#they seem like one of the other powerful ones and they do have rancors and somewhat of a slave army

[redbean-nom]

the contrast between elsbeth's tribe (nightsister... commoners? peasants? villagers?) fighting grievous vs talzin's clan (nightsister royalty) is so funny like.

elsbeth's clan: probably-Mother Selena dueling grievous with two fire sickles that melt/short out when hit by lightsabers (grievous didn't even split his arms! it's literally a leisurely spar for him). approximately three archers in the background. one single unit of B1s and B2s plus possibly a handful of commando droids. elsbeth hiding in a tree and falling out.

talzin's clan: Mother Talzin voodooing Dooku from the castle basement and then levitating in a giant electric sphere and zapping the entire droid army for like five minutes straight. Ventress dueling four-arms grievous for equally long. An entire army of archers casually force-speed/force-jumping over entire trees. Grievous' full fleet, a bomber squad, a unit of commando droids, magnaguards, state of the art experimental tanks, more regular tanks, and a full army of B1s/B2s. Daka long-distance-necromancing the entire clan and resurrecting every single dead nightsister in the entire region. Talzin finally not-surrending by turning herself into a force ghost and then promptly going to start a cult to revive herself/the dead nightsisters.

[illwynd]

Eternally confused by assertions that Thor and Loki don't like each other.

They love each other, obviously. And sometimes they fuckin hate each other (well, Loki sometimes hates Thor. And Thor is sometimes at least very goddamn righteously pissed off at Loki, whether he'd call it "hate" or not.)

But they do also like each other.

Thor clearly likes Loki. Enjoys and appreciates his company and admires many things about him, despite their many conflicts. And although that's a comics reference, consider Thor's "well of course I want to have my brother come with me on an adventure!" attitude when he's trying to convince his friends to go to Jotunheim with him at the beginning of Thor 2011, and it seems like it's pretty applicable to the MCU as well, at least before TR's moronic retcons.

Is it mutual, though?

... is that a real question?

Loki idolizes him, wishes he could measure up to him, thinks the sun goddamn rises and sets on Thor. "Loki felt no rancor [...] -- his stepbrother was perfect: beautiful, powerful, golden. He adored him. And if Thor repaid that adoration with little slights and humiliations, it was a price Loki was only too willing to pay for his company" (R. Rodi, Loki: Blood Brothers). Yes, another comics reference, but doesn't that also jibe with the movie depiction of Loki who clearly has a less than ideal relationship with the rest of Thor's crew but hangs out with them nonetheless because that's the only way to spend time with Thor?

Genuinely, I can't think of a better metric for liking someone than wanting to hang out with them even when the circumstances make that less than fun for other reasons. Seeing their company as satisfying even if you're both just sitting there doing something that would otherwise suck. And they both seem to have each other as first choice for that, with everyone else a very distant second if they rank at all.

So I just don't get how anyone can try to slot them into some cliche of "siblings who love each other i guess but also can't stand each other at all." These dumb bastards would spend their lives in each other's pockets if they could. They probably had their own secret language as kids, like figured out a way to get around the Allspeak to invent one no one else could understand. Anyone else that either of them dates had better be ready to have the other brother as a constant topic of conversation, because the moment you express annoyance at that they're going to be shoving breadsticks into their bag and making excuses to gtfo. "they don't like each other" what the fuck are y'all talking about.

[burnwater13]

Cad Bane, standing on a street in Mos Espa, facing Boba Fett in full armor. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor. Calendar from DateWorks.

Grogu had never met Cad Bane. He wasn't really sorry about that. Sometimes you hear about a person who was very important to a friend or mentor and you think, ‘Wow, I wish I knew them too’. That was the not the case for Cad Bane. 

Grogu had asked Daimyo Fett how he’d met the Duros bounty hunter and the older man hemmed and hawed and finally Fennec Shand replied for him. 

“He was unlucky.”

That pretty much settled the matter. Grogu knew that Fennec had no love lost for Fett’s one time teacher, but since the Daimyo nodded at her words, Grogu learned all he wanted to know. He’d met and spent time with people who had ended up being less a friend and more an enemy over time. He didn’t recommend it. You never really questioned why they turned out to be so awful, but you asked yourself why you didn't see through it all much sooner. 

Grogu might have said that Dr. Pershing was a person like Cad Bane. He was obsessed with what he wanted and thought he was doing the right thing and pursued it pretty relentlessly. But it had all failed and Grogu was happy about that. 

Fennec told him that Pershing was nothing like Cad Bane. 

“Coruscant is riddled with people like that. All hoping that if they could only get the attention of the people in power, they could achieve some ridiculous goal that no one else valued. The people in power called Cad Bane in to do the work that they were afraid to do themselves. Bane wasn't afraid of anything and that’s why the Daimyo is here and Bane is buried in the bantha paddock.”

Grogu was surprised at that. He didn't know why, but it seemed pretty odd. 

“That’s where I put all the… stuff I don’t want people like your pal Pershing to use for cloning projects. Trust me, if I’d had my way, Moff Gideon would have never had another chance to go after you or your dad. He would have ended up as fertilizer for the rancor’s favorite plants.”

Wow. Grogu had always know that Fennec was a very straightforward person with great tactical skills and a first class strategic mind, but he forgot how nuanced she could be. She was kind of the opposite of Cad Bane. 

When he first met Fennec, Grogu was kind of worried about having another master assassin in his life. IG-11 had been very effective at that work and as person who generally thought that all life was good, it was quite a challenge to have friends who made a living at ending lives. Even if those people were volunteers according to his dad. 

But the more time he spent with Fennec, the more Grogu realized that she didn't just end people. She solved problems. If she could do that without ending the person, then fine. Take those Nikto gang members. She didn’t pick them all off during some sort of clean up operation after they had dealt with the Scorpenek annihilator droids. She just got rid of the ring leaders and that sent a message more effectively than a complete blood bath would have. At least that's what his dad told him. 

The Mandalorian was very impressed with the levels of restraint that Fennec had displayed. Considering the Mandalorian view of enemies, Grogu figured that Fennec had displayed the patience of a Jedi Master. 

“Buddy, I don't think you want to tell her that. I’m not sure she reveres the Jedi as much as you do.”

But Din Djarin was wrong about that. Fennec had told him once that she never got involved in the problems that included the Jedi.

“Listen kid, the whole point of the work I do is to solve problems. If I’m not solving the problem, I don't get paid. The whole point of the Jedi was to solve the same problems I was generally assigned to resolve, but they had access to weapons I could never bring to bear. There’s no such thing as a fair fight which is why I don’t take risks like that. The Jedi always had an advantage, so I found other problems to solve. That’s why I’m still here and a lot of other folks aren’t.”

Fennec hadn’t been smug about that either. She hadn’t pointed out that the Jedi had been almost entirely wiped out. She didn’t say ‘I told you so’ or anything like that. She had patted her midsection where her mods were and that’s what convinced Grogu that she and the Daimyo were nothing like Cad Bane. Boba Fett had gone out of his way to save her. And she had stuck around to help him solve problems on Tatooine. 

This was definitely the way.

[msweebyness]

Some DC/Marvel AU Headcanons

Have some headcanons for the hero and villain kids from these universes! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

DC:

Chloe is incredibly proud of the fact that her family is Markovian royalty and reminds people of that fact any chance she gets. It profoundly gets on the other villains’ nerves, and they make that known to her. Sabrina still humors her girlfriend by calling her “Princess”. The others have still picked up some Markovian phrases from Chloe though, particularly expletives.

Colussus: *steps on a lamp post that jabs his foot* MOTHER OF GOAT!

Even alien planets aren’t devoid of racism, and Evie has witnessed this throughout her life on M’arzz. While Evie herself, like her mother, is Ga’Runn, the ethnic majority, her father is A’ashenn, and one of her brothers was born such as well. The scorn they received from her mother’s wealthy family and the Ga’Runn population at large was brutal and at times violent, and it left a deep effect on Evie. It was part of the reason she was so hesitant to reveal her true Martian self first to Brecken and then to her fellow heroes, though all accepted her with open arms. (Her telepathy is the main means of communication between the heroes)

Reshma’s Scarab is a part of her consciousness, and that’s not necessarily something she’s happy about. While it’s certainly helpful in battle, it also wakes up and chooses violence every day, with its solution to most problems being “PLASMA CANNON”. Needless to say, this kinda annoys Reshma. Her friends are aware that whenever she seems to be talking to herself, she’s actually arguing with Scarab. …it does have pretty good taste with clothes though.

