#Carbonite Blocks

[mudpuddless]

Lunch in the Kenobi-Skywalker-Tano-and-secretly-also-Fett quarters

(not pictured: one knight Skywalker, a togruta padawan, and a good dozen clone troopers in a variety of jedi clothes playing space-mariokart at increasingly high volumes)

[image ID: a digital drawing centred on Jango Fett, a Maori man in his late thirties, in matching mauve sweatpants and cropped shirt adding chilly powder to a big pan filled with a mushy red rice dish. His hair is greying at the temples and he is smiling slightly. On the left behind him is Obi-wan Kenobi, a pale ginger in his late thirties, wearing a blue cropped shirt and beige wrapped pants, who is walking past Jango while smiling at him, a hand on his arm. At the bottom right of the frame there is Boba Fett, a child looking like Jango at about twelve years old, in a matching blue pullover to Obi-wan's, holding up a flashing datapad, taking a photo. He is scoffing softly at his father. In the background, which is slightly blurry, there is a glass teapot and cups, a hanging multi-tier fruit basket and cabinets. Sunlight is flooding the room. end ID]

based on this fic

[thedarthray]

Stan Solo - Repro Kenner Star Wars Accessories by Darth Ray Via Flickr: Stan Solo - Repro Kenner Star Wars Accessories: Custom Amanaman Staff Repro & Carbonite Block Reproduction (Block Only) shown with genuine Kenner - Star Wars figures

[bi-writes]

the space between us | the mandalorian

sometimes i just wish that when you go, you will finally ask me to come with you.

type: one-shot word count: 13.4k (cant help myself) pairing: the mandalorian x afab!fem!princess!reader warnings: mature language and content, mature written sexual content (read at your own discretion), 🔞⚠️ summary: in four acts, a senator's daughter finds her true standing as her mandalorian ally discovers what is truly important, above all else. complete masterlist

act i: the introduction

It was raining. The clouds were dark and hovered over heavily, and the grounds of the landing bay were wet and slippery.

You opted for much more practical clothing today. Dark trousers tucked into your boots, a blade fitted into the sides of both. A warm long sleeve, of soft material, keeping you warm from the elements, with your waist defined by a corseted belt of dark leather. Your hair was up and out of your face, and you wore no jewelry. You blended well with the crew, but they recognized you easily, bowing out of your way as you admired the ships docked.

You pulled your hood up as you stood back a bit to look at a ship you didn’t recognize. It was an older model, archived as far as you knew, but here it sat in all its pre-Empire glory in your landing bay. You watched as a few crewmembers patched up a hole on the side of it, another few tightening loose bolts along one of the engines. The ramp was down, giving you a glimpse of the inside, and you made your way up slowly, your eyebrows raising as you smoothed a hand over the panel by a chamber in the back. A carbonite chamber. Your fingers grazed over a few buttons, and then you left to find another panel, curiously pressing a few switches there. A hiss sounded behind you, and you turned to see a closet, an arsenal, of weapons on display. You stepped closer, admiring them. A few different blaster models, detonators of many sizes. You had fond memories of training with many of them.

You reached for one of the vibroblades. It was crafted carefully, curved from the short handle into a deadly point, with a few inches of serration along the sharp edge. You lifted it off of its holder, twirling the blade between your fingers with ease, letting the weight of it grow comfortable in your hand.

You jumped with surprise when the cabinet doors suddenly swished closed. You turned around quickly, twisting the blade in your hand until the handle was firmly in your grasp. You made a move, swiping over your left, but your forearm was blocked easily. You made another move, swiping at them with your free hand to get your arm loose before using your heel to kick their knee in, forcing them onto their knees.

A modulated grunt of surprise came, but just as quick as you won an advantage, you lost it. Yanking your still out-stretched arm, you were flipped over their armored shoulder, bruising your side before you were slammed onto your back on the floor of the ship. You let out a sigh of discomfort, dropping the blade and putting your arms in front of your face.

“I yield!” You said, breathless. “Stars—” You groaned a bit as your side throbbed. “I yield…”

You dropped your arms, blinking up until you got a better look at the figure kneeling over you. Your eyes were focused on a cuirass of strong steel, colored a curious shade of red. Your eyes raised to meet a helmet made of the same material but in shining silver, a dark visor trained right on you, tilted to the side in an unamused manner. You did not need to see their face to know they were not happy at all finding you here, let alone being swung at with a sharp blade.

“Oh—” You let out a soft breath, relaxing back against the floor. Your side still throbbed dully. “Is this…this is your ship, isn’t it?”

You felt warm with embarrassment, feeling guilty for snooping in his clearly very private space. You were met with silence, but the silence was affirmative. This was indeed his ship, and you were definitely invading his privacy.

You sat up, level with him as he remained on his knee to glare at you up close. You gave him an apologetic smile, trying to ease the tension in the air. You had not meant to meddle in his things; and your reaction was pure instinct, nothing more.

He continued to remain silent. You apologized softly for intruding, holding out your hand and giving him your name to introduce yourself. He said nothing still, and you dropped your hand when you realized this armored man was going to say nothing of value, maybe nothing at all. You let your eyes run over his impressive armor, the collection of weapons that he practically dripped with, and the iconic shape of his helmet. You tilted your head yourself, gazing at him curiously.

“A Mandalorian,” you concluded with a soft voice. “One of the greatest warriors in the galaxy, then.” You raised a brow, looking him up and down a bit. “I don’t know. You fell on your ass pretty easily.”

Silence again. Then he stood, looming over you. He held out his hand for you to take, and you did, wrapping your hand in his and trying not to think about how easily he was able to lift you off the floor. You were level with him now, but it didn’t make him any less intimidating.

“Well,” he quipped. “It wasn’t me who yielded.”

You laughed, smiling wide as you felt the air relax immediately. You hummed in agreement, finally letting go of his hand as you bent to pick up the blade and hand it to him.

“I guess I won’t argue there,” you sighed, your smile staying as you looked around, away from him. “I…I’m sorry for snooping. Your ship is just…I’ve never seen a pre-Empire model before. I was…curious.” You shook your head, “I-I mean it’s old and…it’s definitely seen better days—” He tilted his head to the side in warning, “—b-but it’s such a classic…geez, I’d love to ask you about the—”

“I’m on a tight schedule,” he interrupted you. You pursed your lips, laughing nervously as you nodded in understanding.

“Uh…right,” you shook your head, “yeah, I…you’re super busy. I’ll get out of your way. I’m sorry.” You smoothed your sweaty palms along the front of your pants, meeting the visor again and trying to give him your kindest smile. “It was nice to meet you, Mandalorian. Safe travels.” You reached over and put your hand against his elbow, squeezing the unarmored fabric there. He was warm, you noticed. The Mandalorian dropped his gaze to where your hand laid, fingers curled so gently there. No one ever touched him, not like this; he had only really ever felt hands that wanted to hurt him, choke him, even kill him sometimes. But as quickly as you touched him, your hands were back at your sides, and you were walking away from him.

You made your way out of the ship, careful not to slip on the wet durasteel of the ramp. You waved down the nearest crewmember, motioning to the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Refuel his ship and send him on his way. No need to charge for repairs,” you told him. You did feel bad for invading his space; the least you could do was try not to get on his bad side, even if he was just passing by your planet. You hoped it would smooth over any ill impressions and instead replace it with a sense of hospitality and kindness.

“But—”

You gave the crewmember an amused look, daring him to argue with you. He nodded his head, blushing as he mumbled a gentle apology. You saw the Mandalorian staring at you from the top of the ramp, and you smiled at him again, giving him a little salute. He watched as you pulled your hood up and walked down the length of the landing bay and back towards the palace; he noticed immediately how every crewmember bowed as you passed, acknowledging you even if they were occupied with busywork. He swallowed hard, tilting his head curiously, picking up the scope in his belt and zeroing in on your figure in the distance. There, on your left hand, was a golden ring he had missed, stamped with the signet of your house, the only jewelry you were wearing.

Gods…who the hell had he just met?

act ii: the duel

“Yield! Yield!”

You released the royal guard with a huff, pushing your hair back as you stood up from your position over him. You offered him your hand, and he took it, getting up with difficulty as he grunted with exhaustion. He was bruised, you could tell, holding his side as he leaned against the post next to him in the yard. Your eyes roamed around the yard, watching as the other guards in training had stopped their sparring to watch you. When you asked for another challenger, you were met with silence.

“No one wants to challenge you, Your Highness,” a familiar voice laughed behind you. You turned around, seeing the Senator’s advisor walking into the yard with a recognizable bounty hunter trailing slowly behind him. “The embarrassment alone is enough to make any man think twice.”

“There is honor in being bested in combat,” you replied simply. You turned to look at the guards around you, acknowledging them with nods. “You should never be embarrassed by it. There is no shame. It is an opportunity to learn. To fight better.”

You took a deep breath, looking over at your new company. You smiled at the Mandalorian, a mischievous glint in your eye. He was looking exceptionally pretty today, perhaps he had polished his armor. He leaned against a post in the yard, his arms crossed in front of him as he watched curiously. Your eyes fell over the broadness of his shoulders to the cinch of his belt around his waist, then down to the ammunition around the calf of his boot and back up again. The air around him even seemed to be filled with a bit of smoke and even a little fire. He seemed content here, in the yard filled with the sounds of blaster fire and grunts of scuffles. He belonged, and his posture was one of ease and familiarity.

Stars—the Mandalorian was indeed pretty.

“Hello, Mandalorian,” you greeted him softly. You stood a bit straighter, eyes never leaving where you hoped his were. You liked the staring contest. “It’s been some time.”

He nodded at you, but he said nothing. You continued to stand in the sparring circle, lifting up the staff you had dropped onto the ground some time ago. You twirled it in your hand for a moment, looking him up and down again, this time not hiding the way your eyes roamed him. You wanted him to know you were sizing him up, looking at him; you were certain though, that a man of his skill had already noticed you do it the first time.

“I challenge you,” you offered. “First to yield wins.”

“Your Highness, no,” the royal advisor stopped you. He was about to step further into the yard, but the muddy ground would have dirtied the velvet robes he wore. He laughed nervously, shaking his head. “The Mandalorian is here on official business, a guest of the court—”

The Mandalorian just walked past him, hitting the advisor with his arm as he passed. You smiled knowingly, watching as the Mandalorian stepped into the circle with no hesitation. You liked him even more like this, preparing to spar, preparing to show off what he knew best, the thing about him that came as natural as breathing.

The Mandalorian had warfare in his blood; he slept with a blaster strapped to his thigh, a blade on his person. He had been in this position many times, and it was his consistent winning that had gotten him this far. In some way, it pleased him deeply that he would get to show you just how he earned his reputation. He wanted to show off. He wanted to show off to you.

You could only imagine how Mandalorians spent their days. You did not know much about their culture, but it was no secret that they did nothing but polish their weapons and spar until they could spar no longer. They were fighters from the inside-out, until their second nature was refined combat and a mastery of any weapon they could get their hands on. They gained honor and respect through trials of difficulty and danger, and they took their principle to the grave. Their Creed was an invisible hand that guided them through their life, steering them onto paths of righteousness, noble deeds, and at the end, hopefully, a warrior’s death.

With this knowledge, you knew it would be practically un-Mandalorian to turn down your challenge. You knew he was probably itching under that armor to fall back into the familiar routine of daily sparring, challenging his peers until he heard that sweet sound of their yield, of their plea for him to stop, to know that he had won.

You were in need of a true adversary; he was in need of…perhaps a certain release.

The royal guards who were just watching nearby suddenly showed interest. They seemed to abandon whatever they had been doing to watch as you and the Mandalorian stood across from each other in the circle, marked by a ring of misshapen stones. More guards started to gather around; some of them crowded around the circle, others were perched up along the walls of the palace and watching from the ledges above and around you.

“First to be forced out of the circle or to yield loses,” you said to him. “The only rule.”

“Are you sure?” He tilted his head to the side, standing with his feet spread, his arms at his sides as his hands came in and out of fists. He seemed to gesture to the array of weapons he had strapped to his person—detonators, perhaps a hidden blade in his belt or his boot, the blaster on his hip.

You laughed a bit, “I wouldn’t worry about that.” You licked your dry lips, moving the staff you held from one hand to the other, rolling out your neck. “Would you like to take the offensive?”

The Mandalorian stayed still now, the only movement being the cape draped behind him blowing in the slight breeze. He nodded once in agreement.

You began to walk around the perimeter of the circle. The Mandalorian copied your movement, his visor trained on you as you both began to move. You started to walk towards him, passing by him as your gaze never left his. You almost made it past him, but then you felt his hand wrap around your wrist and yank you backwards. You used the momentum of him pulling you backwards to twirl under his arm, breaking free of his grip. Behind him, you lifted your leg and kicked at his back hard, throwing him forward.

The crowd let out a few gasps and hollers as the Mandalorian stumbled back to his feet, turning to face you. There was a hint of a smile on your face, amusement at his underestimation of your skill. Mandalorians were not the only warriors in the galaxy, didn’t he know that?

You raised a brow with a huff of breath as he came at you again. He threw a fist that you blocked, and when his other arm came under to try and undercut you, you managed to barely knock it to the side after dropping your staff. He was fast for being so much larger than you, and you hadn’t anticipated the quick advances. You struggled for a bit to keep his hands away from you, but eventually your grip loosened enough for him to draw his elbow back and shove you backwards. You caught your footing just in time to catch another throw of his fist. This time, he expected your hold on him. He went for your legs, throwing you off balance and onto your back. He waited, not coming at you again, and it gave you time to grab your staff and knock him over the head with it, forcing him back a few steps so you could scramble to your feet again.

