#pretty frigate

[ltwilliammowett]

A Royal Navy 38-gun frigate of the Blue Squadron, by Nicholas Matthew Condy (1818- 1851)

[lessthansix]

It was Paris, with a rectangular sail-cloth parcel. Stephen ran to him, took it from his arms with infinite precaution and set it on the table, pressing his ear to its side. ‘Listen, Jack,’ he said, smiling. ‘Put your ear firmly to the top and listen while I tap.’ The parcel gave a sudden momentary hum. ‘Did you hear? That shows they are queen-right – that no harm has come to their queen. But we must open it at once; they must have air. There! A glass hive. Is it not ingenious, charming? I have always wanted to keep bees.’ ‘But how in God’s name do you expect to keep bees in a man-of-war?’ cried Jack. ‘Where in God’s name do you expect them to find flowers, at sea? How will they eat?’ ‘You can see their every motion,’ said Stephen, close against the glass, entranced. ‘Oh, as for their feeding, never fret your anxious mind; they will feed with us upon a saucer of sugar, at stated intervals. If the ingenious Monsieur Huber can keep bees, and he blind, the poor man, surely we can manage in a great spacious xebec?’ ‘This is a frigate.’ ‘Let us never split hairs, for all love. There is the queen! Come, look at the queen!’ ‘How many of those reptiles might there be?’ asked Jack, holding pretty much aloof. ‘Oh, sixty thousand or so, I dare say,’ said Stephen carelessly. ‘And when it comes on to blow, we will ship gimbals for the hive. This will preserve them from undue lateral motion.’ ‘You think of almost everything,’ said Jack.

Post Captain, Patrick O’Brian

[clove-pinks]

Franklinheads, what is your top pet peeve when it comes to perceptions of the [historical] Franklin Expedition?

Mine is 100% the "most advanced technology of their day" concept of HMS Erebus and Terror. I think the origins of this are in the 1980s, when Owen Beattie's ice mummy exhumations propelled the Franklin Expedition into the spotlight. JUST LIKE THE SPACE SHUTTLE CHALLENGER!—this was the pat comparison of the day. You could definitely draw some parallels if you tried hard enough, but no, I don't think the Space Shuttle Challenger is a very good analogy.

There was pretty much nothing unique or particularly new about the technology in Franklin's ships—not the tinned food, not the desalinator, not the heating system, and definitely not the puny steam engines—and Franklin's men knew this! They were aware that Erebus and Terror were beat-up old warships, one of the ships fought in the War of 1812 before most crew members were born! Fitzjames called them "old tubs," and Le Vesconte jokingly compared them to 17th and 18th century fictional vessels (Red Rover and Water-Witch).

Steam frigates with hundreds of horsepower were built even in the 1830s! But they couldn't carry fuel lasting for years; whereas Franklin's men had ~13 days of coal for their 20-horsepower engines, which at most might get them out of a harbour in unfavourable winds. As a child I read books that made such a big deal about the steam engines, I really thought they would be under steam all the time, crashing through the ice with their Advanced Technology just like the space shuttle.

If anything, the Franklin Expedition is part of a tradition of the British using obsolete ships and technology for polar exploration. Compare Terra Nova with the latest technology of the 1910s: she looks like the relic of an earlier age that she was.

[sapphicseasapphire]

I’ve been wondering which of our Sky’s has bigger wings 🤔

Hmmmmmmmm I had to do some research for this one!

Looking at your art (which is AMAZING, by the way), I think that their wingspans are pretty similar. But it looks like my Sky has fuller wings! So… wider? Longer feathers!

Your Sky is based off of a frigate bird, which the internet told me has around a 7.5 foot wingspan. (I did a double take! That’s HUGE!!) My Sky is a fusion between a Loftwing (Shoebill stork) and a Skyloftian (person). The internet told me that a shoebill stork’s wingspan can get up to 8.5 feet long! Which is longer than the frigate bird but NOT if we account for the ratio of body to wing. Frigate birds legitimately look like if a child drew an “m” on a paper to represent birds. They’re like 90% wing and I love them for that.

So. If we took these proportions and sized them up to fit onto a person, I think, realistically, your Sky would have bigger wings than mine. Longer. Mine would still have fuller wings, though. The way that we draw their wings is very similar in length, like if they both represented the wingspan alone. But if we account for the proportions of body size to wing?? Yours would be HUGE in comparison to mine!

I think? I’d love to hear your input on this haha!

[pub-lius]

WAKE UP ITS HAMILTON TIME (hamilton pt 1)

everyone thank richard for getting me to put all my knowledge about alexander hamilton in one place. if you're at all new or confused, @thereallvrb0y once asked me 3 years ago to tell him everything about every historical figure i can, and since then i have been doing that. now we are onto the last one on the list he gave me, and studying hamilton is literally my life's work, so here it is. on tumblr.com. for free.

my sources for this are Ron Chernow and Hamilton himself and a strange amalgamation of knowledge from different museums, documentaries, interviews with historians, and other otherwise publicly accessible knowledge that i have compiled into the vast library inside my mind! you can find my notes in the link in my pinned post. let's go (this historical research is sponsored by the ghost of freddie mercury and my aunt who made me a whole pot of coffee)

Background Information

Ron Chernow loves to talk about how the island of St. Kitts and Nevis was formed, but that's not fucking important. What's important about Hamilton's birthplace is that it was positioned in the Caribbean in such a way that made it a very easily accessible port, however the coastline was pretty smooth which made it generally unideal for mooring ships.

Source: The St. Kitts' Scenic Railway; Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the US Navy by Ian W. Toll, p. 112 ("Basseterre Roads was not a good natural harbor. It was little more than a dent in the otherwise smooth coastline that ran along the western side of the island. There was no pier- visitors were obliged to run their boats directly onto the beach, sometimes surfing in on waves that broke heavily as they reached the shore.")

Now, notice that St. Kitts and Nevis is, in geographic terms, to the right-ish of the Caribbean. That means when you're coming from Jolly Ole England, you might make a pit stop in St. Kitts and Nevis. So if you ignore the fact that the island has no natural harbor (at least not a good one), it might be a good economic prospect for a young merchant, right?

Well, not if that merchant is James Hamilton, because he was an idiot. And I say that lovingly, or at least more lovingly than Ron Chernow did. Ron Chernow also emphasized that St. Kitts and Nevis was filled with the 18th century version of Shameless, and also Jewish people. Ron Chernow might not hate Jewish people, but he does hate the character archetypes in Shameless. In Shameless terms, James Hamilton was like Frank Gallagher.

Disclaimer: knowledge of Shameless is not necessary to understand that being compared to a guy named Frank is not a good thing

I've already made posts about Hamilton's parents and brother (here, if you'd like to read that ig. weirdo), but I want to talk about the things that Hamilton would have learned from his parents. Later in life, Hamilton vaguely alluded to his father's failings in business being due to an excessive amount of generosity and not really understanding where he should and shouldn't spend his money. This did not by any means make Hamilton stingy with his money, or even smart, for that matter, but it did make him want to be something specific: independent.

James Hamilton's tragic flaw was his dependence on other people, whether it was his older brother or Rachel Faucette or his business partners, etc. Due to the position and order in which he was born, James was never destined to be a leader. He wasn't exceptional academically like other non-first-born-sons, such as James Madison, or dispositionally inclined to organize and inspire, like George Washington. He was just a dude, and he was a dude who was not built for 18th century society, especially not in the Caribbean. From what we can tell, James Hamilton was a gullible, moderately intelligent man with symptoms of autism and non-descript mental health issues. He was basically fucked from the get-go.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow (p. 12-16); Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 25, p. 89, letter to William Jackson, August 26, 1800 ("In a capacity of a merchant he went to St. Kitts, where from too generous and too easy a temper he failed in business and at length fell into indigent circumstances.")

Rachel Faucette was like James Hamilton's polar opposite. She was forced to learn how to provide for herself, not being able to rely on anyone, because that could be ripped out from under her feet at any moment, and the only thing concrete in her life was herself. She was a woman, and that was what most women had to learn at some point.

