#and the knowledge that the galaxy must always come before each other

[starlightandsunshine]

This might be kicking over a hornets nest but I think that Jedi/clone ships should be queerplatonic actually

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The majority of censorship is self-censorship

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

I know a lot of polymaths, but Ada Palmer takes the cake: brilliant science fiction writer, brilliant historian, brilliant librettist, brilliant singer, and then some:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#terra-ignota

Palmer is a friend and a colleague. In 2018, she, Adrian Johns and I collaborated on "Censorship, Information Control, & Information Revolutions from Printing Press to Internet," a series of grad seminars at the U Chicago History department (where Ada is a tenured prof, specializing in the Inquisition and Renaissance forbidden knowledge):

https://ifk.uchicago.edu/research/faculty-fellow-projects/censorship-information-control-information-revolutions-from-printing-press/

The project had its origins in a party game that Ada and I used to play at SF conventions: Ada would describe a way that the Inquisitions' censors attacked the printing press, and I'd find an extremely parallel maneuver from governments, the entertainment industry or other entities from the much more recent history of internet censorship battles.

With the seminars, we took it to the next level. Each 3h long session featured a roster of speakers from many disciplines, explaining everything from how encryption works to how white nationalists who were radicalized in Vietnam formed an armored-car robbery gang to finance modems and Apple ][+s to link up neo-Nazis across the USA.

We borrowed the structure of these sessions from science fiction conventions, home to a very specific kind of panel that doesn't always work, but when it does, it's fantastic. It was a natural choice: after all, Ada and I know each other through science fiction.

Even if you're not an sf person, you've probably heard of the Hugo Awards, the most prestigious awards in the field, voted on each year by attendees of the annual World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon). And even if you're not an sf fan, you might have heard about a scandal involving the Hugo Awards, which were held last year in China, a first:

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/science-fiction-authors-excluded-hugo-awards-china-rcna139134

A little background: each year's Worldcon is run by a committee of volunteers. These volunteers put together bids to host the Worldcon, and canvass Worldcon attendees to vote in favor of their bid. For many years, a group of Chinese fans attempted to field a successful bid to host a Worldcon, and, eventually, they won.

At the time, there were many concerns: about traveling to a country with a poor human rights record and a reputation for censorship, and about the logistics of customary Worldcon attendees getting visas. During this debate, many international fans pointed to the poor human rights record in the USA (which has hosted the vast majority of Worldcons since their inception), and the absolute ghastly rigmarole the US government subjects many foreign visitors to when they seek visas to come to the US for conventions.

Whatever side of this debate you came down on, it couldn't be denied that the Chinese Worldcon rang a lot of alarm-bells. Communications were spotty, and then the con was unceremoniously rescheduled for months after the original scheduled date, without any good explanation. Rumors swirled of Chinese petty officials muscling their way into the con's administration.

But the real alarm bells started clanging after the Hugo Award ceremony. Normally, after the Hugos are given out, attendees are given paper handouts tallying the nominations and votes, and those numbers are also simultaneously published online. Technically, the Hugo committee has a grace period of some weeks before this data must be published, but at every Worldcon I've attended over the past 30+ years, I left the Hugos with a data-sheet in my hand.

Then, in early December, at the very last moment, the Hugo committee released its data – and all hell broke loose. Numerous, acclaimed works had been unilaterally "disqualified" from the ballot. Many of these were written by writers from the Chinese diaspora, but some works – like an episode of Neil Gaiman's Sandman – were seemingly unconnected to any national considerations.

Readers and writers erupted in outrage, demanding to know what had happened. The Hugo administrators – Americans and Canadians who'd volunteered in those roles for many years and were widely viewed as being members in good standing of the community – were either silent or responded with rude and insulting remarks. One thing they didn't do was explain themselves.

The absence of facts left a void that rumors and speculation rushed in to fill. Stories of Chinese official censorship swirled online, and along with them, a kind of I-told-you-so: China should never have been home to a Worldcon, the country's authoritarian national politics are fundamentally incompatible with a literary festival.

As the outrage mounted and the scandal breached from the confines of science fiction fans and writers to the wider world, more details kept emerging. A damning set of internal leaks revealed that it was those long-serving American and Canadian volunteers who decided to censor the ballot. They did so out of a vague sense that the Chinese state would visit some unspecified sanction on the con if politically unpalatable works appeared on the Hugo ballot. Incredibly, they even compiled clumsy dossiers on nominees, disqualifying one nominee out of a mistaken belief that he had once visited Tibet (it was actually Nepal).

There's no evidence that the Chinese state asked these people to do this. Likewise, it wasn't pressure from the Chinese state that caused them to throw out hundreds of ballots cast by Chinese fans, whom they believed were voting for a "slate" of works (it's not clear if this is the case, but slate voting is permitted under Hugo rules).

All this has raised many questions about the future of the Hugo Awards, and the status of the awards that were given in China. There's widespread concern that Chinese fans involved with the con may face state retaliation due to the negative press that these shenanigans stirred up.

But there's also a lot of questions about censorship, and the nature of both state and private censorship, and the relationship between the two. These are questions that Ada is extremely well-poised to answer; indeed, they're the subject of her book-in-progress, entitled Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet.

In a magisterial essay for Reactor, Palmer stakes out her central thesis: "The majority of censorship is self-censorship, but the majority of self-censorship is intentionally cultivated by an outside power":

https://reactormag.com/tools-for-thinking-about-censorship/

States – even very powerful states – that wish to censor lack the resources to accomplish totalizing censorship of the sort depicted in Nineteen Eighty-Four. They can't go from house to house, searching every nook and cranny for copies of forbidden literature. The only way to kill an idea is to stop people from expressing it in the first place. Convincing people to censor themselves is, "dollar for dollar and man-hour for man-hour, much cheaper and more impactful than anything else a censorious regime can do."

Ada invokes examples modern and ancient, including from her own area of specialty, the Inquisition and its treatment of Gailileo. The Inquistions didn't set out to silence Galileo. If that had been its objective, it could have just assassinated him. This was cheap, easy and reliable! Instead, the Inquisition persecuted Galileo, in a very high-profile manner, making him and his ideas far more famous.

But this isn't some early example of Inquisitorial Streisand Effect. The point of persecuting Galileo was to convince Descartes to self-censor, which he did. He took his manuscript back from the publisher and cut the sections the Inquisition was likely to find offensive. It wasn't just Descartes: "thousands of other major thinkers of the time wrote differently, spoke differently, chose different projects, and passed different ideas on to the next century because they self-censored after the Galileo trial."

This is direct self-censorship, where people are frightened into silencing themselves. But there's another form of censorship, which Ada calls "middlemen censorship." That's when someone other than the government censors a work because they fear what the government would do if they didn't. Think of Scholastic's cowardly decision to pull inclusive, LGBTQ books out of its book fair selections even though no one had ordered them to do so:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/06/books/scholastic-book-racism-maggie-tokuda-hall.html

This is a form of censorship outsourcing, and it "multiplies the manpower of a censorship system by the number of individuals within its power." The censoring body doesn't need to hire people to search everyone's houses for offensive books – it can frighten editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers and librarians into suppressing the books in the first place.

This outsourcing blurs the line between state and private surveillance. Think about comics. After a series of high-profile Congressional hearings about the supposed danger of comics to impressionable young minds, the comics industry undertook a regime of self-censorship, through which the private Comics Code Authority would vet comings for "dangerous" content before allowing its seal of approval to appear on the comics' covers. Distributors and retailers refused to carry books without a CCA stamp, so publishers refused to publish books unless they could get a CCA stamp.

The CCA was unaccountable, capricious – and racist. By the 60s and 70s, it became clear that comic about Black characters were subjected to much tighter scrutiny than comics featuring white heroes. The CCA would reject "a drop of sweat on the forehead of a Black astronaut as 'too graphic' since it 'could be mistaken for blood.'" Every comic that got sent back by the CCA meant long, brutal reworkings by writers and illustrators to get them past the censors.

The US government never censored heroes like Black Panther, but the chain of events that created the CCA "middleman censors" made sure that Black Panther appeared in far fewer comics starring Marvel's most prominent Black character. An analysis of censorship that tries to draw a line between private and public censorship would say that the government played no role in Black Panther's banishment to obscurity – but without Congressional action, Black Panther would never have faced censorship.

This is why attempts to cleanly divide public and private censorship always break down. Many people will tell you that when Twitter or Facebook blocks content they disagree with, that's not censorship, since censorship is government action, and these are private actors. What they mean is that Twitter and Facebook censorship doesn't violate the First Amendment, but it's perfectly possible to infringe on free speech without violating the US Constitution. What's more, if the government fails to prevent monopolization of our speech forums – like social media – and also declines to offer its own public speech forums that are bound to respect the First Amendment, we can end up with government choices that produce an environment in which some ideas are suppressed wherever they might find an audience – all without violating the Constitution:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

The great censorious regimes of the past – the USSR, the Inquisition – left behind vast troves of bureaucratic records, and these records are full of complaints about the censors' lack of resources. They didn't have the manpower, the office space, the money or the power to erase the ideas they were ordered to suppress. As Ada notes, "In the period that Spain’s Inquisition was wildly out of Rome’s control, the Roman Inquisition even printed manuals to guide its Inquisitors on how to bluff their way through pretending they were on top of what Spain was doing!"

Censors have always done – and still do – their work not by wielding power, but by projecting it. Even the most powerful state actors are not powerful enough to truly censor, in the sense of confiscating every work expressing an idea and punishing everyone who creates such a work. Instead, when they rely on self-censorship, both by individuals and by intermediaries. When censors act to block one work and not another, or when they punish one transgressor while another is free to speak, it's tempting to think that they are following some arcane ruleset that defines when enforcement is strict and when it's weak. But the truth is, they censor erratically because they are too weak to censor comprehensively.

Spectacular acts of censorship and punishment are a performance, "to change the way people act and think." Censors "seek out actions that can cause the maximum number of people to notice and feel their presence, with a minimum of expense and manpower."

The censor can only succeed by convincing us to do their work for them. That's why drawing a line between state censorship and private censorship is such a misleading exercise. Censorship is, and always has been, a public-private partnership.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The subtleties of the force part five- final

You are from this world, but at a convetion you stumble into the world between worlds, eventually falling into the Star Wars galaxy. Slow burn Anakinxreader content due to reader trying to keep the timeline straight.This is a long one, as I had put all chapters below so strap in. Begins at the start of AOTCFem reader, I hope you enjoy.

Convention lines were always long and this one had been no different. Alone once more you stepped forward, hesitation and excitement fighting for dominance in your stomach. In your hand you held a pile of promotional headshots, actors from a movie you had loved for years. You had always dreamed that one day you might find that your own father was a great hero and not the man who abandoned your mother and you. It had not happened yet so you supposed it never would. Looking down at your hands you could see the beginnings of age creeping over you, age spots covered the slowly thinning skin. Were you really closing in on your fifties? No family to rely on, no one there when you needed a friend, nothing. You'd lived an empty life. A staff member whose face seemed blurred in some way ushered you forward allowing you to step up to the celebrities. A pair of brown eyes met yours and you felt a twinge of sadness.

"Y/n?" Natalie Portman narrowed her eyes on you. You ignored the use of your name, took the picture back from her and moved on.

Ewan McGregor took your next picture and signed his name across it before looking up at you.

"Y/n? What?" His voice sounded miles away and you stepped away once more.

"Mother?" The voice of Mark Hamill caught your attention but that word didn't make sense, you must have heard it wrong. Were you dressed in cosplay? You check but no, you're in simple jeans. You can see the person you wanted to meet the most at the end of the line and you walked. A trance falling over you as people called out to you. Hayden Christensen looked up, his blue eyes catching yours. Panic filled him and you wondered if you were doing something wrong. He was rounding the tables and coming toward you. Hands grabbed your shoulders and dragged you away. Hayden reaches for you but misses your hand.

"Hmmm, her mind is confused. It will be hard to push our way in." The grand inquisitor huffed.

"Maybe we should take her straight to the Emperor?" Reva, the third sister suggested.

The two looked at each other, a conversation continuing in their minds.

The larger man turned once more to your body, placing his hand over your head.

"Perhaps I can at least clear her mind a little before we reach him"

Reva nods.

Everything stopped. The lights of the city, the noise of people, are all gone. You knelt holding your arms around your body in a dark room. You knew there was nothing there, no doors, no windows, no furniture. You know you need to keep everything locked away, pretend like you are nothing. The feeling of denticles wriggling through your mind comes again, slowly turning into the scratching of spiders.

'You will find nothing.' You spit out the words.

A cold wind whips around you and snow appears below you. Reaching out you touch the snow, feeling your fingers beginning to freeze. What place could be this cold? No place on Earth, illium perhaps or Florium, Both? You had never been to Both, so it could not be in your mind. This place was not a memory but knowledge. Your body is flung backwards.

Children are playing, not your children. No this is a street on Earth. Your street. Children are running by you in the summer heat. Turning away from them you see your home, a tall house with many levels, each an apartment. A hand slides into yours and you turn to see Anakin beside you.

"I know you haven't been here for a long time, y/n, but don't worry it's just while we're shooting this film." He kisses the side of your head and you feel soothed. Wait…did he say shooting a film?

"Sure, Anakin." You try out the name, he laughs with his whole body.

"You're going to call me that the whole time aren't you?" His smile was hard to ignore.

"As long as you let me." You say. He begins to lead you up the steps when you feel something off. Your feet feel too light, like you aren't walking on the paving slabs.

'This isn't real' you think, pulling your hand from his and spinning you're back in the dark empty room. No, it's not empty any more. There is a man, his skin is white, and eyes are yellow. The Grand Inquisitor. He cannot see you, his hand is hovering above something you cannot see. You feel your lightsaber in your hand and you approach him. In silence you place the hilt against his back.

"Stay out of my mind." You hiss and ignite your blade. The purple colour bursting from his chest.

The Grand Inquisitor stumbles back. A hole burned through his body. He drops to his knees and falls down. Reva, steps to him.

"Dead? She killed you from inside her mind."

—---

"Is Luke okay?" Leia asks her father, bending down to hug him from behind. Anakin sat in the pilot seat of the millennium falcon.

"The Droids say he is fine. The whimper got him good but he's a Skywalker, we're a hard bunch to kill." He pats his daughter's hand.

"We'll find her, father. We'll find all of them."

He smiles at her, "how did you become so smart?"

"I got it from my mother." She grinned, winking at him.

"Heh, yeah you did. She'd never do what we are though."

"I'm not going home without my family. Han found Luke, so now we're going to find mother." Leia kept her face stoic as she spoke.

"That you get from me." Anakin smiled.

"So what are we going to do?" She asks

"The only thing left to do. I was supposed to be the chosen one, bring balance to the force. So let's go kill the Sith."

Leia thought for a moment, pressing her lips together.

"Do you think that's what it means?" She asked.

"What else could it mean?"

"Well, forever there have been Jedi and Sith, at least two on each side. That's pretty balanced but what if, dad, what if it means that force users should be balanced?"

Anakin turned himself fully round to face his daughter.

"I know it sounds crazy but what if the only way to defeat the Emperor is by letting go. Use both sides of the force?"

"I don't…you know a long time ago, when your mother and I met we sat in the old temple one night. Your mother told me things about the force that I and none of the Jedi had ever known or thought of. It was her who showed us that love could be used for good, before we weren't allowed attachments, possession was forbidden for fear that it would lead to the darkside. Now we use our love to strengthen the light."

"Sounds similar to me. Mum is always saying that you shouldn't give in to your anger and that's true but what if we used it, just a little."

Anakin nodded.

"You might be onto something. Here, take over, I need to make contact with Obi-Wan." Anakin jumped from his chair and ran to the back rooms. Chewie had fallen asleep on the round booth chair which made Anakin laugh to himself as he passed him.

—----

Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong. Over the years he had learned to trust his Padawan, his reckless ideas almost always worked out. Yet, now there were two more reckless Skywalkers to contend with.

"Look, I do not disbelieve or distrust your idea, I only wish to convey caution in all matters. Mace and Y/n are the only two Jedi who have been able to use their fear and anger to strengthen their abilities. Be mindful Anakin, at all times."

"I will be Master."

The hologram faded away.

"Time to save mum?"

Luke asked, his wild blue eyes glinting under the lights of the machinery.

"Let's go get mum." Anakin repeated, clapping his son on the back and pulling his daughter along behind by her hand.

*******************

Your eyes open, only to close again against the pain in your head. The room around you seemed familiar somehow. The same feeling you continued to get becoming more and more irritating.

"AHH, Madam Skywalker, lovely to have you here." The voice scratched your ears.

"Palpatine." You reply, looking at him with no respect for his self appointed title. Palpatine visabally grits his teeth at you.

"I am glad you could finally find your way out of whatever mind dungeon you had shut yourself in."

You roll your eyes.

"Oh yes, it's a decided displeasure to be in your acquaintance as always." You give him a fake grin. An Inquisitor steps forward and slaps you with the back of his gloves hand.

"You will not speak to the Emperor in such a manner." He growled. Palpatine raised his hand and gestured for him to step away.

"Not to worry, y/n will know her place soon. Your mind has given me plenty. Poor little girl, lost in her world not meant to be there. The force found you and you pulled you to exactly where you needed to be. Now, you will be mine, my apprentice."

"Ha! No way." You laugh. Palpatine steps closer to you, his face mere inches from your own, you can see the deformation of his skin below his hood. You feel and smell his rancid breath on your skin. His yellow eyes bore into yours.

"For some time now my new obsession has been you, y/n. How did a person appear from nowhere and become the strongest force wielder we have ever seen. How is it the Force could travel so far and pull you here? You must know."

You swallow and take a deep breath.

"I have been here for over twenty years, if the force has a higher meaning for me, I think we'd know it by now. Also toothpaste is a thing."

"AHH yes, make jokes all you like, you will bend to my will." He snarled.

"I didn't turn then, none of us will turn now."

He laughed, cackled in your face.

"Oh once I've turned you, Anakin and your children will follow easily."

You roll your eyes and sigh, hoping it would convert every ounce of contempt you had for him.

Heavy boots echo as they approach, too loud for the quiet room. The officer speaks to the Inquisitor who glanced nervously at you.

"My Lord Emperor, the rebels and the Jedi are here."

"Then shoot them all down, but let the Skywalkers come to me." Palpatine kept his eyes on you as he spoke.

"It seems they already are here, on the planet. They have made contact with the Natives."

Palpatine's smile became impossibly wider.

"Here they come, time for you to choose Skywalker."

"I would rather die."

"Then you will, and they will turn."

—----

Han Solo, Chewie, Anakin, Leia and Luke crouch behind trees and rocks looking at a set of troopers. Troopers with black uniforms and red flashings. They stand between several speeder bikes.

"Chewie and I will take care of this. You stay here.." Han whispers to the others.

"Quietly there might be more of them out there." Luke warns his friend.

"Hey it's me." He grins and moves away from the group.

"That's what we're afraid of." Anakin quips, winking at his daughter. Han creeps toward a trooper pulling out his gun. A twig snaps below his foot and the trooper turns. Han manges to punch him and a fight breaks out between them. Two troopers jump on speeders and rush off. Luke has only a second to register both his father and sister leaping forward onto speeders.

"Leia, dad!" He just manages to jump.on to Leia's speeder and keep hold as she pulls away. Anakin laughs as he speeds through the trees. A different climate but it felt just like the pod racing of his childhood.

The two teens took on one trooper managing to knock him from his course and smash into a tree. Anakin was enjoying the race a little too much. Toying with the trooper, he would pull up alongside him only to disappear between the trees again. Fear radiated off the nameless soldier as he tried his communications router. There was nothing but static.

Anakin appeared alongside him once more, a smile dancing upon his face as he drew his lightsaber. The trooper had no chance to react as the blade sliced through the front of the speeder and he landed in an explosion against a tree. Anakin laughed, and his children drew up beside him.

"What are we doing? Going back for the others or heading in?" Leia called to him.