He hesitated. Is it because I’m a girl?

“You’re going soft on me, Mandalorian,” you panted, grabbing another staff out of a bystander’s hand and tossing it at him. He caught it easily. His beskar gleamed, his chest heaving as he realized he had a true challenger and not just an apprentice. “It’s insulting.”

Gods, he looks so good. Full of fire. This is where he feels the most himself, in a ring of few words and pure instinct.

He shook his head angrily before coming at you. He swiped at you with the staff, and you dodged. Left, right, left, and then you caught his arm, swinging under it and twisting it, forcing him onto his knees as you slid with ease until he dropped the staff. He caught the staff with his other hand, using it to knock you backwards, and you let out a growl as you fell to the floor. As he was about to bring the staff down on you again, you rolled out of the way, lifting your foot and kicking at the back of his thigh. His staff met the dirt ground as he lost his balance, and you started to crawl to get back to your feet.

You let out a surprised noise as you heard the swish of some release, a cord wrapping around your ankle and yanking you backwards. As you slid, you flipped onto your back as you watched the Mandalorian reeling you in. You grabbed the cord and yanked, but it did nothing as you neared him fast.

Geez, how many surprises does he have under all that armor?

You ducked under his waiting arm, keeping the momentum and yanking his body with you as you went under his legs. You twisted in your moment of advantage, swiping a leg under his head and forcing him up until both of your thighs could close around the unarmored thickness of his neck, squeezing tight. You tried hard to secure him, but with the cord still around your foot, he retracted it again, forcing your leg off his neck. You rolled off of him with a grunt, but the Mandalorian was too fast. He wrapped both arms around your neck, dragging you back and on top of him as he locked you in easily, threatening to choke you.

“Yield,” his modulated voice growled out. “Yield!”

You were never good at yielding. You abhorred losing, and you abhorred it even more in combat.

And there is some horrid, bubbly nagging inside of me that wants to impress him; and I won’t if I lose.

“Never,” you coughed, using the heel of your palm to knock him upside the helmet and then braced down your elbow against his unarmored side. He let go of you just enough for you to roll off of him, swiping the blade you saw poking out from his boot and sticking it against the side of his neck. If you were able to see his neck, you would have seen the slight cut you had nicked into his skin with the tip of the knife. You panted as you laid there beside him, your eyes lit with vigor and your insides hot with adrenaline, with excitement, with wonder. “Yield.”

The Mandalorian panted just as hard, relaxing against the ground as you both laid there and tried to take deep breaths. You both stared at each other, breathing in the warm air and the searing feeling coursing through your veins. There was nothing like a midday spar to get you right onto your toes, right into that sweet spot of amusement and delight; but you knew this feeling was not just the result of sparring with an opponent like a Mandalorian.

No, that can’t be it. He is not just a silent hunter, a curious visitor—I find his eyes on me often, and he finds mine on him.

You smiled a bit at his silence, and he nodded once. The crowd around you began to cheer, whooping and hollering as you slowly got up to sit. The Mandalorian was up before you, standing as he rolled out his shoulders. He offered you his hand, which you took gratefully. You stood slowly, twirling the familiar blade before handing it back to him. It was the same blade you had stolen from his ship when you first met. You smiled wide, sweat glistening across your chest as you moved your clothes back into place.

Does he know that I look for him when I find out he is here?

“You are a worthy opponent,” you said softly as he took the blade back from you. “You’ll have to teach me some of those moves, Mandalorian.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” He asked, and you tilted your head to the side, shrugging a bit. You liked the mystery between you. It made each new encounter with him exciting.

Does he know I wait for him when I find out he goes?

“All in due time,” you said, patting him on the chest gently. “I think you have some appointments that I’ve made you rudely late for,” you laughed as the advisor tried to move through the crowd of guards, calling for the Mandalorian to hurry back. “Until we meet again.” You touched his helmet this time, rubbing a thumb along the edge of it before going to grab a drink of water. Somehow, the touch felt even more intimate than the first time you touched him, with your fingers against his elbow, feeling his warmth. You had touched his beskar, caressed it even, and he found his helmet following your finger eagerly, even though he could not feel it. A few of the royal guards patted your shoulders as you walked by, bowing their heads in respect and complimenting your skill. You gave them polite smiles as you passed, shaking some of their hands before disappearing behind a corner.

The Mandalorian could not put a reason to why he felt so warm still, so intense. He didn’t know if it was your intelligence or your quick wit. Maybe it was the glow of your smile or the shine of your eyes or the unique beauty of your features. Perhaps it was the way you held a weapon, how your nimble fingers fought with ease and your body moved with a fluidity and grace in the sparring ring that had his mouth watering with admiration and curiosity and utter heat; the way you anticipated offensive moves and responded with bite when you were knocked down truly had his head on a swivel.

The Mandalorian was watching you, his eyes unable to leave until you had gone from his sight. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the feeling in his chest. The feeling did not leave him.

It never would again.

act iii: a gambler’s debt

The hallways of the palace were quiet. Black drapes fluttered with the winter breeze, and candle’s wax dripped onto the floor, illuminating the walls in warm yellows and low lights. The solemn that had fallen over the court was not lost on the Mandalorian as he made his way from the landing bay into the yard. Royal guards stood wearing black uniforms, flags flying low as even the guards themselves couldn’t find words to instill conversation.

The guards paid the Mandalorian no mind as he made his way through the yard and the halls with ease. In fact, some of them even gave him cold stares and odd glances. They had been expecting him for a few days now; in their eyes, he was late, much too late. It was not a secret that the Mandalorian was welcome company for their princess, and many in the court had come to appreciate his visits. He had been present for many hardships at court, and he had handled conflict with the ease and control of a true Mandalorian; often times at the aid of the princess the guards adored so much.

But the Mandalorian had been gone a long time; everyone had noticed.

He found you sitting in the grass in the royal gardens. You were leaning over the edge of the trickling fountain there, staring into the flowing waters in silence. There were new adornments on you; jewelry that you surely hadn’t placed on yourself. He knew of your discomfort wearing such things. You complained often that royal jewels were heavy and impractical, and that they only suited special occasions, but you never wore them then either. The most eye-catching piece was the gold headband holding back your hair, the middle of it coming to a point at your forehead with the signet of your house pressed into the metal.

A crown. He had never seen you wear a crown.

Your eyes raised, and you saw him standing there between two large stone pillars of the palace. You lifted your head up, your eyes watering as soon as you saw him. All the feelings of resentment and betrayal and anger began to disappear just at the sight of him. You stood up from where you were sitting, moving towards him. His beskar was your magnet, and your feet were not pulling you fast enough to him. He could see by the way you were hurrying towards him that he needed to brace himself. He was glad he did; as soon as he was in reach, your arms flung around his neck, and you were hugging him tight, your face buried into the space between the helmet and his shoulder.

You were relieved to see him. The past few days had been nothing but solemnity and quiet and fear, and just seeing him calmed the feelings that had been overwhelming you. The Mandalorian made you feel so secure and so safe; he was not around as often as you would have liked, but he always seemed to appear when you needed him the most.

“Din,” you let out softly, your voice breaking. He had not heard his name since he had last visited, and he put one hand on the back of your head to keep you close, to keep his name a whisper against him. You planted a soft kiss on the fabric there, nuzzling your face into him as much as you could. “Din…I-I missed you…”

He smells so good. He smells familiar. He smells like home.

The Mandalorian let his other hand smooth down your back, holding you close to him by the waist. When he had heard of the Senator’s death, a successful assassination on your father and an unsuccessful attempt against you, he never even finished the job. He had tucked the fob he carried into the back of his belt and switched the coordinates on his ship without hesitating.

He had left you a princess. He had returned to a queen.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, your eyes wet and big and sad. You seemed heavier, your muscles tense and your shoulders tight as you felt a deep burden against them. The pressure and the weight felt a little lighter in his arms, but something still held onto your shoulders, something still was biting at your heels.

“What happened?” The Mandalorian asked. He had been itching to know. He had not listened to the transmission sent to him by your advisor long enough to investigate. Between the crackled admission of the Senator—killed and the princess—found—still alive, the Mandalorian had already started the jump back to the Core Worlds to get to you. He had burned through most of his fuel, and he nearly got arrested for flying too close to commercial ships, but he didn’t let anything slow him down. He knew he would not be able to rest until he saw your face. He needed to see for himself that the attempt was really all it had been—an attempt.

It had indeed been an attempt. You had a fading bruise against your jaw and a healing cut above your brow, but you were as beautiful as you had always been, and you were still breathing.

You shook your head, “we knew…we knew we were riling up the people at court,” you admitted. “We got a proposal for excavations along the southern hemisphere, and it was…” You swallowed hard, “it was so much money, Din. More than my father and I have ever seen in many generations. It would make us…we would be a royal force.” You closed your eyes, sighing deeply when the Mandalorian cupped your face with one gloved hand, encouraging you to continue with soft touches. “B-But I begged my father not to. The damage it would cause…the sickness it would spread…I begged him to say no. And…and he did.”

The Mandalorian didn’t need to hear more. Your father had refused a wealth that would make this court rich, hundreds of times richer than it stood now, and you never wavered. No amount of credits or wealth or reputation would make you give up your people, not for anything, and in that moment of true nobility and goodness, your father had seen in you what he had yet to see in any sovereign before him, even in himself. Bleeding the planet dry of its only resources for a lick of credits was not the way to earn respect, to appreciate the place you came from, to live and not just survive. The vultures that resided in your court did not have those burdens on their shoulders. They only had to think of themselves.

None of them carried the selflessness that was required of people like you. If you made the wrong decision, you might not even have a planet to reign over. It would be foolish to look the other way, to let it happen willingly. But no matter how noble the decision may have been, there were people that would lose much because of it. The itch of fame, of power, of money, it sickened people to their cores—it drove them to do unspeakable, inhumane things. Vengeance never truly brought the peace that one sought, but perhaps they could make others wallow in their same misery.

Perhaps they could make a Senator pay for listening to the cry of his daughter’s wishes.

It had come suddenly. Your father had asked you to his study, and you had only spoken a few words between each other when the room was broken into. There were five of them, but there was only one of you. You had fought honorably, but when you had seen your father with his head lulled to the side, the rage had blinded you. For all of your training and your skill, you had never fought with the breath of death against your neck. You were grateful that its presence didn’t slow you down or cloud your instinct—no, you let it fuel you, guide you, consume you until you could hold your father’s head in your lap and pray he would open his eyes.

What remained was only one of you.

“They failed,” you whispered shakily, your eyes running over the Mandalorian’s visor. There was an ire in your eyes, a look of pure indignation and determination that he had never seen before. Normally, you were alight with a sweetness and a playfulness and an innocence that followed you like a shadow. It was gone, all gone. You had not died, but they had killed something in you that the Mandalorian already missed desperately. “They may have killed my father—” You sucked in a deep breath, “but they did not kill me. They failed—” You put your hand over his on your face, soft tears coming down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, kissing the palm of his hand.

The Mandalorian let his hand fall a bit, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he sighed deeply. He leaned closer, the metal just brushing against your skin. If the Mandalorian had been a gambling man, he would bet that if he lifted his helmet just enough, you would let him kiss you. You would let him press his fingers under your chin and draw your face even closer, perhaps even let him lick into your mouth and drown you in the taste of him. If he was a gambling man, he would give and give and give, spend and spend and spend, until he was giving what he didn’t have and spending what he didn’t carry until he was consumed in you and only you.

The Mandalorian was not a gambling man. But he did have just a little to give.

“I will not let them come near you again,” he said lowly. It came out modulated and cracked, but the vocoder did not disguise the anger and the possessiveness in his voice. “They will fail every time.”

If it was any other day, you would argue with him. You were not a damsel in distress, and you never had been. You had held a weapon in your hands since you were strong enough to carry one. There was not a soul you trusted more than your own in combat. There was no need for a protector, for a guard of any kind, because they would never be as quick as you could be. But now, at this moment, this was what you needed to hear.

You needed to hear that there was another being in the galaxy that had your back. The Mandalorian was neither a diplomat nor an advisor. He did not have ulterior motives, he did not care of fame or fortune, he did not lie to you. He was a warrior of the highest esteem, led only by a Creed stressing honor and family and the hardships that shape the most avid fighters, and he was motivated to aid you by nothing more than the way he felt about you.

And stars, what I feel for her…

The unspoken air, the timid area of space that still existed between you and the Mandalorian—it was impossible to ignore yet impossible to acknowledge. The soft kisses you left on his person and the way his hands touched you had only been the first breaks in your distance. It was as if you and the Mandalorian had been dancing around your feelings before one day giving into the small desires that guided your hands. Often, you found yourself kissing his hands, the beskar of his pauldron and the side of his helmet. Other times, his hands would slide over the curve of your back, wrap around your waist, tug your relaxing figure right into his lap. Sometimes, you fell asleep with the Mandalorian at your back and his voice in your ear, just like the time when he was telling you his name for the first time as you sat under the stars.

“Thank you,” you said softly after a moment. You stood up on your toes, closing your eyes as you touched your forehead to his. There was a small clink as the gold of your headpiece touched the beskar, and the Mandalorian closed his eyes as he relished in the sweet kiss you offered him. He wondered, just for a moment, how wonderful you would look with a headpiece of similar fashion, not in gold—but perhaps in the steel that he wore all too well.