Reshma: No, it would not have been ‘preferable’ to vaporize them all when they were gathered as a group! Will you please just chill the fuck out?!

Jean and Ondine, as the chief magic users of the heroes and villains respectively, have a fierce rivalry whenever any battle crops up. Neither is willing to let the other show them up, and it can get to the point that Austin T and Kim have to intervene before things can get too crazy or destructive.

Petra will admit that becoming the hero Karma and wielding the power of fate is pretty cool, but the Helmet of Fate does come with a downside, and his name is Nabu. He does nothing but talk down to her and treat her like an ignorant child and they really wish they could just tell him to put a cork in it, almighty lord of order or not.

Being the resident extraterrestrials of the group, Marc, Evie, Mindy and Ismael have a close bond, helping each other out with Earther stuff and just taking the time to talk about how much they miss Tamaran, M’arzz and Thanagar respectively, and also comforting Ismael who never got to experience living on his home planet. They also geek out about cool Earth stuff together.

Missy and Gia have always had a strong friendship and friendly rivalry when it comes to their archery skills and work quite well as a team. They have frequent competitions and are evenly matched in wins and losses. Their friendship is so strong that when they’re older they found a private security company with Rochelle and Zoé. (Anyone who gets this reference, I love you.)

Zoé picked up Dick’s habit of messing with the English language by removing prefixes from words to make new ones. That is all.

Rouge: I am traught, whelmed and feeling the aster! Let’s do this!

Marvel:

Missy has an…entertaining dynamic with her Symbiote, named Rancor. They’re kind of a snarky little shit and frequently get on her nerves with their comments, but the two care for each other nonetheless. Missy protects Rancor from those who wish to exploit them, and they would do anything to keep their host safe. Their friendship has its ups and downs, but is nevertheless strong.

Ivan, as you might suspect, is chronologically a bit older than he looks. The experiment to turn him into a super soldier was conducted several decades before the present day, and he was subsequently frozen in cryostasis until being reawakened in the 21st century. During that time, his parents passed away and his sister lived to old age before doing the same just three years before he was thawed out. He misses them terribly and has a lot of bad days where he’s overwhelmed by the new and unfamiliar world around him. Thankfully, his girlfriend and friends are there to support him. (He also got to meet his sister’s daughter and her two kids, and she told him how much her mother would talk about him, how she would have loved her uncle.)

Adrien and Ondine were childhood best friends who grew up in Asgard together, and she’s always had his back no matter what. If Marc messed with him too much, she would be the first to kick the chaos God’s ass, and Marc respects and fears her for that. Adrien also helped Kim out with winning her over and asking her out.

Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs! Hope you liked these!

[helpinghanikan]

Star Wars: Kinktober

Day 23: DP (Boba Fett and Din Djarin)

Kinktober Masterlist

Mos Espa was still rubble when Boba and Din all but invited themselves into your bedroom. This wasn’t the first time you had them both, it was the first time they seemed to have discussed this without you. Both asked to speak with you away from anyone else after that Rancor got squared away.

“This is the only way to celebrate a battle, Like how old Mandalorians did it,” Din said, his hand in your hair. “Ravishing the willing while enemies still bleed somewhere else. It’s the best way to show the world we’re still alive.”

It was hard to focus on anything Din was saying right now. You’ve been on your hands and knees for the last few minutes. Being a good girl and sucking Din’s cock while Boba fingered your ass open. Every now and then Boba would reward you with a tease to your clit, not enough to get you anywhere but it was still nice.

“You’re making that up,” was all you could think to say. Your voice carries an authority that doesn’t usually come with sucking someone’s cock.

The deep chuckle behind you is followed by a swat to your backside.

“Except he’s not, Little one. Stand up for us.” Boba orders, his hands staying on your hips as you stand.

He turns you around to face him. Still most in his armor with only the codpiece missing. Din was the same behind you. They both knew what their armor did to you, what it did to everyone really. Nothing sexier than a wall of power dressed in metal.

As if to prove that you are a ‘little one’ to him, Boba lifts you from the floor. His gloves are a bit rough on the back of your thighs, pulling your leg around him and positioning you over his cock. He continues to speak as he slowly presses through your lower lips.

“This tradition is found in every kind of clan, it’s as Mandalorian as our helms and weapons. Plenty of willing men and women can be found at the end of battles. It’s not just Mandalorians who want to feel alive after death.” Boba tries to hide it but his voice changes while inside of you.

Din waits for your signal before pushing in your ass. Waiting for you to reach back towards him. He needs you to physically grab at him before being willing to do anything.

“Tell us if it’s too much.” He says, the cool of his helmet pressed into the back of your neck.

Boba had a thick cock that fucked your pussy with slow but deep thrusts. Barely was there any sound from his hips smacking yours. He cared more about the feeling than the showmanship of fucking fast.

Din, on the other hand, had a longer cock than Boba but wasn’t as thick. Instead, he reaches deeply inside of you. Passing by the regular sense of feeling and into the boundary of being almost too much. There’s no point in trying to get used to the feeling of him so far in, you won’t be able to when Boba is also fucking you.

Din and Boba fuck together like how they fight. Not a mirror image of one another but with a series of complimentary movements. When you think that maybe there is a rhythm for you to focus on it suddenly changes. The smacking gets louder and louder as Din forgets his position and can only think about his cock.

It was never spoken in front of you, but they seemed to have their own little rules about these trysts. The most important rule seemed to be that you needed to get off before they were allowed to.

You weren’t going to question this. Their hands seemed to be everywhere, and there seemed to be a million of them. Squeezing your breasts, holding up your thighs, rubbing gentle circles into your clit, and tilting your chin towards the ceiling so Din could nuzzle into your shoulder.

It’s not a growing warmth but a gasping explosion when you cum. Heat through your core escaping out of your mouth in a barking shout. Din groans behind your ear while Boba’s eye-line is locked onto your face.

[born-to-riot]

Rancor and Risotto Chapter 3: Le Potage

“Hello everyone!” Azriel calls out, silencing the room. Eris takes a deep breath and exhales. He reminds himself that he has no need to be this nervous, he is here to provide backup for his mate, it's not like he’s having dinner with his own family. Eris squeezes Azriel’s hand and steps closer to his side, a silent show of support.

“I’m sure you have met my mate before, but I will still introduce him for the sake of formality. Meet Eris Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn and more importantly, my bonded mate,” Azriel declares smugly, not at all ashamed of the bomb he just dropped on his family.

Little excerpts from the chapter below: 

“Fuck.” Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, stands in front of them, holding open the door to the House of Wind. 

Eris and Azriel stand side-by-side, looking at the other male blankly. They blink in unison, staring back at Cassian with growing expressions of confusion on both of their faces. The latter of the two has an assortment of fresh bite-shaped bruises on his exposed chest. The former looks as sharp as ever, having heated up a dull blade to smooth out the wrinkles in his suit after Azriel flew him up to the House of Wind. 

Eris also made sure to use the heated blade to straighten out the wrinkles on Azriel’s dress pants, actively ignoring the Shadowsinger’s grumbles about such an act being unnecessary. If this is their official debut to the Night Court as a couple, then that means that Azriel is now technically an extension of Eris’ reputation. As a result, Eris will do everything in his power to make sure the Illyrian menace looks as sharp as possible whenever he has the opportunity to do so; Vanserras always dress to impress. Not that his efforts ended up mattering in this situation, as here he was with his mate, still face-to-face with Cassian, who remained in the same position as when the larger male first opened the door.

Eris can’t help but feel a little disgruntled at the behemoth bat’s greeting, he thought their relationship had progressed a bit beyond on-sight expletives. Lately, whenever Eris runs into the male at various court events, he is always greeted with a warm smile from Cassian and is usually allowed a single dance with the Illyrians' lovely mate. All things considered, Eris’ mind can’t produce the reasoning for why Cassian is still standing in front of the halfway-opened door with a facial expression that resembles how Eris feels when one of his hounds produce a particularly potent excrement. Frankie, the little shit, always seems to find his way into the kitchens and into something that he most definitely is not supposed to be eating. 