"What do you say Luke?" Anakin asked.

"Let's go get her!"

They pull up the bikes and jump off them, not wanting to alert any more troopers to their presence. By foot they ran through the trees till they could see the base.

"Imperial architecture is hardly imaginative." Leia rolls her eyes.

"Well when you're a senator in the new republic you can order it all made pretty." Luke laughed.

"Alright kids, remember your training, quickly and quietly."

The twins nod to their father and move out.

The troopers and droids outside the base were little work for the three Jedi. Luke crouched next to a trooper and pulled his helmet off.

"They aren't clones." He announced.

"Count Dooku destroyed Camino a long time ago, I doubt anyone else knows how to clone people." Anakin explained as he tinkered with a battle droid.

"What are you doing?" Leia asked him.

"Nothing like a little confusion to distract the enemy." Anakin said as he pulled wires around.

"You're rewiring it." She nodded, "I'll get the door." Leia ran over to the base and started pressing buttons. The combination to the door was long but not complicated and by the time Anakin was done with the droid the doors slid open.

They directed the droid inside before slipping by and turning in the opposite direction.

The halls were dark, normal imperial interior design of black walls and tiny red lights, decorated their path through the base. The trio hadn't seen any officers, soldiers or troops for some time when Anakin stopped in his tracks.

"This is a trap." He whispered to his children, "Luke go down a level, Leia into the vents, both of you stay hidden, we'll go in the same direction and find your mother. Stay hidden until I give you a signal."

The twins agree and run off to their specified places as Anakin squared his shoulders, dropped his brown cloak to the floor and marched forward.

The closer he got to the centre of the building the colder it grew, air blew out of his mouth in clouds of vapour. He could hear you somewhere inside, your low grunts of pain emitting through the walls. Though he desperately wanted to charge in and destroy whoever was hurting you he knew he needed to be more calculated. Steadying his breathing Anakin used the force to open the final door. Turning to him the Emperor plunged his crimson sabre through your body. You cried out for your husband, feeling the heat sever your spinal cord. He drops you to the ground and you hit your chin.

"Ahh at last, we meet again. Are you ready now, my boy?"

Anakin smiled. He did not care about the Inquisitors that circled him.

"Thank you, Emperor, you have given me exactly what I need." Anakin's eyes flashed yellow for a moment as he spoke and felt his body full with new power. Ignoring his sabre he charged forward. Behind him Leia dropped from the vents cutting down one of the inquisitors before Luke emerged from below. The battle went on around you as you struggled to keep yourself awake. A pair of hands touched your shoulders and you spun your face round.

"Cody, you're okay?"

"I sure am madam Skywalker. Let's get you out of here." He grinned, pulling at you.

"I can't walk." You force out. Cody lifts you into his arms and runs for the exit, dodging and weaving through the fighting force users.

"How did you escape?" You ask him, arms clinging around his neck.

"I was only clipped.in the shoulder ma'am, your son found me in a cell." He hits the door with his boots hoping it would open.

Looking over his shoulder you see the last inquisitor fall limp to the ground, his head rolling away. Your two children stood triumphant above their enemies.

"You played it wrong, Palpatine. Hurting my wife doesn't make me weak." Anakin held his adversary around the neck with the force.

"Yes, good, give into your anger." Palpatine hissed out the words.

"I don't need to." Anakin laughed, clenching his fingers as if they were clamped around the Emperor's neck.

The Emperor let out his own strangled laugh and pointed his fingers toward Anakin. Blue lightning burst out of them and struck Anakin. He faulted slightly, taking a step back but holding himself still. Luke and Leia ran up behind him putting their hands on their father's shoulders.

"I am the Empire, the galaxy and the Sith." Palpatine growled.

"And we are the Jedi and the Force." They spoke in unison, the two children bringing their hands up in front of them. You closed your eyes and called out to any Jedi who could hear you.

Around the galaxy, within each system force users heard your voice. They stood and closed their eyes, focusing in on the room. Power surged through the trio. A beam of golden light shone from their hands and engulfed the Emperor. Red and blue sparked from all around them as the Emperor's skin peeled from his body. Slowly he faded into nothing. A mass of robes and dust fell to the ground.

Your husband and children dropped to their knees.

"What was that?" Luke asked.

"I don't know but it worked." Anakin said standing up. He turns to you and rushes to your side.

"Take her, General. The men and I will get this all cleaned up." Cody passed you over to Anakin, the pain in your back spasmed with their movements but your legs dangled limply. Leia told Cody to put the Emperor's remains in a box and seal it away.

************

Immediately after the rescue of you and the galaxy Senator Organa is given the role of Chancellor and begins to build a new republic senate. It would take years to rebuild the trust amongst the planets and the people but they were finally willing to put in the time.

All imperial buildings were demolished to make way for rehabilitation centres.

The Mandalorians returned to their home world, the Clone troopers were given full citizenship of any planet they chose, free to live a normal life.

And the Jedi?

The Jedi were gone, at least the order that had once been known. A new way had begun, the Skywalkers taught everyone how to use both sides of the force, to create a balanced life.

Though the healers and medic droids had tried they could never fully repair your spinal cord. Though you could walk and move about it was often short lived and used much of your focus to do. Anakin insisted on always being by your side, you didn't mind one bit. Sometimes at night you would dream of the life you left behind, a life of loneliness. You traded that life each time for the one you have now.

Though many of the old Jedi slowly grew old and died you relished on seeing the new council ascend. Obi-Wan became grandmaster after Yoda became one with the force. You, Anakin, Ahsoka and an extremely skilled young man, called Cal, held seats alongside him.

One year after the Empire's defeat you watched as Anakin walked Leia down the aisle, followed soon by the birth of her son with Han Solo. Ben was a beautiful boy, the image of his father and the spirit of his mother. He was followed by a brother three years later, baby Anakin's blue eyes shone just as bright as his namesake.

Luke two found love with Mara Jade, mandalorian born with skills unmatched by so many in the force. Two more grandchildren blessed your life Jacen and Jaina.

Anakin and you slowly grew older until you decided it was time to retire from the council, and live a quiet life. You watched your grandchildren grow into adults, Ben found a girl, lost in the deserts of Jakku.

You saw it the moment you met her, though you would never tell a soul of her ancestry. Rey quickly became a part of a family and gave you a great granddaughter who named after you.

Finally sixty years after your arrival, forty years after the emperor's demise you and Anakin laid down once more beside each other.

Anakin held you in his arms and you kissed him one last time in your corporeal bodies before both of you became one with the force. Content and happy and together with the force finally, truly balanced across the universe. At least it would be for the next three thousand years. The republic would thrive until amongst the depths of Moraband a spark would ignite. A child would be born and the saga of the Skywalkers would begin again.

The end.

An - Hey, I have used names from the Legends cannon in this part though swapping parentage to accommodate the current Cannon as well. I decided on a happy ending for the galaxy.

Hope you all enjoyed the story. Thank you so much for coming along this journey with me.

Please do no post anywhere else reblogs are fine. Interact and let me know what you think. (I may do an alternative ending)

[manchasama]

:> I have finished another chapter. 8> I am v.pleased. This is the toughest chapter out of all of them. I don't go into great detail, but it is Ingo's strongest reaction. Careful duckies, but also enjoy(?)!

Hard to Swallow Part 4 (Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5)

-

"Ah, my good sir, wait just one moment!"

Ingo stopped at the familiar voice.  Coming up the road was Professor Laventon.  He was huffing a bit at the quick pace he'd set, and had a covered bundle clutched in his hands.

"Warden Ingo, I'm so glad to have caught you today," Laventon said jovially when he got closer.  "I didn't get the chance to thank you properly for your help with finding those pokemon for me!"

"Good day, Professor," Ingo replied with a tip of his hat.  "It was no trouble.  I trust all passengers have their proper tickets and are on schedule?"

Professor Laventon took a moment to parse his phrasing, before giving a sheepish grin.  "Ah, well, not exactly.  They are quite the rambunctious fellows, you know?  Won't listen to a word I say!  That little Cyndaquil especially loves to create such a ruckus."

Oh, that was quite unfortunate.  Ingo had thought he'd taken enough time to train them to being quite congenial partners.  The Cyndaquil had been such a quick learner when it came to battle strategies, and he'd been sure it would have been a star pupil for the professor's needs.

"I see," Ingo replied.  He had to resist the urge to straighten up, not wanting to loom over the other.  "Perhaps I failed to set them on the proper tracks.  I would be happy to run a maintenance session with them!  With a little more training, they are sure to be formidable partners.  I'm sure you will learn a lot from each other as you continue on your journey together."

"No!" Laventon protested immediately.  Ingo blinked in surprise at the fervor.  "Uh, that is to say, I don't think the problem is their training," Laventon continued, rubbing his head nervously.  "I must say it's probably a lack in myself to be able to control their strong personalities."

That was also fixable.  Ingo brightened up, voice rising with enthusiasm.  "Would you like some guidance?  While I don't remember where I came about such skill, many have vouched for my abilities when it comes to battling.  I'm sure we could get you in top form and battle ready in no time."

That didn't make Laventon look any more confident.  If anything, he looked more uncomfortable at the mere suggestion, face a little pale.  "Warden Ingo, while I appreciate your eagerness, battling is not for one such as me.  No, my passions are in observing and recording, rather than doing.  Perhaps that is my folly in this case."

"That is truly a shame," Ingo said.  "I think you would be a fantastic choice for a partner.  Your kindness and desire to understand pokemon is admirable.  If you ever change your mind, I would be honored to be your conductor for that journey."

Laventon had a bemused look on his face at that, but responded with equal good humor.  "Why, thank you!  I will be sure to do so.  Ah, but that isn't the reason I wanted to talk to you.  It may not be much, but I would like you to take this as thanks for your assistance!"  With that, he held out the cloth covered bundle between them.  He pulled the cloth off dramatically, revealing some steaming buns.  "Potato mochi!  A delicious delicacy made by our very own Beni.  He's holding onto the secret of that recipe, but I do hope to be able to record it someday.  Knowledge must be shared, not hoarded!  Ah," he paused with a sheepish grin, "look at me rambling on.  Please, have one while it's still hot.  While normally these are reserved for members of the Galaxy team, I would be delighted if you were to have some as thanks for your help."

Ingo looked at the pale buns, feeling a swell of nerves he couldn't place.  He wasn't sure why, but he always had a pang of anxiety when offered food from others.  Was it some past trauma that he could not remember?  He didn't consider himself a picky eater, and most everything he tried was at least palatable.  An offer of food was quite an honor, when it was one of the most coveted resources.

"Indeed," Ingo said, not wanting to appear rude despite his hesitation.  "I have heard many people praise these potato mochi before!  Though I don't feel I have done much that requires such acclaim, I will certainly partake."  He slid a finger against his wrist absently, and was surprised at the lack of resistance.  Why had he done that?  He looked down at his bare hands for a moment of incomprehension, before pushing the feeling aside and reaching out to take one of the buns.

The texture of the mochi was a bit odd, but the flavor of it was quite good.  It was good.  So Ingo had no idea why his breath was freezing in his lungs, or why his throat was so tight.  He tried to work his jaw, to at least swallow the mouthful so he could thank the professor properly, but all he managed to do was to grind his teeth together a fraction.  The urge to cough was rising, or to gag, and behind that Ingo could sense that if he didn't so something soon, he was likely to throw up.  

Desperately, he tried to keep his breathing under control.  He had to close his throat against the distressed noise that wanted to escape, not wanting to call attention to his plight.  But his eyes were starting to water.  And he could not swallow, he knew he couldn't, even if he could somehow magically unfreeze himself in the moment, he was not going to be able to recover from this. He hadn't even realized he was hunching further over until a hand met his shoulder, and he jerked backward in alarm.

Laventon also jerked back, not expecting the sudden move.  "My dear man, are you okay?  You look frightful!"

Ingo raised his gaze to meet Laventon's, and that was it.  He lurched a few steps away before gagging violently, eyes squeezed shut as his body shuddered.  A harsh cough shook him, and was followed immediately by another wave of nausea that left him panting.

"Oh my goodness!"  

Out of the corner of his eye, Ingo could see the professor hovering, though he didn't reach out to touch him.  Ingo could feel his face burn with humiliation.  What kind of reaction was that?  It was a simple act of kindness, the act of sharing a precious resource, and Ingo had been most shameful about it.  He was certainly old enough to handle food he didn't like.  Though, he had liked it.  Why had he reacted like that?

He straightened, not caring now if he towered over the other.  Tugging his hat low over his eyes, he wiped a hand across his mouth.  It did nothing to clear the clinging sensations that still threatened to make him gag again.  "My deepest apologizes," he said instead, unable to look at Laventon.  "I will clean up this mess post haste."

"Warden Ingo, please!  Do not worry about that.  Are you alright?"  Laventon was clutching the plate to his chest while he shifted from foot to foot.  "My goodness, I hadn't even thought to ask if you liked any before I offered.  It really is my fault."

Ingo wanted to protest, because his inability to properly accept the gift was hardly a failing of the professor, but more than that he wished Laventon would stop hovering and...and reach out.  There was a burning desire in him for a comforting hand on his back, for the physical presence of another.  Ingo rubbed at his arm, trying to dismiss the phantom sensations, while also dearly wishing they were real.  But he wasn't close friends with Laventon, as much as he enjoyed the man's company.  

Perhaps, he thought miserably to himself, he had had a parent or companion in his past life who would offer such comforts.  It seemed unlikely.  Casual touch was not considered polite or encouraged.  Not in the clans, nor in the variety of cultures that made up the Galaxy team.

Ingo forced his shoulders to relax, rolling them back to ease the knot of tension in his back.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Laventon shuffle backwards a few steps, a nervous look on his face.  Swallowing, Ingo sunk into his coat, bending his knees subtly as he shifted his posture around in a way he hoped looked natural.  He disliked that he came off as so intimidating to others, and was doing what he could to mitigate it.  This episode had likely put him even further in the negative view, however.  

"It is not your fault, professor," he finally managed to say.  Taking another careful breath, he focused briefly on getting his throat to relax when it started to tighten again.  He could not seem to get rid of the sensation!  "I do apologize again.  It was a kind gesture, one of which I am sorry was wasted in such a way.  Perhaps I am coming down with something."  The platitude felt sour on his tongue.  He knew he was not sick, at least not in terms of a virus or otherwise.  The broken state of his mind was not something he could fix, however.

Right now all he wanted to do was retreat to the comfort of the mountains.  At least there he didn't feel like he was disappointing people's expectations.  At least there Lady Sneasler would greet him with a rough tongue swiping at his hair, determined to get it to stick up in new and interesting ways.  At least there he could tend to the sneaslettes, allowing them to climb over him in their rambunctious games.  At least there, the clawing loneliness in his chest would ease, if only for a little while.

"Oh dear oh dear," Laventon fretted.  "I was going to have you take the rest with you, but I suppose that a fool's endeavor now."  He frowned down at the plate.  "Ah well, I will have to think of something else I can do to repay you.  Are you sure you're okay, old chap?"

Taking another deep breath, Ingo forcefully pulled himself together.  He dug into the pocket of his ragged coat, pulling out the cloth he knew was there.  It was a matter of a moment to bend over and swipe at the mess on the ground.  He bundled the cloth around it, then stuck it deep in his pocket.  He'd take care of it later.  

"My cab is in working order," he said, avoiding looking at Laventon's face.  He tipped his cap again.  "If you will excuse me."  With that he strode away.  It was probably rude of him to leave so abruptly.  He couldn't find it in himself to care.

(When the next meal came, Ingo stared at the slices of berry in his hand that he's prepared.  Even without trying, he knew he would not be able to eat.  The phantom sensations had not stopped.  Not the ones that threatened to have him gag around his food.  Not the ones that felt like a warm hand on his back, a solid presence in his side.)

[constantlymisspelled]

10 - ELECTORAL PROCESS:

[Text in image is as below]

i) The Court of Houses;

a) The Court of Houses will represent

ii) The Sector Governors;

a) Sector governors are the governing bodies for Mandalorians of the sector, not the entirety of that sector, with the exception of Mando’ade majority sectors such as Mandalore. b) Recognised Sector Governors are c) Recognised Territory Governors (Sector Governors for areas where Mando’ade are the minority, such as the Governor for Coruscanta Mando’ade)

iii) The System Governors;

a) System Governors

iv) The Astro Body Governors;

a) Astrological Body Governors are the Governing Body for Satellite Systems, individual planets, moons, and other such forms. b) A conglomerate of Astrological Bodies can unite under one governor to improve their resource allocation with permittance from Mandalorian Space.

v) District Electoral Members

 a) Incomplete

[Text in image is as below]

vi) Electoral Voters;

a) Every citizen of age within an electorate is considered an Electoral Voter. As long as you have an Identity Code, Communication Number, and your birth year – not the full date, a Government Official related to an election does not require this knowledge – you are an eligible voter. b) A voter is not required to declare their race. c) A voter is not required to list their gender. d) A Voter is not required to list their Clan or House in any way. e) A Voter is not required to list their biological sex or sexuality before, after or during the vote. f) A Voter is not required to answer questions about their voting history outside of whether or not this is their first vote. If it is their first vote, the only assistance an Overseer can give is advice on what filling out the form looks like and how it is done, not how to fill it to the Overseer’s preferences. g) A voter is entitled to their privacy, and the assistance of the Scrutineer if help is needed. h) A voter is entitled to fill out an electoral form in a language they speak proficiently. i) Illiterate or blind voters can answer a voting ballot digitally or by an audio questionnaire the day before the vote to allow them privacy during the ballot.

[Text in image is as below]

vii) Voting conditions;

a) A vote will be considered invalid if no boxes are ticked, or if answered inappropriately. Inappropriate votes are counted in a separate tally for each region, and are part of the final results under the listing ‘DNF’ to show true election percentages.

viii) Overseers of the Ballot;

 a) Incomplete

[Text in image is as below]

ix) Postal Elections

a) Postal elections can be completed at any Mandalorian Embassy in the Galaxy, and at any post office within the Mandalorian Sector. They must be completed at minimum, three full days before the voting day, or they will be counted as an inappropriate vote. b) Votes that go missing will still have their date carbon stamped into their digital-print, and can still be considered legal. c) Postal elections require an Identity Number, Communication Code, and the voters birth year in order to acknowledge that that the voter has completed their ballot and will not be fined. d) Even if the vote does go missing, the voter will not suffer penalty. It will, again, be counted as an inappropriate vote.

x) Voting Eligibility

 a) Incomplete

xi) Right and Responsibility

a) Not attending or filling out a ballot on the day or before the day of election can result in a fine. b) It is a right, and responsibility to vote, not a privilege. Employers must allocate time for employees to vote either on the day, or to have time to complete the postal ballot. Not meeting these requirements will come at cost to the employer, not the employee.

xii) Conditions for Referendum, Re-election and Hung Parliamentary Votes

a) Incomplete

[As always, if you have any ideas, questions, or criticism, let me know! Electoral process will look very different to what some of you know, but I stress that this is almost the exact system my country works under. Voting is a responsibility, not a privilege, and you will get your say whether you want to or not - and maybe a sausage out of it if you're in a cool electorate - hey, maybe Mandalorians can have a street vendor giving away food on the day? Sick!]

[Back to main Codex]

[basingstokemercury]

All my DS9 fic ideas so far (now watch as I never end up writing any)

Guilt By Association (circa S3, replaces canon Second Skin)

Some healthy paranoia is a necessity for the spy who wants a long career, and Garak is always more than prepared to protect himself. What he isn't prepared for is his young friend becoming a target - but, however responsible he may feel, risking yourself because of emotional involvement is the height of foolishness... right?

Not Waving But Drowning (circa S4)

An errand of mercy, turned into a horrific ambush. One survivor, spared by chance and wracked by self-blame. The crew of DS9 are used to Bashir's calm support and emotional understanding, but his own burden is becoming too painful to hide.