He was giving already. He was giving too much, spending all he had, and as he drank in the sight of you and the feeling of you, he realized he was losing when it came to you. At the thought of your life in danger, he had forgotten all sense and found himself not being able to think clearly until you were in his line of sight. All those years of training and discipline and restraint were obsolete when it came to you; you were the one in control, and he was deep in his own crumbling debt as he drew you in as close as possible, until your body was flush against his. His palms pressed against your back, memorizing the feeling of you drawing breath and the warmth of you and the way you molded into him despite the layers between you.

Alive, she’s so alive.

The Mandalorian had no way of repaying the debt he was finding himself in; but the reward was all too sweet.

act iv: the redeemer (18+)

You leaned forward, grunting as the handmaid behind you pulled tightly on the laces of your dress. You closed your eyes as she kept tightening, despite the pained look on your face, fastening the back of your garment until the waist of it was secure. You stood up straight again, letting out a deep breath and smoothing down the fabric at the front of the dress. It really was a beautiful piece. Your father had kept it in a safe place in his closet; the sentiment of it helped make the discomfort of wearing it worth it.

It had been your mother’s dress. It was a bright shade of red made of silky, heavy draped fabric that swept low to reveal just enough cleavage and then tightening around the waist before falling in a flattering, flowing skirt to the floor. The fabric was cut along one leg, enough so that the glittering silver of your shoes could show. They were elegant, with straps that wrapped around your leg, so long the ties disappeared under the high hem of your dress.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as the woman worked on your hair, lifting it up and off your face. You wore no jewels, and now she was painting along your eyes. Swirls of silver that curled over your face beautifully, accentuating the curve of your eyes and the color of them. She had brought your hair out of your face; but oddly, she left your hair bare of any decoration.

You stood when she finished, about to leave, but she assured you that you were not finished yet. She went towards a side table in your bedroom, picking up a small cloth that laid there that you hadn’t noticed until now. She came close again, putting the cloth down and untying it. In the middle of the fabric laid a beautiful brooch in the shape of an animal and a headpiece, both made of a spectacular silver metal that shined like a star, glittering as if it was moonlight. Your mouth gaped open a bit as you reached over and touched the pieces.

“Stars, I’ve…I’ve never seen these pieces before,” you breathed, picking up the brooch. “They’re…goodness, they’re so beautiful. Has this always been in our collection?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the handmaid blushed a bit. “T-These were a gift. F-From the Mandalorian.”

Your head snapped up to her, and you frowned a bit. Just the thought of him had your heart racing, and you found yourself flooded with a plethora of emotions at the sound of his title. Longing, need, desire, tenderness, comfort.

“W-What?” You asked. “W-What do you mean? He’s here?”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty. He asked if you could wear these tonight, h-he said it was very important,” she told you. She seemed nervous, her eyes deep in thought as if she was trying to remember exactly what he had told her. “B-But he didn’t want to see you until…you were ready. Oh—! And…he…he also wanted to give you…this—” She held out timidly a recognizable vibroblade, the same one you had used a few times against him. You took the blade from her, moving it over in your hand for a moment before swallowing hard.

You were an educated royal. You had studied many cultures and learned the customs of many people. Accepting this gift in particular was a statement for a Mandalorian. You did not hesitate as you hiked up your dress and fastened the blade into your leather holster.

You let out a little laugh, swallowing back light tears, standing beside her as she helped you put the finishing pieces on. She took a loose drape of fabric and curved it over your waist, pinning it with the brooch. It was strong, holding the heavy fabric easily with no indication of moving. You sat again for her to fit the headpiece on. You noticed the headpiece was a bit different than the one you normally wore. There were two points along the forehead, with two different signets—one of your house, and the other of the same shape of the animal that was pinned to your waist. You smoothed a finger over the two symbols before letting her fit it into your hair and secure it.

You looked in the mirror, letting out a shaky breath. The pieces were the perfect touches. You sparkled in them, and you couldn’t help but realize how much more you preferred yourself in silver rather than gold. The silver was so pretty, glistening, and you had no idea how you were going to thank the Mandalorian for making you feel so beautiful.

You had no idea what you were going to say to him at all.

The handmaid bid you goodnight and left the room, and you looked down at your hand at the new ring that sat there now that you were alone. Your father’s ring, a piece handed down through generations of others in your place, and now it was on your finger. You ran your thumb over it before standing, making your way out into the hallway.

The palace was decorated for the celebration. The colors of your house were shades of red, like your dress, and it was decorated to match. Red flowers hung along the walls, fluorescent plants littering along them to light up the hallways. There were red candles lit everywhere, and there was upbeat music playing, coming from the grand hall. You smiled at the guards you passed who bowed in response. Once you neared the hall, you were greeted by the array of guests invited. Creatures and beings of many races and species, all bowing and greeting you with delight as you made your way by them. You had invited many from the capitol city, extending invitations to city residents when you realized there was more room for many.

You took your time, shaking hands and greeting people warmly. You swelled with warmth when you interacted with others, especially your people. They were welcoming and kind and grateful, and when you had greeted everyone you could, you asked a guard to make sure everyone left with sizable gifts to bring home.

You made your way out of the hallway and into the grand hall, where the music was playing, and guests were eating and dancing. You smiled as you greeted more people, shaking more hands and lending your ear to a particular woman who asked you nervously for a favor. You held her hand in yours as she recounted a troubling story about the building she lived in within the capitol, and you put a hand on her shoulder as you assured her you would take care of it. You beckoned a guard your way, asking him personally to attend to it.

“I see you’re handling the new position well.”

You broke out into a smile at the voice. You turned around quickly, your eyes meeting a familiar face—well, helmet. The Mandalorian stood just aways from you, leaning against the wall to watch you. Your smile faded however, into a face of pure disbelief, as your eyes ran over him. It was like seeing him for the first time again; another Mandalorian entirely stood in front of you.

His armor. The Mandalorian did not stand before you in faded red beskar. No—he was glittering practically, adorned in the most beautiful set of silver beskar you had ever seen. His shoulders were broader, his posture stood taller, and his entire figure was more menacing and more intimidating than it had ever been. The sight in front of you had you speechless for a moment, and your lips parted a bit as you took him in again and again. Your eyes were so wide; if you thought he had been pretty before, you were mistaken. The warrior in front of you—kriff, he is so hot.

“Mandalorian,” you cooed softly, finally finding the words to speak. Your body moved before you could really think about it, coming near as quick as your legs would allow you, as if he had beckoned you to him. He was drawing you in without even saying a word. You wanted to touch him, feel him, tuck yourself under his arm and tell him just how pretty he looked. “I-I was looking for you, I—”

You stopped after your eyes fell to the pauldron on his right side and its new addition. There, imprinted in beskar, was the shape of an animal that you recognized easily. It was the same animal you wore at your hip and on your headpiece. You lifted your hand curiously, touching it gently. Beskar was so well-known, a sacred resource of the Mandalorian’s people. It would be impossible not to recognize it, and yet the thought had missed you entirely. You watched as the Mandalorian’s hand reached over and touched the pin at your waist, and you swallowed hard as you met his eyes through the visor.

On the stars…I’m wearing beskar.

“Din,” you whispered, just for him to hear. Your eyes watered a bit, your hand smoothing over the signet on his shoulder again. “What…I’m…I-I don’t understand.”

He tilted his head to the side, his hand skimming past the brooch and resting lightly on your hip. His eyes roamed over your face, the signet that rested on your forehead, the silver makeup that coiled along your eyes and made your skin sparkle. You were a vision in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel as if you were dressed and polished just for him.

It was a dangerous and possessive thought, but he let himself simmer in the feeling of it. His hand slid up a bit to rest at your waist, taking in the curve of you. The dress only accentuated all of the parts of you that he admired most, and he cursed under his breath as his gaze went over the swell of your breasts against the silky fabric of your dress.

You were a vision—a vision of elegance, of perfection, of undeniable beauty. The Mandalorian had never been privy to this kind of spectacle. He had never seen you in a dress like this, radiating the refinement and grace and splendor of a queen in her court, but the sight of you made you all the more desirable. He knew just how easily you could overpower him even in the confinement of your corset, and his mouth watered just a little at the thought of you twisting a blade in your soft hands. He thought about the blade he had gifted you and how it matched your dress quite nicely.

There was a strange word hanging off the tip of his tongue. It tasted good.

Mine.

He itched to keep touching you. He ached to lift his helmet and kiss over the soft skin you were showing. He wanted so badly to kneel at your feet, slip his hand under the hem of your dress, and hear your voice say his name as he touched the prettiest parts of you. He could see your leg peeking out of the slit in your dress, and he choked a bit noticing the silver of your heels, how the fabric curled up your leg and disappeared. You had to be teasing him.

She has to be.

“It’s a long story,” the Mandalorian said lowly, finally finding it in himself to speak. “But I have earned my signet. This…is the symbol of my clan.”

You swallowed hard. You had thought the blade a representation of a request of courtship. This was something entirely different.

“B-But I’m wearing it,” you murmured. “I-I…I’m wearing your…” You lifted your hand from his shoulder to the side of his helmet, caressing where his cheek might be. You let out a gentle sigh, shaking your head, “stars, you’re going to be the death of me, Din.” You wanted to say more, wanted to wound your arms around his neck and give him a tender kiss, but there was a gentle tug on the skirt of your dress that had your head turning away from him. There was a small child staring up at you, wearing red plainclothes with a nervous look on his face as he glanced between you and the Mandalorian. You smiled warmly, kneeling to the child’s level as you took his hand to listen to his soft request.

The Mandalorian helped you back to your feet with a firm hand when your conversation was over. You kept holding the lost child’s hand and smiled at the Mandalorian, giving his gloved hand a gentle squeeze.

“Duty calls,” you said softly, intertwining your fingers for a moment. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The Mandalorian simply nodded his head, taking his place near the wall, comfortable as he watched and waited. You guided the child to the table of food, helping him secure a plate for dinner before taking him to sit at an empty chair. The Mandalorian watched as you soothed the child, wiping his tears and helping him eat as you spoke gently to him. He could see the child relaxing visibly as you talked to him, nodding his little head and even mustering a laugh as you knelt in front of him and kept speaking. The Mandalorian could feel his chest building with warmth and admiration, the same kind that always rested in him by watching you; the way you treated other people despite your station and listened to their problems and addressed them with a sense of importance was a quality that he had not seen in many others. There was a reason you had earned these people’s love and respect. There was no issue too small and no creature less important than another, not to you. There was not a doubt in his mind if he had made the wrong decision. There was not another being in the galaxy that he desired more than you, in every way.

There was not a being more worthy of wearing his signet; there was not an individual more fitting to be a part of a Mandalorian clan.

It was later in the evening when you finally came back to him. He remained by the wall, leaning against it and letting his visor follow your figure shamelessly throughout the night. You adored the way he couldn’t look away from you, and anytime you found his eyes (or at least thought you did), you smiled his way. After a long night of dancing and celebrating and eating, you could feel your toes ache in your shoes and your eyes fluttering closed every so often. The party was far from over, but all you wanted was to be alone with the Mandalorian, to tell him how much you missed him, to ask him why on the stars he had sacrificed precious Mandalorian steel just for you.

His helmet never moved as you walked towards him. When you were within reach, his hand extended, curling around your waist and guiding you to him. You smiled, your palms resting against his chest as you looked up at him.

“Will you escort me to my room?” You asked softly. “These shoes are killing me…”

He nodded once, letting go of you reluctantly. You curled your arm through his, resting your head against his pauldron as he guided you out of the hall. You smiled and waved at any guests you passed, and you did not miss the way they stared at the pair of you in awe. You secretly liked the whispers that sounded.

When the bedroom doors shut behind you, you couldn’t keep your hands off of the Mandalorian. You took his hands in yours, walking backwards until your back hit the wall, and you slid your hands over his forearms and the inside of his elbows and over his shoulders before moving down his chest. You sucked in soft breaths as you leaned up on your toes and put your forehead to his, letting your lips brush against his helmet; you even managed to let out soft whines as his own hands moved along the curves of your waist and your lower back. The Mandalorian had never been anything but respectful, but the ghost of his fingers over the curve of your lower back was cheeky at best.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, kissing his helmet where your lips touched. “Din, it’s been so long…” You closed your eyes, “I was worried. And now you’re here…And gods, Din, you look incredible…” You hooked your fingers into the space under his cuirass and tugged him away from the wall, guiding him until he sat on the edge of your bed. You stood between his thighs, lowering until you were seated on one of them, the beskar of his tassets supporting you as you leaned against him in his lap. You shook your head, “Tell me what happened.”

So he did. With one arm around his shoulders and the other rubbing along the nape of his neck, he murmured in your ear about the long journey he had endured in his absence. He explained how he earned the signet on his pauldron, and he told you of the Child he had found and lost all over again. With your hand on his helmet, he told you, shamefully, how he had removed it and how he was a Mandalorian no more. You listened, never letting your attention falter, not once. Your eyes remained on his, your touch soothed him when his voice cracked, and he found comfort in the closeness of you.

“Oh, Din,” you whispered when he had quieted. “What a lucky child he is…that out of all the bounty hunters in the galaxy, you were the one to find him.” You smiled wide. “If he is as smart and as wise and as capable as you describe him to be—” You put both hands on either side of his helmet, keeping his head level with yours, “—he will come back to you. I should know.” You laughed a bit. “It is impossible to be away from you for too long, Din Djarin.”

A beat passed. And then he said your name.