Eris squeezes Azriel’s hand and looks over to his mate, who is frozen in ‘assessment mode.’ He has to put actual effort into fighting off his burgeoning smile, Azriel is just so cute. He watches as his mate’s hazel eyes look Cassian up and down, trying to read the other’s body language and assesses his best course of action. Eris cherishes the fact that Azriel is so quick to be on the defensive for him. To be honest, Eris is still not used to having someone in his corner. But now with Azriel by his side, he knows he will never be alone again. Eris feels the tickle of multiple shadows flying up the back of his pants and settling themselves along the usual permanent residents of his arms, ready to strike if need be.

It doesn’t seem like his mate is going to take action right away, which Eris understands as Cassian hasn’t really done anything except for behave uncharacteristically quiet and frozen. But still, Eris finds the General of the Night Court’s behavior to be unusually unnerving. As much as Azriel claims that he doesn’t care what happens tonight, the Night Court entourage is his family and Eris wants to make sure that the other doesn’t lose it all because of him. Anyway, it seems that Azriel has moved on from his ‘assessment mode’ to his ‘watch and guard mode.’ Eris has always admired the Shadowsinger’s patience. He is both appreciative and awed by the other’s ability to be on guard for hours if need be. However, Eris was decidedly not blessed with that same gift of patience, and he is tired of standing here and waiting for something to happen. So, Eris supposes he’ll just have to move things along by himself.

“Hello to you too,” Eris smirks at the long-haired overgrown bat, “Personally, I prefer to be addressed as High Lord Fuck, but I guess shouldn’t expect any proper titles out of an Illyrian Bastard like yourself.”

Tag List: (tell me if you don’t wanna be here) @acourtofladydeath @ofduskanddreams @secret-third-thing @areyoudreaminof @iftheshoef1tz @chunkypossum @queercontrarian @yourlazykitkat @krem-has-a-mess @witch-and-her-witcher

[dragoncarrion]

can you tell me about cinnabar and rage rush :0?

GLADLY!!! im putting all this under a read more since it'll probably get a bit long

ok so those two are part of a tf story i've been spinning around in my head for a while. it's still HEAVILY in the works but i've got the basis for both their characters. kind of

Cinnabar (the big dragon) is a predacon that self exiled kind of in her own volition (yes im writing the t.f.p predacons into this bc i could not skip the chance to have big dragons in my story im sorry). she used to be an executioner for the current guy ruling the predacons (which would be Quinacridone. dont worry about him i barely have anything on him lol he doesnt matter) but her friend, some other guy named Malachite was conspiring against the previous leader with Quinacridone's help, once the deed was done however he basically threw Malachite under the bus, dropping him into this vengeful spiral. He tries to drag Cinnabar into it, hoping that she'd kill Quinacridone for him given her closer position to Quin, but when she refused out of fear of both of them getting killed, they had this big falling out and fight (if you've seen previous drawings of her you'll notice she's missing an eye. well this is where she loses it lol). After this, Malachite fucks off to somewhere, and Cinnabar runs away too, both to try and find him, and because Quinacridone seems to be getting onto their plans of dethroning him, despite how unwilling she was to do it. She lands in this strange underground colosseum fighting ring, where's she "loses" Malachite's trail. In reality he had been fighting here for a while, mostly for his bruised ego and because something about this place seems to keep people from leaving (lore wise its bc there's some big ass titan underneath with its freaky aura that fucks with your mind). So she's been here since, working as an announcer for the fights and a guard of sorts, hoping to get a lead on where he ended up, but everyone here is very secretive and uncooperative.

Now Rage Rush (the tiny ass sparrow) is said colosseum's champion. Im thinking she's got this outlier power of like. mini hyperspeed that looks like borderline teleporting, so it's impossible to track where she is during fights. She's been here wayyyyy longer than Cinnabar, and was actually the one to take down Malachite in a fight, though only by some mere dumb luck. at the last second The spiny plating on her left shoulder is actually a bunch of his scales since she likes keeping "trophies" of those she defeats like some fucking sicko. When she meets Cinnabar she's quick to realize who she's looking for, but decides against telling her for obvious reasons. Rage Rush becomes something like a... "friend" to Cinnabar in the following years. They're both very bitter assholes though, so it's mostly some on and off toxic situationship of sorts 😭 Cinnabar hates Rage Rush's incredibly rude and aggressive personality, always getting under people's skin just for the hell of it, while Rage Rush gets very irritated at how Cinnabar seems to always be wallowing and moping about something. Sometimes she'll outright ignore the sparrow even when she's talking to her face just to get back at her. Still, they mostly stick together since Rage Rush finds Cinnabar fascinating and is one of the only people who will talk to her (plus they're both lonely as fuck deep down). Fun fact: Rage Rush used to be some low status autobot (loooong time ago im thinking that whole thang has been over for millennia by now bc thog dont caare) going by the name of Speck, but changed it to something edgier once in the fighting ring. She has a history of feeling ignored and excluded by other people, which led to her starting to resent pretty much everyone around her after a while, so the adrenaline of the fight's victory feeds into her rancorous power fantasies that she has been stewing in for ages. i dont ljke her ❤️

[jedidryad]

WIP: Academy connections

Mara struggles a lot at the academy, but she also makes some lasting connections with some beings who accept her right away and offer her a level of  understanding she isn’t sure what to do with.

Here she meets Kam Solusar on her first evening...

The glowering Durron put in an appearance as well, interrupting the remarkably genial conversation Skywalker and I had managed to talk ourselves into. Well, it was genial if one didn’t count just how much terrible news we were imparting to one another. The galaxy was a mess. The academy seemed to be a microcosm of the same.

And Durron was the textbook definition of a tipped laser. Despite his young age, he had no qualms about questioning and fighting with Skywalker – and in the dining hall at meal time! He disagreed with everything: the decision to destroy the Sun Crusher, the notion of training before attacking, and likely everything about the vision Skywalker had for the Jedi.

I remembered Luke’s calm determination on Wayland as he told C’Baoth that the Jedi were the guardians of peace who served the Republic. They did not use their powers to rule as C’Baoth had wanted.

Apparently as Durron wanted.

The rage-filled teen ended his tantrum with a statement about there being nothing Skywalker could teach him and stormed out. It occurred to me that there were a number of lessons that kid needed to learn. 

The dining hall was quite subdued in the wake of Durron’s outburst. I glanced over at Skywalker but he did not seem to have any reaction at all to share, although his eyes widened significantly a minute later when Horn re-appeared in the doorway looking like he’d been trampled by a rancor herd.

Horn murmured something about whiskey as two of the other students helped him to a seat and offered him some water.

“What happened to you?” Skywalker seemed perplexed.

“Kyp didn’t like the menu,” Horn gasped a little as he responded. Durron really did disagree with everything. Admittedly, on the food I agreed with the tipped laser.

That none of us had sensed the attack on Horn was significantly more concerning than the ration bar gruel though.

What was going on here?

I stood with the rest of the students as Horn asked for a private conversation with the Jedi Master but sat back down when Skywalker ushered the injured trainee into the kitchen.

I realized I was not hiding my confusion well when a man came over and sat where Skywalker had been

“Kyp has been struggling with life at the academy.” 

“Who are you?”

My rude response generated a smile.

“Kam Solusar.” He held out a hand, “Master Skywalker has charged me with a number of administrative duties around here. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you and show you to your quarters earlier.”

I took the offered hand and gave him my name, although I was pretty certain he knew it already, “Skywalker seems pretty casual about those functions. Are you the reason dinner was actually at 1830?”

Solusar smiled and shrugged, “I suppose the Imperial training never really goes away.”

“Did you go to the academy then?”

A shadow passed across his face, “No.”

I felt my lips tighten as he described a childhood in hiding, the death of his father at the blade of Darth Vader and his subsequent conversion to the dark side and service to the apparent clone of Palpatine who was on Byss - presumably the same being Skywalker claimed turned him.

I had no idea who that being was, but it still seemed unlikely it was the Emperor.

“Did Skywalker put you up to this?” I asked as he finished his story praising our Jedi Master with rescuing him from his evil past.