Tree Of Knowledge (circa S6, the only time I ever intend on acknowledging The Twist)

Bashir thought he was one of the lucky ones. Genetic manipulation was banned for a reason, not least because it could destroy the minds and bodies of those experimented on. In his case, at least, the gamble had paid off. He had a normal life and abilities far beyond the average human. Then, after more than twenty years, symptoms began appearing. The damage to his nervous system had been there all along, too slow and cumulative to be detected. And the trouble with illegal procedures is that nobody quite knows how to treat their deadly side effects...

Heart's Mirror (circa S3, replaces canon Through The Looking Glass)

When the Intendant of Terok Nor abducts Bashir as a pawn in her convoluted scheme against the rebellion, Kira poses as her counterpart to rescue him. It's not that simple, of course, and two people trapped in a twisted universe realise their feelings for each other are the only thing that makes sense...

Drink From Me Only With Thine Eyes (circa S5, Kira/Bashir AU)

Kira decides to show some interest in her boyfriend's hobbies, and tags along for an adaptation of the classic novel Dracula. Not all the guests in the holoprogram are invited, though, and it quickly becomes clear that the couple chose a very bad time...

O, Villain That I Am (circa S5, diverges from canon By Inferno's Light)

Julian Bashir is dead. Murdered in a Dominion prison, half a galaxy away from nearly everyone who cares about him. And they didn't even know he was gone, taken in by a changeling for over a month. But then, that changeling does something unexpected. The month replacing a gentle, loving man affected him in ways he didn't realise were happening, and the news of that man's death brings repressed conflicts to the surface. He abandons his genocidal mission, and surrenders to the Federation. Of course, that's no comfort to the crew of DS9 - but just as he can't hope for their forgiveness, they can't put vengeance before justice.

Blood Makes Noise (timeline undetermined, might have to watch the TNG films first)

It finally happens. The Borg threat comes to DS9. Faced once again with losing everything to his old enemy, Sisko is determined to be the victor this time. But when an emotionally-driven preemptive strike results in the loss of a senior staff member, it seems the spectre of history may sabotage his second chance. Refusing to leave his officer to a fate worse than death and feeling helpless against his own past, Sisko must save not only the station, but his own mind in the process.

Through The Soul's Windows (circa s3, exploration of canon Distant Voices)

Bashir's birthday preparations were rudely interrupted when a robbery attempt turned deadly. He lay in a coma for hours, trapped inside his own personal hell as the rest of the crew could only pray for a miracle. But what was the rest of the crew doing during that time? What actions were taken? How did they react? It's time to find out.

[jokingmaiden]

interests and identity

what is an interest to you? what do you believe it means to love something so passionately, so dearly, to where you crave its knowledge like the fruit of a blooming tree? where do you believe interests come from? they are the labors of love, pieces of the encounters around you. there must be a way you learn what you love, and it is always directly or indirectly through another. whether it's the excitement of a cherished friend, a device offered by a guardian, the sight of someone pouring their soul into their work, it comes from others. there is no such thing as originality in love; it is a beautiful thing, to know the love you feel is shared in its purity. what i mean to say is, every inkling of interest you have ever felt for a topic is shared.

this is no terrible thing!! to share love is a beautiful, beautiful truth. every interest you've ever had is a part of someone else: handed to you so delicately and wrapped in silk; or perhaps worn and tattered, clearly used many times over the years and laced with generations of affection; maybe sunkissed and molded, not touched for many years but passed to you as the revitalization it deserves. humans are creatures of mimicry by nature. to gain an interest in something through mirroring the people you admire is to exist in the tenderness of the human condition. there is nothing shameful about gaining your enjoyment from those around you; sharing love is the path to joy.

similarly, we are made of experience. each individual detail of your life makes you: your personality, your strengths, your weaknesses, your identity, all of your likes and dislikes through the years, everything. each single building block, in turn, has been in the hands of another, handled in millions of different ways by millions of different stories, like a trope peppering the tones of several stories through several centuries. no single trait has ever been individual. no one person has been the only one to ever experience something in a single instance. each individual spot of every isolated dimension has been, is, and will be interacted with.

no, what makes you you is not any one trait. it's not your love of your interests, nor your pain, nor your gender or sexuality. what makes you who you are is the combination of these pieces, like a puzzle spanning several trillions of bits to come together as you. while every piece of you has been experienced before, there is no other being in all of existence who has experienced the exact array of life you have. nobody with the same ecosystem in your body keeping you alive, no copy of your arrangement of experiences forming who you are, nothing. you will never be recreated again; even if you were to be cloned exactly as you are, said clone would immediately start having different experiences. you, in this way, will never be remade. and that may be lonely to some, but in reality, it is absolutely beautiful. you are a universe. treat yourself with respect. it takes a long time for a being so intricate, so complex, to be fully and wholly loved. we are all little universes, trying desperately to understand each other with our whole beings. you cannot feel truly loved without first understanding why you are so beautifully unique.

you do not need to break the mirror to see yourself. you simply don't need to stare at it, y'know? and if it offers any solace, i see your constellations, your combinations of beautiful starts and space and life and chaos, and i see love. i see someone who will not become loved, but is already loved far more than they understand. they simply need to see it. and, for what it's worth, i look into the stars in your eyes, and i love them. tenderly, genuinely, and fully. your story is a beautiful one; please, don't try to erase its value simply because a string of characters within it has been used before. you are so much more than a single page.

be gentle; you have galaxies within you.

[metropolitanmutantofark]

The Messenger, Eclipse

(~1.9K Words) Part 1, Chapter 1 - Wendy Wendel

0002023 A.D. - Earth (Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy) North America - Tampa Bay, FL, U.S.A. May 25th - 7:50 AM

It all started with that parking spot - that stupid parking spot. It was simple. It was all I asked for. I never asked for any space carjacking, I never asked for any blistering red face-goop, I never asked for any evil taxi cabs, and I most certainly never asked for any near-death experiences, let alone seven. All I wanted was to park in my spot, and get to class. My name is Wendy. To my knowledge, I'm currently 23 years old, give or take a few months, but that can be surprisingly hard to pin down aboard this... thing. This was maybe around six, maybe seven months ago, a few days after I turned 23. Since that day, I haven't had a week's worth of rest at home. It was the day I met Eclipse - don't get me wrong, he's a wonderful person - but he's more than a handful, especially when we're off Earth. He's the reason I'm writing this right now, looking at all the postage and recording logs. Fortunately for all of us, this all took place on solid ground. God knows I'd be livid if I had an extra-planetary experience on my first day. But anyway - the parking spot, yeah? At the school, we're supposed to have assigned parking. My spot for the AM class is in the second row off Building C, six spots down from the far right side when you're coming in. It's a little far from the building, sure, but it's not like I'd take one in the third row, out of the shade. My car's a little blue type - two doors, two seats, just enough space for me and my textbooks to fit under the trees between the first and second row of student parking. My car should have been the only car allowed in the spot, but as I pulled into the lot, I couldn't find the empty square. At first, I thought it was just a simple mistake - there are plenty of turns into different lots, but this was certainly the Building C parking lot. Thankfully, I was about ten minutes early to the lecture and lab as I looked around for my sign - I knew for a fact that I'd be cutting it close once I saw the scrap heap in my square. I manually counted off the spaces, pointing to each one to make sure there was no mistake before I pulled in directly behind the van in my spot. It was sleek and white - a clean vehicle, but old, and slightly splotchy with its paint. At earliest, it must have been an 80s model, with some notable surface touch-ups here and there. It was well over seven feet tall, likely a cargo van or a camper. In any case, it was in my spot, and after that long of a drive, I wasn't having that. I parked my car immediately behind it to trap it in. There wouldn't be another car around for another three hours or so - the labs would always last three hours or longer, and the only breaks would be twenty minutes long, hardly enough time for anyone to leave the campus or try to pop in for a surprise visit. I stepped out of my car and took careful steps up beside the window, peeking in through the perforated windows to try and guess whether or not someone was inside. Well, come on - what would you do if someone took your parking spot at such a crucial time? I approached the driver's door and started to tap on the glass erratically, cupping my hand against the driver's side window to shield my eyes from the glare. "Open up in there!" I shouted. "This isn't yours to take!"

I heard a loud, heavy thud against my car's hood, and I held my breath. After a moment had passed, I heard groaning from the other side of the van, and out stepped a fairly tall, skinny guy wearing a bright green jacket and black slacks. He had wispy, black hair that fell over his face, but the rest was brushed semi-neatly to either side, falling roughly around his shoulders. "What'cha have to go and park there for?" he asked, hastily shoving the stray lock of hair behind his ear and smoothing out the rest of the messy, wavy mop on his head. "Made me bang my head against the door."

"Sorry, sir, campus police. I'm doing a patrol sweep of the C parking lot, and you don't seem to have the right sticker on your windshield," I answered back, putting on my best customer-service smile.

"Campus..?" he asked, before turning his head to look towards the main building. His hand connected with his forehead with a loud smack, and he took in a sharp breath. His lips were moving, but he wasn't speaking - for a moment, I thought he had broken down, but then he started speaking again. "Oh, sorry. Right, no, right - this is my parking space," he lied. He lied surprisingly well - no failing or faltering to his voice, and just the right amount of confidence to his tone that might have sold me if I didn't already know it was false. His eyes connected with the sign across from the hood of his van, and as he crossed over the bumper to meet me, he patted the front of the sign. "Mister Whendle," he explained. He held up a plastic ID card. Despite being closed off in his hand, it reflected light, and I couldn't get a good look at its surface without blinding myself. Beneath the glare, though, I could tell something was wrong. The letters shifted back and forth, dissolving into one another in a soupy mess before disappearing under the glare. His face matched, and things were laid out like a regular ID, but something untraceable was wrong about it. "Should be attending the next-" he paused, taking a little too long to check the text on the 'reserved' sign. "-Chemistry class. Say I swing by the office and get the window sticker, and you trot off to go get a warning slip, sound fair?"

"Vhendel," I corrected.

"Right - no, sorry?"

"Vhendel. It's pronounced Vhendel. It's a Germanic name, probably Swedish or Dutch. The W is pronounced like a Vuh, yeah?"

"Yeah..." he answered. His hair fell over his face once again, and his eyebrows raised. I could practically see the awkward regret fill his soul, but he at least had the courage not to take his eyes off of me. He tucked his ID into his jacket's pocket. "And your name would be..?"

"Wendy. Wendy Wendel. I'm the chemistry student you're currently bothering, if you haven't noticed."

"Which means you're not campus police?" he asked. "So what are you doing blocking me in here?"

"What are you doing, full stop?" I shot back.

He clicked his tongue and paused for a while. A muffled, buzzing sound interrupted him. He checked his watch - I couldn't make out what it read, despite my best efforts. "Little complicated. Professional business. You'll get your parking space back, you have my word, Vendy," he stated, putting a hand out to stall my speaking. "Just cut me a break just this once? Time - sort of an 'of the essence' thing-type-deal, and it's been a long time since I've had any surplus of it," he pleaded.

"Wendy. It's an English name. You pronounce the W as a Wuh. Get that right and I might not report your silly little van to the campus police after you shove it - now shove it."

"Ach, no," he replied. "This isn't an 'I wanna go but can't,' this is an 'I shouldn't even be having this conversation,' sort of-" He scoffed, cutting himself off. "You'll just figure it out." He took two hurried steps towards the crosswalk, and then turned back around to face me. He looked worried - probably since I was about to call the campus police - but took a breath and fit a black glove to his hand. "Right, no, sorry, lack of parking spaces..."

He stuck out his newly-gloved hand and clicked his fingers. In his hands sat a thick, brown envelope, one he quickly stuffed into his jacket along with the glove. He smiled as he looked my way, trotting back over to the side door of the van and opening it. A plain white saddle-bag was slung over his shoulder, one which he was quick to open. I couldn't peek inside, but from what I saw at the sides, it appeared to be flooded with letters and packages - thick, bursting at the seams but clinging to its last threads for dear life. He started to shove the envelope into the bag. "Now Ms. Wendel, how much time did you say your class was?" he asked, holding up his watch and twisting the outer rim as if to set an alarm.

"I didn't say, but it's three hours, thanks. Are you gonna move your van? It starts in six minutes now." I turned around, reaching into my laptop case to make sure I had everything. "You're just lucky I-"

My heart stopped, and my voice died. My car was gone. One second, it had been parked there, the next, it had vanished. I turned to face him, just in time for him to seal his bag.

"My..!" I shook my head, jaw hanging open as I dropped my hands to my sides. "Where did it go? Give it back!"

"Timed compression package," he explained. He held up the saddle-bag he wore, patting the front flap. "You said three hours, so you're gonna wait three hours." He held up his keys and locked his van, and once he was sure he had everything settled, he started to dart off towards the school. "You'll have it back by the end of class!" he called. "I never miss a delivery schedule," he added. Somehow, that didn't comfort me.

"I don't care if you don't miss a stupid delivery, all my books are in there!" I answered, dashing past the cars on either side of me to catch up to him. Once I had gotten into lock-step with his pace and was a couple feet behind him, I grabbed his shoulder. "And you didn't even tell me your name!"

He stopped, putting a hand over my other shoulder so I wouldn't trip. "Call me Eclipse. I'm something of a delivery-man, from-" His eyes dodged to the left. "-Out of town," he finished. With a little pat to my shoulder, he started running again, seemingly content to speak while spending his breath. "Where?" I asked. Eclipse stopped, turning around. "Let's say Montana. That's a good state, right? I've never been there on the job. Nobody wants packages in Montana. I should go there sometime!" Once he was done speaking, he started running again. "Wait, but- hold on, mail boy, what's with the..?!" He stopped yet again, turning around with an impatient look on his face. "What's with the what? The car? I'll explain later, alright? Just lifting it for a minute - but right now, mail boy's got places to be, so you're either in or you're out," he stated. He turned back around again and started running, far off-course from where I was headed. I turned my head towards the main entrance to the C building, with three minutes until class started. There wasn't a lot I could do - those books were important, and to be honest, it wasn't my favorite class. At the time, I could only hope the professor could excuse the absence. I couldn't have predicted just how long I would wind up being gone for.

[bastillia]

Loyalties Lie

AO3 Mirror

Summary: You're a bartender in a Lothal cantina, living a quiet life in the Outer Rim after the fall of the Empire. You can't help but wonder what more might be out there for you. One dangerous guest in particular keeps catching your eye. Unfortunately, you've also caught his.

Rating: E

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: possibly mild dubcon, threats with a weapon, rough sex, verbal degradation, mentions of alcohol, cumplay, Boba Fett has a 24oz monster can dick and he knows how to use it.

A/N: Remember when I said I had a Boba Fett WIP laying around like, months ago? Well guess who showed up in Mando S2 with a sexy dad bod and the fattest dick in the galaxy to overhaul my dreams and make them a reality. Fuck me. Yes this is the first thing I’ve written in months hi I’m still here. No I don’t know how many chapters this will be. I live in hell. Welcome. Thank you to @kylorengarbagedump​ for graciously beta reading and listening to me literally scream about this man all the time. Love y’all so much PLEASE ENJOY.

**

It’s the kind of night that hums. 

Like a moonlit Lothal prairie, quiet and alive somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. Except that in here, the crickets swoop past your bar to buy shots, and the stars fall steadily to become the lovely tink of credits in your tip jar. The twin moons are shifting hues of neon light, and time seems to stroll by, like it has nowhere better to be.

Tonight has been steady. 

It’s not busy enough tonight to challenge you, but not slow enough to let you rest. Your guard is up, as it always is when you’re behind the bar. But your hold on it can afford to be loose. 

Tonight has been…

Boring. 

No brawls, no assassinations, not even a drunken paw fumbling across the bar towards your tits, attached to some overly rowdy patron who you then get to watch with quiet glee as they’re dragged out by the ears. No, in fact, it’s hard to remember the last time something remotely interesting happened around here. So much for the Outer Rim’s rugged reputation. You hate to say you miss the Empire’s occupation from time to time. But at least it brought nightly intrigue.

Tonight, your guests are especially calm and happy, lulled by liquor and the easy flow of conversation, murmurs blending like a stream through the grassland. And you suppose you shouldn’t complain. You’ve more than earned your keep for the night, and then some. Best of all, your boss has no reason to be breathing down your neck. 

In fact, he’s happy, too, you note when the Lasat’s bellowing business-laugh resounds overtop a few flutes of spotchka, glowing inside a booth across the room. You pass a cloth around the rim of a clean glass, feeling a tickle of interest as to who he might be schmoozing this time. When you glance up, you can just make out a pair of well-dressed Rodians seated across from him through the leisure-thick air of the cantina, nudging each other and laughing at whatever witty, schmoozy thing he just said. 

A soft snort puffs through your nose. At least Dakk is a predictable man, if nothing else. Must be rich folk, probably well connected. Good. You’ll get no help tonight, but at least he will be occupied for a while.

In fact...

Flicking a quick glance around the room, you take your chance and shrug your outer tunic off your shoulders, quickly smoothing down your much more revealing undershirt until it clings to the shape of you. You know Dakk hates when you do this, always goes on about keeping the place “classy.” But he’s not looking, and if it puts a few extra credits in your jar by the end of the night, it’s worth it. Anyway, you’re in a good mood tonight. Bored nonetheless, and the combination always forges a mischievous kind of boldness in you; a tiny spark that glows just bright enough to cast the idea of consequence in shadow.

You scan the bar for an empty drink, a flirtatious urge rolling off of your freshly bared skin and filling your ribs with air. It’s not long before you hone on your target-- an unsuspecting guest sitting alone, head turned away. Probably eavesdropping. A smirk curves your lips and you sidle over, plink a glass down between you, leaning your elbows on the bartop. 

“Something else for you, sugar?”

His head whips around with a guilty swiftness, but you just offer an easy smile, shifting your weight through your hips to coax his eyes down your body. It works like a charm.

“I, uh...“ The young Mirialan stammers directly at your tits. “Yeah, c-can I, ah…” 

As you wait out his struggle, an idea sparks in your freshly emboldened mind. Maker’s sake, might as well help the poor thing out. 

“Got a ruge liqueur in stock, last shipment off Alderaan. Rare these days.” Your lashes flutter, tongue just barely playing your along your lower lip as if teasing some unspoken promise. “I just couldn’t help but notice, you seem like a person of exceptional taste.”

The words are warm summer air on your tongue, practiced and enticing. You can see them go to the kid’s head like spice smoke, his cheeks immediately flushing deep emerald beneath diamond-shaped tattoos. 

“Y-yeah?” He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. “I mean...yeah! I, uh, I am. That s-sounds great, yeah. Um. Please.”

You smile. Too easy. 

Now, it’s not technically a lie. You do have the ruge in stock, it’s just that--well, it’s definitely nothing this kid can afford. But you’d bet a week’s worth of tips that you can slip him a cheap offworld varietal instead. Charge him triple its price, pocket the excess. Poor thing wouldn’t know the real stuff if it bit him.

You swell with the thought. That amount might even let you buy something nice for yourself for once. It might be a little slimy, but... fuck it. Kid seems well off enough. Decently nice clothes, cologne, that misplaced air of belonging that comes with sheltered entitlement. Surely he won’t miss a few extra credits. Anyway, you deserve this, right?

Moving to speak again, you prepare to lay the flirting on thick, really sell the gambit. But before you get the chance, a loud bang snaps your attention upward just in time to see the cantina door slam open. 

You straighten where you stand, irritation and curiosity pricking your ears in equal measure. But then a slight hush cuts the ease of your buzzing meadow, and your chest squeezes with it.

Boba Fett.

The hunter takes up almost the whole doorway, a broad tower of matte green beskar catching the soft neons of the cantina. The distinctly cold gaze of the Mandalorian helmet scans the room, stirring murmurs and averting eyes until it comes to rest, finally, upon you.

It feels like two cold weights set down on your shoulders, being the focus of that stare. 