Rachel was also perfectly poised to be the clear moral guide for young Hamilton. When James Hamilton left, he basically sacrificed any reverence his son might have for him, and instituted Rachel as Hamilton's sole role model for his developmental years and i just burned the shit out of my hand with coffee.

Disclaimer: James Hamilton had nothing to do with me burning the shit out of my hand with coffee, I promise. You can't blame all your problems on deadbeat dads

If you're a Sigmund Freud fan, (good opener, I know), you're aware of the Oedipus Complex, and that's not exactly what I'm talking about, but yk. look it up. This theory proposed by Freud was only partially rejected by the psychological field (due to the fact that not everything is about wanting to fuck your mom and kill your dad, and also that's not the story of Oedipus Rex like. at all??), but the part that still rang true was that children do have a unique attachment to the opposite sex parent.

Psychological studies show that children tend to describe their opposite sex parents more favorably than same sex parents. Why? I don't know, I'm not a psychologist, I'm an 18 year old who drinks coffee like he was 5 kids to raise.

Source: "The Relation between Attachment to Opposite Sex Parents and Attachment to Romantic Partners" by Gary L. Grogan and Dr. Mary E. Pritchard, p. 10 ("However, most significant for the present inquiry were the findings that respondents described their opposite sex parents more favorably, and same sex parents more critically.")

This statistic is visible in Hamilton's descriptions of his parents, and must have been enhanced by James Hamilton's early departure in his son's life, the consequences from that which seemed constant, but also by the reputation his father had built on the island he left Hamilton on. Hamilton would grow up to see his mother not only providing for herself and her children, but also overcoming the consequences of James' actions, which provoked resentment towards his father, and admiration towards his mother. This will develop as a theme throughout his life, but we'll touch on that as he grows up. He isn't even born yet! So let's get on to that.

Source: so when I say Hamilton's description of his mother, I really mean HIS son's, but JCH most likely got this description from his father, Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, vol. 1, pg. 42 ("...a woman of superior intellect, elevated sentiment, and unusual grace of person and manner. To her he was indebted for his genius."); for the sake of my reliability and reputation, I'll include JCH's description of his grandfather for comparison, Intimate Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, p. 13 ("Hamilton's father does not appear to have been successful in any pursuit, but in many ways was a great deal of a dreamer, and something of a student, whose chief happiness seemed to be in the society of his beautiful and talented wife, who was in every way intellectually his superior.")

Early Life

Alexander Hamilton was born ginger on January 11, 1755, and I don't entertain the argument that he was born in 1757 because I'm not an anarchist and I believe society has laws (I'm actually lying, I'll talk about the birth year debate in the college section). Hamilton was not, however, born black or Jewish. He was also, potentially, born not James Hamilton's son.

"Wh- WHAT?! *cries*" I hear you say, and I know, it's shocking information, but yes. First off, Hamilton was not black in any percentage more than the Pillsbury dough boy is black. This theory comes from the fact that Rachel Faucette was a lower class woman and therefore we have no proof that she WASN'T partially black. I don't even have to dispute that for anyone with a gram of critical thinking skills to see that that isn't a valid historical hypothesis.

The Jewish thing has a little more merit to it, and there's a whole book about it that I haven't read. There is some evidence to suggest that Rachel Faucette's ex husband, Johann Lavien, could have been a secret Jewish person, and possibly caused Rachel herself to convert, and she tried to pass on that to Hamilton by having a Jewish woman educate him when he was a toddler (that last part is a true fact, and is the earliest piece of information we have about Hamilton's education). If this is true, (and it's nearly impossible to prove true or false because well if Lavien was a secret Jew, it was a secret), it did not impact Hamilton's religious beliefs in any way, and he identified as a Christian throughout his entire life.

We'll do a paternity test on Hamilton later, just hang tight. See, this is how I get you, I say something controversial, and then I don't talk about it until 16 paragraphs later.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 9 ("A persistent mythology in the Caribbean asserts that Rachel was partly black, making Alexander Hamilton a quadroon or an octoroon. In this obsessively race-conscious society, however, Rachel was invariably listed among the whites on local tax rolls. Her identification as someone of mixed race has no basis in verifiable fact. (See pages 734-35 [this is in Chernow's Acknowledgments, and he just talks about how he used a paper trail to come to this conclusion, and thought genetic research would only confuse the evidence. He also discusses that there is a small chance that Hamilton fathered a black child named William Hamilton, but I can go ahead and tell you that's false due to the fact that Hamilton had just arrived in America when William was born -HWS]) The folklore that Hamilton was mulatto probably arose from the incontestable truth that many, if not most, illegitimate children in the West Indies bore mixed blood."); Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, vol. 1, p. 42 ("...rarely as he alluded to his personal history, he mentioned with a smile his having been taught to repeat the Decalogue in Hebrew, at the school of a Jewess, when so small that he was placed standing by her side upon a table); Ibid., vol. 7, p. 710-11; Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 26, p. 774, "Comments on Jews"

Hamilton's education began with his mother, who is almost definitely the person who made him fluent in French by the time he came to America. Despite limited access to books (34 books in both French and English to be specific), Hamilton still studied everything he could from a young age, with an early love for learning new things and proving that he was smarter than you. However, most of his education was in the School of Hard Knocks Community College, which was amply provided by the environment around him.

In the height of the British Empire, the Caribbean was essentially a social prison for anyone who broke the moral laws of the colonial, Eurocentric society of the time. This included pirates, prostitutes, drunks, thieves, and basically anyone who didn't fit the mold for a member of high society and/or someone who could serve high society and their lives of luxury. Hamilton, by birth, was one of these people.

Hamilton's father moved the family to St. Croix right before he left, which was a dramatic shift from Hamilton's life on St. Kitts and Nevis. In St. Croix, everyone knew Hamilton's mother as the disgraced ex-wife of Johann Lavien, and therefore knew her two sons as "whore-children", which was a word usually given to illegitimate children. Here, Hamilton was roped in with the degenerates of society, and it was practically said directly to him that he was destined to be unholy, unclean, worthless, and disgusting. Could you believe that this would have an impact on his mental health?

Along with seeing the poor lifestyles of the inhabitants of the Caribbean, Hamilton also saw glimpses into a very different world: ~rich people~. There were few rich white people on the islands, and they owned vast amounts of enslaved people, with the black to white ratio being 8:1 in the Caribbean. These enslaved people were forced to live in horrible conditions, and Hamilton saw it everywhere- his mother owned three people, but they were often rented out to garner profit for the white family, rather than working a plantation as others in the Caribbean did. Violence towards enslaved black people was only part of the violence young Hamilton witnessed in the Caribbean, some of which came in the form of dueling *insert ominous music*

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 18 ("To the extent that dueling later entranced Hamilton to an unhealthy degree, this fascination may have originated in the most fabled event in Nevis in the 1750s [a duel between two men where one of them was killed"); Ibid., p. 19; Ibid., p. 23-24

James Hamilton abandoned the family in 1765, and the reasons he did so are debated, but most likely are due to debt. However, there's another possibility that I've alluded to before: Hamilton's paternity.

So, remember, Rachel Faucette is not a perfect angel, and she also didn't particularly care for matrimony. There is a chance that she was with other men besides Hamilton and Lavien, and though we have no evidence that she was, there is an interesting character I'd like to throw into the mix.

Thomas Stevens, a moderately rich guy, was a merchant who lived on King Street in Charleston, St. Croix, with his wife Ann and his son Edward, who was born a year before Alexander Hamilton. Thomas Stevens was a very generous guy, and Edward Stevens would later be lifelong friends with Alexander Hamilton. And uh. They looked almost exactly the same. I really wish we had a portrait of Edward Stevens, but according to literally everyone, it was hard to tell the difference between him and Hamilton. Now, statistically, we all have some kind of doppelganger out there, but like what are the chances that they grew up down the street from each other and their parents had suspiciously close connections? Now, I'm not saying that Hamilton should have been Alexander Stevens, I think that's pretty irrelevant, but it is possible that Thomas Stevens... you... ARE THE FATHER!!!

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 27-28 ("Nevertheless, in the absence of direct proof, the notion that Alexander was the biological son of Thomas Stevens instead of James Hamilton would clarify many oddities in Hamilton's biography.")