“I came back,” he swallowed hard, “I came back for you.” You tilted your head to the side, encouraging him to continue. “He…he made me realize what was important to me. And now that he is gone…I-I had to come back for you.” You looked away sheepishly, but he put his fingers under your chin and forced you to look at him again. “There is nothing I have to offer you. I am not even a Mandalorian any longer. All I have is…myself. But I would be a fool not to make this proposal to you.” You hummed softly, smoothing a hand down his chest. “The gifts I’ve presented to you…I…”

Stars, he’s so nervous. I wish I could see his eyes.

“Din,” you stopped him gently. “If you are asking for my hand…” You laughed a bit, “you should know that it’s yours. It’s always been yours.” You squeezed his hand in yours once you found it, then you moved your hands to either side of his helmet and moved his visor to face you. You hoped your eyes were looking into his; the Mandalorian was almost afraid of how quickly you found them when you had no idea where his eyes really were. “If you’re asking me to be a part of your clan…to accept your gifts and wear your signet as well as my own…” You smiled nervously, “well, I…I accept.”

His helmet dropped, the front of it resting against your chest. You wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him there, soothing him quietly. He squeezed you tighter against him, until there was no space between you, none at all.

You stayed that way for a little while, just letting yourselves breathe each other in and find your ground again. You slid off his lap when you finally pulled away, sitting up against the headboard of your bed as the Mandalorian continued to sit on the edge, facing away from you. It was a strange sight to see him so apprehensive. He was a warrior of hardened discipline and seasoned experience in many things; he knew many different languages and never seemed out of place in any situation. But here, on your bed, you could tell this was not a place he had ever been before; he did not know how to sit, where to put his hands, or what to say next.

He's sweet.

“Din?” You called out gently, and he turned his helmet a bit to acknowledge you. “Could you help me?” You reached over and lifted the hem of your dress a bit, revealing the intricately tied heels you were wearing.

An invitation, a bold one. An invitation into your space. An invitation for him to touch you, in ways he had not before.

Not an invitation. Closer to begging.

He nodded, standing and moving to sit closer to you, facing you now. You lifted your leg for him, and you pursed your lips to keep a soft sound from escaping as he smoothed a gloved hand up the side of your leg, looking for where the knot of it was. There was static in your mind clouding your decent thoughts as he did this slowly. He stopped as he met the edge of the slit in your skirt, silently asking for permission. You nodded, and his hand disappeared under the hem, his palm warm against your upper thigh. His fingers found the knot, pulling at the ties gently until the coiled fabric became loose around your leg.

Oh, not sweet…no, not sweet—he’s making my head spin touching me like this.

He bent your leg at the knee, fitting his finger into the swirling fabric and pulling, watching the ribbons fall easily. He took a hold of your ankle, easing the heel off your foot and letting it fall to the ground. You started to breathe heavier as he did the same to your other leg, his touch wandering as he did so. Ghosting over the bone of your ankle, up along your calf, over your knee. His touch was sizzling, raising the hairs on your body as he traced the skin of your thigh. When he found the holster with the blade fastened, he only paused for a moment before removing it. When the other shoe and the holster dropped to the ground with a thud, you both stared at each other, unmoving as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

It was now or never; you decided now sufficed.

You leaned over and took his hand, pulling him enough that he was forced to either let go or climb over you. You hummed when he chose the latter, your eyes on his visor as he moved close enough over you to touch his forehead to yours. The clink of metal made your lips tremble; it was a soft touch of beskar against beskar, and it was such a pretty sound. You closed your eyes, gasping with relief when his gloved hand found the slit of your dress again and wandered under the hem, disappearing between your widening thighs. You were warm and wet already, a heat radiating off of you since the moment you laid your eyes on him and got a look at his iridescent armor, sturdy and new and solid just like the foundations of this new feeling.

Gods, I was so wrong. He’s good at everything; there is no skill that he lacks.

The Mandalorian had no trouble hooking his fingers into the edge of your undergarments and discarding of them. He wadded the silky fabric in his hand and tossed it aside, his other arm moving behind you to wrap around your waist and yank you towards him. You made a surprised yip at the harsh tug, whimpering at how he crowded your space with his broadness. The surprise died into a moan as two of his gloved fingers plunged deep into you without warning.

The Mandalorian never waited for anything. He was impatient, and he was always on the clock. Even now, even with no timer on when this night should end, he couldn’t wait. He had waited too long for this, and not hearing your sweet voice hissing in pleasure for even a second longer would not do. You were a coveted being he had lingered upon for far too long—he would not let his newfound fortune go to waste.

Your hands held onto his shoulders for support, moving up to wrap around his neck as you let out another moan of relief. Your head fell back a bit, your eyes fluttering closed as your thighs closed around his hand. He dropped the hand on your waist to wrap your leg around his middle, keeping you spread for him. His fingers, despite his glove still on, were making you tremble. The slickness of you allowed him the ease of a gentle pace, and he watched the expression of your face as he effortlessly relaxed your tightness as he stuffed you full.

“That’s it,” he muttered, feeling you relent to his touch, and you whined at the sound of his voice. The Mandalorian rarely spoke; the only words he ever said were purposeful and carefully chosen. This slip of a phrase was just a testament to how not in control he was, to how impatient and needy he was becoming for you. His fingers moved slowly, deep and heavy as they slid achingly well in and out. Even through his gloves, the Mandalorian could feel how tight you squeezed him, how your body begged for more of his touch. His thumb waved over a plump, wet bundle of nerves, and you jerked a bit in his arms, pressing your mouth to the front of his helmet and muffling a moan into the beskar. His fingers retracted, and you cried out with need, but you noticed him discard the glove to the side.

Oh, gods—it was like seeing him naked.

You saw his skin for the first time, but you weren’t able to focus on his fingers long enough before they were pushing past your plump bottom lip and sinking into your mouth. You moaned around them, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you sucked gently on them. It was only for a moment, because then his hand went under your dress again, and you were grinding pathetically against the palm of his hand, two fingers deep inside of you again. Like a machine he knew all too well, as if he was tuning up his blaster or tightening a bolt in his ship, the Mandalorian was learning you, memorizing you, claiming you between these four walls. The Mandalorian was well-versed in many things, and he prided himself on these qualities—he would not rest until he held the same semblance of knowledge on you and what places inside of you made you weak.

Mine. She’s mine, she’s all mine, and she will never forget it.

You were flushed now, sweating a bit as you felt the heat and need of pleasure taking over you. The silver makeup around your eyes was smearing a little, littering your face in silver sparkles that was making you glow. The Mandalorian watched with a heavy pant as he moved his fingers quicker, the rising tone of your moans driving him to get you to that brink of ecstasy that you craved so much; it was clear in the darkness of your eyes and the tight grip you had on him that you were not far away. His fingers curled, spreading and moving and letting the squeeze of your walls guide him into a rhythmic pace that had you breathless and staggered—oh—Din—yes, please—!

You came with a frenzied whimper against his shoulder, your legs shaking as you rode out the blissful feeling with a grind of your hips against his hand. You barely let yourself rest, barely let yourself seethe in that heavenly feeling. You wasted no time, not giving yourself even a moment to bask in that pretty afterglow before you were pushing the Mandalorian onto his back, hiking up your dress as you straddled him.

“Wait—” he put a hand around your neck, holding you at a safe distance, but you whined in frustration, sitting yourself down on him and coaxing a harsh groan from him as you circled your hips.

The Mandalorian had no clue how close you were to breaking, how far past your own limit you had strayed. The control, the restraint, the checks and balances you had trained yourself to obey were falling and falling and falling, at a speed you could not keep up with, and you were finished trying to catch up.

If you were falling, the Mandalorian would catch you.

“Din, I swear—” you gasped, “you have no idea what you do to me,” you cradled his helmet between your arms, keeping your hips going at a steady pace against him. He put both palms against you from behind, squeezing the flesh of you. He was hard, so hard, and you angled your pelvis until you felt him perfectly against you, sitting between your folds with nothing but his pants to separate you. You were desperate, the heat inside of you too blistering to ignore, and you needed him to understand that you could not wait any longer. You had thought about this since you had met him, you had thought about how much you wanted to be his and only his and be surrounded by the essence of him until it was all you could ever know.

I want him to fuck me until it’s all I will ever know.

You stopped, slowing your hips and sinking down against him. You moved one hand and grasped his, guiding it up to the laces of your dress. You spoke no words, but he understood; he practically invented this unspoken language, and there was no need to explain.

Especially not when I can see the fire in her eyes.

So he obliged. He sat up with you, foreheads pressed together as he undid the ties at your back. You put a hand to your chest as the dress loosened around you, holding it up so it wouldn’t fall. You used your other hand and put a thumb to the bottom of his helmet, forcing it to tip down as you let go of the front of your dress, the straps falling as it pooled at your waist.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

You unpinned the brooch at your waist carefully and set it down beside the bed before discarding the dress onto the floor. You were bare in the Mandalorian’s lap, wearing nothing but the beskar headpiece he gifted you and a sheen of sparkly silver sweat. It felt almost sacrilegious to be like this with him; his Creed did not allow you to see any more of him, in fact you had most likely already seen too much, and yet you felt like he was wearing nothing at all either.

“Din—” You smoothed a few fingers down the side of his helmet, smiling a bit. “Do you like what you see?” You received a curt nod in response, and then a tight, possessive squeeze of your bare waist. “You’re so quiet…” Your voice fell to a soft whisper. “It’s sweet. But I don’t want you to be sweet, Din.” You raised the helmet with a few fingers, kissing the metal soft. “Not tonight. Not with me.”

So he wasn’t sweet. He unbuckled the utility belt he wore, and with your help, lifted it off of him and put it to the side. You gave him a shy smile as you reached for the cowl tucked into his chest plate, dragging it out and dropping it beside your discarded dress. You pressed your forehead to his as you laid on your back, bringing him with you as you both stared at each other knowingly. He was heavy, still wearing his armor and not even stopping to take off his boots, but the weight of him was not unwelcome. The metal was cold against your hot skin, but if anything, it cooled the desire in you just a little, offering some sort of relief because you were starting to lose your sanity with how badly you needed this man.

I can’t think, I can barely breathe…I barely remember my name, the only one I can really remember is his—

You were on fire. Burning, burning, burning up with need as he dropped his head onto the pillow beside you and sank until his hips were pressed right into yours. Your legs tightened around his middle, ankles crossing at his back as you felt him so deep. You angled your hips up a bit, your head falling back as you let out a cry. But you asked him not to be sweet, so he gripped your face with his still-gloved hand and rutted up into you after just a few moments of adjustment. You squeezed him in response, your body’s own way of telling him yes, more, give me more.

So he gave you more. In the quiet of your room, with no more light than some flickering candles littered about and the low moonlight coming in from the windows, the Mandalorian groaned in your ear and fucked you into the soft sheets of your bed. You kept your eyes where you thought his might be, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to keep up with him; but this was a useless attempt. He was so hard, filling you up too well, and he was making you dazed with pleasure as you laid there, helpless and letting yourself succumb to just him, him, only him. His thumb wiped across your face, brushing your needy tears away as he smeared more of that pretty silver makeup along your skin. He rubbed it along your bottom lip, aching to get that silver color on every part of you, even just a little. You were so beautiful, wearing nothing but beskar, and some part of him wished that you could mold with him just like this, beskar and flesh and hot breath and nothing more.

The Mandalorian thought that perhaps he could survive on just that.

“Din—” Your voice brought him back to you. You were close, getting so close, and you whined in surprise as he sat up and pressed you into the headboard, driving into you at such an agonizing pace. You didn’t think he could take up any more of you, you didn’t think he could make you feel any more, but he was hitting deeper, grunting as he used the weight of himself to tower over you and fuck you hard. You held onto him with a tight grip around his neck, sitting back on his thighs as the only sounds leaving you were small moans and the sputtered echoes of his name—Din, stars—mmph!

There was nothing in the galaxy that could convince you that he was a Mandalorian no longer. He was fighter inside and out, a man who only sought to move forward and not dwell on his past; he had faced too many adversities and prevailed when every odd was against him too many times to ever be anything but a Mandalorian. He had too much honor and too much love to give. His word was sacred, his hands were deadly, and he was motivated by nothing but his clan—if he was not considered a Mandalorian, then there was no one worthy of the name.

You could not see his eyes, but every touch of him and every snap of his hips against yours was enough to tell you that he thought of you no differently. There was no man or woman better intended for your station, no person more worthy of wearing Mandalorian steel, no being more deserving of love and stardust. You were perfection in his arms, your voice the song that brought him back to earth, and the way your body was succumbing to him despite the layers between you only convinced him further that he would not find another like you again.

Mine, mine, mine, she’s all mine.

He pledged to make you see stars until you understood the vows of his new life. You were his new life, you were the new armor that would hold him together, and he would have you just like this, under him crying out only his name, until you felt it in your bones.

The Mandalorian let out a satisfied grunt as you pushed on his chest, forcing him to sit back on his heels. You sat up in his arms, looking down at him as you kept up his grueling pace, your hair falling out of place but your headpiece not moving an inch as you became sloppy, unhinged, moving your hips carelessly as you chased your high all over again. Your forehead smacked against his, the beskar hitting each other sounding like a bell around the room as you wept out his name again and again and again.

He was stretching you, hitting the most precious places inside of you, fucking you as if it was a challenge. You yielded, helplessly, letting out the softest whimpers as you went limp in his arms, letting the strength of them hold you up and keep the rhythm. This was how it always would be, you were convinced; if you faltered, he would continue without a beat passing, and you would do the same. The Mandalorian wanted to yank your head back, put your eyes to the stars, and say Mandalorian vows to you right then.

We are one when together.

You cried out loudly, squeezing the skin of his neck as your eyes fell back in your head.