Even as the energy picks back up around you, as conversations cautiously resume, it’s like you’re trapped in it, breathless under its weight and unable to look away. You vaguely register the Mirialan turn back to your tits and ask them something about when your shift ends. But you’re still transfixed, watching the armored man take a few deliberate steps towards the bar and straddle a stool, the visor trained like a crosshair upon you as his forearms settle on the bartop.

You’ve seen him here before. Heard his name whispered in weighted ripples ever since news spread through the Outer Rim that Bib Fortuna was dead. Since then, he’s come through maybe once every few dozen cycles, each time with a couple new chips in the paint of his armor. He comes here on business--or at least you assume that’s what it must be, since he always meets someone, speaks in hushed tones enshrouded by the dim corner booth in the back. He’ll toss a few credits on the bar when he leaves, but has never uttered a word to you, never ordered a drink.

Never even glanced your way, for all you know. Until right now. 

You swallow. Fucking hell, if there’s anything you’re used to, it’s being looked at. So why is this gaze kicking your pulse up into the base of your throat, making you feel exposed? A prickle of heat is already settling in your cheeks.

And then the visor cocks, and just barely tilts down the length of your figure. 

A tight breath snaps into your lungs, and your eyes dart to the bartop, across the room, back to the Mirialan still babbling dumbly at you, your face now hot. Kriff, what is wrong with you? Since when are you outright flustered by some stranger copping an eyeful? You try to breathe, ignoring how the hairs stand on your neck.

But you can still feel his attention like the heat of a sun warming your bare shoulder, and it makes something start to coil in your belly and glow there.

“I’ll have that ruge right up, sweetheart.” 

You’re pretty sure you interrupt the kid, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just calls out a stammered thank-you as you pivot away towards your new guest, your heart kicking against your sternum. Your feet almost feel weighted to the floor, and by the time you reach him, your pulse has an edge like a blade. 

“Something I can interest you in?” 

There’s a breathlessness to the warm air of your voice now, and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t betray you. You lean against the bar, hoping that the solidity of the wood will somehow teach your nerves to follow its example. It doesn’t. 

He seems to study you for a moment, motionless. And then his shoulders shift, his elbows widen, and he leans in towards you.

“Information.” His voice is low and direct, barely above a graveled whisper, the single accent-laden word dragging through your belly and sparking like metal on stone.

Fuck.

Of course he’s after the one thing you’re not willing to sell.

Your heart stalls while your mind starts to race, eyes searching the dark visor. Of course you’d be a fool to deny him, and he knows it. That’s why he’s asking you. Why would you risk rousing a scene in your own bar, especially when the night is so mercifully calm? Easier to give him what he wants. Tap into your collection of liquor-loosened secrets, and knowledge of the local crowd.

The thing is, you’ve built a good rapport for your discretion. You think. Not to mention the number of cutting warnings Dakk has laid on you about the consequences for selling secrets in his bar. Is it really worth risking? Fett intimidates you, no doubt. But he’s also banking on the assumption that you won’t make this difficult for him. He has to be. And now unease and excitement are starting to play a game of catch between your ribs with that tiny, dangerous spark of boldness.

“Fresh out.” Your fingers drum the wood beneath them, trying to ground your reflexes through the rush of adrenaline that accompanies your words. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you stare into the blackness of the visor as you let the tiniest, playful smirk flit over your face.  “Perhaps something to drink?”

Slowly, achingly slowly, Boba Fett settles back on the bar stool. Unease lances you, splintering with the immediate question of whether you just made the right choice. You don’t want to think about how many he’d manage to kill before you could even blink, if he decided to do something extreme. His hand starts to shift back along his thigh, drawing a path towards the blaster at his hip. You swallow, panic pricking your neck.

Just as your muscles are primed to dive behind the bar, convinced you’re going to have to evade his quickdraw, his palm just takes a lazy rest on the hilt. The helmet levels, and then leans slowly to the side. 

“No.” 

Dizzied, you blink. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking through that helmet, and he’s offered you all of two words. But was that… amusement, you heard? No. Anger? Fuck, now you’re really imagining things.

Still a little breathless, you straighten, sensing that you’re dismissed. The thought of flirting with a killer was a much-needed rush, but you need to take his indifference as a mercy after that little stunt and get on with your job while he’s giving you the chance. What little you apparently have left of a survival instinct is at least telling you that much.

You shrug. 

“Suit yourself.”

It feels dangerous to take your eyes off of him. But you force yourself to do so anyways, turning your back on the hunter and making your way to the dim doorway at the end of the bar, his attention still heating your spine. 

It’s a fucking relief to slip through the door to the storage room, ease the door shut behind you, and for the first time in what feels like moons, you let a long breath fill your lungs. The familiar scent of dust and wine-aged wood floods you, and something like disappointment tugs at your heart.

Maybe that stupid, adventure-craving side of your imagination took things too far, fueled by your boredom and the prospect of something exciting finally happening. You suppose you projected that naive hope onto Boba Fett, if nothing else just because he’s the first person to come through here in a long time that actually intrigues you. That confounds your prized, finely-calibrated radar for reading people without having to speak a word to them.

Fuck, he really wouldn’t give you much more than a word, would he? Guess he’s determined to keep scrambling your sensors. It shouldn’t deject you as much as it does. But...  come on, the least the son of a mudscuffer could do is flirt back if he was gonna fucking undress you with his eyes like that. 

Or maybe that was just your imagination, too. 

You sigh, scanning a shelf on the back wall for a ruge that will make a convincing enough dupe. A synthetic varietal, perhaps. No--too cheap. You’ve got something from a Naboo vineyard in here somewhere. Anyways, whatever, since when are you desperate for any man’s attention?

No, okay, it’s... you know that isn’t what this is really about. 

It would just be nice to feel important, is all. Like the secrets you’ve gathered might be worth something. Could someday give you a place in something bigger. Or at least like anything about you might be worth more than equivalent to a shot of shitty spotchka. 

Forget it. As if that will ever happen.

Your finger absently traces the dusty label of a bottle, and then a soft clink of metal behind you freezes your blood. 

You whip around to meet a wall of beskar, inches from your face.

You start to scream, but the sound catches in your throat when a big hand seizes you by the back of the neck and wrenches you around, bending you at the hips and slamming you chest-down against the stale wood of a storage crate. Cold metal presses your thighs and your heart smacks your ribs, your body completely trapped under Boba Fett’s mass in one motion. 

“I said I need information, little one, and you’re going to give it to me.” His voice scrapes over your body, sliding through the dim room like the shadow from a candle flame. You quail beneath him, brain racing with shock.

“I d-don’t—ugh!” The weight of his forearm comes down between your shoulder blades, pressing breathy little grunts from your lungs as you squirm. “I don’t sell out my customers.”

You freeze when the distinct click of a blaster registers right at your temple. 

“Never said I was buying.”

Panic zips down your spine, your chest heaving against the wooden crate as heat slams your core. Somewhere, your rational brain is scrambling to parse the threat, but something about the sheer filth and danger of it is setting your whole body on fire, making far more primal nerves come alive. Trying to shake the feeling, you squirm.

“At lea--ngh, least nothing’s changed there.”

Fucking hell, what are you doing? Besides sassing the known murderer with a blaster currently trained at your head, alone in a dark room. Yet somehow that very fact is making arousal bloom so wicked and fast that you can already start to feel your cunt throb against the fabric of his pants. 

“Willing to die to protect a few spineless slime crawlers who don’t even know your name?” Boba rocks his weight against you, powerful and lazy in the way he simply leans into his hips, grinds them up hard against your ass to keep you flattened over the edge of the crate. “Boss man lines his pockets while his good little pet works for scraps.” Air feels more scarce to your lungs by the second. “Interesting, how your loyalties lie.”

Indignance flares up your spine.

“I w-ouldn’t expect you to understand.” You try to put venom in the words, but it’s difficult between your breathlessness and the sheer eroticism of this position you’re in. “Small price to pay, f-for a good life.”

Through your annoyance, you can’t help feeling a twinge of enjoyment at his solidity, at how you can just discern the outline of him through his pants. An excited thrum of your pulse snaps to your core like a fuse.

Above you, Boba Fett chuckles.

“Is that what he gives you?” There’s a mockery to his tone that heats your blood, and you start to squirm in defiance before remembering the blaster at your temple. Fett simply crushes you harder, drawing your attention back to his crotch. “Seems to me like you’re the mouse in his attic.”

“I suppose you’re better than him? Than any of them?” you immediately bite, not wanting to acknowledge the truth behind his words. Instead, you grab that spark of bravery and crank the voltage until it drowns your doubt, throwing your caution to the stars faster than punching an airlock in hyperspace. “Do you even know m-my name, Mando?” A tiny giggle ripples your chest. “I know yours.”

“Might be the last one you know,” Boba growls, but you’re becoming fixated on his cock now, the way you could swear that it’s growing more distinct by the second.

Fear and pleasure wrack your brain, the combination intensifying so deliciously with the pressure of his groin against your ass that you can hardly think straight any more. In a moment of sick indulgence, you arch your back and shift just slightly, wanting to feel that pressure against something now pulsing and sensitive. 

The grip on your neck locks tight, and your breath stops. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, princess.” 

He kicks your legs apart and crushes his hardening bulge against your pussy. And, fuck, you moan. You don’t even mean to, but the thrill of helplessness has you so mindlessly turned on that you can’t stop the noise from squeezing out of your throat.

“Filthy little thing you are.” 

There’s a shift in his tone now. The vice hold disappears from your nape just before your pants are wrenched unceremoniously over your ass and down to mid thigh. You gasp at the feeling of air brushing your bare lips. He takes a moment, and you think he must be looking at you. Heat blossoms from your face all the way down to your chest, and then he’s against you again, a palm coming down between your shoulders as coarse fabric presses flush with your cunt. 

You can really feel the outline of his cock now, hard enough to rival his armor but warm and thick against you, and you whimper. It’s only a click that snaps your awareness back to the weapon pointed at your head. 

“Let’s try this again, little mouse.” Boba’s voice comes lower and airier through the vocoder now in a way that blazes right through you. “You give me what I want, and perhaps you’ll inspire my generosity.”

In emphasis of his intent, he rocks his erection against the cleft of your pussy. Your eyes snap wide, an almost painful stab of arousal making you immediately whine louder than you intend to. “Fuck--oh, please!”

“Careful.” His hand slides up your neck, angling your face so that he can see it twist in shame and pleasure. “Wouldn’t want anyone finding you like this.”

Your cheeks blaze. Shallow breaths stutter in your lungs as his thumb tugs the pillow of your lower lip. And then he releases you, his hand moving back somewhere you can’t sense. The pressure against your ass shifts for a moment, just before the wide, hot shaft of his bare cock caresses your cunt.

“Last night there was a man here, Mon Cala, middle aged.” Your body is on fire as he speaks, the skin to skin contact dousing your brain in blind want. You grit your teeth, screw your eyes shut, trying hard to focus on what he’s saying while your pussy twinges around nothing. “He talked to the owner here, then he met with someone. Tell me who.”

A reluctant whimper leaves your lips, and the noise might just be one of the most pathetic you’ve ever made as your tongue still stubbornly refuses to slip. But Fett’s words ring again through your head with a resentful pang: the mouse in his attic. Is that what you’ll die as?

At your temple, the blaster’s safety disengages.

“Fuck! Okay, okay.” Your breath comes heavily, brain uncertain and lust-addled, fumbling for the details. “He um. Met a--mmh, a woman, I d-didn’t catch her name. Please--” Your voice trails off in a soft whine, your hips shifting back, trying to find the means to swallow his cock where it teases your tender core, entice him with the diversion now that you’ve given him a crumb.

“You must be dumber than I took you for, sweetling.” His hips retreat slightly, evading you. The sheer display of restraint is infuriating, electrifying. It shallows your breath with need. He stills again, a rough, gloved hand running firmly up your spine, pushing your shirt up to bare more of your skin to his view. “Tell me the rest.”

Your teeth set with a final, feeble whine of hesitation. More instinct than anything. But then a cold ring of metal presses your temple, and fresh fear unbinds your tongue in a deluge.

“S-she had, ah--civilian clothes, but, um… an Imperial s-standard issue blaster.” Your eyes screw in concentration, details flickering like a glitchy holocom through your brain. “I heard them talk about, uh. A shipment. For… Fuck, uh. Th-three cycles from now.”

Boba hums, a sound that makes your eyes roll back as you feel yourself nearly dripping against him, your slick coating his cock where it just barely parts you.

“Smart girl.” His hand drags indulgently down your back, coming to rest on your hip and squeezing. “Where’s the shipment going, princess?”

Torture. This is some kind of galactic war crime, you’re sure of it. Pleasure surges from your teased cunt and his grip on your flesh, and his voice is almost soothing now, coaxing you further towards complacency. It’s all too much. Your head rests against the crate, defeat washing in a gentle tide over you. 

“Going... to Hosnian Prime.”

A soft, satisfied puff of noise comes from the modulator. The barrel retreats from your temple. 

“Now, there’s a good girl.”

Warmth crashes through your lower belly, a strange and exhilarating sensation that suddenly makes you want to... purr? No one has ever spoken to you like this, and it’s tickling a part of your brain that feels far, far too good. But then his cock glides thick and heavy along your folds, obliterating your thoughts, and all you can think about is having that inside of you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as he slowly aligns himself, teasing up and down the drenched, tender flesh of your pussy. He takes his time, massaging the blunt head over your clit and sending little shocks through your muscles, making you shiver and clench. “Please, please…” 

“Tame little creature when you want to be,” he grits, pressing against your entrance with an exhaled groan. “Keep being good for me.” 

Slowly, he starts to push. And, oh, fuck.

You’re not ready. 

You’re wetter and needier than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re still not fucking ready to take a cock like this one when it crushes in and stretches you, setting an ache through your hips that tells you whatever happens, you’re bound to feel him for days. 

A cry sticks in your throat and you will yourself to breathe, to relax as he sinks in further, forcing your walls to flutter and part around him. It truly feels like being broken open, and your fingers have to dig into the wood beneath you when he pulls out an inch and then pushes again, sinking deeper this time as a choked noise pulls through the vocoder.

By the time he finally bottoms out, you swear you can feel him shifting your guts. Every muscle in your pelvis is straining to take him, the intensity mind-numbing already. You’re nearly choking on your own attempts to breathe while he pauses, sheathed like this for a few moments, seeming to concentrate on his own breathing at the same time. 

And then his voice comes again, a growl, pitched even lower and more ferocious than before through a clutched breath. 

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” 

Stars.

This is different.

It’s so hard to think, you’ve never felt more full, but something in the back of your mind is unfurling, turning hot and primal with a roiling kind of need that burgeons and begs at the feeling of his cock rooted so fucking deep inside of you. You’ve had sex before, sure, but this…

You’re about to get fucked. 

“Please…” you mewl. Desperation pierces you when you feel his fingers flex strong and firm around your hip in response. You turn your head, trying to glimpse him--only to realize that the blaster is still right next to your face, its angle nonchalant, close enough to brush your lips. 

Your mind is so drenched in lust, the first urge that strikes you is to stick out your tongue and wet the metal, its sharp alloy piercing your senses and making your pussy seize with the shudder of danger.

In your periphery, you see the visor snap to attention, like he wasn’t fully looking at you before, lost in his own pleasure. But now he is. And he gives the weapon an experimental twist, allowing for your lips to wrap, delicate and wet, just around the tip of the barrel.

“Fearless little mouse.” There’s something dark and charged in his voice. “You look good like that.”

A slight wiggle to open your jaw, and the blaster shoves past your lips, resting thick and cold on your tongue, lighting your spine with a new thrill. Your voice swells on a muffled moan around it, such a soft and lovely sound to accompany a thing that’s orchestrated countless deaths. 

“There we are. Nice and quiet now.” 

Finally, finally, he starts to thrust, slow and measured, forcing your body to yield around the width of him. Something burns hot in your belly with each steady stroke, wiping your brain of everything but his presence.

The rough material of a glove smothers one of your asscheeks, grips and pulls at the pillowy flesh, spreading you open as his thrusts take up a steady, powerful rhythm. Boba Fett lets out a long groan, and you can only imagine the view he has right now. It sears you alive, the knowledge that he likes looking at you like this, pitching and whimpering with his rhythm, the sight of your pussy stretched, helpless around his cock and your mouth wetting his blaster. 

Your spit slicks the barrel more with every thrust, and you can feel the mechanics shifting dangerously between your lips. But his trigger finger is steadier than death, and his control gives you the nerve to let your tongue lick out along the barrel, bathe in the electric wash of fear that sets all of your nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarls as his pace starts to kick up wilder. 

Intense pleasure cracks through you now, visceral in a way you’ve never felt, and it’s all you can do to keep relatively quiet. The barrel on your tongue is a sharp enough reminder, yet it fuels your arousal to burn hotter and wetter all the same. The more you concentrate on the powerful bliss coiling in your core and rippling outwards, the more you can feel yourself starting to tighten around him, your body yearning vaguely towards a release it can’t seem to center on.

You hear him groan as you squeeze him, his grip on your flesh flexing and shifting. A few more strong thrusts, and then his cock pulls all the way out of you with a woeful pang, the blaster vacating your mouth in the same motion to leave you empty, dizzied and clenching. But before you can unscramble your brain, the blaster slots back into its holster and he’s moving you. With an effortless kind of control, he flips you over, shifting you until the solid wood of the crate supports your ass.

He hikes both of your legs onto one shoulder and in one swift, easy motion, whisks your pants over your shoes and off of your ankles, tossing them carelessly into the darkness of the room before hooking your legs around his armored waist.

“Going to watch you cum, princess. Nice and pretty.”

Your mouth opens on a gasp at his words, and a gloved thumb immediately presses your tongue, the taste of leather and plasma residue grounding your senses enough to register that he’s lining his cock back up at the heat of your entrance. You whine around his thick digit, and he growls somewhere low in his chest as he pushes the thick head back in, this new angle making you see stars all over again. 

He doesn’t bother letting you adjust this time, just uses your wetness to his advantage to start railing through your tightness, burning and stretching you as that warm swell starts to crest again. It’s such a deep, full feeling, spreading a delicious ache from the spot where he hits you deep in your tummy. 

Your brows draw together, your whines pitching higher as you search the visor. It’s a wordless plea, your vision swallowed by the power of him fucking you deep, your body now screaming to cum but needing something you can’t quite pinpoint.

The hunter’s thumb slips out of your mouth, his hand forging an eager path down your body. He palms your tit over your shirt, before grabbing the low collar and yanking it down, baring your nipples to his view one after the other. His whole hand spans your torso as he hooks the lower hem with his thumb, bunching the material until both your belly and tits are bare, your shirt like a handle at your diaphragm that he uses to pound you even harder, watching your body jolt, overpowered by his thrusts.

Airy little wails brush through your lips, the pleasure all too intense and not enough at the same time. You can’t take it anymore, you need something on your clit, and your fingers twitch to seek out that precious target. But he’s already moving, his hips slowing to a lazier pace while his free hand finds some destination at his belt, and what he produces freezes you in your tracks.

“Steady now,” he breathes as he slips a long blade out of his belt and spins it by the hilt, his fingers almost too quick, too tactful for such a brute. 

Instinctual panic grips you at the sight of the weapon, making your legs try to close. But he’s pushed too deep in you, his frame has you pinned open, and there’s nothing you can do against the sheer breadth of his body. Powerless, you simply whimper.

“Wh… what are y--”

“Hush, princess.” 

A flick of his thumb and the vibroblade springs to life, its hum filling the quiet air. He starts to bring the blunt hilt of it down where your body yields to his. Alarm pierces you one final time, but then he touches the pommel, just barely, against the tender swell of your clit.

You want to fucking scream. As if in anticipation of this, he claps his hand over your mouth just in time for you to bite down on his glove while your eyes roll back in a powerful wave of ecstasy. The vibrations surge through the sensitive nerves, lighting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure bliss, and then a low, long growl slips through the helmet’s modulator at the feeling of your walls pulsing tight, strangling his cock. 