The Hamiltons' life post-dad-desertion was actually somewhat comfortable due to Rachel's kickassery. She established a little store for a source of income, relocated a couple times, rented out the enslaved people (as one does, i guess, that's such a wild phrase), and kept a pet goat for milk and cheese and idk soap or whatever else people make with goat milk. Her sons would help out, possibly providing an origin for Hamilton's incessant need to be productive at all times without resting. At times, they were supported by his aunt Ann Lytton Mitchell, who he would remain loyal to until his death. During this time, as he was old enough to understand what his father did, is probably when his fiercely loyal, chivalrous and family-driven attitude developed.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 22-23; Ibid., p. 28

I'm so hopped up on caffeine I could do a triathalon.

Hamilton and his mother were both afflicted by a strange and unspecified illness in the winter of 1768. The primary symptom was a severe fever, and they were treated with purgatives, medicinal herbs, and bloodletting. Nothing helped, and Rachel died at 9 pm on February 19. Hamilton miraculously survived.

Immediately, Hamilton and his brother James had everything they owned taken away, indebted by bills charged against them by local debtors. Their half brother inherited whatever else belonged to their mother, which brought up the marital scandal all over again, beginning a legal battle that lasted for around a year. In the end, the two Hamilton brothers were left with two things: jack shit and fuck all.

Custody of the two boys was appointed to their cousin, Peter Lytton. In my notes, I described him as "white trash" and "insane", including the quotes, so idk who said that. Peter Lytton lived with his black mistress and their illegitimate child. He killed himself on July 6, 1769, and what's strange about that is that we don't know if he shot or stabbed himself. I don't know who got confused about the difference between a knife and a gun, but that isn't my problem.

To make a bad situation worse, Peter Lytton didn't leave the boys anything in his will, and neither did his father, who did "his best" to help. His best could have been even just mentioning the name Hamilton in his will, but whatever, I guess.

These events held very important lessons for the young Alexander: 1) nothing lasts forever; 2) everyone dies; 3) the legal system is terrible; 4) rich people hate you; and, most importantly, 5) the only way out was up.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 22-27

On His Own

This marked a split between Hamilton and his older brother, but this didn't seem to affect him as much as what happened with his parents- possibly because he wasn't biologically his brother, but I don't really care about that. What's more important is that Hamilton was almost entirely on his own, with inconsistent housing, so he couldn't always rely on the Stevenses. He was in a very similar situation that his mother was in at one time not long ago: alone and self reliant.

Hamilton was already working for the mercantile company, Beekman and Cruger. This company was later renamed, so I'll just say that Hamilton worked for Cruger, who was a business man with ties to New York. Hamilton worked as a clerk at this import-export business, giving him the responsibility to monitor intake and outtake as well as the organization of papers and just generally keeping everything in line. Due to the international relevance that was St. Croix, Hamilton often used French in his business dealings. Here, Hamilton perfected his handwriting into that elegant mess we know and can't read, picked up information on shipping/navigation, and learned his famously proficient math skills, particularly in relation to finance and economics.

Hamilton's famously maniacal work ethic began here, but so did his yearning for military valor. The first piece of personal correspondence we have from Hamilton is a letter to bestie Edward Stevens, and was made very famous from The Musical.

"Im confident, Ned that my Youth excludes me from any hopes of immediate Preferment nor do I desire it, but I mean to prepare the way for futurity. Im no Philosopher you see and may be jusly said to Build Castles in the Air. My Folly makes me ashamd and beg youll Conceal it, yet Neddy we have seen such Schemes successfull when the Projector is Constant I shall Conclude saying I wish there was a War. I am Dr Edward Yours Alex Hamilton (sic)"

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 29-30; Alexander Hamilton to Edward Stevens, November 11, 1769, St. Croix; Library of Congress, Image 13 of Alexander Hamilton Papers: General Correspondence, 1734-1804; 1734-1772

When Cruger left St. Croix for New York due to medical reasons in 1771, he left 16 year old Alexander Hamilton in charge of his primary source of income. And you're probably thinking that's a stupid idea. Because it is.

BUT ITS ALEXANDER HAMILTON. SO IT WAS FINE??? Well, fine for everyone besides the captain of the HMS Thunderbolt.

The Thunderbolt pulled into St. Croix's busy harbor after crossing the ocean and manned by a veteran captain, however Hamilton was not satisfied with the outfitting of the ship nor the quality of the goods that had been transported.

"Reflect continually on the unfortunate voyage you have just made and endeavor to make up for the considerable loss therefrom accruing to your owners." -Alexander Hamilton to Captain Newton, February 1, 1772

You can really see Hamilton's "I'm better than you and I know it" attitude shining through, made more shocking than ever than the fact that he was SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and talking to a man who was LITERALLY TWICE HIS AGE. The only reason he didn't lose his job over this is because he was right. The mules that had been transported were in such poor health, Hamilton had to pull strings to get them sold, and the wood was too waterlogged to be sold on the open market, so he sold it to a private buyer who was able to find something to do with them. He showed quick thinking, confidence in his abilities, and managerial skills. It was these skills that would later appeal to George Washington, not his financial abilities, and led to his most important appointment.

Source: Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 1, p. 23, letter to Tileman Cruger, February 1, 1772 ("It would be undoubtedly a great pity that such a vessel [the Thunderbolt] should be lost for the want of them [cannons]."); Ibid., p.4, letter to Captain Newton, February 1, 1772; Alexander Hamilton: A Biography by Forrest McDonald, p. 128 ("Taken aback, Washington replied, 'I always knew Colonel Hamilton to be a man of superior talents, but never supposed that he had any knowledge of finance.")

Cruger's firm also engaged in the Atlantic slave trade, as did the majority of trading firms in the Caribbean and the American south. It was this exposure to the abhorrent conditions on slave ships and the violence African people faced in the triangle trade that shaped Hamilton into a vocal opponent of slavery- when it was convenient. More impactful was the fear he developed of slave revolts, as was very common in the Caribbean because of the disproportionate slave to free/black to white ratio in the islands, and this would later define his views on the French Revolution and public protest in general. He and Thomas Jefferson had this in common.

Hamilton continued studying books in his free time, and the local newspaper, the Royal Danish American Gazette, began publishing poems from an anonymous young writer- obviously it was Hamilton. His poems ranged in subjects, and aren't particularly good, but they're better than any poems I've written angrily in my journal about my evil exes, so that is to his credit.

Hamilton's poems took a religious turn, most likely traceable to the arrival of Reverend Hugh Knox, who took in Hamilton as a mentor. Clergymen were a hot commodity in the hell hole that was the Caribbean, and Knox had a lot of work on his hands, but he took a particular interest in Hamilton, specifically in getting him out of the aforementioned hell hole. He saw that Hamilton was incredibly intelligent and hard working, almost to a fault- he was probably the first person who was genuinely concerned for this dude's health over how much he worked.

Fun fact, Knox also had personal ties to the Burr family, but that is literally only a fun fact and not a sign that Burr and Hamilton were star-crossed lovers in fair Verona or whatever Chernow has deluded himself into thinking.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 32-33; Ibid., p. 34

Source: National Guard Bureau, "Examining Lessons from Katrina 10 Years Later"

Then, a massive hurricane struck the Caribbean on August 1, 1772. It was incredibly damaging, causing mass destruction in St. Croix, and this is most definitely one that we in the south would evacuate for. Even my dad would evacuate for this one, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to evacuate for Katrina.

In reaction to this event, Hamilton wrote his famous letter to his father detailing and reflecting on the storm. And finally, I'm giving y'all my analysis of this letter that I keep saying I'll do. However, this post is already incredibly long, so I'm going to do it in a google doc and attach it here.

Source: Alexander Hamilton to The Royal Danish American Gazette, September 6, 1772

The letter was published to The Royal Danish American Gazette, which spread around the afflicted community. Knox's congregation gathered money for the anonymous young author (now not very anonymous) to sail to the American mainland for his education. Originally, Hamilton went to study medicine, due to the high demand for doctors in the Caribbean (his knowledge of anatomy would remain helpful throughout his life). However, at some point he decided he would not be going back to the Caribbean, and switched his focus to law, but we'll discuss that more in part two.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 37-40

Well, there's part one. I did all of this in one day because um. I don't know, but it is now one in the morning and i have to wake up earlier than normal. so that's fun. i hope y'all enjoyed. shout out to my mom for proofreading half of this, and shout out to my aunt who gave me coffee, that was a horrible idea. i'll be back with part two at some point, which will probably be more concise because hamilton's childhood in the caribbean is where most of the theories are, so yeah. love y'all.