“Din—” You tugged helplessly on him, trying to get him as close as possible. “Din, I-I can’t…”

He reached a hand up, cupping your sweet face in his palm and guiding your eyes to his. Though you couldn’t see them, you could feel that you had his gaze.

“I have you,” he murmured, a low groan finally leaving him. You put your hands against the helmet, nodding wordlessly. “I-I have you.”

We are one when parted.

You pressed your face into his neck, his helmet tilted back to give you space to rest there. You tugged down the collar of his flight suit just enough to kiss him there, your teeth biting down gently as you finally saw stars, millions of them blinding your vision as you let him take you far away. You moaned powerlessly in his arms, your hips chasing his as you rode out some blissful high that left you wordless, hazy, dumbstruck with the taste, the smell, the feel of him. All five senses were Din, Din, Din, and you breathed it in until you could breathe no more.

We will share all. We will raise warriors.

You hissed with delight when you felt his hands squeeze you possessively, his hips faltering as he relaxed. You rested your face against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you settled there in his arms. There was no space between you; there was no force that could break you apart, not right now, perhaps not ever. You adjusted yourself just slightly, and you both moaned, feeling your thighs soak with each other, dripping along your skin and onto his pants, making a mess. You smiled at that, growing flustered as you pulled your head up and stared into his eyes sheepishly. He pushed your hair back away from your face, adoring the sight of you. You were not a royal made of glass; you were a woman made of steel, and he imagined it might be Mandalorian steel—impenetrable, protective, beautiful.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine…she’s mine, and that’s why she’s so pretty, that’s why I can’t get enough of her, that’s why nothing makes sense unless I see her, unless I can feel her, unless I am all around her.

You picked up the discarded clothes around the room, albeit on wobbly legs. You hung the dress up carefully, slipping into another a light silk dress to sleep in as you gathered the rest of the Mandalorian’s things off the floor and set them down on a table nearby. The room was warm, and the starlight was bright, and the sight of the Mandalorian shuffling around your space put you at ease. He belonged here. Not long ago, he seemed unsure of himself in your room; now he took up the places he stood in as if he always had been there.

The Mandalorian saw a reflection of himself in you. He had seen it from the moment you had boarded his ship the very first morning he had met you. The nimble way you held a weapon, the ease and comfort and grace you had when fighting another—he even saw it in the way you put yourself back together when one of your own tried to steal the goodness and kindness of your heart by killing it out of you. Like him, you were molded by grief and difficulty and honor; if he closed his eyes, he might have thought you were Mandalorian yourself. It was the kind of thought that prompted him to commission beskar pieces on your behalf; it was not a sacrifice of Mandalorian steel, it was an offering.

It was only now that the Mandalorian thought of redemption. As he came close to you and put a hand on your face, his fingers tight under your chin to look at you, he began to believe in redemption, in salvation, in the revitalization of who he was at his core. Because in your eyes, he could see the image of himself, the silver of his beskar and the darkness of his visor and all the parts of him that you loved so deeply, all the parts of him that you had no reluctance saying yes to.

“There…there is a way for me to be redeemed,” the Mandalorian murmured, smoothing his fingers up your jaw. Your eyes sparkled, and you put your hand over his, squeezing him gently. “If I bathe in the Living Waters, then I will be Mandalorian again. But…I have a few things to do before I can try.”

Your eyes shined, a smile coming over your face as you stood on your toes, level with his eyes. The Mandalorian saw something new in your gaze. Wonder, excitement, the rush of adventure all blurring into one. You moved both hands forward, touching both sides of his helmet, kissing the metal softly as you silently gave him your permission, your acceptance, your encouragement of starting something over. You had waited a long time for the Mandalorian to come back to you; you had waited even longer for him to ask you to come with him.

There it was, he saw it so clearly—stardust in your eyes and joy on your mouth and silver against your skin. You were a sight all too beautiful. He thought about kneeling, about dropping his head and telling a queen that there was no place in the galaxy, in the cosmos, amongst the stars that he would not go to for you. If the Mandalorian knew how inflated you were with the same feeling, he might’ve lost his balance.

“Well…”

Your eyes were still there, still full of starlight.

Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

“…then what are we waiting for?”

[beskarandblasters]

Small Discoveries

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: My entry for @morallyinept’s Flora and Fauna challenge! The graphic is by me and dividers are by @saradika-graphics 💐

Summary: You and Din enjoy the scenery of Naboo where you learn something new about him.

Word count: 717

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, established relationship, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), takes place when Grogu is with Luke, very light angst, fluff, pet names (cyar’ika), no use of y/n

You’re on Naboo with Din and it’s your first time visiting. He had to come here for a bounty and you decided to tag along. The planet’s in full bloom, teeming with flowers on the streets and lining all of the windows. You’ve heard this planet is famous for its natural landscape- specifically its rolling hills. And you’re dying to see them.  

But for now, you’re stuck in the Razor Crest, waiting for Din to return from his job. You’re sitting in the cockpit, watching the clouds roll along above you. You’re excited to enjoy a little slice-of-life moment with him for once. Ever since Grogu left to train with the Jedi, he’s been working himself to the bone, taking bounty after bounty to distract from the pain. 

You hear the exit ramp lowering and climb down from the cockpit, watching as Din schleps the bounty inside. He’s already knocked unconscious but Din shoves him in the carbonite freezer anyway, sighing once he’s done dragging such a heavy load. 

Once the bounty is secured in the carbonite you ask Din, “Care for a little sightseeing?” with wide eyes and a sweet smile, hoping he’ll say yes. He knows you’ve been so excited to come here. 

“Anything for you, cyar’ika. What would you like to see?” he says, softening up and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“The fields.” 

“Let’s go.”

He leads you down the ramp, sealing the Crest behind you two. He’s docked on the outskirts of Theed so the fields aren’t far. And soon enough, you’re met with the scenic views of majestic hills. Mountains loom in the background and the sun peeks through the clouds. The breeze gently shakes the grass and… the wildflowers. Maker, they’re beautiful, in all different colors. 

You can’t help yourself. You start running down the hill, letting the wind kiss your skin. 

“Wait!” Din shouts behind you. 

You turn and watch him barrel down the hill after you. But he’s not as graceful. Because he trips and lands on a rock, falling helmet first. A gasp escapes your lips. Your first instinct is to run over to him but once he hit the ground his helmet flew off. 

You run over to him, picking up his helmet that skidded towards you while simultaneously trying not to look at his face. You keep your eyes averted to the ground and walk over to him but just as you’re handing him his helmet, he sneezes. 

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze before.”

Instead of responding, he sneezes again. And again. And again. 

“I think… I’m allergic to the flowers,” he sniffles. 

You can’t help but laugh. 

“What? It’s not funny,” he says. You imagine he’s pouting. He puts on his helmet and his modulated voice returns. “Much better.”

“So you’re allergic to flowers and I heard you sneeze for the first time… Does the helmet normally drown out the sneezes?” you say, looking at him. He’s sitting in the grass, legs straight out in front of him with his hands flat on their palms behind him. 

“Yes, but normally I don’t have to sneeze. The helmet blocks out most irritants.”

“Hm. You learn something new every day.”

You sit down next to him and lean on his shoulder, admiring the beauty around you. It’s silent between you two but for once it’s not comfortable. It feels natural. Your mind wanders to what life was like before Grogu left, how happy the three of you were before. You think about bringing Grogu here and how much he’d love the flowers. You reach out and pick one, smelling it and being sure not to mention Grogu. It’s a sensitive topic for Din and rightfully so. 

But then he surprises you again, for the third time today. 

“I bet the kid would like it here.”

You look over at him and he meets your gaze, the sunlight bouncing off his helmet as his cape billows in the wind. Your heart swells with love, happy that he’s finally enjoying himself for once.

“I bet he would,” you affirm, leaning against his shoulder.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” Din whispers. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“It’s no problem” you reassure him. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“Anything for you, cyar’ika.”

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

[buckyplsmarryme]

Redrum

Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: a little angst, blood, death, violence, heavily protective din.

Very fluffy towards the end. Also Grogu is mentioned but not present, we will say he is training with Luke.

The Din you knew was gentle. In your years of knowing him, you cannot recall a single time he has directed his anger towards you.

His touch, in every way he displayed it radiated comfort. Soft kisses on you forehead and nose, warm embraces to block away the bitter cold of the Razor Crest, tenderly holding your face in his hands as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. The way he softly grazed you, and the way he longingly stared. It was almost as if he was afraid you would disappear.

It seemed impossible to believe that the man who showered you with such love and affection could be such a ruthless bounty hunter.

However, you were not oblivious to this part of his life.

Even before meeting Din, you had heard stories about the Mandalorian and his battles. And although you had never seen him in action, you saw his enemies blood on his beskar, and the fear in their pleading eyes as he dragged them into the crest and threw them into carbonite.

“I’m sorry you’re having to see this sweetheart” He would mutter quietly as he quickly disposed of his bounties and ran to greet you. It had started to become a coming home ritual for him, seeing your sweet smile so excited to see him when he returned. And him muttering apologies of what you were having to witness.

“Din, I know what you do, and I know you do it all to keep me and Grogu safe and cared for” you would always reassure him, and you truly meant it.

Most of the bounty’s he was sent to hunt were not good creatures you often reminded him. And he was careful with the type of characters he agreed to capture for his employers, after all he was not some evil that enjoyed killing and hunting his prey.

That is until they threaten you.

He knew that you thought highly of him, he always told you about his hunts when he returned and let you tend to all of the wounds he sometimes endured.

However, he could not shake the longing of wanting to keep that side of himself hidden from you.

His sweet girl did not need to see the horrors that he displayed in battle. The last thing he would ever want to do is make you afraid.

…

Suddenly his thoughts of self doubt, and the ever present fear of you leaving him began flooding through his mind as he came down from his rage and looked around.

Panting and sore he saw blood all around him.

Blood on the dark sabor he was gripping tightly.

Blood on his helmet.

And blood on the floor spilling out of every person who now suffered the punishment of trying to take you away from him.

You looked up at him from your spot on ground as he was swiftly approaching you.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? He asked as he crouched down to your level, inspecting you thoroughly for any more wounds.

“No” you replied, “just my leg”

.

He had only brought you into the market with him, an activity you both had previously enjoyed as it provided you both with fresh air after being cooped up in his ship for long periods at a time.

There had never before been any problems. Especially on this planets market. He had wanted to thank you for everything you do for him, he wanted to find you a meaningful gift that you could hold onto forever. As your attention was glued to a fruit stand, he saw his chance. He told you he would be right back, slipping away to the booth just two over that sold jewelry.

He had stepped away for just one second, a mistake he would never make again.

He looked up quickly as he heard commotion and immediately ran towards the sound of your voice as he watched you being pulled away from him.

It took him no time to find you and your captures in an alleyway that they had pushed you into.

You were not helpless whatsoever and had put up a good fight until one of the men had shot you in the leg and carried you away.

When Din caught up and noticed the blood running down your leg he felt a rage that he had never felt before.

He did not hesitate for a single moment to kill every last one of them and he will never regret a second of it.

.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there” Din whispered as he stroked your hair and picked you up.

Soon you were back on the Crest looking into his beautiful eyes as he treated your leg.

He was being too quiet for your liking, and you knew the thoughts that were troubling him.

“Din I hope you know, I would not hesitate to do the same for you, and there is absolutely no reason for you to blame yourself” you said softly in an attempt to soothe him.

“I know my love, I just hate I was not able to stop them before they hurt you.” He whispered.

“And I hate that I lost control like that, there was no reason for you to see me act so brutally” he said sadly as he reached for your hand.

“It’s okay Din really, I was not afraid for a moment, I could never fear you” you said with no hesitation. And for the first time, the nagging voice in Din’s brain went quiet. You had seen him at his worst and still spoke to him in the most kind and loving manner that he had ever heard.

“it was actually quite nice” you suddenly blurted, blushing a bit before continuing “in fact Din, it was very alluring” you chuckled.

“Alluring” he questioned with a lopsided smile,

“The pain medicine is getting to you Y/N” he said as he kissed you.

“Thank you for saying those words Mesh’la, you have no idea how much I love you” he sweetly said as he pulled away.

“And I love you Din, I always will” you promised.

When he was finally satisfied with the treatment of your leg, and you were drifting off to sleep, he let himself rest in the comfort that he knew you loved him whole heartedly and nothing would ever change that.

As he put his arms around you and let sleep take him too, he vowed to never let harm come to you ever again, no matter the cost.

.

.

Thank you for reading:) something about this man going feral when you are in danger is just too good 😝

[spectorgram]

worth a thousand words

din djarin x gn! reader summary: at school, grogu drew a picture that brings you and din a little closer. notes: none word count: 1.0k

You and Din hadn’t said a word to each other in two days. Well, it was really two days, five hours, and thirty-three minutes — not that you were really counting or anything. With another bounty on Nevarro coming up, the current state of affairs in the Razor Crest didn’t bode well.

It was, admittedly, supremely uncomfortable to be in such close quarters and basically ignore each, but you and Din were as stubborn as they come, neither willing to yield first. 

The whole reason for the argument was ridiculous in your opinion. You two had been in Mos Eisley on a call from Peli, who told you that some Twi’lek had broken into her shop and taken some of her most valuable parts. You had tracked down the target, finding him in a cantina at the edge of the town but when you two got ready to ambush him, he pulled a blaster out and fired. The blast was headed for Din and even though, logically, you knew it would just bounce off his beskar armor, you shoved him out of the line of fire. The blast just grazed your arm but kriff, did it sting. 