His thrusts deepen again, powerful and steady, stroking some devastating spot deep inside you. Your muffled wails get lost in the breath-dampened fabric of his glove while the intense pleasure crests from your clit, higher, higher, lasering in on that intangible cusp and barreling you straight towards it.

You suspend at the peak, all senses failing, and then your orgasm takes you in a riptide, surging through your nerves like liquid fire. The magnitude of it rends you, stronger than you’ve ever felt, dragging you under and forcing you to ride it out while it just pulls and pulls. By the time you regain your sight you’re shaking, waves of bliss still pulsing and crashing through your body in time to the strong rhythm of his hips, the glowing epicenter that unwavering vibration at your clit. 

Sobs wrack your chest, pour out high and lose themselves somewhere in the meat of his hand, and you think you try to catch a few breaths, but you can’t even come down. Boba’s voice cuts through the rush in your ears.

“Good. Good girl.” 

He holds the buzzing hilt of the blade impossibly steady against your clit and that glow is still so bright, twitching, starting to spill through your nerves again and holy shit you think you just might--

“Again.”

Your second orgasm shreds you like a plasma cannon.

You’re blind, numb to everything but the intense pleasure, nerves now as raw and sharp as the edge of the blade itself. His hand is tight over your face and you feel your cunt convulsing and gushing around his cock, slick cum spilling to wet your asscheeks, and it must be your own because his pace hasn’t let up. 

A clatter resounds on the edge of your consciousness and when your eyes come into focus, Boba’s hand is locking into your waist, the blade discarded somewhere in the room. His hips piston hard with a few vulgar slaps of flesh, the head of his cock crushing against your deepest parts before he wrenches out of you and spills over your bare stomach with a strangled roar, gripping himself at the base and thrusting against you as warm, thick ropes paint your skin.

His release is long. Grunts distort into rough static through the vocoder as he rides out the last pulses, until finally he braces himself on the crate beside your head, hunched over you like a beast, his chest plate rolling with heavy breaths. You can only blink at him through hazed, damp eyes, your body feeling weak and utterly fucked dumb. The hand over your mouth slowly unlocks its grip, dragging downwards and leaving you to take shallow gulps of air while he gives your tit a deliberate squeeze. 

And then he drags himself off of you, straightening with an almost-concealed groan as he adjusts himself and leaves you to blink at the dark ceiling, still letting oxygen find your brain. 

When you shakily manage to sit up, you just glimpse him slipping the discarded vibroblade back into his belt and turning towards the door. Even through your dizziness, you scoff. Figures. Bastard is just going to fuck your brains out and then leave you like this.

“You know,” you sigh, watching him and lazily trailing your fingers in a circle on your tummy, enjoying the lingering buzz of your skin and gathering a bit of his spend where it coats you, still warm. “I’d say that tip-off was at least worth a handful of credits in my jar on your way out.”

He turns and looks at you then, the helmet cocking in consideration for a moment. As soon as his attention is on you, your fingers move from his mess on your belly to your mouth, where you slowly suckle him off of your fingers, never once taking your eyes off the visor, a tiny ripple of playfulness wiggling your shoulders and curling your lips.

His shoulders square to you, and that hunter’s stance still makes your chest seize, sends a pulse to your exhausted pussy.

Metal clinks softly as he walks towards you, stepping between your knees until you’re forced to drop your hand from your mouth and look up at him, heart fluttering again. He brushes the knuckle of his forefinger under your chin.

“Fresh out.”

His back turns as you stare, speechless. And then the door swings on its hinges, and Boba Fett is gone.

[infinitewarden]

Osiris isn’t Savathun.

Great! Now that I have your attention:

Man you guys tire me out about Osiris. If you truly believe this is Osiris I don’t mean to sound like That Guy that’s like “you don’t know what you’re talking about” but... You don’t know what you’re talking about.

So.

Let’s talk about how much Osiris cares about the City and humanity and why the Osiris in Epilogue is not actually Osiris.

Alright. Let’s start off with context. I think it’s super important to see what we do know as Osiris’s views. From my heavy analyses of him since 2020 I can confidently say these are what he views as the most important things a person can do:

Keep promises

Speak their truths

Protect the City & Humanity

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

Now, I won’t be doing a breakdown of each one individually but I will be talking a great deal of how important honesty is to Osiris, the City, and his views of the Vex.

Speaking honestly and bluntly.

I don’t know how many of you were into Destiny before Beyond Light, so if you were unaware of this it’s not your fault. However I’ve seen a very strange change in tone when it comes to how people view Osiris. Before Season of Hunt people hated - and I mean hated - Osiris. Why? Because he was blunt. They viewed his bluntness as rudeness.

To see a sudden switch to him being secretive and scheming is... alarming, to say the least. (And to see people think that this is the norm is also alarming but in other ways.)

The Osiris before Hunt was not secretive and scheming. He sought knowledge openly. He sought, specifically, the truth. I must stress just how open he was about his plans. First I’ll give you a few in lore examples:

I admit, I found your questions divisive and disloyal, and I feared you might be capable of breaking our unity when the City's position had grown so tenuous. Why divert attention away from the Traveler, our only hope? And then it got worse, dabbling in thanatonautics, Ahamkara-lore, chasing after Xur and the tricks of the Nine. Launching expeditions into the Reef and beyond at a time when ships were irreplaceable. Your quest split Guardians along ideological lines. This was your greatest crime: Hunters chose to pursue your visions instead of protecting refugees, Titans assembled teams to chase the legendary Vault of Glass instead of striking the Fallen, and Warlocks turned away from the study of the Traveler in favor of  your  ultimate obsession... learning the exact nature of the Darkness. ... Perhaps what drives a Warlock to madness is truth.

Osiris.

"Do not romanticize this burden. We wield a weapon." The Speaker shakes his head. "The Light wields you, Osiris. You are what you make of it. A glorious extension of its majesty, in many directions." Osiris paces at cadence with his words. "Then it would do well to speak clearly. To better direct me." The Speaker cocks his head. "Without will? Then it would be no better than the Darkness." "I am asking only for guidance; it is a delicate game we are playing." Osiris's voice, distressed. Regal again, the Speaker motions to the stone garden. "Will you sit with me?"

13: Margins Part II.

And, while I don’t particularly like using the Fall of Osiris comic as a source, it does have very important lines on his viewpoints that I find relevant yet.

Fall of Osiris #1.

Hell he was open about his plans to fuck with time itself to bring Saint back.

Sagira narrowed her eye at the rogue Lightbearer and lowered herself to Osiris’s shoulder. “Why’s he here?” she asked quietly. “I asked him to consult on the engineering work,” Osiris replied, crossing his arms. “You sicko,” the other man declared, walking a circle around the Warlock, his eyes darting along every surface of the Sundial around them. ... “Just one more question, then. Why all the fuss?” “I owe him.” “I owe a lotta people, Warlock. You’re opening the gates of hell with a Vex key.” “When the Traveler brought me back, I had no friends. No family—” “No one had anything in the Dark Age.” “But Saint was always there. And I saw him grow from neophyte to demigod.”

The Sundial.

"You haven't left the Forest in years," Ikora said to Osiris, the only one to address him directly. "I need help," Osiris replied. "I know," Ikora responded, hands clasped behind her back. She stared intently at her former mentor. Back in her Crucible days, that uncompromising gaze was often the last thing her opponents saw. Aunor glanced sidelong at her superior. Harper coughed and looked down at his datapad. "Two years ago, Guardians entered the Infinite Forest," Osiris continued. "They aided me in defeating the Axis Mind Panoptes, preventing a Vex apocalypse from befalling this system. "In the process," he looked between each of them in turn, "Some Guardians reported a body they found in the Forest depths." Ikora sighed. "Saint-14 never came back from that last mission to Mercury. We finally knew why. I reacted to it the only way I knew how."

Desperate Times.

“I do not understand all of this code. This is Geppetto’s specialty,” Saint-14 says while standing bent over a wide desk covered in data tablets. Holographic images of the Lighthouse shimmer in the Hangar lights. “We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?” “I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark,” Osiris says. “So soon?” Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. “I’m worried about what Vance found.” Saint places a heavy hand on Osiris’s chest. “Let go of your obsession. Do not leave chasing phantoms again.” “Phantoms… You think the Darkness is satisfied? This is just the first move. I need to know the next before it’s made.” “If there is something you fear, let me help you. We face this together.” Osiris’s mind drifts to the Dark anomalies. Saint doesn’t need another burden. “The safest place for you is the Tower, Saint. Time... tends to renege on its gifts.” “So, your mission is dangerous?” Osiris considers lying. “Potentially.”

Immolant I.

There are many more sources I could list on his bluntness and honesty but there’s honestly too much. What is important to extrapolate from all of it is this:

OSIRIS SPOKE THE TRUTH NO MATTER IF IT GOT HIM IN TROUBLE. IT IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS HE GOT EXILED.

Protecting the City & Humanity

Idk where people get the idea that he’s abandoned the City and humanity. And I don’t understand where people think it’s “typical Osiris behavior” to choose to put the City in danger.

I want to make something very clear here:

Osiris was exiled. He did not abandon the City. And though others view him as abandoning it, that wasn’t his intention. He never intentionally abandoned it. Everything he did was in pursuit of a brighter future for humanity. Let’s look at one of his lines from the Sundial activity during Dawn.

“By the time I left the City, many believed my practices to be sacrilege. But my methods have prevented countless futures not unlike the one you walk now. When it is laid out before you, would you not sacrifice anything to see this future shut?”

The Sundial.

He left because he weighed his options and he saw that humanity would have better use of him if he left. He cares A great deal about the City. He cares almost too much about it. He would never give Lakshmi the technology to cause it harm, especially knowing that she’s unstable. And I’ve seen some people think he’s playing 5D chess? In what world would he ever choose to bring harm upon humanity for some sort of... agenda; which I’ve already cleared up earlier, he’s open about his plans.

Let’s look at more known lore about Osiris’s feelings of the City & humanity.

"You've wrapped your mind around an idea of your own making. I have always tolerated this fawning 'movement' of yours, but this is a step too far." Osiris seethed. Brother Vance was awestruck. He stared blankly at Osiris, unsure of what he could say to quell his anger and dissolve his frustration. "What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded. "I warn you here and now, remove yourself from this Lighthouse. Find a simple life. Start a family. Write music. Leave Mercury and this fool's errand behind."

Chapter 8: Idolatry.

Osiris was furious to find out Vance was experimenting in his name by endangering people for his goals. And he was especially mad that he would dive into such dangerous areas so much so that it had the potential to destroy humanity.

"It's truth." Osiris considers this. "Truth seems subjective these days," Osiris says, finally observing his entourage for the first time. Among them, a small group of men and women, stand two wayward Guardians—Warlocks, it appears—and a child. Their forlorn faces resonate with him. Castaways and believers. The weeks since his departure from the Last City have worn on him. He was used to working alone, knowing he could fall back to the City's resources should he need them. Now, adrift in the expanse of purpose, he finds himself longing for a place he could return to. A sanctuary.

Chapter 2: Postexilic.

Here’s a few lines from Season of Dawn:

“The Traveler, mutilated. Mercury, a desolate warzone. This is the bleak future the Cabal wants for us all. We do not know what has become of humanity here. I hope we will not find out.”

.

“There are many terrible futures, but I have not grown numb to seeing them. The future the Cabal wish for is a nightmare for humanity.”

.

“If the Traveler fled the system, there is a chance that the Darkness would ignore our region of the galaxy entirely. It would sacrifice our second awakening, our ability to wield the Light, but potentially continue our Golden Age. There are too many variables at risk, but it's a variant path worth investigating in the Infinite Forest.”

.

“This battered Mercury is a blueprint for our system. Lightless, bowed, and nothing more than fuel for an endless war. It must never come to pass.”

The Sundial.

There are many. Many. More lines I could put here about how much Osiris doesn’t want to see humanity suffering. And especially how he doesn’t want the City to be at risk. But I think you get the picture.

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

So. We all know Osiris as “the Vex guy.” His whole thing is on fighting the Vex. However it seems people think that he’d be okay with using them for grounds of a higher purpose? Or something? I don’t know, everyone I see rebuffing Osiris’s actions with Lakshmi don’t seem to be interested in explaining this one.

So anyways. Let’s talk about how Osiris views the Vex as true evil compared to other species.

“The Fallen are not so different from us. How hard would you fight if the Light were taken from you?” “Those stories ring false to me,” said Saint. “They are not a noble people. I’ve fought them, and so have you.” “I have not fought them all,” the Warlock replied, pulling his hands apart to create an intricate web of hovering cubes and points of light. “They are nothing, no threat—not like the Vex. Not like the Darkness.”

Vanguard Commander.

[u.2:06] Have you spoken to the House of Light, like I asked? [u.1:07] I would rather not speak with Fallen. [u.2:07] They may need our help. Their cause is just. [u.1:08] What happened to “trust no one?” [u.2:08] What happened to your sense of right and wrong, hero?

Maintenance Operations Log 30037.

The unenlightened wonder at my so-called "fixation" upon the Vex. They believe our gravest existential threat is the Hive, for those beings have made a pact with the Darkness itself via the medium of the Worm Gods (according to Toland, at least, and I see no reason to doubt him in this). But Darkness is not merely absence of Light. Darkness is an entity unto itself. Put simply, Darkness is not Nothing. But the Vex? The Vex seek neither Light nor Darkness. They seek Convergence, the reduction of all life to its simplest, most meaningless form. An entelechy of zeros and ones. "Evil" is a word for sentimentalists and fools. But, in the ontology of the sentimental, the Vex are more deserving of the term than the Hive. Given a choice between Darkness and Convergence, I would choose Darkness. It is a logical choice. Yet for this they banish me.

Kairos Function (Hunter).

This one is important because Osiris doesn’t subscribe to the idea of “good” and “evil”, and that he would go so far to say that the Vex are Evil shows just how much of a threat he views them as.

It’s just. Mind boggling to me that people think that Osiris would be okay with a Vex invasion. That Osiris would encourage Lakshmi to open up a rift to “send the Fallen away” (Despite being one of the earliest sympathizers!) Osiris isn’t ineffable, he’s just a man trying to do his best to help humanity. His actions aren’t difficult to understand, they have been written to be very clear and with understanding his motives.

Saying that it’s natural for him to be secretive and have contradicting opinions and actions is just. Wrong. It’s not him. It’s not how he’s supposed to be understood. Even in Curse of Osiris I don’t think his actions didn’t make any sense.

This is going to sound very mean but I want to be 100% clear: If you think that Osiris would actively choose to put the City in danger of the Vex, if you think that he would actively choose to stand calmly and watch as his lover was about to die to the very things he spent millions of lives to save... You don’t understand Osiris. Go back and reread his lore.

I leave you with this:

The Vanguard is dubious of our intent and ability, fearing corruption and displacement. They do not trust me. You were held in similar contempt for speaking your truth and empowering free thought. You know what it feels like to be chastised and labeled a traitor. We are mere steps away from a disintegration of our institutions, and they cannot see destruction staring them in the face. ... For so long, we have clung to the Light, denying the strength offered by the Dark. By using Stasis, we will end this war. We see this contest for what it truly is: a game, played by our adversaries. And we have been the pawns. We are pawns no more. This is not a battle I want to wage without you, although we may not have a choice in the matter. Wherever you may be, please come back to us.

To Osiris.

[lesbobiwan]

8 with Hunter 🥺 Please and thank you 😇

#8: "If you're going to act like a little brat then I'm going to treat you like a little brat." + Hunter

warnings: spanking as punishment, cunnilingus, the joys of trying to have a sex life while being a parent to a nosy child

(lets pretend that the galaxy is nice and the bad batch has both omega and crosshair on board. because im the writer and say fuck u cowboy hat man. also u guys r here for porn. not plot)

It wasn't like you were being serious. You only wanted to have a little fun.

Crosshair was just... conveniently there.

"You must have very steady hands," you remark, holding up Crosshair's hand to inspect them.

He smirks from around his toothpick, totally aware of what little game you're playing but always ready to fuck with his brother.

His fingers are more slender than Hunter's, nimble in a way that's beneficial for a man who lives his life on the trigger of a gun.

You've always valued thickness over length.

You continue to inspect Crosshair's fingers regardless.

He lets you ooh and ahh at his fingers and in turn gets a nice confidence boost while fucking with Hunter. A beneficial relationship.

The vein on Hunter's is getting exponentially larger with every second you spend touching Crosshair, but it isn't until Crosshair offers to give you a personal demonstration of how useful his fingers can be that Hunter stands up.

"Alright," Hunter's voice is short and clipped and sure to cause the best kind of pain for your backside. "Everybody out." He stands up from his bunk, drawing the attention of Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Omega.

"What?" Echo's voice is incredulous as he looks up from whatever he was tinkering with.

"Where are we going?" Omega asks, bouncing up to her feet.

You would smile at her overabundant enthusiasm if it weren't for the fact that you wanted to be fucked. Now.

Being a new parent really puts a damper on your sex life, which was already had to be a little sneaky to begin with when you shared a ship with four other people.

Hunter falters, mouth falling open but staying silent.

"Um, Hunter and I just need to talk about something real quick, sweetheart," you cover, excitement starting to build in your gut.

Tech scoffs and mumbles something under his breath.

Wrecker elbows him hard enough to shove Tech into the side of the bunk.

"Oh," Omega rolls onto the backs of her heels, "what about?"

Yup, you're tapped out for trying to come up with excuses to get a child out of the house so you can have sex.

You look at Hunter and gesture out towards Omega. Your turn.

"Uhm... adult stuff," Hunter stammers smartly.

"C'mon, kid," Wrecker plucks Omega up around the waist and hauls her under his arm like a ball, easily leading her out of the ship.

Tech and Echo are the next to rise, both of them hauling little scraps of machinery.

"You do know we're in the middle of nowhere," Tech reminds the two of you on your way out.

"Out, Tech."

Crosshair is the last to get up, groaning with the obvious tremendous effort it takes to stand up. "You owe me," he informs you, pointing one of his long fingers at you.

"Bye, Crosshair," you sing, reaching out to graze a finger along his wrist as he steps past you.

The tension in the ship is palpable.

"I can't help but feel like you're mad at me," you point out, eyes trailing over the way that Hunter's broad chest rises and falls with each of his deep inhales.

You see Hunter's nostrils flair — most likely breathing in your arousal. No sooner than the thought enters your mind, Hunter's eyes dilate. Definitely breathing in your arousal.

Still, he doesn't say anything.

"Me and Cross were just having some fun," you defend, cheeks growing red.

Suddenly, your grand idea doesn't seem that grand anymore.

"Do you want to do this here? Or in the bedroom?" Hunter steps closer into your personal space, so close you can smell the GAR issued soap on him mixed with something distinctly Hunter.

He's offering you a small bit of mercy, a small portion of control in your punishment.

Then you have to open your big mouth.

"We could always use Crosshair's bun — hey!"

Hunter's hand closes around your hair within one breath and the next.

"Hunter!" you cry out, hands scrambling at his wrist, "What the hell are you doing? Let me go!"

He sits on a bunk and — oh, fuck it's actually Crosshair's bunk, Hunter's actually doing this — sprawls you across his lap, one heavy hand on the back of your neck.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and your cunt. "Okay, this isn't funny," you say, while internally you beg for him to keep going, "let me up."

You don't try as hard as you should to get out of his grasp. You think Hunter knows.

"No." Hunter's grip on your neck tightens while his other hand drags both your pants and panties over your ass until they get stuck around your knees. "If you're going to act like a little brat then I'm going to treat you like a little brat."

Shit. You rub your thighs together over his lap, one of your hands clasping around his ankle.

"How many do you think you deserve after that little stunt?" Hunter asks, though you know it's purely rhetorical. "Ten? Fifteen?" His hand swipes across the meat of your asscheeks, warming up the skin before he strikes it — another small mercy.

You hold your breath. You're sure any number you give will only be doubled.

Hunter huffs. "Smart girl," he comments at your silence. "Count."