“No, but he did mention that you might appreciate knowing you weren’t the only one here with a history with the dark side.”

I felt like I’d stepped barefoot on a thorn. Was that how Skywalker saw me? A tainted victim of evil? Of course I was much less pure than his other students. Unlike Horn, I was not part of a grand Jedi tradition, nor was I a serene beacon of light and compassion like I could sense from the woman with the swirling silver eyes down the table. 

Solusar looked at me sharply. “It took me a long time to decide to come here,”  he surveyed the space with a calm smile, “but I’m glad I did. Give it some time.”

I took a deep breath and fought to drop my defenses enough to recognize the acceptance and comradery being offered. I wasn’t the only one who had misgivings about being here.

“Thanks.”

[funjidae]

~Eruhan oneshot~

┌──── • ─── ◆ ──── • ────┐

Title: Enemies

// NSFW //

~

The high command had handed down sentences on them, they were the enemies and they had to be executed after completing their work, but, for a man with a serious face now, the dutiful plan did not seem good, because the one who was the leader of that army to which they wanted to errocate was the one that brought him insane, and, exalted to his nerves, the one he had begun to see as a piece of meat without merits and rights when he met her for the first time, but when he got to know her after times of sharing talks, lunches and projects, and when the image of her had gotten so much into his head, he could do nothing more than have wet dreams and wish to have her for himself, that woman had finished him...on his knees imploring everything of her.

Above all, she was like a hostage and could take advantage of it, that thought invaded him sometimes, but he did not count on the fact that this woman with a kind face but a rude character was also interested in him in an intense way.

~

One day, being left alone after spending hours working on an important plan, they both looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes. Some would have thought that it was a sign of hate, hatred or rancor, but, this was the complete opposite of that...

A tug on his shirt, a squeeze of neck on the female, a rubbing of the legs and the closeness had them lying on the desk where they had been working before, she only had her shirt completely open and he was no longer wearing his suit. A push from her legs forward indicated how much effort the man was putting into her, and with more intensity, at the end the moans turned into a dry plea, the same anguish was heard invading the walls, but she and both him, they were enjoying what they where doing in that office with the low chandelier lights.

She gasped not to do it, she didn't want to put everything at risk, but the more she refused, the more her body urged for him and he just enjoyed her hard nipples just for him and his tongue.

-Erwin stop... Erwin...- Gasped without being able to breathe properly.

She caressed the blond hair making him do more of what she supposedly didn't want... the blond's wet fingers danced on the intimacy that trembled of the nerves of her body. He was wanting for her, wanting no more power.

He raised his face to hers and kissed her, while he did so he played with her body.

-I've been wanting to know how you would moan my name for a while- He brushed his right cheek against hers and came to gently bite a part of her ear.

She went numb at the contact. She couldn't deny at all what those long, thick fingers were making her feel on her. She kept moaning under her breath, wanting to know now how something else would feel inside her.

Was agile and took the man from his arms placing his legs by his hips.

-If you want to know how I'm going to moan your name so much, make me do it." She gave him that look that lets you know that the maximum point of madness and desire have already been broken.

Erwin knew exactly what she was referring to, so he caressed her hard legs from the exercise and took his own member, caressing her first and after a few seconds both were united as one meat. She arched her back, clinging hard to the desk. He started with the biggest game, he wanted to know more than anything else how she was in that state and he was going to achieve it.

The desk creaked every time Erwin entered her, Hange reveled in the blond's first and last name and again; name, surname and position, she moaned loudly and so the sweat ran down her medium-sized breasts. The nails were buried in the wood, the back curved even more, the hair of both bathed in sweat that at the moment that their bodies joined and disjoined they danced... their eyes remained closed with a frown, the veins sagged. they jumped at the blond by force, if someone could be present apart from them, they would know that the forces they were making were too much and all to be able to feel each other again and again.

They murmured when they felt the heat embracing their bodies, the sound of the wood from the desk, her breathing and the sweat bathing them both. It was the perfect scene for their persons, better than the ones he ever dreamed of before, while he caressed himself. pronouncing the name of the chestnut hair.

Reaching the limit, when he began to ejaculate and wanting to take his member inside her, she stopped him with an indecipherable look. Before the arrest he ran inside her, sweating without measure and making him moan along with her, embraced, without pity, they just let themselves be carried away by their nature.

When that had elapsed a few days, they did not say many words to each other and more on Hange's part, she did not want to get involved with him anymore, despite the fact that she left him in a hurry, he for his part acted serene without forgetting what had happened. passed between them, but, just as it began, they would do it again, finding themselves in the same situation, imploring for their actions and the warmth of their bodies.

There was denial and acceptance, doubt and a kind of wild treatment when it came to loving each other alone in that same room with low light lamps or in some moments in their respective bedrooms.

└──── • ─── ◆ ──── • ────┘

[liroyalty]

The one thing Adam hated the most about their arrangement, was the fact that they were in different universes. If Sue was in his Hell… Would he still be lying on his back? Looking up at the forever red sky? So close to the portal back to Heaven? There were… so many holes in him. It didn’t look like he was coming back from this one. At the very least… He was able to tell her he loved her before this happened. It was of course bound to happen at some point. After all, Adam was the villain of this story, and Villain’s lose.

They don’t get the girl, they don’t get to see the next day, and that’s what happened to the First Human as his eyes shut and his body disappeared.

There would be one last gift Adam would receive from his father. The gift of truth. It could have been left that Adam never came back to see Sue. That he could have played her this whole time or that he had grown bored of her. This was far from the truth…

This gift would show up, of all places, in the woman’s room. A glowing, yellow spider Lilly. Upon its touch to see the memories within, the first thing that would be shown to her, would be the day they first met.

“Sick shades. I gotta pair too. You’re officially in the cool club. Congrats.”

And now, she wouldn’t spend an eternity wondering where he went… And she will always have those memories of him at arms reach. He loved her, with all his heart.

There was someone who knew the truth already. She didn't mean to keep the truth from her sister, or rather, she didn't want too, but she knew what Sue would do if she learned the truth of the downfall. She had done her best to keep this from happening, but even as a seraphim, her powers are not prefect or absolute.

Adam's heaven... found out. And did... everything Ann & him both feared they would. They forbad him from coming to their end of the cosmos, shut him out... or locked him in rather If it was not within the bounds of his own star system, he could not go there. And by the gods, Ann tried everything she could to get them to reconsider. Ann might seem gentle & kind, with an almost careless nature about her, but she cared so much about her sister & her happiness that it brought out the determination within her. There's no case she did not pled, no reason that would not be heard. Devils in their universe were not of the same ilk as the ones here, they are as divine as any angel merely of a differing branch, Adam & Sue both are mortal souls by divinity so they are not so different as they seem, there is no true harm that could come from such a relationship all they are shriving for was happiness, do they not want happiness for one of their own?

Yet what did it amount too? Nothing. 'Rules' & 'Things you don't fully understand' overtaking the happiness of two souls that have suffered enough. Once again, happiness is torn from her beloved sister's grasp, & Ann can do nothing to stop it. Once again, others are caught in the crossfires of those who can choose to do otherwise, but still choose to be joy thieves. How does she tell Sue? How? She knows how Sue will react... sorrow, anguish... then rage & rancor. She knows she has too... she's been holding it off way too long already... it's still a through process she is debating as she goes to Bella Faldiso...

".... Fuck...."

The scene was already a mess. The gothic mansion was completely in shambles, it was obvious without even having to go inside, a massive hole in the second floor being the most glaringly obvious 'new feature' that Ann knew was not there before, & made her worry. She knew Sue would be upset with Adam no longer showing up, but to such an extent? Did she... did she know already? Her wings took her down the building, towards that hole, only getting more & more distressed as she heard the familiar sound of weeping. No... no... don't... please... Peeking through that hole in the building greeting Ann to the room she knew was her sister's bedroom, & it was... worse then the outside, a torrent of destruction. An indiscernible scene that tore holes in the very fabric of the reality of her realm, that could make even the most devious of individuals have to look away for a moment; even Ann's divine eyes all closed for a moment at what the power of sheer violent despair can do. But she opened them again, because she had too, because...

"Sister!!"