Din subdued the quarry and you two found the stolen goods, returning them to Peli. With the quarry frozen in carbonite, you used some bacta spray to heal the blaster burn, and Din had looked on silently. “You’re just going to watch me do this?” you asked playfully. 

Din huffed at you. “This isn’t a joke. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You frowned at him and replied, “I know what I’m doing, Din, I was hunting on my own before we teamed up.”

“That doesn’t matter if you’re going to act rashly.”

“I was trying to help you,” you said, scowling. You stood and started to head for the cockpit.

“My beskar would’ve protected me. You don’t have that luxury.”

“Kriff, Din, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to say that you’ll never do that again.”

You glared at him. “I’m not going to say that, Din.”

The two of you held each other’s stare for what felt like hours. Then, Din huffed through his vocoder, turned on his heel, and pushed past you into the cockpit. That was the last time you two talked. 

The two of you made your way to the Nevarro school, Din holding Grogu on his hip. When you entered, the kids were doing their pre-lesson playtime, and the teacher smiled at you when she saw you. “It’s nice to see you again!” she said when she saw you.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said, elbowing Din. He glared at you but offered a polite nod to the teacher. A little reluctantly, he handed Grogu over to her. You told her, “We should be back by the end of the day.”

“No worries at all.” She brought Grogu to the play area, placing him down with the other kids. He immediately waddled over, plopping down with a group of children to play with blocks. 

You and Din set off on your hunt in an oppressive silence. 

The hunt had been pretty simple, so it didn’t take you and Din long to knock them out and drag them back to the Crest. There had been slight progress with you and Din — you had said a few words to one another: “Over there,” “Watch out,” “Thanks.”

The silence that followed was slightly less uncomfortable than it had been for the past two days, but neither of you were ready to give up the ghost just yet. 

Grogu was one of the last children left in the school when you returned. When the teacher saw you, she called to him, “Grogu, look who’s here!”

His head turned faster than you’ve ever seen, and he toddled over to the two of you as fast as he could, arms outstretched to you. You scooped him into your arms and he squealed delightedly. You thanked the teacher for watching him and turned to leave when she said, “Oh! I almost forgot!”

She handed you a piece of paper from atop her desk and said, “We did some drawing today! The prompt was ‘Draw something that you love.’”

Din took the paper from her hand and looked down at him, stilling. He glanced briefly at you and Grogu before nodding. “Thank you.”

On the walk back to the Crest, Din kept looking over at you contemplatively, and you squirmed a little under his gaze. When you got back to your ship, you realized that Grogu had passed out in your arms, snuffling softly. Your heart melted a little as you held him a little tighter. Din opened the bunk and you gingerly lowered Grogu into his little hammock. When you turned, you saw Din standing only a foot or two away. He asked, “Did you see the picture he drew?”

With a shake of your head, Din handed the paper to you. On it, scribbled in crayon, you saw three figures. One was a blur of green and beige with a little black, the other mostly gray and black, and then one that matched your skin tone and hair. You gazed at the photo and softly asked, “Is this us?”

“I think so,” Din said. He moved closer to you and leaned over the drawing. “The teacher… she said that she asked the class to—”

“Draw something they loved.” You touched your finger to the crayon-drawn Grogu and whispered, “His family.”

“Our family,” Din murmured. 

You chuckled shakily and finally, you said, “I’m sorry, Din. I shouldn’t have jumped in front of the blaster. I just… I knew, rationally, that your armor would protect you but I… my body moved faster than my mind and I—”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I know why you did it. But I didn’t like that you got hurt because of me.”

You laughed a little, “I’m sorry I gave you the silent treatment. It was just really stupid.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry too.”

You smiled at him, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were. You looked back down at the drawing and Din said, “Our clan of three.”

“Our family.”

[zponds]

(Credit goes to JWBtheUncanny on Deviantart)

Honoka's Crystal Freezing Experiment

So this is what Honoka Yukishiro, Cure White's host was doing..... Seems after a visit from the Land of Heart's Tomb of the Ancients which Team Rocket discovered, She came across a Scroll that where made by PreCures before they left to find a new world to colonise, They came up with a method of Keeping certain Cure Soul's in Stasis... Called Crystal Freezing, Came up by PreCure Scientists (Which may have shared the same Bloodline as Cure White and a few others) And the Star Princesses, the Process is fairly similar to Carbon Freezing in the Star Wars Mythos, www.youtube.com/watch?v=kc3q56… However there's some slight Differences with this version which my good friends DeviantMaster2014 and MLPFan053 Might come up with that can fit the Lore. Back on the Land of Hearts, Crystallising Methods like Steams and Magics where normally used to form some of the Constructs on the Land of Hearts and other Colony World of the PreCures, It was never originally used to Freeze living Beings... not at first, In some of the Old PreCure Republic era's before the Original Sun was blown up, Some Cure Soul's came up with the Idea of encasing some Cure-Soul's in Crystal for Long Journeys to a New Colony World that take 6 months or 6 years giving the long journey, Later on with in many Lores on Various PreCure Colony worlds including V85, Freezing of Living Beings in Cure-Crystal Blocks is sometimes considered a Form of Punishment, Or a Method to keep Some Cure-Soul's in Stasis to they could could be preserved to keep an uncontrollable Virus Outbreak from happening while PreCure Doctors would try to find a Cure for the Virus, Crystalizing Gas's contain various Magical and Unique properties that Carbonite would have. With Skillful PreCure's with a history of the Process of a number of Smart Non-Humans Including Fairies, with Skills over a Crystal Freezing Chamber on the Controls, A Living Being and a PreCure can be Frozen in a Crystal Block and Placed in hibernation for as long as  the Chamber operator wished, It can be dangerous if something goes wrong or someone inexperienced gets it wrong, It could kill someone, there is a way to Unfreeze them, Either a Kiss on the lips or the side of the Face (I'll leave that part to my Two friends to figure out) Or on the side there's a Health Reader where the Vitals are usually located, Simply turning a Switch will have the Cure-Crystal start Melting and Freeing the Subject from the Crystal Block.

[imogenkol]

“[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.” For Imogen and Bix?

[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.

word count: 1.2k warnings: panic attack, ptsd

Imogen found that anticipating the intent of organic beings was far easier than that of droids. To feel the Force ebb and flow through their spirit and consciousness was a far more tangible thing to grasp onto and manipulate than the lines of code that programmed a mechanical opponent. The upside of that was typically their makers created droids with basic, but effective forms of protocol that could be learned through careful observation.

With the cargo hold of The Crimson Huntress now devoid of any bounties preserved in carbonite for months now, Imogen utilized the space as a training room. She wished the training droids had been implemented with a higher form of artificial intelligence, though. Even with a visor blocking her vision, she parried strikes with so much ease that the rust buckets may as well announce their pitiful attacks. It was moments like these where she almost missed that fool of a Jedi, Cal. At least he brought her a modicum of a challenge, but she supposed anything was better than nothing.

As Imogen raised her lightsaber to block a repeatedly predictable strike, she suddenly became awash with a random feeling of utter dread. It invaded her mind from the corners of her consciousness like a serpent that wrapped around her neck and made it difficult to breathe. So strong and unyielding was its cold grip that her guard fell and a sharp crackle of energy connected with her shoulder. The bounty hunter swayed on her once steady legs as she yanked the visor off and angrily launched the useless droid into the durasteel wall with her mind, shattering it in a shower of sparks. She shut off her saber and returned it to the clip on her belt, taking a beat.

Silence overtook the interior of the ship, but the intense feeling remained. Imogen took a deep breath and tried to make sense of the unwanted emotions that threatened to drag her down. Something about them did not seem right – did not feel fully her own. 

That is when she realized they were not her own.

“Bix,” Imogen said under her breath and rushed out of her ship. 

The distress she sensed in her beloved caused her to move with urgency from the hanger bay to the barracks. The closer she got to her quarters, the more overwhelming the sense of terror and hopelessness became.

Not again. 

No one stood in the bounty hunter’s way as she stormed by. Most caught one glimpse of her determined expression and swiftly steered clear. That was good. Anyone deemed an obstacle in Imogen’s mind would certainly end up in the medical bay.

Imogen did not hesitate to open the door with an impatient wave of her hand once she arrived. The first thing she noticed was the silence. It would have felt peaceful to anyone else — a quiet room where the general buzz of productivity couldn’t reach them. But Imogen only sensed how unsettling and alone the space felt. Despite the absence of an actual physical threat, the air was filled with all of the anguish tearing her up inside. Imogen didn’t know if she needed to flee or hide. All she knew was that those instincts weren’t hers. 

Bix sat at the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. Imogen saw the incredibly fast pace at which her leg bounced. She noted the subtle way her body rocked back and forth. How her fingers shook as they dragged through her hair. It was not the first time Imogen found her beloved in this state. And Bix was not the only reference she had for such behavior, either. The image was very reminiscent of a prisoner in their cell. Imogen learned that the silence in isolation was often just as effective at breaking a person down as interrogation sessions were. She used to wait her victims out for days on end, until they nearly begged for the chair. 

The sound of the door sliding open and shut drew the mechanic’s attention. A weary, misty-eyed expression glanced up. “Imogen,” Bix gasped out with an edge of relief in her desperate exhale. 

Imogen knelt before her and assessed her condition. Nothing too out of the ordinary caught her perceptive eye, but the way every muscle in Bix’s body trembled made Imogen’s throat tighten. She should have closed her mind to the paralyzing emotions overtaking the mechanic, but she held firm. No part of her wanted Bix to endure this suffering alone. 

“What has happened?” Imogen asked, caressing up and down the other woman’s thighs in an effort to console her.

“Nothing,” Bix answered in a bitter tone as she sniffled. “Absolutely fucking nothing.”

Something must have triggered another episode. Bix had been doing well for a couple of weeks. Whether she omitted the truth out of shame or she thought the reason didn't matter, Imogen couldn’t quite tell and she wasn’t about to pry. Imogen supposed the cause really did not matter, Bix still felt the tendrils of dread take root within her either way. 

With gentle hands, Imogen reached up and cupped her lover’s face, delicately brushing her tears away with her thumbs. “I am with you.”

Bix nodded and fell forward until their foreheads connected. Imogen kept them there, willing this darkness to leave the precious woman in her grasp. If she had to take it all into herself, then she would. She knew she could handle it. After all, what was a little more darkness within the void that already existed?

“I want to go home,” the mechanic muttered through a strained sob. She fiercely grasped at any part of Imogen that she could as if that would save her from drifting away.

Imogen steadied herself and held on to Bix a little tighter in an effort to be the anchor she so desperately needed. “I will take you home,” she vowed. 

“What’s even left of it?” Bix leaned back. Her dark, glittering eyes reflected every moment of anguish Imogen sensed since she felt the wave crash into her on the ship. “As much as there is left of me?”

“You are still here, Bix,” Imogen insisted. She knew her love to be as strong as the very bricks that made up her entire home. “Just as Ferrix still remains.”

After a long moment passed, the mechanic sighed so heavily that her entire body loosened from her shoulders downward. Imogen sensed a bit of ease settle over her – a bit of comfort. A spark of safety. Small in comparison to the relentless dread, but no less powerful. Then Bix nodded and turned her head to kiss Imogen’s palm. “You’re right. I know you’re right, I just…”

“I know, darling.”

Bix only released her iron grip to caress Imogen’s forearms with her ever warm touch. “Will you stay with me for a little while?”

The bounty hunter moved to sit beside her on the bed, curling an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Bix melted against her with ease as she rested her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She was exhausted by the mental onslaught, so Imogen brushed her hand up and down her back soothingly. “There is nowhere else I wish to be.”

[blackkatmagic]

Might I ask what word and ship you are currently working on for Febuwhump?

It's Thorn/Xanatos, for the prompt caged!

.

A chirp, light, smug. Familiar from that same voice howling at Thorn five days ago, and he snaps his head around the corner so fast he almost hurts himself, eyes going to the cell just a few meters down the corridor.

The demon tooka is right there, and she’s just sliding under the bars and into the cell with a friendly coo.

Thorn is going to murder that damned monster with prejudice.

The prisoner who’s somehow managed to charm the demon chuckles, and there's a chirp, a low, nasally purr that rises clearly. A body shifts, and from his angle Thorn can just see a bare foot stretched out on the stone, a flicker of the tooka’s tail.

And then, precise, that lightly accented voice comes again, and the man says, “A new guard, then? And a live one this time. Astounding. Do you speak, or am I expected to continue entertaining myself?”

Thorn hesitates, but—if he’s already been spotted, there's no reason to deny it, and he may be able to get a few answers. And Trauma’s necklace.

“I think you're mistaking me for someone else,” he says, even. There are no other heat signatures up and down the cellblock, just the man, and he slides out of the side hall, straightens warily. A quick scan doesn’t show any cameras, doesn’t pick up any approaches, and he makes his way down to the cell, just as the occupant sits up.

The tooka is in his lap, and Thorn is going to wring her scrawny neck—

One step in front of the cell, though, and he freezes, a grim sort of realization and a heavy horror rising.

It’s not a cell, not by any measure Thorn knows. A cage, barely two paces wide, not quite tall enough to stand up in, not something any Human who wasn’t a child could lie down in. There's another cage next to the man’s, just as small, and—Thorn is clearly behind the cells. The rooms. Rooms full of cages, mockingly displayed, with fine gilt bars that hum with electricity and are lit like they're pieces at an art gallery.

There's a block of carbonite in the room, too, up on the wall, with a man who’s frozen perfectly still and peaceful inside of it. The sight of it makes something eat down Thorn’s spine like acid, all sharp nerves and tempered alarm. The only people who take carbon freezing that easily go into the machine either unconscious or dead.