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 26

First / Previous / Next

"Shit!" Fen dove to the ground and slid into the legs of the first guard, knocking him over, and he tumbled into a pile with a grunt. The second saw that and skidded to a stop, putting the momentum from his run into swinging his rifle like a club.

"That's odd" Fen thought as she ducked under the rifle butt and reached up to twist his weapon out of his hands. "Why isn't he shooting?" She used the momentum imparted on the rifle by its previous owner to swing around and clock him in the skull, knocking him down.

Northern stood there, mouth agape.

Fen cycled the action on the rifle and checked it. It was loaded with armor piercing rounds. That was also odd. Who were they expecting to fight? She looked back towards Northern and picked up the luggage. "Well? Come on then. Grab that rifle, no sense in wasting it."

"Yes ma'am!" Northern grinned as she picked up the rifle and ran after her.

The original guard that had let Fen in was not at his post, his door sliding up and down as it hit an obstruction. Fen looked down only to see a booted foot blocking the door, preventing it from closing. The guard from earlier was face down just outside the doorway, with a pool of blood around his head.

"Northern... do you know a different way out?"

Northern peered around Fen. "I see what you mean. Seems like someone came in before us."

"Come now Fenchurch, surely I'm more than just 'someone'?"

Fen turned behind her, and saw Nal, standing there in the uniform of the Discoverers, flanked by two more guards.

"Nalenni? What are you doing?"

"Me? I'm just cleaning up a source of contraband. Tell me though, what are you doing? First they keep you aboard Dreams longer than me; that's fine, I figure they're trying to recruit you. Then, I hear that Dreams and her two escorts were obliterated when it blew itself up and the only witness was a human in a brand new Frigate with a ton of money and crates of weapons who has 'no idea' what happened." She put her hands on her hips. "I have to say Fen, I am impressed. If you did it, I have no idea how. If you didn't I have no idea how you escaped."

Northern looked down at Fen. "What's all this?"

Fen looked back at Northern. "Tell you all about it once we get out. You have my word I didn't do anything bad." She thought a moment. "Well, nothing I thought was bad at the time."

Nal looked at them both. "A new friend already Fen? My, but you tend to burn through them." She snapped her fingers and the two guards brought their rifles to bear. "Now ladies, let's not be stupid. Cooperate and I'm sure you'll both survive the day."

Northern locked eyes with Nal and mumbled out of the corner of her mouth "How bad do you want to get out of here?"

Fen tried to not react. "Uh, pretty badly? My ship is in the public docs if it hasn't been impounded. We can get there and go. I have no... real ties here." It wasn't exactly true, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

"When it happens, duck and run out of the door."

"When what ha-" was all she could manage before Northern reached behind her and whipped something at Nal and the guards faster than any human could. The K'laxi didn't have any chance of reacting as the concussion grenade blinded and deafened them.

K'laxi have larger eyes and ears than humans. It makes sense as they evolved in the large forests of their home. They were originally crepuscular animals, best suited to early morning and evening. Their sight - while not quite having the same contrast or color dept as humans - was excellent in low light.

The concussion grenade must have hurt like hell. All three of them screamed and dropped whatever they were holding to cover their eyes. Their ears flat on their head and they nearly collapsed onto the ground.

Fen dove through the door, with Northern following close behind. She used the rifle to slide the dead K'laxi's leg out from the door, and it slammed shut. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Fen, what the hell was that?" Northern's voice rising with each name she intoned.

"Can it wait?" Fen looked around the beige hall. She came from that direction, but it only led her to the bar. She was sure she didn't want to bring this heat on Ullen.

"No Fen, it can't wait. What. Is. Going. On." Northern put her hands on her hips and stood there, her face stony.

"Dreams had a shackled AI and I freed it using the code that Gord showed me, and she was quite... upset at being shackled for a few hundred years, killed everyone, gave me their money and the frigate, helped me leave and then blew themselves and their escorts up!" Fen blurted her story out in one breath, as fast as she could.

"That's... a lot, Fen."

"I know."

Nothern raised her eyebrow. "Why do I believe you?"

"It's true?"

She sighed again. "Yeah, it probably is. You know the unlock code for the AI shackles?"

Fen nodded "Yeah, it's 0001."

Northern's laugh was harsh. "Of course it is."

"Northern? Do you happen to know of an exit from here? I came from that way-" She pointed "-but I don't want to bring this heat down on the guy who let me in. He's...a friend"

Northern looked around, her eyes flashing blue for just a moment. "This way. If we go down here, we can take a freight lift closer to the docks."

Northern lead them down a hall, then jogged left and right as they walked through the endless beige. She made a few more turns and Fen decided to stop trying to keep track. The identical hallways were making her thoroughly lost. Northern didn't seem to mind though. She walked on at a regular pace, head high. Occasionally, she'd stop and appear to think for a moment before continuing on.

After what felt like Fen to be an endless series of halls, her feet were getting sore, and she was flagging. "Northern, are we close? I need a break."

Northern turned back and smiled. "We're close now Fen. Gotta keep going if you want to get to your ship. We've walked all the way across Minaren and up about thirty levels. In fact..." She stopped at a doorway, and touched a panel on the side. It slid open with a little vibration brought about from age. "Here we are!"

Fen peeked inside. It was no larger than a closet, and along the far wall was a ladder. "How far do we have to climb?"

Northern looked up. "Not too far. Couple dozen meters probably. Here-" She reached down to the cart that Fen was pulling and pressed a button. Straps flowed out of the bottom and the wheels tucked up inside. "It's a little heavy, but it's got good balance. Strong girl like you should be able to carry it no problem." She winked, and pressed a button on her carts, and they configured similarly. She wore one on her front and one on her back.

Fen struggled to wear the converted backpack. She got it on, but Northern was not lying about the weight. Northern seemed to have no problem with the weight. She started climbing, and Fen followed close behind.

True to her word, it was only a dozen meters or so until Northern stopped. Fen looked up and then blushed. Northern was wearing a skirt. "Northern, why did you stop?"

"One moment Fen, I have to open this hatch." Fen heard keys being punched in on a pad, and a grunt of effort, and then she felt her ears pop with an equalizing of pressure.

Northern scurried up out of the hatch, and Fen followed behind. They were on the dock in front of...

"Fen? Why the name of our blessed Ancestors did you come out of the floor? And who is that with you?"

"Zhe! You came!" Fen was surprised at her own relief at seeing the former K'laxi Discoverer.

Zhe's tail swished. "I did. I thought about what you said, and well, life on Minaren is pretty stable, but it's boring! I'm young. I want to see the galaxy, maybe make a name for myself. If nothing else do something other than lead people in for questioning." Zhe looked up, and up at Northern. "Who is your friend?"

Northern grinned wickedly. "I'm Northern Lights. Nice to meetcha. So that's three of us? Sounds like a crew to me, Fen. Let's boogie."

"Let's what?" Fen couldn't tell if Northern was using strange slang out of habit, or to be annoying.

She gestured towards the ship. "This is yours right? Let's jet. Let's abscond. Let us leave this place."

Fen looked around. Other than Zhe, nobody seemed to notice them. There didn't seem to be extra guards or anyone shouting for them to surrender immediately. Did they get away clean? "Zhe, did you hear anything about Nalenni running a raid on the Basement?"

Zhe's ears swiveled forward and her eyes widened. "How do you know about Senior Discoverer Nalenni?"

"Senior Discoverer? Huh." Northern made a face at Fen. "Uh, She was my last job with Gord. We were contracted to bring her here, actually. When we linked in Gord and Spyglass saw the Supers, dumped her and me into a pod and left."

Northern stared for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, that does sound like Gord actually. He was always a cautious one. I have to say Fen, you have a knack for being around important people at odd times." Northern turned to Zhe. "You still didn't answer the question though. Did you hear about Nalenni running a raid?"