Suzanne was there, in the center of her own destructive wake, looking about as well as the madness she created around her, curled up around herself & but only a measure of broken & horse sobs leaving her. And the devil didn't even budge hearing her name from that familiar voice, barely even budge when the owner of that familiar voice held no fear of the reality fractures & flew over the destruction to reach her, barely budged when the arms of that familiar voiced took a hold of her to move the weeping woman into her lap.

"..."

"Suzanne!"

"... Ann...."

"Yes, it's me. It's your sister." Suzanne's voice sounded so broken, it torn away pieces at Ann's heart. "Are you okay? I'm sorry I wasn't here."

A deadly silence befell the room. Scarlet eyes that could once burn so bright, were left dark & hollow, blacker even then the onyx color they were in her living years. It was like Suzanne, this devil, were empty. As if her heart stopped beating, & there was nothing giving her fuel, yet her soul refused to exit her body, refused to leave, forcing her to stay trapped in this existence. Stains of tears, & still wet ones, ran down her cheeks to furiously, it's as if they were to become permanently marks upon her skin. There are cuts & bruises everywhere too, the backlash from the destruction she caused in her own realm, & the amount of her power she must of used. Suzanne was, put simply, the picture of a broken woman.

"... Ann... he's... Adam's... gone." When that broken woman finally spoke, her words only made Ann blink, unsure of what she meant by 'gone'. The first thought that came to her head was that Suzanne knew, that Adam's Heaven found out about their relationship & was keeping him away. But no. It was Ann this time that didn't know, only proved when the devil reached under herself, showing something she had be cradled around.

A spider lily. Yellow, glowing, almost golden.

'Sick shades. I gotta pair too. You’re officially in the cool club. Congrats.'

"... W-what...?" Ann knew what this meant. Suzanne explained the property she'd given these flowers in her realm, they hold the memories of the dead... & the yellow color indicated the memories within were from a divine being. A dead divine being. Adam was... dead?

"... I... I looked at them... I saw... everything."

"... Suzanne... I'm... I'm s-"

"-Don't. Please." It was a broken hearted pled. So broken that it took pieces of Ann own heart. Sue understood, she did, she understood why Ann kept this from her, & why she inserted herself so much in her love life this time. Really, if not for Ann, Sue would have done something stupid, something that... would have certain gotten her killed... permanently... as tempting as that was right now.

The angel could... only sigh. Sitting down properly, & moving the devil's head into her lap. Their more tears now, more from Suzanne, her beautiful face now just a river of sorrows, & Ann too, with little dibbles of tears forming at the edge of her primary eyes. Sue loved him, it was her first honest love, & Ann, for as much as Adam annoyed her, she still cared for him a great deal. What will they tell John & Rosa now? Adam just 'had' to be ripped away from them, & for what?

Rules & things you don't fully understand.

And for time unknowing, they did sit there. And simply allow their emotions out. Silent tears wept in the memory of a man who, though troubled extensively & acted crass, was good at heart. Who was loved in more then a single sense. Whom was never allowed happiness everlasting...

"̷͙̜͎̪̺̠̇͠.̶̢̡̡̛̥̣͎͋̊͗.̴̛̱͚̯̘̥̹̹̮̇̾̈́͊̔͂̚ͅ.̷̯̖͔̞͉̗͚͓̈́͊̽̊̀́̚̕ ̶̤͖̫̜̩͚̲̺̠̆̈̒̋͊̈́̐͐͒̈́Ï̵̡͕̼̲̯̞̀͌̍̅͆͛̚͜͝ ̴̧̼̱̻̹̫̥̙͂͜a̶̛̛͕̩̖̮̦̤̻̘̘̺̒̎͊̈́̾m̸̨̛̞̟͕̙̠̝̳͕͌͋͜͝.̶̡͕͖̫̬̝͖̔͋̿̆̈́͊̈̚͜ͅ.̴̻̣̺̠̙̤͎̙́̄̀.̴̘̙́̎̀̌͌́̇ ̴̢̨̤͎͚̰͎̇̈́͌ṋ̶̺͓̙͖̮̝͂͗͛͠ȇ̴̡̥͎̠̗̬͇́̇̔v̴̥̈́͛͠e̷͕̫̝͌͒̈́̀͆̈́̈́r̶̢̲̺̗̰̾̈͆́́̊͝.̷͇̱͖̱̳͕̖́͑̔͂̈́͛̄͘̚ͅ.̴̦͊̂.̴̧̢̨͍͙͚̼̭͈͐̐̈͊̌̇̾̓̉̔ ̴͚͚͎͋̏̾̅̾̓͊̂ğ̵̛̮̳̩̙͌̈́̓̈́̌̓̀͛ö̷͍͍́̋͆͑̀̚i̶̛͉̖͚͐͠͠n̴̺̭̻̺̎̇̌̃̚ģ̵̢̼͙͕̹̔͂́͘͘̚ ̶̢̬̹̭͇̮̳̦̂͜ͅt̴̹̘͕̲̗͝ơ̸̩̥̱̎̓͌͆͂̀̾ ̶̡̨̜̣̪͙̭̀̈͗̓̎̽̽f̵̫̪̒̑̕͜o̵̖̓̇̀͠͝r̵̡͈̮̞͚̻̯͍̊̏͌̀̓͋̒̿̚g̸̛͎͒̀i̵̡̛͈͙̤͔̹̙̒v̵̢͙̲̦̩̄͛̄͛͋̌͐͜e̷̡̥͚͖̩̿̒͋͐̀͋̑̀ ̵̻͕͗̀͌̈͝t̶̡̛̘̗̯̹̞͔̀̂̄̀̍̈́̂̒h̷̨̛̞͖̬̞͚̙͇̠͆͌͒̀̈̐̂̕͠ȩ̷̙͙̠̣͍̐̐ͅm̸̛͕̃̓̒̅̌̚͘͘͠.̵̧̯̺͉̪̳͖̹͋́̎͝"̷̨̝͖̠̻̿̚͝

"̶̛̫̺̥̜͈̙̮̭͉̏̍͒͒̓͝.̷̨̢̛̱̟̩͔͓̫̻̟̓̈́̿̾͋͝.̷̡̧̮̙̞̠̠̦͉̇̏́̊͛͑̋͗̄.̶̘͕͌́̓̉͠ ̴̡̺̏̌̐̀͘Ñ̴̗̖̥e̷̜̗̦̖̓̍͑̾̃̐͆͠͝i̶͓̓̔́̐̈́̓t̴͖͋͐̑̄̓̚͜͜͝h̴͈̋̈́̓̃̍̍͠è̸̬͒͒͝r̸̲̪̱͓̙̳͔̦̰̻̅̎̾̓̎̈́͗́͝ ̸̼̖̠̫̻͎̲́̊̿̄a̴̢̲̍͑̐̓͆m̸̨̛̗̮͗̂͒̅̽̂̈͘͜ ̶͉̲̼̔̒̂̕Ĭ̴̟̗̹͐̿̇̽̈̌͘.̷̞̗̟̹̆̑̌͂"̷̣̹͐̊̎̅̏̆͒͐͝͝

Amidst the sorrow, there is a joint venom in spoken. Amidst a echoing cosmos will with a choir of idols, false & true alike, there is the rumbling of unknown creature that stuck instantons fear into even the bravest of hearts. Something that could cause the weakest of creatures to possibly explode upon hearing it, it's a holy wrath heaven & hell alike would fear, an all consuming beast that washes down everything in scope. Suzanne more then ever just wanted to be the devil she is & destroy.

But she knows, they both very well know, that if they tried to intact that wrath upon the Heaven & Hell across the Cosmos, they are unlikely to survive. It is just that knowledge that's keeping Suzanne at bay, the knowledge that their father & mother would never recover if they lost one of their daughters, there is still people here who love her so much, losing her would do the same unrepairable damage to them that's be done to her.

But... if that rage overtakes the devil & she acts on it... the angel will go with her. Ann has always been at Suzanne's side, always, the term 'Ride or Die' fit the amount of loyalty they had to each other. So if Suzanne goes on a war path, Ann is going to follow her through it. They might not survive, but they will do damage unreversible to the Heaven that betrayed them & their own First Man, & the Hell that took him from this existence.