That's all the warning you get before —

Smack!

You yelp at the first sting across your skin. The sound registers first before the pain. You jerk across his lap, kicking your legs out as you squeal.

The hand on the back of your neck tightens imperceptibly. "Forgetting something?"

"One!" you cry out, voice thick.

He offers you no praise. Not yet, at least. He knows this is light work for you. It's towards the end of your punishment that he'll have to start talking you through it.

Smack!

Hunter's palm lands on your opposite cheek, harder this time.

"Two!" you yelp, hands clenching around Hunter's ankle.

True to form, it takes more than a few spanks in order for you to begin to reach your limit. Your eyes get teary and you do your best to dig your face into the pristine sheets of Crosshair's bunk.

Still, despite your pain, you feel your inner thighs get slick with your arousal.

"That's my girl," Hunter coos, fingers turning almost gentle as he scratches at the nape of your neck. "Just a couple more, can you do that for me?"

His hand soothes the skin of your burning ass, but you jerk against him in sensitivity.

It's too much. Too much, you just want to be good for him now.

"Color?" Hunter prods, pulling his hand away from your stinging cheeks.

"Green!" you sob into the sheets.

Good girls take their punishment.

Hunter gives you one appraising squeeze to the back of your neck, distinctly different from how he grabbed it to get you under control, and wastes no time in delivering two succinct and brutal spanks — one to each cheek.

You wail out each corresponding number and allow yourself to devolve into tears against the sheets.

Hunter smoothes contact-warm palms over your ass cheeks, soothing the ache as best he can without getting up to grab some bacta. "Good girl," he praises, "such a good girl for me," his hand around the back of your neck slides up and begins scratching at your scalp just the way you like.

You feel your heart rate slowing down, and no doubt Hunter can too, under his careful ministrations. The ache in your ass is no less prevalent, but you can bare it.

Besides, you think as you begin to roll your hips against his thighs, there's another feeling you can focus on, instead.

Hunter chuckles, sliding the hand on your ass to dip between your thighs and ghost a finger along your folds, "Well, I suppose you do deserve a reward, don't you?"

You turn to look at him over your shoulder with teary eyes. "Please?"

Hunter flicks his thumb across your clit, and you jolt across his lap for a different reason this time. "Hands and knees, baby," he murmurs, patting your hip once to signal for you to move.

Your limbs feel sluggish as you pull yourself off his lap. "On the floor?" you ask as you start to lower yourself onto the cold ground.

A hand around your wrist stops you. "No. Right here."

Your eyes flew open. On Crosshair's bunk? Spanking you in one thing, but fucking you?

Your cunt burns in excitement. Crosshair will never forgive you and you'll never forget this.

You settle yourself onto your hands and knees on the worn-in mattress, and you don't have to wait long at all before broad, thick fingers are spreading your thighs open and a wicked tongue is pressing against your cunt.

"Fuck!" you cry out, back bowing as Hunter dives in.

His tongue is downright sloppy as he does his best to bury his face in your dripping folds. The sounds he's making against you are obscene and make your facial cheeks go almost as red as your ass cheeks.

Hunter groans against your cunt like it's the best thing he's eaten, and you tremble with the vibrations.

Fuck, you're so close already, it's not even fair.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks.

"Hunter!" you sob, falling face first into the mattress. Your thighs tremble beneath his hands.

After being spanked within an inch of your life, your orgasm is tittering along a cliff's edge, ready to be knocked over by the barest gust of wind that comes along in the form of Hunter sliding two thick fingers into your cunt and curling.

You fall apart around him, lips falling open in a wordless scream as your walls clench around his fingers. His relentless lips that sucked at your clit switch to slow licks as you ride out your orgasm.

Hunter pulls his fingers from your sopping pussy with a wet squelch. Immediately, he sucks his fingers into his mouth.

You watch behind heavy eyelids as Hunter licks up every last drop of your release — you also notice the large wet spot in the front of Hunter's pants.

The knowledge that he came in his pants like some fresh-faced cadet is almost enough to have you wanting a second round.

"C'mon, baby," Hunter rasps, "Let's get you cleaned up."

~

When the rest of the crew comes back, Crosshair takes one look his bunk, with a wet spot from your tears and the crumpled up sheets and immediately groans.

"You're both disgusting. You're washing my sheets," he complains, pulling them off his bed as best he can without touching too much of them.

"Why?" Omega asks, popping her head in out of nowhere. "What'd they do?"

Yeah, Hunter can deal with that one too, you think as you burrow your face deeper into his chest and close your eyes.

[generalobi]

So I know you like just continued this, but I'm addicted to your Medlida/Daan story. Totally at your own pace, I would love to see more interactions between Obi-Wan & Jango & Jaster's possible arrival. Your writing is absolutely brilliant and I love how you wrote the Mandalorians reacting to these children forced to grow up so quick. Fantastic job.

Nield doesn’t look happy that Obi-Wan is giving them another lecture on Mandlorian culture. It’s not like Obi-Wan wants to be teaching a group of twelve teenagers a history he only half understands. Sometimes, the Force works in mysterious ways.

“The Manda’lor is usually a successive position,” Obi-Wan taps the word he’s scrawled on the wall, “Handed down either from parent to child, or from Manda’lor to a chosen successor. Te Sol'yc Mand'alor, or Mandalore the First in Basic, was supposedly the one who conquered Mandalore and exterminated the mythosaurs. The Manda’lor leads the clans, each clan has their own clan leader.”

Herti frowns, “Usually successive?”

“Uh, yes. Jaster Mereel, the current Manda’lor, was chosen by his faction as their Manda’lor and given the official title when the Haat’Mando’ade, the True Mandlorians, won the civil war. He’s elected his son, Jango Fett as his successor. I’m pretty sure I told you all this last time.”

Daria rolls her eyes, “We’re a Council of twelve equal leaders, idiot, most us weren’t listening to a word you said last time. You and I are the only ones who needed to know. Wait, did we ever tell them we were the planetary leaders?”

“That was in the original missive I sent them,” he says, exasperated, “Whether they realised exactly what that meant or not, I don’t know. Anyway, carrying on. Jaster Mereel has been Manda’lor for twenty years, officially for seven.”

“So about the same time we’ve been leaders?” Nield observes thoughtfully, “Remind me why he’s somehow more qualified than us?”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to scream, “Because, he was a leader for thirteen years before he was officially Manda’lor. Like I just said. He’s been Manda’lor for as long as I’ve been alive. We’re plenty qualified, but that doesn’t mean that we always were. We were just children, Nield. You know that as well as I do.”

“Obi-Wan is right,” Mal says, “Now, shut up and let him teach us history so we can keep our nice new trade deal.”

¬

Jango finds that the full MelidaDaan Council is a lot more impressive than he was expecting. Facing twelve battle-hardened veterans is intimidating, even if none of them are older than twenty-one. He imagines even his buir is feeling it.

“It is an honour to meet you, Manda’lor,” the oldest one bows stiffly, “I am Minister Nield. We are pleased to welcome you to our city.”

His buir bows back, “The honour is mine, Minister Nield. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Indeed,” another Minister inclines their head, “We understand you have some questions about our history. We would be more than happy to answer them over dinner, if you’d follow us?”

They’re lead into the same large hall Jango and Myles had been given their first meal in. This time, it’s just the Mandalorian delegation and the Council.

Jango finds himself seated across from Minister Kenobi. The polite smile on his face is a far cry from the genuine joy Jango had seen when he was surrounded by children. That joy… that laugh. He found that he wants to be the one who makes him laugh like that. Maybe, after they’ve got their answers and are no longer in the middle of a negotiation, he can try.

Food is brought in, all of the servers clearly of age. Maybe as a statement, maybe not avoid making anyone uncomfortable.

Jango’s buir has never cared for niceties, or stood on formality. Sometimes, he wonders if Jaster prefers his political opponents and allies uncomfortable.

“So,” his buir says, “We have questions. The first is, do you use child soldiers? Because Mandalorians do not stand for the abuse of children, no matter the reason.”

Minister Kenobi hums thoughtfully, “That is a more complicated question that you know. As you have probably noticed, there are very few adults among us.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

A girl with short cropped hair raises an eyebrow, “It’s not. Not here, not for us. Your children come of age at eighteen in war time, yes? My name is Jyfn, I was ten when we retook our planet. My parents did not want peace, so I ran away and joined the Young. We are all members of the Young. The Elders bombed and killed each other for hundreds of years, and the few left by the end were killed in the final battle, imprisoned for the crimes they committed or exiled themselves to the farmlands.”

A boy with scarred eyes continues, “The Elders blinded me. We were all child soldiers. We do not want to make the children fight, but many of us are children ourselves. Nield is the oldest, he is twenty-two this year. How do we define what an adult is, what a child is? We fought a war when we were nothing but babies ourselves.”

“Children younger than ten don’t work,” Minister Kenobi says, “Children younger than thirteen don’t learn to fight. Ten is how old our youngest Council members were when we won the war, and thirteen is how old I was. As we grow older, as our population grows, the ages will no doubt change. But, by your definition, we do have children soldiers. Some of this Council are child soldiers. I understand your discomfort, Manda’lor, however we cannot overcome our past in isolation from the galaxy.”

“I see,” Jaster scans the assembled Council, “Well, this food is very good.”

¬

It’s late, later than is acceptable to be wandering around. But Jango can’t sleep. Myles and his buir are still talking, trying to find more information without asking the Council to relive more of a traumatic past.

He’s hopelessly lost when he stumbles about Minister Kenobi. He’s sitting on a balcony, gaze on the cloudless sky. Jango debates just leaving him to it, but they might as well both not sleep together.

“Hello, Prince Fett,” he greets, without looking, “Can I help you?”

“I can’t sleep, and it seems you can’t either.”

He shrugs, “Oh you know, old memories and the usual insomnia. What about you?”

“Mostly horror,” Jango settles next to him, “We have a word for your Elders on Mandalore.”

“I know,” he smiles slightly, “Demagolka, right? The description certainly fits the Elders, though they never experimented on us. At least not overtly. They settled on lesser war crimes.”

“Like the murder of children?”

“Maybe not that lesser.”

Jango looks at Minister Kenobi’s moonlit figure. The sharp lines of his silhouette stark against the dark blue sky. He looks older and wearier in the strange half-light of the night. The subject of his stories to the children rises up in his mind. He spoke of Coruscant and Shili and Alderaan. With a civil war like the one here, there’s little chance he would’ve had the opportunity to visit them.

“Were your parents Elders, like the others?” Jango asks cautiously, wary of the answer.

Minister Kenobi doesn’t look at him, “No, at least not to my knowledge. I believe they were from Stewjon, and that they’re Stewjoni. I didn’t grow up with them.”

“Where did you grow up? And how did you end up here?”

“I think that is a story for another time,” he stands, “I must bid you goodnight, Prince Fett. Tomorrow is another busy day.”

“Goodnight, Minister Kenobi.”

He watches as the man slips back inside the Fortress, feet soundless on the tiles and a suspicion forming in his mind.

[lavendersb]

Provider

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din wants to give you the universe. Making you see stars seems like a good place to start.

Warnings: Smut, this is str8 up sin, fingering, soft!dom Din, service!dom Din, overstimulation, so much praise, i wrote this at 3am so if this is hardly literate im so sorry :)

@maybege​ i have you to blame for encouraging my sinful behaviour 

Din doesn’t know how he survived before you.

Of coursed he coped, he hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in the parsec without a certain level of diligence. His structured Mandalorian upbringing had taught him the importance of being capable and organized, of always being one step ahead.

But the child had brought with him its own unique set of challenges. Din could deal with the bounty hunters and imperial forces, they where nothing new to him. The joys of parenthood however had taken some getting used to.

He was an angel most of the time. Din could spend hours with the little womp rat and not encounter the slightest hitch, but when the fancy struck him, the child could turn into a little terror of angry gargles and twitching ears. The fact that he could also throw items around the crest with his strange magic powers didn’t make these tantrums any easier for Din to handle.

That’s when you had arrived. Offering your services as caretaker and claiming to be a half -decent mechanic as well, Din had hired you almost instantly. The child was almost as taken with you as he was, and from that moment on, Din never looked back.

He learns quickly that you had been very modest about your skills. Not only where you capable of handling whatever the child threw your way, you could also help with just about any problem the crest came up with. Din also learns that you’re not bad in a fight, and on the odd occasion he invites you out on a hunt with him. You work together like a well-oiled machine, united by a common goal of protecting the child. Protecting each other.

Perhaps it was your caring and capable nature that drew Din closer to you than he ever expected he would. Regardless of what it had been, Din has never felt as happy as when he comes home to see the love of his life waiting for him with his strange little son.

This is where his mind has wondered as he trudges through the swampy mud back to his ship. The bounty was on planet thankfully, so Din never had to worry about bringing the quarry near to his safe haven. The safe haven in question, the metallic body of the razor crest, peeks out at him through the trees and Din’s feet just can’t move fast enough.

Din lowers the ramp, and as he reaches the warmly lit interior of the hull he can’t help but pause a moment in shock.

The hull when Din had left it was a state. On the previous planet you had returned to the crest just as a team of Jawas had started to tear it apart. Thankfully Din had managed to scare them off before they could cause any real damage, but a fair few interior wall panels had already been unscrewed and tossed aside. This morning Din had left the hull in that same state. Now it was as if there had never been any damage at all.

But there, in the centre of the hull is the thing that makes Din’s heart clench beneath the beskar. You’ve set a small metal container on the ground, filled it with some warm water which gently steams, and placed the little green child inside for a bath. He watches where you kneel beside the tub, grinning at the child as he holds one of your fingers in one tiny hand, and splashes the water with the other.

“Hi,” you say through a slight laugh, snapping Din out of his reverent staring “we’re almost done here”

Din walks forward, coming to stand beside you and bending to press his forehead to yours softly.

“Did you fix the ship?” he asks softly, though he knows the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, pulling away from him reluctantly. The child, now wholly interested in the return of his father, reaches out to Din and begins to babble uncontrollably.

“We’ve had a busy day, haven’t we? But you’ve been such a good helper,” You say to the child, and Din watches you fish the wriggling child out of his bath and wrap him up in a soft towel. He notes that the task of fixing the crest must have taken almost all of the day, and having to keep the child entertained at the same time wouldn’t have made it easy for you.

“Mesh’la, have you eaten today?”

Din takes your silence as an answer and his happiness falters just a little. Of course you would prioritise your task and the child before yourself. Sometimes he wonders how you would survive without him.

“I wanted to wait” you reassure him weakly “enjoy my break when the work is done”

“I’ll take him from here, you should rest” Din says, leaving no room for argument.

He takes the child from you, now dressed in a freshly cleaned robe (another task you’ve completed that he wants to thank you for). Din sees a moment of doubt pass over your face as you try to argue with him, but the feeling of tiredness creeping into your bones wins you over. With an acknowledging smile, you kiss the child on the head and disappear towards the nearest bunk.

Din takes care of the last few jobs of the day, content in the knowledge that his love is resting nearby. He makes the jump to hyperspace first, cradling the child in his arms. The little bundle is still warm from the bath, and Din watches his big glossy eyes blink slowly at him, trying to savour the last moment seeing his Buir’s shiny helmet before he falls asleep.

Once the child is safely asleep in his cot, Din goes to fish through his bag, producing one of the fresh bread rolls and a selection of berry’s he bought before he returned. He plates them with the last of the soup that’s left, and once he’s finished his own portion and secured his helmet back in place, he calls out to you to join him.

Woozy and half asleep, Din watches fondly as you float towards the little kitchen set-up. The sleep in your eyes is replaced with excitement as you catch a glimpse of the fresh food on the table.

“Din,” you breathe “you shouldn’t have”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done today”

Din watches as you happily devour the food. He listens intently as you tell him all of the things you and the child got up to that day. How long it took to fix the panels, how the two of you played out in the muddy swamp for a while before you brought the child in for a well needed bath. This domesticity is something so new to him, but you make it feel easy. Just like you made it easy for him to fall in love with you. He would give you the galaxy, Din thinks, if only he knew where to start.

When the food is finished, Din clears the plates away but there’s a feeling deep down in his soul that he can do more for you. There’s still something else he can provide. As he sees you walk away towards the refresher, he knows he must act fast.

Din crowds you against the wall, pressing you against the panels you’ve just diligently fixed. A hand that rests at the back of your head prevents you from hurting your skull, and Din lets his fingers wind through the strands beneath them. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at his visor, surprised by his sudden movements and hopeful, Din can tell, that he might be about to pull unspeakable pleasures from you.

“Have I taken care of you? He asks quietly.

“Y-yes”

“No,” Din chastises “I haven’t. Not yet. Tell me what you need”

Your lips flutter as the words Din seeks dance around your mouth. He encourages your response by fisting your hair a little harder, not to be cruel, but to ease you into his instruction.

“You, Din” he finally hears you gasp “I need you”

Pride swells in him at your words, and he moves the hand in your hair to wrap around the small of your back and fasten on your waist, pulling you close to him whilst he presses you to the wall.

“Then you’ll have me”

Din uses his free hand to pull at the obstructing fabric that keeps him from the apex of your thighs. Softly, but without preamble his hand dips to your heat and makes a gentle swipe through your folds, groaning when he finds it warm and soft and so very wet already.

His fingers find your clit and with tiny, firm little circles he plays with it to his hearts content. Din feels you tremble and sag against him, enjoying how accepting you become to his touch.

“My sweet girl,” Din breathes, and it’s said so reverently it makes you tremble and mewl just that bit more.

“My sweet girl, you’ve worked so hard today” The movements against your clit slow and you whine in complaint. Din chuckles and shushes you “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine desperately, moving to grip the arm that reaches between your legs, hoping to encourage it to move again.

Din smiles beneath his helmet, satisfied with your compliance as he returns to your clit with vigour, plucking from you tiny gasps that draw his hungry eyes to the way your pretty chest rises and falls.

“Then cum mesh’la. Come so I can fuck your pretty cunt with my fingers”

And oh how that filthy promise pushes you off the edge. He feels you stiffen in his arms and pulls you closer to him until you feel crushed by his solid presence. You can hardly register it though, too lost in the waves of pleasure that don’t seem to ease at all. Din doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your pretty moans turn to gasps and pleas to stop.

He doesn’t remove his hand from you, simply sliding his fingers down to trace that little fluttering hole he loves so dearly. He watches your face the whole time, enjoying how slack it goes when the first finger makes a teasing press against you.

“Pretty girl you take such good care of us, but you neglect yourself” he teasingly scolds, pressing into you a little further with his finger and watching you keen at his tone.

“Would you like to be taken care of? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, Din, yes” you nod frantically, squirming in his firm grasp.

He squeezes your hip in warning, before sliding his finger deep inside you. Both of you groan at the feeling of your soft heat welcoming his finger. He starts to pump into you, his pace direct and precise, hitting against that soft spongy spot with each push. Din wanted to give you the galaxy, making you see stars seemed like a good place to start.

“I knew from the first minute I saw you that you’d be so warm and soft everywhere” Din says as you cry out for him “and I was right, wasn’t I mesh’la? Your cunt might be the warmest, softest thing in the whole galaxy”

As he adds another finger, Din swears he’s never felt more whole then when he’s breaking you apart like this. Letting you be tender and vulnerable. You break apart for him so well he muses.

“Won’t you cum for me?” he says, and stars you’ve never wanted to come so bad in all your life. Not just because you think you might explode at the way his fingers are aiming for that spot that makes you cry out in pleasure, but also because you want- no need him to know how much you love him. How grateful you are that he treats you so well.

When you do cum its electric. You reach for Din’s pauldron for support, gripping the metal as you rock against his hand. He feels you soak his palm and groans, shamelessly grinding himself against whatever part if you he can.

He doesn’t pull his fingers from you, instead he massages your walls gently watching you twitch when he rubs that special place inside you. He waits until you meet his eye through the visor, expectantly waiting for him to withdraw his fingers.