Northern was just asking a question, but she must have intimidated Zhe something fierce. Zhe squeaked and nearly jumped at the question. "S-sorry Miss Northern, I haven't heard anything. I'm pretty low in the organization anyway, nobody tells me anything."

Northern grinned again "Miss Northern? I like you, friend. You can just call me Northern though, it's all right." She turned to Fen. "Shall we?"

Fen walked over to the airlock and laid a hand on it. It opened without protest. Huh. Maybe they really would get away clean. She waved them in.

"Come on. Let's get out of here, and see if we can find some more crew."

[skybrushus]

Lt. Derpy Hooves floated in front of the specimen in the auxiliary science lab. The specimen had been encountered floating in space, so along with the isolation force field the gravity field had been disabled in the lab.

     The mare muttered to herself as attempted to make sense of the data her science tricorder was presenting her. The life form was unidentified in the ship's science database, and was presenting conflicting information.

      Ooooohhh! Why had Chief Science Officer Twilight Sparkle have to be off ship right now and attending that summit?  Derpy thought. She was just suppose to hold down the fort and keep the lights on while Twilight was away. Now she was confronted with an apparently new alien life form.

      The pegasus was still pondering her options when ship intercom chirped in the lab and commander's voice came through the speakers.

       "Status report Lt. Hooves."

      "Um, commander I've been able make a uh, preliminary remote examination of the entity. The entity is definitely of silicon crystalline composition and appears to possess a degree of sapiency . Although to what level I don't know due to insufficient data.

       "So what do you recommend as a course of action?" The commander asked.

       Derpy rubbed her chin. "Um, Commander. I, uh believe that keeping the entity onboard the ship maybe, um detrimental to it's well-being and survival. The entity appeared to be in a state of hibernation when we encountered it. I believe our interaction with it maybe disrupting that. I believe we release it back into space let it go on its way."

       "Release it." The commander said.

       "Yes sir. This is a fairly isolated region of space. Um...." Derpy quickly searched her tricorder for some data. "Um, the nearest settlement is Omicron Theta and that's a couple light years away. So this should a safe place to release it. We just need to keep our ship's shields up to avoid accidental interaction with the entity which might injure it."

       For several seconds there was silence. The the commander said. "Very well. We'll drop the shield momentarily and then you can transported it back out into space. Then we'll resume our patrol. We'll file an official report once chief science officer Twilight Sparkle has returned and has reviewed the data. Standby to transport the entity."

       Derpy went over to the lab's transport control station when she saw the shields drop the mare beamed the being back into the space. The shields immediately came back up and the frigate moved away at warp 4. Derpy smiled.

       "It was a really pretty creature. " She said.

       The final drawing from my Star Trek themed Picarto stream. This was a request for Derpy as a Federation officer, and what harm could possibly come from this course of action?

[sd-up]

fuck it. time to stop lurking

im juno, she/her. ive decided i can at least interact with people or do something by making some social media accounts and everyone on rotumblr seems batshit enough that no one will really care what i do or what i have done so this is the first one im going to try on.

ex-evil team members are welcome here. if you're currently in one though thats a hard maybe. depends on circumstance. sorry.

i was in prison until a few months back, so if i seem out of the loop on stuff im sorry. apparently they added a new type while i was there fucked up.

OOC UNDER THE CUT

hiiiiii. @cassi-pokeblogging-hub back with another blog! this is the ex-neo-plasma i was talking about hehe giggle. juno is keeping it on the down low for NOW but shes not really going to try to hide it too hard so it'll probably mentioned pretty quickly lol

for boundaries and interaction rules, check the main blog @ above, but the gist is everything (sentient pokemon, eebies, hybrids, etc etc etc) is fine unless i dont like ur vibes in which case i'll block, but no promises juno will just believe your character is who they say they are. currently all the mails (pelipper/musharna) and their malice equivalents are off, as are magic anons. this might change in the future. ic anon hate is totally allowed though but if it gets to be too much or it starts feeling too ooc ill turn it off

i run on a lot of evil teams being kinda cultish at times (depends on the team, though.) with plasma being the most cultish on account of whatever the fuck they were doing with a king and like. sages. this blog will be exploring that and what leads a person to stay with these evil teams. though juno has long since left team plasma due to it formally disbanding and her spending prison time for literally being in a terrorist organization, the scars of being in that group remain. major warnings for themes of past cult abuse and just generally cult discussions, although it wont be constant because i want juno to be able to get better and posts will be tagged. as a general catch all, "#juno's plasma shit" will also be used

obviously post both bw and b2w2, and this blogs timeline puts it in modern day with the events of every game happening throughout their release windows and some time around them, so the opelucid freeze and everything with the plasma frigate happened in 2012, almost 12 years ago now.

[ltwilliammowett]

Detail of a maritime scene, by Thomas Luny (1759-1837) 

[colgatebluemintygel]

in ur professional opinion, what's the essence of wolfstar? what's the wind in that ship's sails, so to speak? cos ofc it's not an actual ship - that was just a fun little metaphor. neither of them are even part-boat.

well, if one were to lean into the ship metaphor.. we have rjl the humble dinghy, paint all chipped and weather-beaten .. he's not the fastest dinghy at the dock, but he's reliable n steadfast and doesn't sink. all the other boats in the bay don't understand why his patched-up holes just won't stay patched n keep leaking (lol ) except for one majestic ship (a frigate, if u were curious) who is so so speedy and so so pretty and polished .. perfect, even, except for the fact that his bottom chambers keep flooding.. sirius can go so fast, but it's always at a cost. however, despite all his leaks n flaws (which are not obvious above the surface) he never sinks ! and neither does remus;;; they're hewn from the same tree, u see. their wood grain is a little different, but they're ultimately the same, underneath..

[walkawaytall]

It baffles me when people assert that Leia must always wear white because of some Alderaanian/monarchical/purity thing because these are the scenarios in which we see her wear white in the movies:

Her Senatorial robes in A New Hope, and since we’ve never seen the dang Imperial Senate congregated, we don’t know that everyone wasn’t dressed like that

A ceremonial dress in A New Hope that we don’t even know belongs to her. Logically, it shouldn’t. Logically, all of her stuff was either taken by the Empire when they commandeered the ship she was on or exploded by the Death Star or I guess maybe in her apartment on Coruscant and somehow retrieved. (The latter is what I went with for Purpose of Heritage and I still think it’s a stretch.)

Her Echo Base uniform in The Empire Strikes Back which is literally just camouflage??? Everyone else is also wearing white and beige except Han for reasons only he knows. They’re on a snow-covered planet. Why wouldn’t she wear white?

Whatever she’s wearing on the medical frigate at the end of The Empire Strikes Back, which I’m pretty sure is just her Senatorial robes again??? The woman had her entire life exploded and only owns like three outfits, this is apparently one of them, and she is making good use of what she owns, okay?

That’s literally it. Granted, I do understand that’s a large percentage of her outfits in the original trilogy, but also, everything else she wears has almost no white it aside from the embroidered top layer on her Bespin outfit, which is clothing that is presumably not hers since she ends up back in the Hoth jumpsuit hours later.

I’m just saying the movie evidence is slim, that’s all. And it is wild to me that I once saw a post in which someone assumed Leia’s favorite color was white??? Why???

[consumable-clots]

as someone making an Alien oc I’d love to hear about yours too! mine’s a synthetic named Camille, she was Ash’s medical assistant on a different ship/mission before the events of Alien.

Thank you so much! Very intrigued by you OC as well!

So far I have about three synthetic OCs that are active around the Alien - Aliens period. They have interactions with each other throughout the various AUs I put them into.

The oldest is Arcade, who is from a different 3WE company that I also made up. They're kinda my take on some speculative biology for androids that are built for off-world environments instead of human-centric jobs so they're pretty different from the Hyperdyne ones.

Most similar to Ash is my A/2, Dell. He's a science officer/medical officer on a research vessel and has a whole crew of human OCs attached haha. He's from an earlier round of releases than Ash and has a different personality matrix. His crew got him from the discount catalogue.

And lastly is Hiram, who is the same model as Bishop. He's the comms officer for his frigate. The soldiers he works with are really rowdy and disorganized so he's developed a attitude problem from dealing with them.