“Oh,” the cage’s occupant says after a long, long moment, and there's something in his voice that Thorn can't read. A tremor, though, faint but there, and long-fingered hands bury themselves in the tooka’s blue fur. “You may actually be correct.”

[legomocfodder]

Galaxy of Justice: Flash's Rogues

Sam Scudder: the communications expert for the Rogues, he uses cutting edge holographic disguises and has modified his holograms to look as realistic as possible, able to convince most people that the hologram is real

Digger Harness: a member of the Rogues, he specializes in bladed weapons, using various types of repulsor throwing razors and vibroknives

Eobard Thawne: He was Barry's rival in the Coruscant police force. When Barry defected, Thawne joined the Empire and became an Imperial Ace

Leonard Snart: The leader of the Rogues, a group of bounty hunters, Snart uses a carbonite blaster to immobilize bounties

Mick Rory: the Rogues' second in command, Rory uses a flamethrower

Abra Kadabra: A fake Jedi, who uses technology to mimic Jedi abilities. He fakes being a Jedi for fame and reputation. He even uses a fake lightsaber, powered by a kohlen crystal that's only good for blocking blaster bolts

Axel Walker: the youngest member of the Rogues, Axel is the group's explosive and weapons expert

NSFW blogs do not reblog!

[ainyan]

Fluff-uary #3: Mutual Pining

So, Lana says you’re locked in carbonite. They’re trying to get you out. I want to be there, but they’ve got me running around…

Grimacing, Theron hit the backspace, erasing that last line. That first line. The blank screen stared up at him, the blinking block of the cursor flashing at him reprovingly. Why was it so hard to write one damn letter? Just a little note, a reminder that even though he wasn’t in sight, he was still out there.

And why did it matter so much, anyway? It’s not like they’d been dating or anything. Hells, it was a stretch to call them friends. She was an Imp, and he was a Pub, and like oil and water or loth cats and kath hounds, they simply didn’t mix. It was breaking a hundred interstellar laws every time he so much as thought of her.

It was a shame he liked breaking the rules so often.

With a soft mutter, he swiped the screen off and rose, pacing restlessly around the small, cramped apartment. At least it wasn’t the rathole on Coruscant, this time - in fact, the Corellian flat was actually rather nice. The agent who owned it had gone missing early in the invasion and he’d moved to secure it before anyone else could. Now it served as a bolthole for himself or any of his trusted sources who needed a quick layover.

Not that he had many of those left.

Irritated by the turn of his thoughts, Theron reached inside his jacket, slipping his fingers into the secret pocket sewn inside the breast. He pulled out a holodisc and studied it, then thumbed it on and set it down upon the desk next to his terminal.

The figure writ in light was small and slim and serene, her gaze impassive as she stared straight forward. It was a mere holoprojection, an image formed of photons, lacking any of the vivacity that characterized her every waking moment. But his mind’s eye could paint the pale blue of her skin a rich sapphire, the washed-out pink of her eyes a lurid scarlet. His memory could bring to mind the scent of exotic flowers and icy breezes, the feel of silken skin beneath his hands, the tangle of midnight hair about his body.

Slumping down into the chair, he folded his arms on the desk and lay his head upon them, inhaling deeply. Who was he fooling? Not dating? Not friends? He could still taste her, he could still feel her, he could still smell her. She was inside him like no one had ever been, even now, five years after the fact. They hadn’t defined their relationship, but he’d be damned if there wasn’t something between them.

Lifting his head, he reached for the terminal keyboard. The screen sprang to life as his fingers touched the keys. He glanced once more at her holo, studying those sober, solemn features, then he began to type.

I’ve written this message twice now. Okay, more than twice. Kinda weird writing something that may never be read…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

… I might not be there - we’ve all got our parts to play - but I haven’t forgotten about you or our time together. I never will.

Damn the man. She balled her hands into fists to keep from thumping the datapad where it lay propped up on the table before her. How could he do this to her? She’d barely gotten her feet beneath her and her head wrapped around the fact that it had been five years, and he had to go and set her off-course again.

I care about you. A lot.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. There was no caring. There was only sex. Really, really great sex. Passionate sex. And laughter. Flirting. Touches. Kisses.

She exhaled, her breath shaky, and pressed her fingertips against her breastbone. The whole damn galaxy’s gone tits up, and there he was, making her feel things that she wasn’t supposed to feel. Maybe that was the point.

Scooping up the datapad, she deliberately thumbed it off, the last sentence of the letter winking out of sight, leaving behind only the faint, blurred reflection of her face.

She didn’t look five years older. She looked tired as hell; you could hide in the shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks were gaunt from anxiety and pain. But beneath the worry and the fear, she could still see herself as she was before this nightmare began. Imperfect though the carbonite process had been, it seems it had been enough to at least slow, if not completely halt, the aging process.

Perhaps that was why she was having such a hard time adapting. Why she was struggling so to acclimate to this new reality in which she’d found herself. Lana looked older, more refined. Less eyeliner, and hadn’t that been a bit of a shock? Still, perhaps it was hard to get face paints out here in the ass end of the galaxy…

Snarling at her rambling thoughts, she reined them back in, forcing her way past the exhaustion to bring them under some semblance of order. She didn’t give a damn about Lana’s makeup routines - or, right now, Lana herself, grateful though she was for the rescue.

Her mind swung right back around to Theron, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d thumbed on the datapad once more.

The whole galaxy’s lost its mind. The thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that you’re out there…

“Oh hell,” she whispered through lips curved in a bittersweet smile as she ran her fingers across the datapad. “Same goes, Theron Shan. Same goes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fluff-uary Prompts #3: Mutual Pining

OC: Kal'istae, Cipher Nine

NPC: Theron Shan

Locations: Corellia (Unmarked Apartment) / The Gravestone (Wild Space)

When: Knights of the Fallen Empire (between Chapters 5 and 6)

[tiredassmage]

@eorzeashan god okay where do i even begin attempting this... kdnfa;lkfdsdkmlfdk almost constantly. and... maybe less so developing as far as actively occurring timeline-wise, but actively developing insofar as driving me insane trying to figure out exactly what they are to each other? oh yeah, that's new almost every week, lmao.

and this... isn't (hopefully) going to even touch on what the hell happened to them when i put them both in baldur's gate 3 because that's very easily it's own essay, but seeing that develop did give me some interesting insights into their commonalities and... I guess a bit more material to see their whole... thing in action.

this is... i think just going to be a ramble and we'll... see where we go xD

what i feel i have to start with because i'm constantly forgetting it and then getting blindsided by it is the fact that, technically, alucren's the oldest by two years - and maybe evidently with that measure given it's not just because of the whole carbonite situation but let's not get so off-topic so early, maybe, lol.

the reason i mention this like it's important is... well, a) because this drives alucren a little batty sometimes, but primarily because b) it affects the kind of mentorship between them and that's... what i'd call the core of their relationship, at the end of the day. some... odd flavor of mentorship.

because where i say alucren wasn't ever ideal for the role of cipher (and trust me, keeper knew it when he was hired, but when you're upriver with limited paddles in the galactic war, you'll take what you can get), tyr... crafted his entire life around being that. which also ties into that thing about what they have to lose when we're looking at how do they react to a crisis event like kotxx showing up on their door.

so tyr worked with imperial intelligence - and, in general, the imperial military as a whole, frankly - longer than alucren. he's got more practical experience, and his experience and actions from chapter one go into training intelligence operatives that come after him, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

so, some of their oddity i may have mentioned before starts with the fact that tyr's... yes, a few years younger, but with how things shake out, given their roles and experiences in imperial intelligence, tyr's the more senior, ranking operative of the two of them. technically. who wears more officer stripes between the two of them given their differences in reverence for their sith masters is maybe a different story, but that always feels... real nebulous to wrangle with inside of the empire's intelligence operations anyway, let alone trying to figure out how that might translate into the coughing corpse of imperial intelligence getting strung up to flesh out the operations of sith intelligence post-corellia.

the short of it for the two of them is that tyr's... his commanding officer, in a sense. and this really doesn't bother either of them, but you'll also know by now that alucren's stubborn. and maybe a bit of an instigator. and maybe it's something about feeling like he's got something left to prove - maybe not to their collective superiors, but... at least to himself, really.

looking at that weird block of years that are the sort of... mid-expansion content, i guess you'd say (so we're like... ilum and makeb in through shadow of revan. still with me?), alucren's got to wrangle with figuring out what his new role is. which... maybe you'd think is more defined because his loyalties aren't tested the same way tyr's are. alucren hasn't had his faith in that system really rattled and tested the way nine has. his purpose is as it always was: to serve the empire, the sith, in whatever way their superiors see fit.

and alucren doesn't see what tyr does, then: tyr's continued job security? risky. just because what remains of intelligence may or may not still think his work as cipher nine was some of the best an operative could've done doesn't mean people like those on the dark council do.

marr is... reasonable. but marr states himself, clearly, that he has no love for the games of spies. tyr's talents are potentially beneficial then, and marr isn't the kind to waste a potential tool just because he woke up in a foul mood that day, but makeb... has interesting implications for when tyr is assigned as project leader.

failure is not an option for the imperial team on makeb, particularly when tyr is involved. framing it with his experience in the class story, with his (hidden, still) ties as a double agent, with his history of risk to defy the dark council, there's less ways for the empire to potentially lose if they put someone like him on that team. not necessarily over someone like alucren (who is unquestioningly loyal, if a bit of a heavy-handed leader when put in a similar role, and more unwilling to compromise), but in general - the way that ends up framed is that if he succeeds with this team, the empire has a desperately needed victory, and tyr's earned his stay of execution for another day. if that team fails, if they lose makeb, the failure can be pushed off on weak links within the team. inadequate leadership.

a nice, safe scapegoat in an intelligence asset the dark council wanted retired nearly two years prior. a clean way to eliminate a risky asset without too much additional work. not that losing makeb is ideal. again, failure isn't an option.

and i'm nearly losing my own point, but this i explain mostly to demonstrate tyr's headspace - tyr's reality versus what someone like alucren might see. alucren still sees nine, keeper's poster child, if you will. one of their favorite operatives. of course he's still involved. not that he hasn't put in the work for the ongoing roles, but... alucren sees a mask to test.

but then... there's more than that. there becomes more than that. because i think... tyr sees a bit more clearly what alucren has going on behind the sharp smirk and taunting eyes than... alucren particularly realizes the depths of his own... concerns, uncertainties, what have you's about... life and the empire and the galaxy and so on.

and tyr is a very, very well-established bleeding heart. who has one hell of a time leaving well enough the fuck alone.

alucren's behavior worries him. on a surface level, as a superior, it's because he's liable to be arrogant and cocky. he's headstrong and might not always take tyr's orders seriously. but that's a bit of a double-edged sword, because tyr's actual concern? is that alucren takes their superiors orders a little too by the letter.

he's a functional enough operative, absolutely. he'll get a job done if you put it in front of him. but tyr sees that he's missing... what he's experienced as a core lesson in this profession: that doesn't mean shit. and it won't save you if you get on a sith's bad side. and, oh, is that possible regardless of your best intentions. no matter how loyal.

so, tyr... being tyr, can't... let that concern go. not really. alucren nips at his nerves for kicks when they work together, sure, but he's also pretty damn sure ellery's doing a lot more... feeling, at least, about all that's going on in their world than he lets on. if not, y'know... actively reflecting on what that means for him. and tyr... couldn't live with letting the door bite his ankle on the way out, if it came to it.

and what alucren learns about tyr in this... closer working relationship they have now that they're somewhere between ciphers and soldiers is... tyr doesn't do anything by halves. tyr doesn't put his name on anything he doesn't intend to see through - as much, you know, as a spy can be counted to do so for someone they're being genuine with. maybe the better thing to say is that he comes to see tyr for someone who doesn't fight for things he doesn't have a damn good reason to believe in. tyr doesn't start fires just to watch them burn - he's got a purpose.

and that complicates something like the events of forged alliances and shadow of revan. because that's not particularly an event that alucren's more black and white world guides have contingencies for. that tyr goes selectively rogue on such an operation, that he risks his position like that... whether alucren wants to admit it or not, some part of him knows enough about tyr to know that tyr's got a scent he can't leave lie, and he's going to do what he believes is right to find the source and deal with the consequences. if that means upsetting a few more dark councilors to find a truth, then so be it.

that's... not something alucren could do so confidently. and he won't - is what i say is demonstrated by where he ends up during the gap between ziost and kotfe. it's... where tyr is a leader, someone so determined in the fact that he can help that jumping off a cliff is worth the risks, where alucren is more of a follower. alucren needs to know more about the risks before he'll commit to something outside of his usual status quo, before he'll jump tracks to something new or different.

and knowing that about each other... leads them to interesting conflicts where they argue for one course of action or another based on their personal understandings of the world. because they know the other understands. if they could just... close that last gap of logic sometimes...

there may have been a time where alucren would've shot him without hesitation if he ever figured out tyr was a double agent. not... necessarily the more they know each other. alucren might still hiss about it, but... he comes around to this understanding that can't ignore... everything tyr went through even though they never discuss the details. he doesn't have to know about what happened on eradication day, the kind of deal he made with ardun kothe, not even about the castellans to understand that something happened to give tyr this... willingness to leave the empire behind, this conviction that something's wrong with their system. because tyr doesn't commit to just any hollow promise. he knows too well tyr would take a hit for him, if it ever came to it. they both know alucren has a hard time making that promise back in the same terms, but tyr still trusts that, if it really came to it, alucren's someone he could rely on to do a job.

and that's... really the core of it, i think. layered behind a... weird twist of other layers to their relationship. sometimes at least one of them (usually alucren; there's... a theme in here about how he has a hard time exactly describing his emotions and his relationships) will hesitate to say that they're friends. there's nothing... quite romantic in it, either, for all that i tease that tyr's part of his whole bisexual awakening.

is there something sometimes sexual about it? tyr would never tell. he does tell alucren to wipe that smug fucking smirk off his damn face and be on time in the morning, ellery.