Instead he presses his thumb back against your thoroughly abused clit and holds you tighter as you give a startled jolt against him.

“Din,” you whine, and he smirks at how wrecked and helpless you sound “I can’t-“

“You can” he insists, picking up the pace of the fingers inside you “You’ll cum again because I’m telling you to. Because I’m taking care of you, right?”

You can barely nod in response, your body to busy trying to cope with the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. Din gazes at your face, taken by the way your brows pinch and fat tears fill your waterline and weigh down your eyelashes. 

The sight of you has him desperate, and he removes the hand from around your waist, using his torso to pin you to the wall so you don’t collapse. He tugs the cowl away from his neck to expose the tanned skin of his neck. You don’t need his instruction to know what to do next, and with what little energy left in your body, you lean forward to press messy, fluttering kisses to the skin over his pulse.

Din grunts, truly blissed out by the feeling of you on him doubles his assault on your sensitive heat. He barely hears your gasping warning before he feels you come utterly undone against him. Your cunt squeezes his fingers so tightly, and he makes sure to tell you that, though he’s not sure you can hear him. Your face is still pressed against his neck, breathing against him, and he swears he feels a wet tear drop against his skin.

“I love you, sweet girl” he says, pulling his fingers from you softly.

The hum that comes from your heavy, satisfied, and sleepy body tells him he’s done his job well. He lets himself feel proud. Upstairs, his child sleeps soundly in his crib. Well protected and well loved. Here, in his arms, lays his love. Soon she’ll be asleep in their shared bed, and Din will find himself wondering how he was blessed with such a wonderful and loving partner.

[blue-mood-blue]

They tell him that his name is Benzaiten Steel.

They tell him that he’s been shot.

Officially, publicly, his condition is unknown - they haven’t released any details yet, pending the investigation. As he understands it, the investigation amounts to his mother and brother pointing to each other in accusation, both of them held in separate interview rooms of the HCPD while Ben lays in his hospital bed. They were hoping he could give them answers, Ben realizes when the doctor and the officer both hover around his door uncertainly before turning to go.

But Ben doesn’t remember anything. He can’t tell them if his brother in law enforcement went corrupt or if his mentally ill mother finally slipped too far. If it was an argument, or an accident, or which of his incredibly small family is more likely to lie. He wouldn’t have been able to tell them his name if they hadn’t told him first, because Ben hardly remembers anything at all.

It’s the head injury, the nurse tells him at two in the morning while she gives him more pain medication. Not from the blast, which had caught him in the shoulder and was more than enough damage to a body on its own, according to her. He must have hit his head on something on the way down, gave himself a nasty bump and some swelling. Nothing to worry about too much, she added quickly after getting a good glance at Ben’s expression. Just... just the memories might not come back. Hard to tell with these things.

Ben chews over the possibility after she leaves, slipping in and out of sleep. He should want to know, right? He should be searching for those memories, and the way he fit between them. He should be looking for himself... looking for the truth.

There are two people in his family. One of them shot him. He can’t imagine a truth there that wouldn’t tear him in two anyway.

Ben takes a moment to pity whoever it was he used to be - must’ve had a sad life, in the middle of that mess. Couldn’t possibly have been happy, in that little apartment in Oldtown, no one to call or contact besides the people led away in handcuffs. Such a small, tiring existence... didn’t he feel stifled, trapped? He does now. He thinks about going back to that, and he can’t breathe.

Ben looks at the window instead. He can make out some stars, but only a few - it’s hard to see much around the light pollution and the dome. He doesn’t remember, but logic tells him he hasn’t lived the kind of life that’s ever taken him off of Mars; he’s never seen any of those stars, or the planets around them, or their moons - not really. He thinks he might like to, and it’s almost a surprise when the thought comes to him; it’s as if his mind has been cleared of some dome hemming him in, holding him in place, and now there’s room to want. Ben feels untethered, adrift... free. Free in a way he knows, somehow, he’s never been before.

It’s a heady feeling. For the first time since waking, Ben smiles. He could be free. He could reach up to those stars and never come back down.

Benzaiten Steel might not remember anything about himself, but he learns that he’s a good actor. When the officer comes back with more questions, Ben tells them he’s afraid for his life, more afraid because he doesn’t know who or what to fear. “Be honest,” he asks, voice shaking with something (not fear, but the officer doesn’t know that). “Do you think this could happen again? Am I really safe?”

Benzaiten Steel is declared dead, and Ben boards a ship.

~~~

He still calls himself Ben; everything else, he cuts away and leaves behind as deadweight. He’s Ben Nothing, Ben Nobody, and he runs between the stars like there’s something chasing him. He finds work where he can, and he finds that the most lucrative work is the illegal kind. He finds that he’s good at it, charming people with a smile or disarming them with a few tears, and then liberating them from whatever they have in their pocket, or safe, or bank account.

Ben is happy. Ben is competent, secure, well-liked in the circles he moves through. Ben is as free as he ever wanted to be, in this life or any other. And if he feels like something unnamed is breathing down his neck some days, well, he is a thief, isn’t he? There’s always someone after him, law enforcement on several planets at least. If he avoids Mars and anywhere too close to that little, red planet, it’s his own business. There’s not much on Mars, anyway; only the Cerberus Province and the connections he could make there, and it’s a small sacrifice to make for all of the things he gets to see.

Ben isn’t lonely. He just feels a little adrift sometimes.

And it’s years before anything catches him.

He has a jewel that toppled a dynasty with the conflict it caused hidden in his pocket, and he slips into a dark, mostly empty theater to wait out the afternoon and the authorities. He already has a spot waiting for him on a ship traveling several planets away, but it won’t take off for hours. He has plenty of time.

Ben pulls out his comms to waste some hours, ignoring the movie playing on the screen; a kids’ movie, probably with the hope that whole families would make the effort of taking a trip to the theater to spend time together. It was a bad gamble, with the only person there other than Ben asleep in a chair in the corner. Ben snorts; kind of a stupid thought, that anyone would bother when they could stream whatever old movies they wanted directly to their home.

He’s in the middle of a game when he looks up at the screen. There’s a woman fighting a dragon, and he isn’t sure what caught his attention until it happens again.

“Andromeda!” someone on the screen yells.

Ben’s head hurts.

Andromeda! a younger Benzaiten yells. He can feel the warm sun beating down on him, the familiar sounds of shouting down a street somewhere too far away to worry about. His voice, thin and reedy and so young, makes its best attempt at a growl. You will never escape me!

“You will never escape me!”

His head throbs, and he could cry with how much it hurts.

I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight, because good must always succeed! Someone with his face answers back, swinging a sword made of paper towel rolls and too much duct tape, and then breaks from the script: And I’m faster than you anyway, Benten, so I can escape whenever I want to.

For a moment, he rests on the divide between Ben and Benzaiten. If he tries, he could pull back - but he also knows he could no more let go of that voice than tear his own heart out.

Juno. A knowledge from the long-dormant pieces of him whispers an answer he doesn’t ask for, as it drags the whole of his messy, painful history with it. That’s Juno. Your twin. Your family.

Benzaiten is still crying, hurt radiating from his head and his chest, and there’s no one around to care so he doesn’t stop. He watches the stupid movie three times, then boards a ship and tries to hide the evidence with makeup and a bright smile. He’s two planets away by the time he thinks about going back, all the way back, and by the time he’s three planets away he’s decided that it would be a ridiculous idea.

It’s been years. Fuck, it’s been so many years. Does Juno live in the same place? What if he’s married now; out of the two of them, he was always the one looking for someone to hold onto him. Would he even want to see Ben?

The answer should be yes, but Ben’s not an idiot, he knows reality is more complicated. Juno buried him, and mourned for him, and maybe even started to heal - and Ben had run. Run without looking back, leaving a death certificate and open wounds behind him.

Is Sarah still alive?

The question stops him cold, staring through the window and the pieces of galaxy he’s passing. If Sarah is alive, he would have to see her, too. That’s a promise he made himself a long time ago - that he wouldn’t choose between them. He was the one who held the family together. He’d always been that.

The Benzaiten in his head, the person he isn’t sure he is yet - anymore - tells him she loves you.

Ben, here and now, tells him she shot you.

Both of those things are true. And when Ben pulls away from the window, he tells himself that’s what he’s afraid of, that someone he loved hurt him and could do it again, that he might let them in the foolish, stupid need to find out if the love was still there somewhere under all of the hurt. To know trying hard enough could mean getting better.

If there’s another fear, if he can feel the gravity of Mars pulling him back and down and heavy, he doesn’t let himself think it. And he’s gotten pretty good at deception, so he might even believe it.

~~~

Ben dances more, when he remembers dancing. Nothing feels as free as the movement, as his total control over it. Not even the stars.

How much of his running was escape, and how much was just running?

~~~

He still calls himself Ben.

He has his reasons. “Benzaiten” is too memorable, and sharing a face and a last name with a sibling seems like a really good way to get that sibling into trouble. There’s a reputation in place already with the name he used. There are days when he doesn’t feel like he fits in Benzaiten’s life. He finds plenty of reasons.

He doesn’t visit. He thinks about it, comes close - as close as a planet and one ticket fare away, once - but Ben can’t bring himself to step foot in Hyperion City. Hyperion belongs to Juno, somehow. He was the one who stayed (I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight), and going home feels like... trespassing. Ben knows Juno wouldn’t say that. It doesn’t stop him from thinking it.

Hyperion City has a newspaper, though, and a subscription service that seems a little optimistic in its range. Maybe not all that optimistic, since Ben regularly takes advantage of it - between jobs, and only on his personal comms. Most of it has nothing to do with him, but he skips and skims through the digitized pages anyway, looking for whatever hints of a life he can find. Juno is a private investigator now, which doesn’t surprise Ben. There’s an engagement announcement and no following marriage announcement, which does.

(Sarah is guilty, and dead, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t linger on the thought.)

Sometimes, when he feels brave, he imagines what it could be like. So what’s this about a gala at that new art gallery? You know, the one that lasted a whole night before it got blown up?

Juno’s laughter from the other side of the comms connection, maybe a little too young. Uh huh, I heard. The HCPD put it all over the news, along with how they saved the day. Or didn’t you hear that part?

They can say whatever they want, I know a Juno Steel case when I see one. Now, Ben adjusts on the bed, miles and miles away, glancing at the window to see if he can get a peek back the way he came, tell me everything.

Maybe the next time you come to see me, Juno says, and just like that the thought disintegrates. He can never put too many words in Juno’s mouth; there are just too many things he doesn’t know.

Ben gets lucky one day and sees a whole half a picture of Juno, looking out on a crowd. He’s not the focus - he’s standing next to some politician in the middle of a speech, a Ramses O’Flaherty who makes a lot of promises that sound like the “too good to be true, but wouldn’t it be nice” kind - but Ben will take what he can get. He can’t decide if Juno has more or less scars than he would have expected, given his line of work. He wonders how they all got there. Juno is standing on the stage with the politician; he must buy some of those promises to put himself so clearly in the man’s corner.

There’s a kind of worry in his gut about it, but Ben tries to take it as a good sign. The Juno he knew had a hard time trusting people; it would be nice if he’d found someone to believe in. It would be nice if that trust is well-placed.

Ben has to leave his comms behind for a job, taking a burner along instead, so he gets the results of the election at the same time he gets the announcement of O’Flaherty’s death and the conspiracy over Newtown. It doesn’t have to mean anything - just another politician who wasn’t what he seemed to be, or didn’t manage to hang on long enough to make good on his promises. That’s all it is.

He still looks for Juno in the stories he reads. He can’t seem to find him, anymore.

~~~

For the first time since they were nineteen, Benzaiten sees Juno across the room.

For a moment, he feels like he’s seen a ghost. A ridiculous thought, from the dead twin.

Juno Steel is so far away from Hyperion City, talking to Zolotovna in a resplendent dress as if he’s lived the kind of life that makes him belong, immediately and implicitly, among the disgustingly rich. Ben, who is there for a reason, he knows he’s there for a reason but fuck if he can remember why, tries not to make it obvious that he’s staring. He’s failing at that, he knows.

But Juno is here. Juno is here in the room with him, so different than he remembers, with so many more scars. With one less eye. Ben wants to ask when that happened, wants to demand that story, just as much as he wants to fade into the crowd and run.

He feels untethered; he feels like, if he runs, he’ll never find his way back again. Just this once, Ben lets himself understand that the tug of gravity pulling him back was never a leash around his neck as much as it was a rope around his middle - giving him a way back home. Juno had always been his anchor, keeping him from drifting too far.

There’s no going back, now. There’s no going home, no home to go back to.

Juno’s glance turns in his direction, and Ben is about to duck out of the way - an amateur move, guaranteed to catch his sibling’s eye, but he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little bit off his game - when Ben realizes he’s not who Juno is looking for. A man slips by him, tall and confident and familiar in a way that tells Ben exactly why he should be familiar. Juno can’t seem to help the way his face changes when he spots the man.

So the thief grabbed at Juno’s heart and pulled him away from Hyperion. That’s why Juno is here. It’s... infuriating, because there’s no way a common con deserves Juno Steel. Because it was never a thought in Ben’s head that Juno could be convinced to leave Hyperion, and he never thought to ask. (I do not intend to run. Running was Ben’s job.)

Ben is ready to do something stupid. He’s halfway across the ballroom, walking directly towards his brother well and aware that the impact will cause an explosion of a scene, when he sees Juno tilt his head.

There’s a comms in his ear.

Ben has been a thief long enough to recognize the habits of another thief - especially a new one.

He doesn’t remember what he came to this event for, but there’s nothing, mark or prize or job, that Benzaiten wants more than to understand the stranger in the dress who almost has his face. If he breaks something with an impulsive decision, he thinks as he continues to cross the room, well - wouldn’t be the first time.

He’ll let himself be selfish. That’s what Ben does.

[kryptsune]

World Building Wednesday!~ Etherium

🌼 I decided to share one of my AU worlds that is not Fell based. Yes... I know... what is the world coming to? Etherium in essence is my stab at an Outertale based universe though the story and the designs are very different. I really enjoy this one though I don’t talk about it too much. Let’s get started! 

Etherium AU

Classification: Outertale Alternate “Nicknames” Info: 

Sans: Nova- Nova is the trickster though he is mostly associated with that of Loki. Loki is described specifically as “Playful, malicious ( ok maybe not that one), helpful, and nihilistic.” He helps others in a kind of goofy over the top way. He just doesn’t take much seriously. Nova is one of the youngest. He acts very childish at times coming to question how long he has been among the pantheon. Some argue his many centuries gave him a nihilistic outlook on life or that he is too young to understand the true ways of the world. 

Not to say that Nova can’t be serious but he is pretty laid back. It’s one of the reasons unlike the others he doesn’t really keep his cultural ties in his design. He should have more Norse in it but nah… varsity jackets are cozy right? I mean he is wearing star shorts for stars sake. When asked about his job he mentions, “Hey, there kiddo. Nice of ya to drop by. Been up to? Heh well got a “new” job which is pretty cool. Not as cool as Pollux but I help arrange stars. Ya know, like the ones you see in the sky you can make pictures out of? I think you humans call em… constellations. One time I made this giant whoopee cushion one. “Then I lost ma job. Got a second chance though. Andromeda's constantly watchin me. hehe no harm done though.”  Both Pollux and Nova refer to each other as brothers but it is unclear if they are biologically related. Their abilities and strengths are nearly opposite and their mythos even more so.

Papyrus: Pollux- The presumed older brother of Nova. Pollux is associated with Egyptology specifically wisdom. Pollux tends to be the opposite of Nova in that he takes his job very seriously. Once on earth he was known as Thoth gracing humanity with a mechanical and architectural knowledge that astounded the world. His mind and intellect put him at the forefront of innovation making him one of Capricorn's best and most trusted advisors. 

He enjoys testing the mental prowess of others using puzzles and riddles of his own design. Unlike canon Pap Pollux cares more about balance in life. Something his younger brother seems to lack. Not all work and not all play. He is kind, helpful, and willing to give advice to anyone that is looking for it. To the little human Frisk he is a good mentor and teacher. (Pollux has made it his pastime to create a series of challenges to prove a humans worth. If they pass then they are able to speak/ see them. No one has managed to prove themselves.)     

(more characters and info below the cut)

Undyne: Andromeda- Andromeda is not different from canon Undyne as she embodies the Mayan mythology. She is mostly closely associated with the feathered serpent Quetzalcóatl. A deity of wind and rain. Also known as the life giver. Though Andromeda tends to harken back to her more aggressive roots she has a deep respect for the King and acts as his guard. Just like Pollux she too acts as an advisor, though more on matters of security than strategy or mechanics. Such a position is where she first met Elara and to this day the two are inseparable sharing their very different cultures. Her favorite kind of anime to watch are mech based.

Alphys: Elara- Very similar to canon Alphys just as this version of Undyne is. Alphys is based off of Sukuna-Biko-Na (少名毘古那) or the shinto god of medicine and rain. Elara is still very much a scientist and one that has a unique fascination with living things. Everything from the planets, to humans, animals, and plant life. She particularly enjoys spending time in her private greenhouse creating and taking care of all of the plant life. Before the monsters were forced to leave their place among the humans she was able to collect all the DNA of the plants and animals on the planet. 

They are stored in a kind of ark in which to preserve them if anything threatens their existence. Elara is very traditional in her work as her medicines are derived from her magic as well as herbal substances. She is very curious however as she is not allowed to interact with the progress of humanity but rather watches from afar. This is where her love of anime takes hold. Her favorites are ones like Sailor Moon or any type of magical girl anime. She will sit with Andromeda and watch them for hours. Her demeanor is very shy at first but once she opens up she will be a friend for life.

Asgore: Capricorn- The head of the cosmic pantheon he is the King as he is in the original. He is associated with Celtic mythos though he has taken on many pantheon roles in his lifetime. Ambisagrus, a god of thunder and lightning, Ancestor God, Sky God, God of Wind, Rain & Hail is what he is based off of. One such role is that of Zeus who’s main symbol is that of lightning and thunder. Just like the Zeus of mythology Capricorn is constantly debating his involvement with humanity. 

Whether that be to stop their technological advances or aiding in their lives. A large portion of his time was spent with his subjects not so much his wife Aurora who is the jealous type. Capricorn is not a ruthless leader but he does know that sometimes hard decisions must be made. Just like UT Asgore he is kind and benevolent, however, he has a temper if you make him angry enough. His magical abilities lean more toward lighting then fire but he has that ability as well. He tasked Elara to watch over human development should a problem arise.  

Toriel: Aurora- The Queen to Capricorn she is known to be easily jealous. It would explain why Zeus wife Hera also shares these traits. Her Gaelic deity tie is that of Arianrhod a goddess of the moon and stars. She creates life from the stars she creates sometimes causing them to take a form of their own. They are almost like living constellations. Some say that the Queen made such life to combat her own loneliness which her Son and Husband spent time away. In addition to the stars she is also known for being a loving mother and caregiver. In her time on earth she used to watch over and protect children and their families. Aurora though previously jealous of her simple in the universe has come to accept and embrace it. She is kind but rather over protective. Anyone that forsakes life will feel her wrath.  

Muffet: Umbra- Umbra is associated with Hindu mythology as a goddess of wealth and prosperity. Though earthly riches do not concern Umbra she still has a taste for the fine silks and gold that she once had on earth. A little about the goddess that she represents: Lakshmi's name comes from the Sanskrit word ​laksya, meaning an aim or goal. She is the goddess of wealth and prosperity, both material and spiritual. Unlike UT Muffet, Umbra also focuses on a spiritual wealth. A peace of mind. 

She is ever the optimist even when things do not turn out to go her way. In times of need she is called those in the struggles of self worth trying to bring them into a different understanding. There have been many a time when Umbra calms Capricorns quick and rash judgements, much to Auroras displeasure. Just as with the rest of the pantheon she is kind and helpful even with her yearning to return to the people she so loved before they were forced to the outskirts of the galaxy.