[anthonybialy]

Hating Speech

You’re an accomplice.  There’s no appeal, either, so accept the struggle session’s sentence for amity.  The only crime Democrats care about is using mean words they decided make others commit assaults.  The infractions themselves are excused away as the result of poverty they cause or blamed on implements used as long as they feature triggers.  Linking scolding Nancy Pelosi to a madman attacking her husband is the sort of distortion makers of the most tenuous case claim to oppose.  At least they have an accurate example to cite.

Demonizing a foe should be banned.  This is politics we’re discussing.  The First Amendment should end with an asterisk.  As with other fabricated portions of the Constitution like the insurance mandate, education, and separation of church and state, liberals have reached the stage of just shrug off pretending to find justifications.  Pointing out the only ones thriving in such a wretched economy are thieves has been branded hate speech.

A concerted effort to silence foes is particularly adorable from preeners pretending everyone who doesn’t cheer for an insurance mandate like the harmed individual is reveling in an attack.  Ensuring only the side that pretends to care gets to be heard is tougher to do on Twitter now that Elon Musk has the app in his pocket.  But the dinosaur legacy media is doing its best to connect everyone noting that Paul’s spouse’s beliefs are as unconstitutional as they are daft to a lone disturbed assailant.

The list of violations you shamefully haven’t proclaimed you oppose is virtually endless.  Demanding Republicans condemn one particular attack implies culpability.  The faction in question is already outraged by crime, including the numerous offenses in Pelosi’s district.  Acting as if those who vote differently aren’t upset about misusing a tool on a human is particularly hideous while acting as if incorrect assumptions cause rancor.  Conspirators are responsible for daring to note Nancy remains a hustler and hassler.

Those newly blacklisted from noting the deficiencies of election competitors are similarly prohibited from acknowledging what sounds fishy.  You’re not allowed to challenge the official narrative regarding the hammer wielder heading to the Speaker of the House’s house after reading the Washington Free Beacon’s tweets.  There’s certainly nothing suspicious about how the fiend got inside or if he knew his victim.  For someone who’s gotten rather rich from public service, it seems the representative couldn’t afford working security cameras.  I blame greedy taxpayers for not paying a selfless public servant enough.

Dedicated foes of using paying governmental employees to enforce laws suddenly trusts everything the police claim.  There’s finally a crime liberals condemn.  Haters of every cop not involved in this particular arrest seem rather nonchalant about constant transgressions against San Franciscans who aren’t married to prominent congressional Democrats.

An excuse to stifle criticism is especially rich from those who have concluded they don’t have political opponents but enemies.  When one concludes government fixes everything, anyone thinking otherwise therefore keeps society from purring.  Progress is thwarted by liberty, according to advocates of involving government with every life aspect.  It’s logical in its illogical way just like everything else the state’s cultists goofily proclaim.

The media should be aware it relies on free speech to do its job.  Newsroom partisans ironically use false charges to inflame hate.  But this is no time for self-reflection.  Eminently skilled journalists have concluded the attacker was motivated by conservatives who note the present Speaker of the House uses federal power to bully the rest of us while she enriches herself.  Sure, there’s nothing trifling like evidence.  But interrupting the narrative throws off Democrats who sure aren’t going to win elections by gesturing to results.

It might just be possible that someone willing to hurt another is unbound by rationality.  This particular criminal appears to be a delusional human who doesn’t seem to obey any sort of coherent political doctrine.  Lots of Bay Area commune dwellers are renowned for heeding complaints about present meddlesome tendencies of the House of Representatives.  Reality-based intellectuals still think Sarah Palin’s map spurred a murder spree.

Affiliation is a magic spell that changes everything.  Take Steve Scalise getting vilified as a chief fiend before a prototypical loser proved he sucked as assassinations, too.  Presently indignant Democrats didn’t seem particularly worried that treating a Republican like Adolf Satan would provoke a deranged and dedicated liberal to try to murder his target at baseball practice.  That’s unless you count Joy Reid’s gloating as compassionate.

Most of us learn that words are not actions around kindergarten.  Of course, most of us also figure out that printing money to get rich has a catch around the same time.  Liberals who downplay actual incursions against others sure find lots of words to be felonious.  Those using colorful language to mock politicians are not responsible for lunatics taking rhetoric to heart.  The only thing keeping sanctimonious speech enemies from blaming Martin Scorsese for the attempted killing of Ronald Reagan is the latter’s affiliation.

Endure your lecture from very calm partisans who think conservatives want poor people to starve.  They crave controlling women by noticing sonograms.  And anyone who notices criminals disregard gun-free zone signs want children who are born to be murdered.  Professional slanderers think everyone else wishes harm on those who dissent, too.

[volturialice]

How do you think Jasper handled his gift when they joined the Cullens?

I personally headcanon that Alice and Jasper made them aware of its existence, however Jasper refrained from using the 'active' part of it (influencing others) for a good while out of respect for the Cullen's personal boundries and because he wanted to avoid them thinking he 'made' them like him and Alice.

He was miserable during most of that time because of suddenly being around six vampires with very different emotional climates and feeling them all at the same time is not fun (yes, newborns, but they are mostly anger and thirst, so one ball of the same emotions while Emmett could totally be entertained seeing Rosalie and Edward fight, Esme could fear for the life of her new antique dresser and Alice could be bored because she saw the argument and its outcome already) but he did it anyway because he did not want to risk ruining Alice's dream of a belonging to that family.

Looking forward to reading youe thoughts!

love this question. innnteresting! I know @jessicanjpa has kind of the opposite take, that jasper was so paranoid he used his ability on the others without telling them about it for the first while.

I myself have honestly never thought about it, but I like both? I can see things going either way, depending on how well alice had managed to convince him of their safety at that point, whether he had taught her to fight yet, and various other factors.

I have to kinda disagree with that last paragraph—I don't think disparate emotions would feel as bad as uniform-but-overwhelmingly-negative ones. if anything, I would imagine it creates more equilibrium, closer to how a normal, non-pathokinetic person experiences a range of emotions over their day. I bet the emotions of the cullens, where any negativity is mostly limited to the ongoing edward vs rosalie rancor and (probably) some healthy general suspicion of jasper and alice as newcomers, would seem like a cakewalk after the years of violence and backstabbing in the vampire army, horrifying death throes of human prey, and even the awkward pity of peter and charlotte. jasper even says in eclipse that "this is a climate I enjoy." I'm sure it was an adjustment after hanging out with only alice for years, but it seems to me like a relatively easy one, especially considering alice is his #1 emotional connection and she must have been delirious with joy and excitement for that initial period.

but yes, I think you're right on the money that however the truth of jasper's gift came out, there would have to be a conversation about boundaries. I think rosalie in particular would be like absolutely NOT, don't you DARE influence my emotions. edward too—he's a self-admitted masochist, I think he would consider any kind of artificial mood-lifting to be Cheating And Cowardly—he thinks he deserves to suffer. esme and emmett wouldn't much care, especially once they got to know and trust jasper a bit. carlisle would be mainly concerned that jasper use his influence respectfully, and not for personal gain or long-term manipulation, and then pretty hands-off after those caveats.

in the books jasper seems to deploy his gift whenever however, with zero permission and total impunity (see: knocking bella fully unconscious with a pathokinetic crowbar to the head.) but to me that feels like yet another case of smeyer using something As The Plot Demands and not bothering to consider the full implications. she retconned jasper's gift into being "physical," she retconned him into having basically the power of invisibility in midnight sun...,it doesn't exactly smack of thoughtful worldbuilding and characterization to me. super fun and interesting to play around with for us fans, though!

[burnwater13]

Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, and the two Gamorrean guards entering Garsa Fwip's cantina, The Sanctuary. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 1, Stranger in a Strange Land. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu couldn’t count how many times he’d heard the advice, “Things would go a lot smoother if you accepted their ways.” People didn’t always say it that way of course, but the meaning was the same. Don’t argue, don’t change, don’t offend, don’t be different. He hated this advice. He was surprised that Fennec had ever said to Daimyo Fett. When was the last time that she accepted anyone else’s way of doing something?

The first question he always had was why was something being ‘smooth’ worth the trouble of accepting something that was unacceptable? The second question he always had was why did people recommend this when they were talking about folks who were currently in power? No one ever asked other people to accept Grogu’s way of doing things. That didn’t seem fair.

