#twitchy!blaster

[gatorbites-imagines]

Boba Fett w gun play? I feel like he’d definitely appreciate a reader who knows his way around a blaster haha.

Boba Fett x male reader

headcanons

I can imagine Boba likes a partner who knows their way around any weapon. This is bounty hunter Boba, before he ends up in the sarlacc. I just think Boba being so turned on by his partner being dangerous is so Mandalorian.

You were a fellow bounty hunter, your specialty was force users and the highly skilled. This didn’t mean you just hunted Jedi, but all force users, and by God were you good at it.

You and Boba met when put on the same bounty, some extremely skilled warlord that ruled an entire cluster of planets. Working together you guys were able to take him down, and Boba got the first glance of how skilled you were with a blaster.

After that you two became allies, then friends, and then lovers. It was a slow process, as bounty hunters don’t trust easy, especially other bounty hunters. But Boba was younger at the time, and cockier than he is in the future, so he doesn’t give up.

Even before you guys started dating, seeing you fight always left him feeling heated and hot blooded, his codpiece fitting uncomfortably with how hard it made him to see you flip your blaster in and out of its holster and switch to a different weapon.

He knew he was head over heels when you pointed a blaster in one of the gaps in his armor, digging it into his flightsuit and leaving a mark, threatening to kill him right then and there. And instead of fear, he felt like he was gonna burst inside his flightsuit.

It was better than any adult entertainment for Boba to see you cleaning your blasters. To see you take them apart piece by piece, clean them up, and click it back together again, always had him panting to himself.

It takes a bit for you to realize just what kind of effect you have on Boba. Because of his cockier attitude and just being younger than he is in the Mandalorian series, hes got a higher drive and is more grabby.

It’s not unusual for Boba to come up behind you and squeeze your hips and ass, or for him to say all kinds of dirty things over comms during bounties. But he is especially twitchy and antsy when you show off.

It hits you just how much he likes it when he walks into your shared room to see you sitting there in nothing but your boxers, trying to fix a jam in one of your blasters, and he turns right on his heel to march into the fresher to get off.

Even when he comes back out of the fresher without his armor, he still stares a little too intensely when you finally fix the blaster. If he hadn’t just gotten off, Boba would probably have popped a stiffy again.

From then on you start to show off on purpose, using a blaster when you don’t actually need too, or maybe handling your weapons a little more lewdly.

Like, theres no reason for you to lick one of your knives, or use spit to clean up a spot on your blaster, but you do it anyways, just to see Boba start shuffling around, trying to be subtle about how hard it makes him.

Boba would realize you had him figured out pretty damn fast, because you make a habit out of staring him in the eyes when you are cleaning up the barrel of your blasters with a rag, making sure it gets real clean and shiny.

Neither of you really say anything, and maybe that’s a problem that comes with you both being younger adrenaline hungry bounty hunters, as you guys don’t discuss kink a whole lot either.

One day when you guys are getting steamy, nothing too extreme, just Boba pressed up against the wall, his codpiece off, and flight suit opened, one of your hands twisting and jerking his length, you put your blaster into the mix.

With your other hand, you press the cold barrel of the blaster against his cock, making Boba’s eyes shoot open and immediately look down, his noises growing louder and hungrier, his hips twitching, and pupils blown huge.

He ends up cumming all over your blaster, which you just tsk about and complain about, but you both know its just all for show.

Sometimes to make Boba more desperate, you don’t even have to use the blaster in any way. It just being visible on your belt as him awake and aware, you pretty much pavlov him to get a stiffy when you walk around in little clothes and your blaster on you.

One of Boba’s favorite things you do, is when you make him hold your blaster in his mouth. The safety is always on of course, and its never actually turned on, but it always has his eyes rolling and his cock dripping.

You probably end up with a blaster just for this, since you can’t let Boba slobber all over your actually good blasters, since it could ruin the technology. It is pretty hot to see him flatting his tongue around the barrel like he’s sucking you off though, so sometimes you’ll use your favorite blaster on him.

When he’s older, after the sarlacc, he still has a thing for blasters, and just weapons in general. If you end up allowed to use a garderffii stick by the Tuskens, it gets him as hot and bothered as your blasters used to do in your younger years.