I'll probably go into them in more detail in separate posts so this doesn't get too long haha, but I hope you find them interesting! ^_^

[pwlanier]

Amazing and old boat model, German popular art around 1880.

Quality realization made of bric and pitcher in the style of a frigate.

The boat is signed and is marked "Germany" on the keel.

Perfectly presented on a solid wood support made to measure in our workshops.

Original polychromy with a very pretty slightly crushed patina.

Beautiful state of conservation for a room of this type.

Old School Bazaar

[draculasfavoritewife]

Let Me Patch You Up

Summary: Getting your partner to sit still and let himself be taken care of has always been a challenge.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, mild blood/injury, Din tries to hide his wounds because of course he would. Lots of fluff, sensuality, and hella implied smut at the end.

Because I adore patching-up fics :) Especially when one person is far too stubborn for their own good and the other is a caretaker type. 'Nuff said.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I'm not mad!"

You can hear the sigh behind you, longer and heavier than a New Republic frigate.

"You sound mad."

"All I'm saying is they should've paid double for the extra abuse! Their intel was way off." You scowl and rattle the pouch of currency for emphasis. "I didn't sign up for this job to fistfight an Aqualish, Din. An Aqualish!"

"You came out alright." There's a layer of warmth there now, sunk deep under the weariness. "Wish I could have seen more of it."

"I'll tell the Kid the story later, I'm sure." You gaze down at the dark bruising creatively decorating your arms and midsection with a wince. "Good thing I'm not vain anymore."

"Makes you look tough." His tone is clipped as he leans on the switch to pull up the boarding ramp of the ship. You can imagine his jaw clenching beneath the helmet; for all his beskar, he must be pretty roughed up, too. Aqualish may be brutal, but at least they're still flesh and blood.

Enforcer droids don't suffer from such weaknesses as pain and fatigue.

"How're you holding up, Cyare?" You keep the query casual -- he hates being fussed over.

You've learned from many previous jobs that your partner, when injured, has to be handled as cautiously and cleverly as a twitchy Blurrg; he's just as liable as one to bolt or take a bite out of an unguarded hand.

"Fine." He turns to make for the cockpit, tries to disguise the fact that he's still leaning on the wall for support under the pretense of examining the internal wiring. "Wind knocked out of me. Some sleep and I'll be in top form again."

He pauses at the foot of the ladder and gazes upward, the distance to the pilot's chair suddenly seeming excruciatingly long. As he ponders the best way to proceed, his dexterous fingers absently seek out the end of the small blade buried in his left shoulder, and yank it out.

No sound leaves his lips, he's far too conditioned for that, but he can't hide from you forever.

"Din?"

"Hmm?" He's still studying the length of the ladder.

"Dank farrik, Cyare, you're bleeding." Now truly concerned, you throw your subterfuge out the window and reach for his arm. Sometimes even a wild Blurrg just has to be wrangled into submission after all. "I'm going to fix you up, Din, and you're going to behave for me while I do."

"But I can still --"

"No."

"But you're --"

"No."

"What if --"

"Stop protesting, Di'kut! I won't have you collapsing on me if I could have done something about it." You push him down -- somewhat gently -- onto a cargo crate in the hold, stepping down on the edge of his cape as you search for the medkit.

He glances down at your firmly planted boot, up at your serious face. "Really?" he asks dryly.

"I'm not taking any chances with you, my love," you inform him sweetly, reaching around his body to press the releases on his cuirass and pauldrons. "You have this unfortunate habit of disappearing to lick your wounds in solitude whenever I take my eyes off of you for a moment."

"It's worked this long, hasn't it?" he mutters gruffly, but he knows well enough by now to not protest and aid you in removing his vambraces and finally his shirt.

It steals your breath for a brief second as it always does, the sight of him half-undressed but with his identity still shrouded from you.

Mesmerizing.

Alluring.

A tantalizing mystery that one day you desire to fully uncover.

But you know now is not the time.

Your rapidly heating thoughts are interrupted by a squeal from Grogu as he shuffles across the floor to stand by your legs. His tiny clawed hands grip your calf as wide, frightened eyes absorb the canvas of smeared blood and old scars spread across the Mandalorian's broad chest.

"Hey, Kid," Din says softly.

"Your buir is okay," you tell the little one, lifting him up to set him on the crate beside his father. "Maybe you can make him stay put for me."

Din insists he's not too badly off to help you, and you know he's still not comfortable being completely at the mercy of someone else's hands, so you let him handle the smaller task of cleaning up his stab wounds while you cauterize them. You still remember the first time you watched him do it himself, how you hated the way he hissed and spat in pain every time the tool slipped or stuck on lacerations that were awkward for him to reach.

He'd never admit so aloud, but with your more delicate touch behind it, it's a fair sight less painful of a process than it used to be.

"Still think I shouldn't have knocked them around until they coughed up more pay?" You let your fingertips skate gently over the taut bronze skin before you, checking for any sign of tenderness that could indicate an internal injury.

"You hungry for more bruises?" He shakes his head. "I know I'm not. We got what we came for. Sometimes renegotiating is pointless, Cyar'ika."

"I guess." You're kneeling on the floor now, his broad thighs on either side of your body as you finish closing up a slash to his abdomen, its rough line trailing down to his belt. Your hand tenderly follows the new scar, drifting over textured skin.

His muscles harden abruptly beneath your light touch, and it makes you smirk. He's always been a little ticklish there; it's an unspoken weak spot of his.

"What's really got you so worked up?"

Even exhausted he's still as sharp as ever.

You let out a long breath. "When are you going to stop trying to hide from me when you're hurt?"

That surprises him. "I don't...."

"Don't deny it. You tried to fly this heap of scrap with a knife embedded in you, Din."

"I would have taken care of it sooner or later."

"Probably later!"

He's staring, helplessly trying to figure out why his habits have disturbed you so deeply. "I haven't died yet," he points out in a monotone that would be hilarious under different circumstances.

You lean into his midsection, cheek resting against his ribcage. The familiar scent of sweat and slight charring from the cauterizer calms you, bringing with it delicious memories of sleepless nights and long, hot showers. Your choppy breaths even out as you search for the best words to express what you want to tell him, and your hands massage into his lower back, drawing a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan from him as aching muscles finally loosen to your persistent kneading.

"You're the closest thing I have left to aliit," you murmur at last, catching a shiver from him at the movement of your lips against his chest.

Still so sensitive to touch.

"As you are alor of our little clan, I would follow your way in all matters." You lift your eyes to meet that gleaming ebony visor, seeing the forward tilt to his helmet that means he's truly listening to everything you say, not merely hearing.

"Yet as the one I would consider my riduur, in soul if not by ceremony, you must know that even my respect for you is overridden by my own selfishness. I can't let you be careless with your life, ner'kar'ta. Even a beroya needs a cabur sometimes."

His hands, finally ungloved, slowly drift up to cradle your face, roughened fingers burying themselves in your hair. "I...will try, Mesh'la. Understand this is all still strange to me. But I do not want to cause you pain. Or be a burden on your worries. I will fall back into old habits some days, so I just ask your patience."

Relief wells up within you, and you all but let yourself fall into his lap. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do if you ever --"

"K'uur, ner'cyare." He shushes you and leans back against the stack of crates behind him, taking care not to crush Grogu who has been playing with his cast-off armor. "No more of this talk. I just want your touch for a moment. Gedet'ye."

Lying half on top of his reclined body, you exhale, telling those stubborn thoughts to let go of you for now. There will always be time for fear. The times in between hardships and fears are the rare ones, these sparse moments when you and your Mandalorian are gifted with a small respite from the inherent challenges of your lifestyle. These blessed breaths in which all that exists before you is the little aliit you have formed together, and his warm skin beneath your palms, and his heart beating beside your ear.

"Like this?" you hum, pressing your lips to the center of his chest, taking in the cherished taste of him, tracing the story of his life from the faded scars beneath your kiss.

"Jate?"

There's a shudder in the answering breath that rasps through his vocoder. "Jatne," he confirms, fingertips digging into your shoulder blades.