Sure, he and the Mandalorian were very different people. The ways the Jedi and Mandalorians did things were very different. But as far as Grogu could tell, each group had strengths and weaknesses. How would you learn a better way to do things if you always followed someone else? Or if you only followed your own culture? 

Uff. He groaned at that thought. This sort of thing always cut both ways. If you accepted someone else’s ways then you could blend in, evaluate, and not get in trouble. But what if their way was about being cruel to small green boys who were just trying to make their way in a large, mostly hostile, galaxy? The Imps had been in control of their galaxy for half (ish) of Grogu’s life. Should he have become an Inquisitor just to make things ‘smooth’ for himself? 

He didn’t think that was a very good idea. On the other hand, he might have been able to help the Mandalorian retrieve the parts to the Razor Crest if he’d been able to be accepted by the Jawas and followed their ways, at least for enough time to get that stuff back. And, the Jawas wouldn’t have been disrupted for real. Now that had value. 

Grogu didn’t know who to talk to about this kind of thing. If he talked to his dad, the Mandalorian would explain that the Creed was the Creed. When he was young boy he’d sworn to uphold it. He took being honorable seriously and had done his best over his life to fulfill that pledge. 

But he’d broken that pledge when Grogu asked him to. He’d taken his helmet off and let people see his face. Let Grogu see his face. From Grogu’s perspective that was very honorable. It just wasn’t honorable under the Mandalorian Creed. So how could that happen? Here it’s okay; there it’s not okay? It was very confusing.

He would have asked the Daimyo or Fennec about it, but it was clear that they both agreed and disagreed with the sentiment. It was like they had their own personal Creed and they followed it as best they could. If it didn’t help, they changed. Sort of. When they gave their word it was worth something. They had both helped his dad save him from the Imps. Grogu would call that honorable.

Grogu thought about talking to the Majordomo or Peli, or even the rancor trainer, but none of them were available and he was pretty sure that they would have just confused him even more. Peli would have said that she always made things smoother for her customers. That’s why she spoke so many languages and understood so many customs. But she also had the Jawas steal and resell parts for their ships and speeders because ‘Baby needs a new pair of boots’ and her nickname was ‘Baby’ according to the pit droids.

If he asked the Majordomo, Grogu was certain that he would get the longest answer that wasn’t an answer. It was a skill that people trained in diplomacy honed and practiced according to Fennec. Grogu had witnessed that up close and personal and didn’t need a refresher. 

Which is why he thought about talking to the rancor trainer. But then he recalled their last conversation about a fairly esoteric topic related to morals, beliefs, and actions. The trainer’s reply had been short and to the point. He became a rancor trainer because it required less nuance than working for the Imps. You feed a rancor. You run it through training exercises. You praise it. Give it treats and let it sleep. Then you do it all over again. Simple. Consistent. Unremarkable.

Grogu envied him the ability to be focused on just one thing. But when you curiosity is as large as your coverall, you ponder things and investigate and try to learn. 

“Know your priorities. The Force will guide you.”

Ahhh. Grogu had wondered if the Monks had heard him thinking so loudly as he wondered about their monastery. He looked around and saw the spider-like droid with the monk’s brain in a jar mounted to it’s underbelly just passing through an archway, as it scuttled away from Grogu’s position. 

Grogu supposed that was the best advice he could have hoped for. He had to know what he wanted from himself and what he would accept from others. He knew the Force would want him to remain in balance with it and that meant making choices that supported that balance. You couldn’t always say yes. You couldn’t always say no. But some times you said yes, when you had once said no because things had changed enough to require a different answer. 

He sighed. That was a lot of thinking. Now he just wanted something to eat. It was his way of celebrating a hard fought battle, even though it had been with himself. It was one of the ways he made things go smoother… for himself.

Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, and the Gamorrean guards, walking through the Streets of Mos Espa, Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 1, Stranger in a Strange Land.

[emmys-grimoire]

Lesson 65 Summary & Analysis, Part 2

Finally, some good FOOD. There's some things in this lesson that are easy to gloss over, so I'm pointing them out here. They need the screenshots.

The Reapers

I touched on this in part 1, but apparently Reapers are a race. They're born Reapers and presumably die Reapers, and they're considered unaligned. I'm not terribly fond of this choice because it begs the following questions:

Where are they from?

How were they made?

Why are they entrusted with the souls of everyone else?

Why do they hang out in caves lol?

I'm not sure if Solmare has thought about the answers to these questions.

Lucifer and Raphael

Another point of interest: Lucifer and Raphael have an unusually cordial reunion.

Worth keeping in mind that the last time these two saw each other was in the Great Celestial War, and they were on opposite sides and ready to kill each other.

Which leads me to believe that:

Time heals everything (lol) and Lucifer is willing to put aside his rancor for the sake of Diavolo's dream OR

For some reason, Lucifer does not blame Michael/Raphael/Simeon/the others for what happened and forgives them for the role they played

I'm more inclined to believe the latter because Lucifer is very quick to try to warn Raphael about Thirteen's trap before you can step in and save him:

So... Lucifer cares about Raphael.

Simeon and Raphael

By contrast, Simeon does not seem thrilled by Raphael's inclusion in the exchange program.

Mammon and Levi are spooked, but the other angel present? No comment. Raphael seems to trigger ellipsis mode Simeon more than anyone else (this happened in the S3 cliffhanger too). I think Raphael being here is directly linked to Simeon losing his powers. I think Michael has replaced him in whatever scheme they hinted at him having in the beginning of S3.

Simeon's Powers

We find out in the subnode that they be gone.

The implications are serious, because that likely means that Father has turned them off and he's displeased with Simeon for whatever reason. Simeon has not fallen, though, which makes me suspect we'll find a way to redeem him by the end of the season... or they'll be permanently gone (lol we never saw them outside of his TSL predictions anyway) and he'll be essentially turned human.

Lucifer of course lies poorly and insists he isn't concerned about Simeon. We all know he is.

Solomon's Grimoire

We learned in S1 and S3 that grimoires are demon souls and seem to be a demon codex that tell you everything you may want to know about a particular demon. It's clear they're very important and dangerous, and a demon giving a human their grimoire is the ultimate sign of trust.

Which one of these is Solomon casually carrying around with him?

I really hope they're not just turning them into spellbooks (which they conventionally are) for the sake of a plot macguffin.

My guess is one of the tertiary demons we've heard about (Dantalion, Astaroth, etc.) I'm intrigued either way.

[hansoulo]

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

hi

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver.  “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

 “Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of  strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.  

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting.  “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

[monako-jinn-stories]

I would really like some Sans with reader comedic fluff if that’s okay? I just imagine Sans swamped with paperwork and reader whose supposed to be helping him (or vice versa) but they just keep saying stupid puns and pick up lines or they just keep being a slight inconvenience to the point where it gets a little bit funny. Also I love your work so much!

Hello my dear anon, of course you can request this! Thank you so much for asking about my favorite man, I’m so glad others love him like I do! <3💜

Sans X GN!Reader

Distractions

Master List

Warnings:

None, just some silly Sans fluff!

You’ve been at your desk all day, working out issues and signing things for Dohbar. Kwol had once again let things slide until you had to step in and deal with them. Important laws and orders, renewals of treaties, new agreements, they’d all been neglected. Of course you know he leads the army, and you understand that training and leading the army took lots of time, but in times of peace, like your planet has been in since even before he took over command, there is more than enough time to do some paperwork.

“You’re so dead when I come home next,” you mumble to yourself, hoping that Kwol senses your annoyance with him. A few moments later, there’s a gentle knock on the door, and without looking up you wave a hand and open it.

“I sensed that you were annoyed,” your commander says from the doorway. You just huff, scrolling on your datapad as your eyes read the information.

“You said you’d be done by now,” he presses, moving to stand over your shoulder.

“I didn’t realize how much of his duties Kwol had decided to neglect,” you retort, waving your datapad briefly in his direction.

“Hey, I’m not Kwol, don’t get snippy with me,” Sans jokes, but all he gets from you is a deep exhale as you sign another document. He watches you for a second before his eyes sparkle with mischief, and he moves around to sit on the front of your desk, his back to you.