[obidobe]

A little Jango/Obi-wan soulmate au snippet

His chest ached under the bandages, but there wasn’t much more that could be done other than rest and let the bacta do its purpose. He glanced down at Cody curled up into his side, dark curls a stark contrast to the white of the medbay bed linens. As soon as the young boy had woken up for his surgery he had clambered his way into Obi-wan’s room, and then his bed, half sobbing his apologies and that he didn’t mean to shoot him. It wasn’t that long ago Obi-wan had finally got the boy to sleep, tucked in under the covers with him, petting back his curls slowly.

He had been called down to the navigation class Cody was in, Alpha-17 saying something about the boy being extra twitchy, mumbling under his breath and clutching at his forehead as if in pain. Obi-wan had barely received the warning in the force before the two shots were fired, Cody standing there holding out Alpha’s stolen blaster. He hadn’t remembered much after that, just the odd feeling of empty coldness radiating from Cody, the pain of being shot in the chest, and Jango’s panic through their soul mark. 

Boba had been there when he had woken up from surgery, sitting against his thigh playing with a soft block. His father and he had been asked to leave shortly after so he could be looked over. And he hadn’t seen either of them since. On one hand, he was glad, for it meant he had time to process all that was learned from that small chip taken from Cody’s mind. Now Cody was full of warmth once again and Jango was muted, wherever he was now. Obi-wan let go of the data pad in his right hand to shift onto his side with a grimace, but then Cody was held to his chest, nose just brushing the bandage on the side of the young boy’s head. He stared across the way at the small box he knew the chip to be. It had taken Anakin longer than he would have liked to look into it with the help of a few of the older clones. Amongst the number of orders was one to kill the Jedi because they were considered traitors. He forced himself to close his eyes, cutting his vision from the accursed thing. At least they knew now and were slowly dechipping the rest of the boys, trying their best to do it as quickly as they safely could. 

He wanted to know if Jango knew, needed to know, but he was in no shape for such a conversation even if he could get out of bed to find the man to have it. For now, he’d focus on taking care of their boys and healing. The nagging thought that Jango knew about the chips lingering behind it all. 

[brightdarkness-2013]

Chapter 7: I didn't think I'd reach 7...

Summary:Prowl refuses m&ms! Gasp!

Prowl hadn’t left the cove in over a week. He didn’t look terrified anymore, but no matter what we did he refused to leave. No amount of m&ms could get him to even approach the mouth of the cove. He was twitchy and now preferred to lay close to the ledge we sat on instead of on his little perch to watch us. We had hoped that he would be fine given time, but so far there was no change for the better. This wing fins would twitch and flick and the low whines had all but stopped to be replaced by tense silence. The calls for his pod at night had ceased and that was the most concerning. We were struggling to figure out what had caused this. He was still eating and he didn’t appear to show an signs of being sick, but then again we hardly knew anything about mers. Things had been going fine before. He seemed fine, happy even. Until we approached the construction site. What about the construction site had scared him so much? No one had been there. It was vacant of any people at the time. It was just concrete and machinery. We had passed plenty of buildings and structures on the way there.

“I really wish I could talk to ya, Prowl.” I sighed as I traced the long dorsal fin that went along his tail. “Can’t ya do something to give me sign? A hint? Something?”

Prowl didn’t even look up this time. It really hurt to see him like this. I counted my blessings that he was still eating and listened when we whistled even if it was nothing, but nonsense to him.

“Ya know we’re both really worried about ya… Come on, pal, look at me. Prowls. Prowler, please. What happened? We can’t help ya if you don’t give us a hint or something.”

The most I got was a flick of a wing fin, but that wasn’t much when that tended to happen a lot lately. I blew out a sigh through my nose as I traced the fin. There was a soft pulse at the base of it and it was a lot softer than the rest of him. Lighter. Thinner and definitely more fragile than any of his other fins. It was funny in a way. He had guarded these fins and wouldn’t let us near them before and now he just let us touch them without so much as a growl or a glare.