Grillby: Helio- Helio derived from sun is my OT Grillby. He out of all the characters could care less about either being a deity or an observer. He is known to be at a middle ground. He would rather live his days running a social establishment but during his time on earth he was known for his magic. Originally he was the right hand of Capricorn being depicted as a war deity for his fiery nature. He was the general of grand armies. His armor is something he hung up long ago but if called into court he will wear it once again. It’s design is very reminiscent of Roman centurions.  

Though depictions of him are curious since his name back then was referred to as Merlin. He was best known for him magic and alchemy and the concoctions he made during a period of time far lacking in imagination. Just like Nova, Helio, tended to interfere far too often in the affairs of man though noble in purpose. He tends to be outcast among the pantheon for his past conduct but he is content in his lab mixing crazy concoctions. Everything from love potions to disguises. His forte is all about alchemy and magic.    

Asriel: Azicree (Azi)- Azicree or Azi for short is the Crown Prince. By monster standards Azi is still very young, however, he has lived for far longer than any human can fathom. His mother used to shelter him until he begged for his father to let him prove himself. He still acts like a child always curious and desiring some form of exploration. Much to Capricorns dismay Azi enjoys spending time with Nova and the two become pranksters in general. He tends to not do as he is told, which is why they are in this mess in the first place. His reckless behavior had him appearing to a human that begged for his salvation. 

The matters of life and death are ones that are not to be messed with. Those that do find their souls being tainted for all eternity turning them into something other than just a monster. 9X is an example of such tampering. Azi does learn his lesson and begins to try and shape up to be a worthy successor to his father if such a thing ever did come to pass. He studies off of all those he knows especially Pollux who is more than happy to share such knowledge. His associations are non existent since he was born after the times of gods. His abilities seem to be mimic based. 

He is able to learn about abilities and use them at will. It is rare that monsters have children and as such Azi is the little prodigy child even though there are many times he just wants to be a kid. He makes friends with Frisk very quickly and learn a lot from the human visitor.  

Gaster: Nero is the Gaster of this universe. He is Capricorns pantheon counterpart. In essence the Hades to his Zeus. He is the monster that everyone thinks about when darkness takes hold. He is the one that associates with apocalyptic events such as ragnarok. He is however not evil by any stretch of the imagination. He would be better suited to be called a god of chaos. He tends to reject the laws placed upon the rest of the pantheon regardless of repercussions. 

It’s speculated that both Pollux and Nova were a part of him and crafted into the monsters that are known today. Nova being his more devious side which Pollux is more his intellect and drive. He has been locked away for a very long time in a prison aptly named Tarturus. His abilities are space and time oriented very similar to Nova which makes him difficult to imprison. He of course has been in his cell for quite some time and it is unclear if he actually has had a change of heart or using it as a manipulation tactic. 

The only one he speaks with on occasion is Azi wanting to learn more about this planet they all used to call home. It is information that the others tend to not speak of. His father more so as he is afraid it will instill a yearning in his son. Nero’s genius is on par with his godly abilities such as creating artificial intelligence. Something that is not considered life. He uses Azi as a template for this new program...  

FLOWEY: 

F- Friendly

L- Life-like

O- Operating system 

W- With 

E- Earthbound

Y- Yearning

F.L.O.W.E.Y was created by 9x and Nova with Azi as a template. He is a charismatic AI who was originally created as a helper as well as to teach the Prince about their planet of origin. Unfortunately Flowey does not have the same reservations about disobeying his father as Azi does. Even going so far as to integrate with key and vital systems in The Capital. He even manages to intercept a human vessel that he finds exploring. Flowey is not evil he just is driven to be the best help he can without regards to any type of consequences. He helps Frisk meet and learn more about their existence. He acts as a companion. 

However when Frisk becomes friends with Azi Flowey's AI goes haywire. He begins to feel emotions he is not technically allowed to such as jealousy. This causes him to try and eliminate those threatening him which in this case would be all the monsters. Eventually Azi attempts to program himself into the interface changing it’s initial programming.  

Blookie: Nebula

Riverperson: Omni

Gerson: Quasar

The Ursas: Ursa Major/Minor

Greater Dog/ Lesser Dog: Canis Major/Minor

MTT: Gigabit

Character Origin/Mythos: 

Sans- Norse (Trickster) Papyrus- Egyptian  Undyne- Mayan Alphys- Japanese (shinto) Asgore- Celtic Toriel- Celtic  Muffet- Hindu Grillby- Medieval (Merlin)  Asriel- Celtic through lineage Gaster- Greek/Roman Blookie- Western Guard dogs- Constellations (Native American) Riverperson- Greek (Charon) Gerson- Chinese (Divination/ wisdom)

Background and Context: 

A long time ago there lived beings of great power. They could bend space and time with a simple thought and bring life to their creations. These were the gods. Ones of great benevolence but also great and terrifying power. Humanity, a primitive race just starting to understand life itself, became their focus. At first their interaction was very rare only occasionally appearing to help but as time went on those interactions became more drastic. Their assistance and knowledge was seen as godlike to this humans. 

They would bring gifts and offerings to their new deities in hopes that they would look favorably upon them. That they would impart their wisdom and magic if they were pleased. In time this became more and more tradition. A religion built upon pleasing these deities so that their lives would be far improved but this became a conundrum for the beings. Some remained benevolent and helpful while others becomes greedy and wrathful. The power began to go to their minds corrupting their souls. These instances were written down in variation by the humans making up grandiose stories of fiery chariots and jealous gods. Thus mythology came into being for humanity. A way to explain the things in which they did not understand. 

As with each religion and deity the monsters each became associated with a specific culture or mythos. Some being pinnacles of their pantheon and others being lesser deities molded to suit a specific task. These monsters rarely interacted with ones of their own kind but as power shifted some of them took on roles of others. One monster could have been the god of war in Greek mythos but end up also as the god of thunder in Norse. There were no limitations to their influence. One such “deity” was that of the trickster. A monster that tended to be rather childish in his ambitions jumping from pantheon to pantheon looking to lighten up his other “deities” stern demeanors. 

The monsters began to pull away leaving their presences in name only and occasional help but this was short lived. It caused problems, war, destruction, and feuding powers sadly began to use their civilizations as almost pawns. Their meddling almost destroyed that which they wanted to originally protect. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The “gods” faded from existence only being remembered in myths and legends. The great prophecy of the Norse. The architectural marvels of the Egyptians. Now they reside in the furthest reaches of the galaxy. They spread out among the stars but a group of them resided in a Capital of sorts. A station at the edge of the Universe. One which no human could ever reach.  

The Humans Impressions:

When the monsters left the humans to their own devices they worship continued long after. Eventually the magic and the miracles that had once been performed faded into history. The monsters were all but forgotten unless mentioned in mythology or scary stories. The humans never harbored any animosity toward them since they no longer believed in their existence in any form. They only understand what their ancestors depicted them as. The monsters as well don’t really have anything against humans either. All in all, they just go about their jobs and enjoy the universe, helping from time to time discreetly if need be but never showing their faces.

Main Plot Synop: 

The plot to Outertale is very simple as it is more based around the world than it is the actual plot. It is very similar to that of the regular UT timeline with some notable differences. Once the humans reach an age of technological advancement they begin to spread out and search the stars. Some of them encounter monsters which they mistake for aliens (hilarious enough. I mean Jerry looks like an alien.) They begin to build colonies living more and more outside the reach of their own galaxy. Humans however tend to turn on their own creating factions within the space colonies. Some more prosperous than others. 

Frisk’s colony was one such beast being cut off from the other colonies as a drifter. Unfortunately Frisk’s family was nearly non existent and being stuck on a space colony was little to be desired. After seeing a streak of fire slamming into the outskirts of the colony. Frisk decides to investigate. They have always been the curious type disobeying orders and questioning everything. The colonies outer and more dangerous regions became their playground finding old pieces of technology. Eventually they stumble upon a crashed ship. One that  It seems to damaged to be used but it’s nothing like they have ever seen before. Everyone else on the colony consider it to be cursed. 

The strange runic language is confusing but Frisk finds that there is one lone computer onboard that seems to still function. It flickers with a bright yellow light showing an almost pixelated Flower with a =) face on the screen. Over the next few days Frisk returns to decipher the runes with the help of their new friend which they find out is called Flowey. It is a project that the curious human enjoys and for once it is nice to have a friend. Eventually the runes are deciphered claiming some sort teleportation capability. Once Frisk is close enough the system fires up on its own sending the human straight to the monster Capital on the farthest reaches of the universe. A place that no human has ever been.   

The rest of the story is an exploration of this new environment. Frisk befriends the monsters who don’t attack first. They actually mostly want to engage with the human showing off their ability a little bit. A part of them misses the previous worship. Nova seems to take a particular interest in this new human especially when they befriend Azi. They work to help shut Flowey down only for Azi to impart his knowledge on the interface helping it understand. Frisk has nothing to return to so they stay with the monster and become Azi’s human tutor so that one day maybe the monsters can return and live side by side the humans once again. Both Azi and Frisk are almost like siblings coined the star children.  

[dinner-djarin]

dar'manda (Mando x f!reader insert)

Prologue

(Inspired by this scene)

Summary: You've been working as a merchant on Nevarro for years now, only out of necessity. Life really wasn't going your way. At least until the Mandalorian came by your booth. Now he's all you think about, and soon he'll be even more.

Warnings: Probably some swearing (real and in universe), violence (eventually), smut (eventually), No use of Y/N, slowburn/fluff (for the first little while)

Notes: Takes place at the end of season 1, and will mostly take place between season one and two. I have been sitting on this for a while due to some fear about reception by the fandom, but honestly I just need to stop thinking about it so here we go. She's going out into the world, and I hope you enjoy. (Also I wrote this prologue like 2 months ago so it isn't quite where I'd like it to be but if you read this please just stick with me, I swear my writing gets better lol)

You don’t know how long it’s been since you last saw him. Weeks? Months? But you can’t get that damn tin can out of your head.

You really have no reason to be this hung up on him. He’s barely spoken to you, you’ve never even seen his face, so it should be easy enough to move on from whatever childish infatuation you have over him. Right? Maker, what kind of person crushes on a mask and a suit of armour?

But there’s something about him, something that keeps him planted in your subconscious. You’ve tried to find the words to explain it, but nothing ever comes close. You can't even begin to understand how this man has completely overtaken your every waking thought.

He used to come by every couple of weeks, and you’d savour every delectable minute of the interaction, but that was all before shit hit the fan of course. You weren't there to see it but when you came back to work the next day it was all anyone could talk about.

“Apparently the metal man broke some Guild rule, and practically all of the other bounty hunters tried to kill him for it.” You heard over your shoulder. As much as you liked to keep to yourself, you couldn’t help form eavesdropping on a conversation between merchants. You did have a guilty pleasure for drama, probably to fill the uneventful void that your mundane life had now become.

“The Mandalorian? He broke their code then!” one exclaimed.

“I heard he went back for a bounty,” someone else whispered.

“What could make someone do something so stupid?” questioned a merchant lady you already didn’t particularly like.

“He doesn’t strike me as stupid,” you interrupt, trying to stick up for the man you were currently enamoured with. “If he did it, there must be a valid reason.”

“If he did it?” She sneered. “Do you not see the damage he left behind? People will be out of business for sure. It’ll take weeks to clean up the mess he made.”

“Then I guess I hope it was worth it. That it wasn't in vain.” You state, putting an end to the conversation. You hoped the man – that you already liked against your better judgement – wouldn’t cause so much harm without some justification.

In the wake of his rebellion, a covert of other masked hunters revealed themselves, shot up the town, and then vanished without a word. And so did your Mandalorian.

Woah hold on. Not yours. Just one random Mandalorian that you’ve said a handful of words to and have harboured a secret crush over.

From the second you saw him you pretty much knew you were screwed. Between the husky modulated voice, and the broad as hell shoulders, there was pretty much no way to quell the instant attraction that rose up in you. His presence alone was suffocating. Nothing could stop the way your vocal cords tightened to the point of forcing out a soft squeal at his sight. The whole time he talked to you, you could feel his visor latch onto your body – pinning you to the spot.

You thought you might find some relief when he left. Quite the opposite. You couldn't help but gawk at the way his body moved, like he knew he was hot shit. He took your damn breath away. And you were glad to know that he couldn't see your lips part to let out a soft moan, or the way they pursed back together as you unconsciously swallowed the suddenly copious amount of saliva pooling in your mouth. Fucking delicious, you thought, shamelessly.

Maybe it was the fact that you knew he could take anyone down in milliseconds. He was untouchable, and this latest defiance proved that. No one crossed the Guild. Well, no one crossed the Guild and got away with it. But if anyone could, it would be Mando.

And there’s another thing. You don’t even know his name. Which means that you’re forced to call him the colloquial slang that is commonly used by outsiders of the Mandalorian culture. “Mando”. You couldn’t help but think about how it almost sounded like an insult, especially when slurred from the mouth of other criminals. You hated the way people spat the word out at him, obviously trying to get him worked up; to see what he was made of. It made you desperately wish that you had a better name to call him, his real name. An intimate piece of knowledge that you could hold on to, something of him that no one else had.

Maybe that made you selfish. Even so, there was so much you wished you knew about him. He was a complete mystery.

To be fair, he probably didn’t even know your own name. You can't recall him asking for it, or if you ever introduced yourself. You were pretty much a bumbling mess the first time you met him. To the point where even if you had tried to say your name it probably would have sounded like you were speaking Huttese. Although, who could blame you. It wasn’t very conventional to introduce yourself to every customer. The people on Nevarro usually kept to themselves, especially the bounty hunters. There wasn’t much room for ‘customer service’. But damn you wish you had tried to make some sort of introduction. Even if it had come out as incoherent nonsense, you think it may have made talking to him later a bit easier.

However, none of that matters if he never comes back, and you bet he won’t. He’s smarter than that. To pull what he did, he’s probably on the other side of the galaxy right now.

Even so, you’ll miss the shared awkward silences and stolen glances that came with each of his visits. Whenever he’d come into the shop, he’d list off what he needed to stock up on, using the most deep and captivating voice you think you’d ever heard. If he hadn’t had that helmet covering his face, you’d swear he stared right into your soul as he did so. It almost made you weak in the knees every damn time. You’d then rummage through each supply crate and gather the best quality of every item, and finally – just to bring your humiliation to an all-time high – you’d give him a discount for absolutely no discernible reason. He took notice of the reduced price the first time and thanked you, only for you to be berated by your boss once he left. Eventually, to your dismay, the niceties came to a halt. Maybe he forgot what full price was, maybe he just couldn’t care less.

Either way, it looks like you’d risked your job for the last time. It’s a shame. For a planet full of bounty hunters and hardened criminals, there’s actually not a lot to entertain you. A shootout here, an escaped bounty there, but nothing that satisfied your desire for an exciting lifestyle.

The closest you got to that would be each time some wide-eyed, eager, wannabe-bounty-hunter strolled through town looking for a chance to weasel their way up the ladder of the Guild. They definitely thought they were more important than they actually were, and they always made a point of showing off for you. Not that you were anything special, just the closest thing with cleavage usually. They’d probably brag about their rank and their kill counts, things you could not care less about. A few of them actually had the balls to ask you out, but it usually only ended in a free meal or drink. To be fair though that was very intentional on your part. It was fun to play the part of a flirtatious girl from the market for a while, and almost exciting to think about how you were completely screwing over those assholes.

Over the time you’ve spent alone in the galaxy you learned exactly how to read those kinds of people. You knew just how far to go, just what to say or do until you got what you needed. As much as you weren’t a fan of physical affection, you often brushed your target's arm or thigh, played with their hair, or if the situation really demanded it – madeout with them behind the cantina. But you always made a point of stopping before things got too far. You may not be a complete saint, but you knew none of the scumbags you met were worth your time.

You wouldn’t have allowed things to go any further. Not with them. Going any further could only be a letdown, and you were fine to take those matters into your own hands…. literally. You may be a complete flirt, but only as a skill to survive in this grimy and dangerous galaxy. You learned early on that being young and female was a vulnerability. That was at least until you discovered how that vulnerability could be shaped into one of your most valuable strengths.

When you think about him though… well something about him made your entire badass facade disappear into thin air. You lost any cool you had the minute he walked past your vendor. Not to mention that there was something else about him that told you he’d see right through it anyway. Maybe it was the visor. Some special setting to read the level of bullshit.

As far as you’ve seen, he doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He definitely isn’t the type to make others feel comfortable in a conversation. He says precisely what he needs to get his point across, nothing more. Never once had you heard him use more than 10 words at a time.

On a few occasions you were lucky enough to end up in the cantina at the same time as him. Whether you were on a break or entertaining some dead-beat for free lunch, you remember how fast your heart would beat when the glint of his helmet met your vision. You wondered if he noticed your presence, or if he even recognized you away from your vendor at the market.

One time you were in the next booth over. Your spine straightened, and your whole body shivered when he slid into his seat and placed himself directly behind you. The proximity was electrifying. It made every neuron in your body fire rapidly and your blood vessels pump impossibly fast. You were probably supposed to be listening to the slimeball buying your drinks drone on about how impressive his last capture was, but the baritone emanating from behind ensnared every ounce of focus you had.

“I’ll take the highest pay” he muttered through the modulator.

“I do have other hunters, Mando. I can’t always guarantee you get the best of the lot.” replied his employer. A smile maintained on his face even when confronting an unforgiving barricade.

“I’m sure you do. But high price means high risk.” Mando responded. His employer’s confused silence forced him to continue. “Those skilled enough to take on the bounties know better than to do so.”

The Guild leaders' laughter bounced off the walls making many patrons turned their heads, while others continued their business, obviously being used to this behaviour.

You were left puzzled in that moment, completely baffled by this interaction. It wasn't until much later that night when it finally clicked. Although you didn’t know exactly how ranking in the Guild worked, you knew Mando was up there. He had the status to strike fear into almost every other bounty hunter he outranked. Mando had staked his claim long ago, and no one in the Guild was stupid enough to try and take a bounty from him. If he wanted something, he was going to get it.

You’d remember that interaction vividly. Not only because of how close you were to the Mandalorian as you overheard it, but also in service as a reminder to you, proving just how dominant he was in this world. He held power over every member of the Guild, including its leader, whether he wanted to admit it or not. You felt idiotic for not instantly understanding the control he wielded wherever he went. Sometimes it's a wonder how completely oblivious you could be.

Although you certainly were not oblivious to the drastic upgrade he got just before leaving. If you thought Mando was intimidating before, his new head to toe silver armour was sure to strike fear into any of his prey. You remember thinking you saw his reflection pass by earlier in the day, but he quickly dissolved into the shadows, as he often found a way of doing. However, later that night when you had just gotten off from work, he strolled back into the cantina for a new batch of bounties and all eyes were drawn to him. Most eyes were filled with jealousy since – as his employer made clear – he completed the job none of them could. They were probably even more enraged by the fact that he wore his reward back into the room, when most of them would have gladly taken that metal to the highest bidder and sold it for a hefty profit. However, you saw him differently than the rest. Your eyes were fixed on him in fear and in wonder. This metal man, already a force of nature, just became that much more impossible to defeat. As if anything could get to him before, it was clear now that no one could reach the Mandalorian.

But again – it doesn't matter. Not a single soul on Canto Bight would bet his shiny ass walks back into this sector. Not unless he has some kinda death wish…

Turns out he has some kinda death wish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 is up now!

More notes: Hello there! I hope you enjoyed this lovely mess. I'm not the most proud of it, but I do want to continue this story (which I know we've all read 100 iterations of by now). Either way, I'm having fun writing it, so I might as well post it!

I'd love a like or comment if you'd be willing to share, I'm very new to writing so I'd enjoy any constructive criticism (especially on the first few parts, I know they need work, but at this point I just want to stop thinking about it and continue on with the story). Also this will be ongoing, so if you wanna keep reading feel free to drop your @ in my inbox or in the comments and I can tag you when I update!

So long for now my fellow helmet whores!