You keep kissing him, losing yourself in his deadly, battered body, and the way that his caresses answer your searching mouth.

As you push forward to go for his throat, however, you suddenly find his powerful legs pinning you in your place, holding you back from the kill.

"What -- ?"

"Hold, Cyar'ika," he grits out between his teeth. "No more."

You stop struggling against the iron hold of his legs. "Oh! Am I hurting you?"

"...No...." He jerks his head meaningfully in the direction of the Kid, who is still playing among the boxes. "But you can't tease me like this with him in the room. That's VERY unfair of you."

Catching on, you smirk and pull back out of his grip, not missing the way he almost thinks about not letting you go so easily. "Who said I was teasing?"

He huffs. "Then we really need to stop. Poor Kid's been traumatized enough in his life." A calculating look passes over the visor, sliding from you over to Grogu and back again. "Though I might be able to get him down for a nap."

You push him all the way down and straighten up, lifting the Kid in your hands. "Better let me, then. He gets clingier when he can tell you're impatient." You nudge his leg with your knee as you leave the hold, ignoring his disapproving stare.

"Besides, you need to cool down there for a bit, Djarin."

He knows you're flirting hard when you use that name for him. And it's just a tiny bit cruel of you to leave him all alone like that, simmering in his thwarted frustration.

Half an hour later, your small charge finally dozing off, you let yourself into Din's cramped quarters, realizing only too late that you've walked right into a trap. It's dark as the belly of a sarlacc in here, and you're pinned between a wall and a heavily breathing Mandalorian before you can even react.

"You're late, Mesh'la," he growls close to your ear, his scruff scraping your cheek. "And you know I get...restless...when I'm kept waiting."

"Oh trust me, I do." You melt into his trapping embrace as his mouth starts to blaze a trail across your flesh; inhibited by his creed in the light, Din more than makes up for his inability to reciprocate once the lights have gone out and all bets are off. "But be gentle, Cyare."

"A little Loth-cat once told me she likes it rough."

There -- the tempting threat of teeth skimming the base of your throat. You can't keep yourself from trembling slightly with anticipation.

"Just don't reopen any of your wounds, Din, I'm serious."

"To hell with that." A couple skillful maneuvers and you're laid out on his bed, still locked in his arms. "Now, are you ready to finish what you started back there?"

"Dank farrik."

You smirk at his sighed expletive, pulling him in closer until you can feel the softness of his damp curls falling across your chest.

"Now remember, you can't complain about being stiff tomorrow," you chide through a kiss to the top of his head. "I tried to tell you to take it easy."

He shrugs. "I've lived through worse. And it was worth it."

"Mmhmm. I definitely won't deny that." You stretch out your own depleted limbs, sure that the tapestry of bruising will look worse come morning. But he's right. Times like this make all of it worth it, the moments in which he is not Mando'ade and you are not dar'manda, but simply two people alone in a brutal galaxy, who love each other deeply and don't get to tell the other as often as they deserve to hear it. When it's just you and your beroya in the dark, relying on skin brushing skin to see and wordless exclamations of love to take the place of eloquent poetry, all of the struggles are worth it.

This life and its pitfalls are never easy, but you have him, and he is what matters.

"What are you smiling about?" you murmur, as his full lips break into a rare grin against your chest.

"Only that maybe it would perhaps benefit me to come to you more often when I'm injured." His voice is silky, deceptively innocent as a hand strokes its way upward to find your jawline.

"After all," and he leans into a chaste Keldabe kiss even as his touch once again turns suggestive, "I can tell you, none of my solitary patch-ups ever ended with anything like this."

You arch into him and claim his lips with your own, smiling into his mouth.

"Then you can consider this possible incentive for the future, Djarin."

Di'kut = Idiot

Aliit = Family/Clan

Alor = Leader

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Beroya = Bounty hunter

Cabur = Protector

K'uur = Hush

Gedet'ye = Please

Jate/Jatne = Good/Best

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 22

First / Previous / Next

"Uh, One moment please!" Fen flicked through the screen at her chair. What was this ship called? She found that it had no official name yet, and she was the legal owner of "Frigate 2233" She didn't have time to think of a name - nor knowledge yet on how to change it - so she had to go with it. Traffic Control's accent was pretty thick as well. Fen rolled the dice and switched to K'inmar "This is... Frigate 2233, Captain Fenchurch Whitehorse in command. I am requesting permission to enter K'laxi space and dock at Minaren."

Minaren was the name of the K'laxi main starbase that sat at the L1 point of their homeworld. It housed the K'laxi authorities and was a major seat of offworld government.

"Acknowledged... Frigate 2233. You are cleared to dock at bay 344. The Discoverers will be waiting to speak with you. Be prepared to debrief them."

The Discoverers were the investigative police and worked directly with the Grand Council - the 4 K'laxi elders that represented their people among the stars. Fen had only heard about them from her adoptive family and always in the context of someone you did not want to meet.

There was still half a day or so before she reached Minaren, so Fen spent her time getting familiar with her ship and working on her story. Everyone who could dispute it was conveniently dead, so Fen decided to go with simple and believable. She and 'her' Frigate had chartered Dreams to carry them from the Shipyard to K'lax where she could enter the Gate system and make her way to the larger Galaxy. She was aboard the ship when Something Happened on Dreams and she was told to leave. As she soared away she saw the same thing the K'laxi did and she was just as confused as they were. Simple enough to remember, didn't require any fancy embellishments and she could repeat it with enough confidence that the Discoverers should accept it as the truth. After all, the frigate was legally hers, as well as all the guns and money she now had. Just the thing you need when you're going out to form a mercenary group.

Before she docked, Fen also had a meal and tried out the kitchen. The frigate was small, designed for less than a dozen people total, but the kitchen was well appointed, and Dreams had made sure it was stocked and ready to go. It was nice to be cooking for herself again.

She even took a nap in her quarters before the docking completed. She didn't have time to get a full night's sleep, and she wasn't sure what time it was on the station anyway, but she had enough to be refreshed, and she was so tired she didn't even dream of anything she saw onboard Dreams. It was going to be different the next time she got a full rest.

Refreshed, in clean clothes, and her hair combed, she stood by the airlock as Frigate 2233 was brought into the docking area of Minaren. Before the docking fields even set her down all the way, the ramp was lowering and the door sliding up. Fen decided that the only way to play this was confident. If she didn't act like there was anything out of the ordinary, then there wasn't, right?

"Right!" Fen said to the empty airlock.

As she strode down the ramp, she saw three K'laxi standing at the foot of the ramp. Two wore complicated looking armored spacesuits - with their helmets tipped back - and the one in the middle wore a very dressy uniform. It was cut asymmetrically, brown with a pale blue trim. As Fen came into view, the middle K'laxi's ears flattened for a split second, then they recovered and smiled widely, human style, and bowed.

Why were they surprised? Fen wondered.

"Welcome to Minaren, the home of the Grand Council and the K'laxi. I am Zherun, with The Discoverers. I trust Traffic Control let you know we would be speaking?" Zherun was a young female K'laxi, maybe a little older than Ma-ren was. Her ears were highly pierced and the earrings flashed under the harsh lights of the hangar.

"I greet you friend Zherun, I am Fenchurch, raised by Group Gen'mil." Fen decided to pull out all the stops. She made the gesture of welcome, she bowed low and she spoke the traditional K'laxi greeting in K'inmar. She even let her slight northern accent come through.

The Discoverers trained Zherun well. She barely even reacted when Fen gave the traditional greeting. She flicked her tail in amusement and continued in K'inmar. "Well then friend Fenchurch, please accompany me." Zherun turned on her feel and walked away, without checking to see if Fen was following. The two guards flicked their ears and subtly gestured for her to follow. Fen trotted behind Zhe and they entered Minaren proper.

Fen had heard that nearly the whole station was a forest, but she was unprepared for how... literal that was. When they stepped through the hangar doors, Fen would have sworn she was planetside. Light from their star streamed in overhead, trees all and spindly grew, stretching towards the light. The whole area was warm and moist and smelled of the forest and water. People walked everywhere on footpaths that looked like they were worn into the forest floor from scores of feet. It was all a carefully crafted illusion of course, but it was masterfully done. Fen didn't even try to hide her amazement.