“What are we supposed to do here, Prowl? We don’t know how to help you.” I spoke more to myself, my voice echoing off the walls of the once warm and friendly cove. “We don’t know much about mers. Blasters the closest you’ve got right now and even he has very limited knowledge. Most he has is warnings of not to go too close to your nests and what not.”

The sound of the water reigned for a time. Blaster had reluctantly left nearly an hour ago now and I needed to go too very soon. I had school in the morning, but I really didn’t want to leave him. If I was going to ever get up in time to feed him I had to go though. I wasted several minutes just tracing the fin before I drew my hand back.

“I have to go now.”

That was when he looked up at me. I felt a pang in my chest. His eyes held a deep sorrow and something else I couldn’t seem to place. I wanted to just lay back down and stay and try to ease whatever pain he was feeling.

“I’m sorry, Prowl. I’ll be back in the morning, ok?”

My voice seemed far too loud and I flinched a little. I stood and got a quiet whine. A plea for me not to go. To stay and not leave him alone.

“I can’t stay. I really wish I could, but I can’t. Just hang on until tomorrow, ok?”

Another whine followed me out as I practically fled from the cove. I didn’t look back. If I did then I’d see that hurt look and I couldn’t bear it. I couldn't stay. Then came the louder plea as I sped up the beach. The heartbreaking sound pierced the quiet night air like a knife and easily sent another pang ripping from my chest. I knew he was begging me to stay. He needed me and here I was just walking away. Letting him suffer alone. My pace turned into a stride and then to a run as the sounds followed after me. I swore I could still hear it when I closed the door to my bedroom. I clutched at my chest. My heart was pounding and my breathing ragged. I fell face first onto my bed. Why couldn’t I help him? There had to be something I could do.

444444444444444444 The fours are attacking!Run before they get you!44444444444444

It didn’t take much for me to decide on skipping school that day. One call to my father saying I was sick and I had a free pass. All I had to do was scream into my pillow a bit, lay on my back, and lean my head over the side of the bed to get the sound of having a hoarse voice and maybe a little stuffed up. A sniffle now and then and I was home free. It wasn’t the first time and I was sure it wasn’t going to be the last, but this time it wasn’t to ditch a test or even just get a day off from school. It was so I could keep my mer company. Making sure Nat was out of the house I ate a quick breakfast, packed a lunch, and went to grab my mer his breakfast. He was in the exact same place I had left him last night. He looked up at me as I came in. I sat close to the ledge as I pulled my bag into my lap.

“I told ya I’d be back. I’ll be here all day today. I promise.” I gave him my best smile. “I even got ya your favorite. It was expensive as all hell, but one of the perks to being a richy is not having to worry about cash. Now if only my father didn’t think I needed a part time job I’d have it all. Something about responsibility and what not.”

I talked on and on as I watched him eat. It wasn’t even near as eager as it used to be. He didn’t even glance up at me when I talked.

“Ya know sometimes I think ya understand what I say and other times I’m not so sure. But maybe you’re like the cats of the ocean. Ya just don’t care what I say too much. Just want food and a place to stay. Then again at least then ya looked at me when I talked. Now ya just kinda look off into nothing.” I continued on as I held another piece in the water. “If ya keep this up then we’re gonna have to call the MWPA. I don’t want to have to do it, but they’re more fit to help ya then we probably ever will be. Well Blaster will probably be able to eventually the way he’s going, but not right now. He’s got a ways to go yet. So ya feel like listening to music today? I know ya usually don’t seem to mind when I do it, but ya really seem… I don’t know… I think ya need something to focus on and I figured maybe listening to music with me might help a little.”

I spent the day like that. Leaned against the wall with music playing. I couldn’t tell if it was helping at all, but it was better than silence. Then of course Blaster gave me a disapproving look when he showed up. However he took a seat next to me.

“You know you have no clue if your music could be irritating to his ears or not.”

“He’s never complained about it before.”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “So you skipped to come here.”

“Ya didn’t hear him last night. It was worse than normal. I couldn’t just leave him alone all day. Not like this.”

“I think it’s time we went to the MWPA. If not to tell them then to get some information on mers. Because This,” He gestured to the water. “Is not normal. Even I can tell you it’s not good. He could be dying for all we know.”