“You know,” he starts, pretending to look around the room, “you need more decorations in here. I think a nice shirtless pinup of me flexing would look great right over there.” He waits for your reaction, but when he doesn’t get one he turns and looks at you. You only briefly draw your eyes away from your screen to give him an eye roll. Your disinterest, however, doesn’t stop him from his teasing, it only urges him on.

“I may not be much of a gambler, but I’d say the chances of me taking you home tonight are pretty high.”

“Was that supposed to be good?”

“No, it was just supposed to get your attention,” he teases. “It seems to have worked.” You shake your head briefly, ignoring the way Sans is smirking at you.

“So, any attractive people stop by and give you a visit today?”

“Nope. Only one very annoying womp rat that wouldn’t let me focus.”

“Ouch. I’m at least worthy of being called a rancor. You know, big, strong, powerful-“

“A pain in my ass,” you add, raising a brow briefly as you look up at him. He just chuckles, ignoring your little insults as he knows you’re just messing around, despite your tone. He’s silent for a few more minutes, but doesn’t stop in his little distractions. As he sits on your desk, he picks up random things, examining them and sometimes briefly playing with them, or reading them, before placing them somewhere else.

“If you’re going to touch my stuff, put it back where you got it,” you say as you sign against an unnecessary law.

“What happened to that picture I gave you?” Sans asks as he looks around. “The one of me laying shirtless in the pile of flowers?”

“Bottom left drawer,” you respond, briefly waving your hand to open it. Sans peers into it and laughs, taking it out and setting it on one of your shelves. You take a brief moment to readjust in your seat, stretching your arms out before resting your elbows on your desk. The glow of the datapad blurs in your hand for a second before you shake away the tiredness. Sans wanders back over then, again sitting on your desk, but this time laying back, and you move your arms to rest on his chest as his head rests near the edge.

“Your nose looks cute from this angle,” he comments, and you subconsciously scrunch it as his words.

“You like looking up inside it?”

“No, but the shape looks funny. Cute, but funny.” You ignore him again, scrolling to another part of the treaty you were supposed to renew. Sans lifted his head then, blocking your view of the words.

“Dohbar shall grant further peace and assistance to Naboo, and Naboo shall do the same for Dohbar- hey!” Sans says as you move the datapad so you could see again, “I was reading that.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the way you were saying the words out loud,” you sarcastically respond, and he just drops his head back down again.

“I think I should get to be king for a day.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “I’d love to see how that would go.”

“What, you don’t think I’d be a good king?” he asks before sliding off your desk and standing in front of it. He fixes his messy hair, straightens out his clothes, throws his shoulders back and stands in a way that made him look like he was attempting to be regal.

“Citizen Jinn, I hereby grant you full access to my palace, and all rooms within, especially my personal quarters,” he says, giving you a wink. You can’t help the small smirk that flashes over your lips, shaking your head briefly at him.

“That’s not anywhere close to what being royalty is like,” you comment.

“Huh, is being royalty just sitting here signing a bunch of different things?”

“Well, when Kwol doesn’t want to do his duties, yes.”

“Hmm,” he hums, looking around the room again. He spots your small radio and grins to himself as he walks over to it. He turns it on and flips through the stations until he finds the one that plays at 79’s bar, and turns it up to a level that is almost distracting.

“Wooooo, I love this song,” he says, starting to dance around the room. “You should take a break and dance, get some energy out.”

“I’m busy,” you say shortly, opening a new document.

“That’s a shame, this is a lot of fun.” Sans spins around, pumping his arms in the air and giving a few shakes of his rear. He makes sure to stand where he knows you can see, trying to get you to crack another smile. When he looks back at you, you quickly look back down as if you hadn’t been watching, your grin fading as if it had never been there, but Sans internally counts it as a win. He decides to shimmy his chest in your direction, and it takes all your focus to not give him any sort of reaction.

“Don’t you want to dance with me, mesh’la?” he asks, swaying his body and running his hands down his sides.

“I want to get through these documents,” you respond, and he gives a deep sigh, still dancing on his own.

“I guess I’ll have to try and romantically dip myself,” he says, leaning back and falling as he loses his balance.

With a wave of your hand, the music stops, earning a small huff from Sans who has stood back up.

“Party pooper,” he mumbles, resting his hands on his hips as he looks at your concentrated expression. He wanders to the front of your desk and kneels down, peering over the top with wide eyes. After a minute he slowly reaches up and pokes your nose, earning a quick glare from you. He just pokes you again, and this time you decide to react by biting his finger.

“Ow!” he says, pulling his hand back and rubbing his finger. “I know you like to bite, but keep it to the right times.”

“I’m trying to work, Sans,” you say, a hint of annoyance lacing your words.

“I can see that,” he responds. “That’s why I’m trying to distract you.”

Your eyes light up for a second as you watch your screen, a hopeful feeling settling over you as the screen remains blank. You pray to the Maker that this was it, that you had reached the end, but then after another few seconds, a new document loads. You groan, shoulders sagging as you set about reading it.

“I think you should be done with that for the night,” Sans says, his playful tone slipping away for a more serious one.

“I’m not finished though,” you reply, furrowing your brows as you read.

“You’re going to be here until the morning if you don’t find a stopping point,” he states.

“Just let me finish, okay? It won’t be much longer…probably.”

“You said earlier that you’d be done by 1800, and it’s 2100.”

“I know, Sans. I’ve been trying, okay? But your distractions aren’t helping either.”

“Come on, let’s just go for tonight, y/n,” Sans says, moving to stand in front of you.

“But I have to-“

“Meshla, you’ve done enough for today. It’ll be here tomorrow, you deserve a break to rest. Your eyes have got to be strained.”

“They are,” you sigh, resting your head back and rubbing your neck.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” he asks softly, moving closer and sliding his hand under yours to message your neck. You relax into his touch, a small sigh leaving your mouth at the relief.

“Okay,” you agree finally, and before you can go to stand up, Sans sweeps you up into his arms and grins down at you.

“I can walk, Sans,” you laugh, but he just shakes his head.

“Nope, I’m taking care of you. No more working for the rest of the night.”

“I’ve been sitting there all day, I’m stiff,” you counter. He pauses for a second, brows furrowing before he shakes his head.

“Too bad. You can stretch out when we get to your quarters, but before then no work.” You roll your eyes but smile, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. He smiles down at you, bending slightly to gently place a kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. You peer out with an eye and wave your hand briefly, earning a quick reaction from him.

“Hey! I said no more work!”

“You left the light on!” you giggle, and he just sticks his tongue out at you before continuing on. A few people give you strange looks, but neither of your mind as Sans carries you. You feel like you could fall asleep in his arms, his body warm and comforting as he holds you close, feeling the slight bounces with each step he takes. When he reaches your quarters, you barely lift your head as he opens the door and takes you inside. He sets you down on the couch, and you let out a tiny whine at the loss of his heat.

“What? I thought I was distracting? I don’t want to distract you from your sleep,” he laughs as he looks down at you.

“Oh, shut up,” you say, grabbing a blanket and snuggling up in it. He just laughs again, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. He breaks away however when your stomach gives a particularly loud rumble.

“Mesh’la, when was the last time you ate?” he asks, and you purse your lips while looking away.

“Breakfast this morning,” you mumble, and you hear him tsk at you.

“I’m making you food, and then we can cuddle up, okay?”

“Okay, sir,” you tease, and he gives you a sly grin before going to the kitchen. You take the brief time to rest, because though your body hasn’t done much, your mind is full and very exhausted. You don’t realize it when you fall asleep, only waking up when you feel a nose gently brush against your own, long curls from a certain someone tickling your forehead. You giggle quietly, tilting your head ever so slightly so that your lips would meet Sans’s. He smiles into the kiss before pulling back and nodding towards the table.

“Dinner is ready,” he says.

“Carry me?” you ask jokingly, but he takes it seriously and scoops you up again. He sets you down on your chair before moving around to sit on his own. You happily eat the meal he’s prepared, and though he’s not much of a cook, you enjoy every bit of it. Once you’re satisfied, you hurry back to the couch and plop down, arms wide open, waiting for him to join you. He chuckles at your actions, laying down and grabbing you so that you’re resting on him. You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes and resting your cheek against his, noses barely touching. He holds you close, arms securely around you as your legs tangle.

Sans might be a distraction, but he’s the only one you’d happily welcome. With a bit of encouragement, that is.

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