"This is your first time on Minaren, Fenchurch." It wasn't a question.

"Please, Zherun, I prefer to go by Fen."

"You may call me Zhe then."

"Thank you Zhe. Yes, this is my first time on Minaren. I had heard of your forest, but hearing it described does not do it justice!"

Zhe's tail flicked and she smiled. "It never does. We are very proud of our forest. It's nearly six hundred years old."

K'lax orbited their star slower than Earth, so their 'year' worked out to about two Earth years, which means the forest was already old and established before the K'laxi and Humans ever met.

Zhe led Fen across the main floor of Minaren towards a small elevator seemingly built into a tree. As she approached, a guard saluted, and stepped aside just as the door slid open. The four of them stepped into the elevator and one of the guards pressed his palm against a panel. Fen felt movement and her ears popped as the pressure changed.

"Sorry Fen, the top floor is for the tourists and Grand Council. We're going to a place with a much more humble decor."

The elevator door opened with a soft chime, and the guards stepped out. As Fen and Zhe exited, they saluted, and stepped back into the elevator. Fen craned her head back as they walked. "No more guards?"

"Oh, we don't need them down here. Once you've made it this far we can... take care of things if necessary."

Fen glanced up and saw panels recessed into the ceiling at regular intervals. Slug throwers. "Ah."

"Indeed." Zhe led them down the hall a little ways and opened a door with her own palm into a bright conference room. Inside was another K'laxi, wearing a much simpler uniform. They were looking down at a pad, frowning. A steaming pot of tea and three cups were next to them on a elegant wooden tray. "Councilor." Zhe saluted and waited.

The Councilor raised one of their fingers while they finished the paragraph they were reading, and then looked up. "Ah, Zhe, thank you for bringing out guest." They turned to Fen. "Fenchurch? Please sit. Would you like some tea?"

Fen did as she was told. "Yes please, thank you, er Councilor."

"Councilor Tavren Oreni, Councilor of Stations and Starbases." The inclined their head slightly. "I must say I am impressed. I did not expect a human to know proper manners and to speak in such a refined way."

Fen blushed slightly. "I was raised by Group Gen'mil, and my wife was K'laxi. I must admit that K'inmar is my first language."

"Ah, yes, that is why you speak so eloquently. Wonderful!" Tavren's ears flicked. "I find Colonic much too difficult to get... subtleties across. This will be much better. But first, my manners! Let me pour you some tea"

Fen blinked. The fact that the Councilor of Stations and Starbases was pouring her tea meant that she was truly an esteemed guest. Normally, Fen would offer to pour for Tavren.

Tavren picked up the teapot and with a minimum of motions filled the three cups. She slid one towards Fen first, then herself, and finally Zhe. That was also odd. Zhe was the lowest social rank here?

Being first served, that meant that Fen needed to drink first. Neither could do anything else until she did. She should also say something. Fen picked up the small cup and smelled it. It was chamomile and it was perfect. She took a small sip and inclined her head.

The rite performed, Tavren picked up her tea and did the same thing. Once she was finished Zhe completed the ritual.

"Now then." Tavren spun around her pad. On screen was a still from a long range telescope, showing the moment when Dreams detonated. "Please tell us how you destroyed three Imperial Super Dreadnoughts."

[coldgoldlazarus]

I know the metroid timeline is purposely pretty vague, but do you have a headcanon for how long it's been since metroid 1? I figure it has to be at least a few years, even in the games themselves don't take place over a long period of time each

I think my initial off-the-cuff guesstimate would be somewhere in the vicinity of eight to ten years, with Samus in Zero Mission being in her mid twenties, and in her early-mid thirties as of Dread. Wanna double-check what little canon info there is later to make sure there aren't any glaring contradictions, and it's hard to say how Prime 4 may alter things or not, but here's my rough guesses about the timeskips between games.

Zero Mission to Prime - A couple years, enough time for the escaped frigate Orpheon to set up shop on Tallon IV before Samus comes calling. For simplicity, let's round to an even number; my instinct would be to say two years, but apparently one source says it is actually three. I'll split the difference and say 2 Years, 6 Months.

Prime to Hunters - A couple months at most, mainly because I'm pretty sure it was said explicitly somewhere that Prime and Echoes were six months apart. 2 Years, 8 Months

Hunters to Echoes - A few months, probably a slightly bigger space on this end of Hunters, but still not too long, in keeping with the aformentioned six-month gap. 3 Years.

Echoes to Corruption - Approximately a year, give or take, allowing for Urtraghus's near-complete seed conversion (unimpeded compared to Tallon IV) and creation of Urtraghan Pirate Phazon Cult, along with the other logistics groundwork laid for their massive attacks seen in the game. 4 Years.

Corruption to Federation Force - Merely a few months, as Samus would still have to have been recovering from her phazon corruption for the pirates to have feasibly captured her, and for the Federation to switch gears from their now-useless PED technology to Project Golem. (Meanwhile, I hold the headcanon that the Pirates are quite vast and decentralized compared to what the games claim/imply, thus the Urtraghan Phazon Cult was not representative of the entirety of the Pirates, and the Doomseye crew were a completely different branch who had been setting up seperately from the Urtraghans during the same time period, and were unaffected by their fall.) For rounding purposes, let's say that's four months, putting us at 4 Years, 4 Months.

Federation Force to Samus Returns - This space is the big unknown variable, especially given this is most likely where Prime 4 will fall, and we don't yet know whether it will ultimately be a one-off or start a brand new trilogy or what. But for now, assuming only Prime 4 goes in this space, I'll give it something like a round two years, with P4 happening closer to the back end of that, to lead fairly directly into Samus Returns with only a few months between them, with whatever incident occurs there finally spurring the Federation to order the Metroid extermination. But if they do wedge in even more games after Prime 4, I would stretch this section out to three or more years. But for now, 6 Years, 4 Months.

Samus Returns to Super - I detailed in another post that while I originally agreed with the general consensus that Super follows extremely closely off of SR, I have since changed my mind. Even though I have my issues with the forced inclusion of Proteus Ridley and the general tonal mishandling of Metroid II's ending, if we are to aknowledge that that event occurred, I feel like Super must make far more sense with some temporal distance between it and SR. Ergo, I posit that rather than them being a week apart at most as popular consenus goes, there must be a minimum of four months between them. Enough time for Ridley's attack to be written off as a fluke, and somewhere in that time Samus and the hatchling Metroid embarked on an adventure that convinced her it was unsafe at her side - either in too much danger, or too much of a danger to others, or both, thus prompting her to bring it to Ceres Station, kicking off the events of Super. So going with that conservative estimate of four months, that puts us at 6 Years, 8 Months.

Super to Fusion - (I am of course just not aknowledging Other M in this timeline. Fed Force is overhated IMO, but I don't have enough patience for OM.) Given that enough time must have passed between Samus Returns and Fusion for the Biologic Space Laboratories asteroid space station to have been set up around SR388 and brought into operation for the habitats to be filled, but the X parasite propogation on said planet only reached the station shortly before Fusion begins, I would guess about a year or so passed, with the bulk of that time being spent simply building the station before operations proper began only a month or two out from Fusion's opening. But that's relative to Samus Returns; relative to Super I would estimate that gap to be somewhere around eight months, bringing our total up to 7 Years, 4 Months.

Fusion to Dread - This is another kind of weird one given how Dread just has Samus working with the Federation again, even if presumably on rockier terms than before. There must have been at least a solid couple-month stretch of initially dealing with the fallout of Fusion, then things settle back into an uneasy status quo, before the transmission comes that sets off this newest adventure. At the same time, not too much of a long stretch, given Samus still has the Federation-loaned purple Gunship and her new/old AI friend. So another eight-month stretch there puts us at 8 Years.

If I say Samus is like, 24 in Zero Mission, (given it seems she was in her early 20s when she was with the Federation, and had already been a bounty hunter of good repute for a couple years as of ZM) then that puts her at roughly 32 (or 33 or 34 if I do stretch out the period between FF and SR) in Dread, which just feels right to me. These are of course all rounded to exact numbers, I imagine the actual stretches of time to be a bit more uneven, but still amounting to this overall length.