every complaint about the Scott and Allison relationship back to three ideas:

The story of the Hales should  be the main focus of the show

The Latin Lover archetype

Scott’s desire to have and spend time with a girlfriend is an insult to Stiles and/or Derek.

(And all of this is white prioritization.)

I really love it when they call Scott’s behavior toward Allison obsessive, when it’s rather benign when compared to Stiles’ behavior with Lydia or Peter’s and/or Derek’s behavior with Scott. They really think that Scott wanting to spend time or protect his girlfriend was over the top.   Scott had the nerve to put what he wanted first, and not what Assorted White Assholes thought he should put first.

I also love it when they call Scott a stalker because he spent a night on the roof of Allison’s house to protect her from Peter, or stole the amulet from her room (at Stiles’ and Derek’s insistence), or sent her pictures in order to get the necklace from her (and it was Stiles’ plan), or met her out in the woods to give her the necklace back (and also to protect her from Peter and Derek, who had threatened her that same episode).  I really love it when they miss the fact that Scott kissing Allison at night during Co-captain was a dream sequence, since he can’t meld with walls or teleport.  

Scott was overprotective of Allison, but he wasn’t obsessed.  If he was obsessed, he would have sat out the Hale Pack/Argent Family war, like she wanted him to.   Instead, he couldn’t sit back and let people die, and all it cost him was their relationship.

Now, if you really want to deal with obsessive tendencies, you should read some Sterek fiction.   Stiles is willing to give up everything he ever held dear – his remaining his family, his career, his best friend – all for an emotionally-stunted bad boy who hits him when he’s in the mood.  

Not all Sterek fiction is like this, of course – there are some great stories that have Stiles and Derek develop their relationship to the next level – but a lot of it is so much self-insert  Derek-saves-Stiles/Stiles-saves-Derek with the power of true love stuff, that it makes the Romeo-and-Juliet-esque dimensions of canon Scallison look tame.  

And that’s fine!  Melodramatic romance can be a tawdry yet satisfying read.  Yet, there’s always an undercurrent of resentment against the show for not moving forward with a romance between the adult victim of childhood sexual assault and a child who canonically admits to being scared of that adult.  The easiest target are the romances of the main character – because if you think they’re mean about Scallison you can’t imagine the calumnies against Skira.  

[mesaifr]

Wish List <3 Because they are going around again  Eggs Pants of all sorts Teardrop rings Sashes of all sorts Silks (gold, red, white, rainbooow )  Starsilks!  Seraph apparel Swords of all sorts Rose Thorn apparel Sylvan stuff Moonlight Lace stuff Art Rp letters <3 Frogs of all sorts Animal apparel Old festival stuff, 2013-14 festival apparel mostly Accents Gems & Treasure 

Talonclasp Pendants 

Autumnal Wreath Genes? Ripple, Runes and Glimmer, Safari, Python, Toxin, Savannah, SD scroll, Spiralscroll, Coatl, WILDCLAW

Lycurgus -  Pc or Wc,  Opal, Savanna

Proserpine - Savannah, Peregrine, Runes or Opal

Vejovis - Bee, Opal or Glimmer 

Gratiana - Spiral, 

Hyperion -  Wildclaw

Cato -  Toxin

Demeter -  Ripple, Current

Miltiades -  Skink, 

Nephele - Noxtide

Fabius - Skink, Current , Glimmer 

Vita -  Poison, Peregrine, Glimmer 

Romulus - Saturn/Noxtide, Opal/Firely, Snappper

Vesta - Bogsnek, Skink, Glimmer 

Wraith

Routh

Angerona -  Poison, Toxin, Lace. Maybe bogsnek

Thyra -  Tapir, 

Morpheus - Pinstripe, Constellation or Trail, Capsule 

And familiars. Below the cut because I miss ehm a few..

Blackline Bicorn Whale - tmp

Bone Fiend

Boolean Bramblecrown Stoat - boreal

Cinderkelp Loach - swipp

Cog Frog

Coursing Skira - thunder sav

Darktouched Chimera - scav - - Ice/Plague/Shadow

Enstatite Burrower - dig - Earth/Fire/Ice/Light/Nature/Plague/Water

Firefly Cockatrice - baldwin

Fluted Pukasloth*

Frost Delver

Garden Watcher - foraging - Arcane/Light/Lightning/Nature/Water/Wind Ghostly Rat Lord

Glamortail Hopper - swipp

Glassbound Gustvul - boreal

Glassbound Solarvul - boreal

Glasswing Flutter*

Golden Featherfin* Golden Idol  

Heckling Hydrena- thunder sav

Light Sprite

King Quillrunner- thunder sav

Longwing Epiptite  - swipp Malevolent Spirit

Manticore - dig- Arcane/Shadow/Water

Maren sorceress - redrock

Mesacliff Assassin - harpy

Molten Wartoad

Overcharged Silverbeast rain jungle 

Pangolin Racer - tmp

Pink-Tail Mole - dig- Arcane/Light/Lightning/Nature/Water

Quartz Cockatrice  - baldwin

Rabid Grinfin- thunder sav

Redfin Wavespinner - redrock

Red-Footed Akirbeak

Roc

Ruffle Glasswing*

Seaglass Swimmer  - tmp

Silky Mole - dig- Earth/Fire/Ice/Plague/Shadow/Wind

Silver Featherfin* Skycat

Speedy

Spotted Pukasloth*

Stone Borer

Tender Larail - bug - Ice/Light/Nature/Plague/Water

Tendril Loach - swipp

Thunderstomp

Triple-Sight Firebug - bug- Earth/Lightning/Plague/Water/Wind Vermillion Epiptite

Windcarve Bladerunner - harpy

[frmarsuna-blog]

art - familiar trade

I need:

Ampelope

Blotched Quetzeel 

Chillriver Bucktooth

Condorwing Champion 

Coursing Skira

Dire Vulture

Dustfeather Sphinx

Falconclaw Warrior

Fenfisher Flattail

Flowering Pohip

Ghostly Rat Lord

Golden Lionsnake

Grassland Skira

Greattusk

Heckling Hydrena

Highfin Sea Serpent

Hydra

Ignited Imp

KingQuillrunner

Longneckscrapper

Longwing Epiptite

Magpie Sphinx

Mossy Pohip

Nightfall Imp

Pale Greattusk

Plainstrider Bard

Quetzeel 

Raptorik Bladedancer

Raptorik Herder

Raptorik Wanderer

Rat King

Rockback Charger

Roving Lionsnake

Starry Ampelope

Stormclaw Showman

Thunderstomp

Tunnel Hydra

Ultimate Buttersnake

Unburdened Billy

Undergrowth Shovelsnout

Vermillion Epiptite

Wintermane Minstrel

My offer: art according to the market price