(yes, sometimes. alucren is capable of making tyr use some particularly vehement language the likes of which he is not known for using. it's all... very dramatic of them, frankly. alucren's competitive streak brings out the wrestling, scuffling teenage boy in both of them, if you will.)

they never exactly get along perfectly, but. they fill a role for each other with enough understanding that's... pretty damn hard to find in their field of expertise, so. they can't ever quite leave whatever they do have between them go entirely.

and i think... most surprisingly for both of them is... alucren i think... would lie for him, if it ever came to it. he'd never quite be able to follow tyr's path entirely, he'd never be able to bring himself to leave the empire, but...

they have different ideas about what the "end" of this kind of career, given how long they have survived it, should look like. and they're just fine for them, individually. it doesn't mean the other should have to pay another price because that's not a universal answer, y'know?

[monocytogenes]

Ammyyyyy from the SWTOR Character Ask Meme, can you tell me about Isra and Pravin's answers for the following questions: 1. What is [character]’s favourite event, & what do they like about it? 9. What do they regard as their culture, & do they distinguish between their culture and heritage? and 13. If there were a Commemorative Statue released of them, what pose would they be in?

I presume this refers to the recurring ingame events, sooo--

I played Pravin on the Bounty Contract event and man, that is his SHIT. Post class-story I imagine him getting by outside the Empire through doing a lot of private security and investigator work, and bounty hunting is really just that plus the "capturing fugitives" bit. He'd always use the drink option and bring them back in carbonite in lieu of killing them, lol.

Realistically I think he'd be wary about doing too much of that sort of work because it's super confrontational and he doesn't want to make enemies, but if the money's right...hey, some of those troublemakers must have long histories of pissing off multiple legal and illegal enterprises, right? And he likes the investigatory part. It's what he enjoyed about working for Intelligence--the relationship-building and social engineering; figuring out how to get people to disclose information or allow him entry to restricted spaces. His talent at it is kind of his superpower, and it really gives him a thrill.

Isra would be into the Rakghoul event. She's a badass sword lady patriot who sees her role as that of a protector and defender, so heading out to put down a bunch of monsters to keep civilians safe is her idea of a good day's work. She'd also definitely be game for helping the scientists get samples and such, and feel pride in the praise she'd receive for that.

9. THIS IS A GREAT QUESTION you know I love this shit and will worldbuild about it forever

I'll start off by saying that I do think there's such as a thing as "Imperial culture", in large part because the Empire is a society with its own distinct values, norms, shared history and myths, as well as mass media. Much of this goes back to the outcome of the Great Hyperspace War--Imperials view their nation as a great power that was subjected to a retaliatory genocidal purge, and this desire to reclaim their place in the galaxy and not be victimized again brought about the militaristic, high-control government they accept as necessary today.

Dromund Kaas and Ziost are the main centers of culture, and that culture evolves in an environment where the only real "outside" influences are those from assimilated member worlds. Travel for ordinary citizens is restricted. There's a China-style Great Firewall which blocks most foreign media. Everyone watches the same holodramas, partakes of the same cuisine, observes the same fashion trends (albeit with some variation depending on what social stratum one's in)--if you reference, say, a joke from a popular novel in front of a large group of Imperials, ninety percent of them will know it. (Coupled with their tendency to couch humor in desert-dry sarcasm, this shared media landscape tends to make Imperial jokes incomprehensible to outsiders. It's like five-levels-deep memes all the time.)

Pravin and Isra both have complicated relationships with Imperial culture.

In Pravin's case, he doesn't like to think of himself as culturally Imperial on account of having left the Empire, but he is. He absolutely is. It's a fundamental piece of his personality, no matter how much time he's spent in Hutt Space, no matter how well he's come to speak other languages, enjoy other foods, incorporate other fashion influences into his daily wardrobe. He still has that kneejerk annoyance response to breaches of etiquette, such as when people aren't punctual or address him informally at a first meeting. He still feels uncomfortable wearing shorts or sleeveless tops in public, even as he's donning loud patterns and leaving his shirts halfway undone. He still cracks up at the humor. But yeah--there's always an unease there when he's made aware of his own attachments, since it forces him to contend with grief he's not altogether ready to process.

Isra defines herself largely by two identities: as a Sith Lord, and as a zabrak. The former gives her a role and a place in Imperial society--that of a powerful defender of her country and its people, ordained through superior genetics and years of training--and the latter defines her as both the inheritor of Iridonian warrior traditions and an oppressed person. She's simultaneously privileged and discriminated against, lauded and looked down upon, an insider and outsider to the culture she was brought up in. Much of her teenage desire to connect with Iridonian diaspora culture--despite not having been raised in that community--was a means of contending with how much of Imperial culture is not for her, both in a practical sense (e.g. not being able to eat some of the foods since she's a carnivore) and through all manner of subtle exclusion (e.g. lack of representation of people who look like her in most major media roles.) She claims Imperial culture as hers, she has to, but always in a way that incorporates her racial heritage. She needs feet in both in order to feel whole.

13. Pravin would be doing a James Bond pose because I'm a basic bitch. Like, probably this one but instead of a gun he's holding a vibroknife.

Isra would have her knees bent, ignited lightsaber in her right hand at a low guard position and her left hand raised up near her head, fingers splayed to use the Force. Basically the longsword plow stance but one-handed.

[markabnett]

PREPARING FOR YOUR BEST CON

Okay this is a big post but I need to do it.

Just back home in Scotland from Dublin ComicCon.

One thing this weekend left me with is to remember to get fit for your convention!

My body is like a slab of carbonite at the moment. Quite drained and very heavy footed.

So why is that?

I am unfit.

I mucked up and didn’t prepare my body for the con.

Leading up to the con at least 2 weeks before walk everyday each day increasing the time of your walk by 10 minutes minimum.

This will help you get your body ready for being on your feet for extended period of time.

Wait?

Don’t the cons provide chairs?

Yes most do.

But have you ever been to a con and noticed what artists and writers are doing when they are on their butts?

They are not focused on YOU a potential customer who wants to give them money so they can make more comics!

Well rule number one if you actually want to SELL your books.

Never, NEVER sit down!

Get a yoga mat. Roll that bad boy out and stand behind your table.

Rule number 2

Stay off your phone!

Take photos of your table and surrounding area before the con and set up social posts on schedules through out the day. This keeps you focused on your customers and not missing opportunities for sales.

This gives you a huge advantage and you can look people in the eye and make a connection. Mimic body language. Adjust your tone and pitch to the individual . Be positive and remember your book may not be for them but if you are polite with both your time and theirs they may come back with a friend later on or follow your future endeavours.

Ask them Open ended questions and funnel their answers till you have an answer you may have a solution to with a book on your table.

Have 3 different elevator pitches prepared to adjust to their needs in a book but NEVER lie to them about your book. That will come back and bite you in the arse.

Let them know why your book is worth their hard earned money. Compare it to other similar pop culture properties “ If you like this movie then you will like this book”

Other tips

At 2 day cons compliment cosplayers.

Day one they go large on their looks. Day 2 they usually try something else or come back shopping. They can be a pain and block isles on single day cons but manners and compliments go a long way.

Let them know who you are!

Don’t hand out business cards, hand out free prints with your social details / website on the bottom. People throw cards out. People also post prints up on walls. If you have a memorable print and your social details are there that will give the customer an instant connection between and art piece/ project/story and your name.

I have a sign on my table that says “Say Hi and get a FREE print!” This helps even those who are a wee bit socially awkward muster up the courage and engage in conversation.

Now this print is only 120gsm on gloss paper and coloured on one side. But it’s cheap as chips and I have thousands of them. They result in more social followers (which the value of is still extremely debatable) and importantly post con web-store sales!

WATER WATER WATER!

Ditch the coffee, red bull and sugary drinks.

Water and electrolytes are the way to go.

Treat your body like a finely tuned machine and do not get drunk the night before!

You are there to put your best foot forward and get your books into peoples hands.

Odour check.

A can of lynx/axe body spray (or alternative ) on hand is a must. Add mouth wash / mints and hand sanitiser to that list . Keep your self clean and healthy. Heck in a hit event centre a spare shirt does not go amiss either.

FUEL

Pre-packed lunch and snacks. Trail mix, sandwiches, Bananas and other fruit are massively important. Maybe a bit of chocolate to reward yourself should you feel low but not too much.

TABLE PRESENTATION.

You pull up banner should be broken down into thirds.

Top third- your name- your socials- then your titles.

Middle third. Amazing Splash page art or collage of action from your books that best represent you and your “brand”

Bottom third- a continuation of this or nothing at all. It’s behind a table no one should see it!!

On the table.

-Books open on the best pages of art/ splash pages or double page spreads are a bonus . This will invite people to pick them up and flick through more.

-Books at attention. Small collapsible cardboard standees to have your books upright.

Have them closest to you at the back and in front stack those books high and watch them fly.

More books stacked actually helps sales.

You mean business . You are professional . You’ve come prepared.

Don’t have an empty table.

Use a tablet to have a slide show of art from your books. Add animation elements if you can grab that passer-by’s eye.

Battery pack for devices and back up cables.

Already got a battery pack? Great! Now buy another for backup.

Pens/ sharpies. Make sure they work in your book for signatures and other notes. Seriously test them out first . You would be surprised what pens work and what don’t.

Price LIST!

Using the same branding as your banner header.

Type out your items you have for sale and either leave the price bit blank and use a whiteboard marker if you want to be flexible or make them fixed.

Laminate that bad boy. Helps to keep it firm on the cardboard stand.

Small price tags.

Again use your branding and have multiple price point ready that are the length of a A5 sheet but only 1-2 inches across. Laminate them then tuck them into the books you have in front of the table. These are reusable and with the laminate make them firm enough to hold attention.

Lozenges.

You will get a sore throat from talking too much if you follow the above!

I think that’s all at the moment.

But this stuff is some basic key principle stuff for Indy sellers.

Sure some cons you are there to hang with mates but if you are not

Presenting yourself well and giving yourself the opportunity to earn money to make more books then you are wasting that moment, your own time and your own money.

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

🌹🌹🌹 for the wip ask!

Three roses? Well, let's see!

You can have one of my surprise WIPs which is a Mandalorian Cody and a Jedi Obi-Wan.

“There wasn’t a Jedi on the list,” Cody stood in front of the block of carbonite, staring up at the young man caught inside, his eyes still open in shock and his hands bound in front of him. He’d never seen a Jedi before, but the robes were unmistakable from the holos. “Wake him up.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“We’re not going to find out why he’s here any other way, Rex’ika.”

It took mere seconds for the man to step out of the block, swaying for a second before collapsing into Cody’s arms, shivering with his eyes closed. To the Mandalorian’s surprise, the Jedi was ginger, with soft-looking hair down to his shoulders and a matching beard.

“Where am I?” His accent reminded Cody of the news holos from the Core Worlds but his voice was exhausted, cracking towards the end as he opened his surprisingly blue eyes. “Who are you?”

“Concordia,” He answered as he walked the Jedi over to a chair, realising the lightly scarred hands were still holding onto his arm. “My name is Cody, and you, little Jedi, what’s your name?”

“Obi-Wan. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Send me a 🌹 for a bit of my WIPs?

[zponds]

(Credit goes to JWBtheUncanny on Deviantart)

PreCure All Stars Crystal Freeze 16

For the Final Battle against Dr. Doom with everyone learning He was Manipulating everything from the Start involving the War for the Healing Garden, To get into Latvaria to get Revenge on Dr. Doom for Secretly Attacking the land of Hearts by using Bombs to cause Earthquakes in an effort to punish PreCure for ruining his plans of 2020, the Jerkinators and Ketchum Alliance came up with the Idea of Smuggling them into Latvaria, By placing Pretty Cure All Stars (From Max Heart to Healin Good) and the Fairies of UFO in Crystal Freeze, Being placed in Crystal Freeze will hide your thermal heat from any and all life-form Scanner, If some of you are familiar with my work so far, Being in Crystal Freeze places you in a Hibernation state and for as long as the Panel operator wished, the Process however can be Dangerous if not used properly, Aside from it being used for long distance Travel from World to World, it would be considered as a form of Punishment for anybody that's committed a crime against the PreCure Race, Before going into Crystal Freeze, All PreCure have to wear these Special Latex suits that can not just cover there privates and would serve as a Regulator for there Body Temperature, kinda like a Diving suit.

If your wondering how this was possible, You can thank KiraKira PreCure a la Mode, They've been busy recreating the Crystal Freeze chambers as requested by Cure Elder, and MLPFan053.

Here we see Star Twinkle PreCure (Hikaru, Lala, Elena, Madoka and Yuni) In there own Crystal Blocks, More Dignifying then when they where Frozen in Carbonite by Thanos, Reason why Fuwa and Prunce are not Frozen is because Fuwa is gonna Warp herself and Prunce into Latveria without anyone knowing.

(I've been thinking of the Title of the Event, Either Title one 1: The Wrath of Dr. Doom, or Title 2: Assault on Castle Doom, What you think?)