“Don’t say that…”

There was another round of silence.

“Blaster, I’ll give ya the cash to grab him dinner. I need to go before Nat gets home. I Am sick today after all.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go. I’ll watch him.”

Next

First

Masterpost

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

-----

Din had been to Nar Shaddaa more times than he could count.

It was a dark and dismal moon, and only the worst of the worst remained there long. The rest going for what they came for, and getting out as soon as they could.

Din had only been here perhaps an hour, and already he could feel the thick toxic smog settling over his lungs, despite having switched the seal on his helmet only ten minutes after arriving.

The tall Mandalorian stood now in a dingy little control room in the top of a tall black tower, which stood in the centre of the imports district, which welcomed thousands of shipments of all kinds of illegal goods a day. But Din was not here to cast judgement on how the criminals here made their money. Not today at least.

Right now Din was here for one thing and one thing alone.

“I shouldn't be doing this, y’know-” came the voice of an old acquaintance of Din’s.

Ghonda was a Mon Calamari who certainly owed Din more than one favour for sparing his life almost a decade ago, and then again three years later. Din had heard that Ghonda was working here a while back, and yet now after all this time, much to Ghonda’s surprise and dismay, Din needed to call in that favour.

“You owe me, Ghonda,” said Din in a low voice. “I could have killed you all those years ago…”

He disengaged the safety on the blaster in his hand with an audible click.

“...and I still can.”

Ghonda gave a visible gulp now, shaking his head. “Ok, ok, keep your beskar on, Mando. Let me just look see.”

Din Djarin was not in the mood to be messed with. He feared he had already delayed too long in getting here and finding wherever Crix may have taken Lysa. And so, with urgent adrenaline pumping through his veins, Din felt twitchy and keen to get out there and start searching for her.

Ghonda, who worked in the imports and cargo control tower, tapped ferociously on the terminal before him, before pausing.

“Ok, I’ve only got three ships on our list that arrived from Nevarro in the last twelve hours,” he said, sitting back a little in his seat, as Din leaned forward to look at them.

Placing his hands to the scroll button he looked at the ships one by one.

The first was a small modified gunner that Din knew would only have fitted a pilot inside, far too small for any men plus Lysa. And the second was a cargo vessel. This time too large to have fitted anywhere near to Jawa territory back on Naboo without being noticed by them.

But the third, which Din paused on, one hand on the dial, was a small-sized freight vessel. It was nothing special at all, but certainly large enough to fit several people inside.

“This one,” said Din in a husky voice. “Do you know where it docked?”

Ghonda tapped the terminal again before he brought up a set of coordinates.

“It’s a hanger bridge on the south-side of Nar Shaddaa,” he said promptly. “I’ll transfer them over to your wrist comm.”

The strap on Din’s wrist dinged a second later.

“So…we even then?” said Ghondu, swivelling in his chair and peering up at Mando.

But Din, eyeing the orange coordinate holo that streamed from his wrist, turned on his heel, not even giving Ghondu a final backwards glance.

“For now…” he murmured in a dark voice, as Ghonda gave a hard sigh, watching the Mandalorian as he left the control room.

----------------

“Where is he?” hissed Xi’an standing at the entrance to the hanger base, peering up at the cloudy night sky above illuminated with an orange light from various advertisement-holos that circled some of the surrounding buildings.

“He’ll be here,” said Ran smoothly. “He ain’t stupid. He’ll have tracked us by now. We left an easy enough trail.”

“I’m going to cut his throat for what he did to my brother,” the Twi’lek snarled.

“An’ my base,” said Ran with a huff. “Don’ you worry. Mando will get what’s comin’ to him.”

--------------

Lysa sat on the floor in a cold, damp side-room of the hanger. Nothing else inside but a thick black slime that seemed to coat the walls, and a high window, far too small for Lysa to have any chance of escaping through, which looked out onto the bridge they had arrived on. 

The ship they had landed in had been swiftly piloted away by the droid soon after Lysa had been taken inside.

Around the corner, Lysa could just about hear the distant voices of the crew that had brought her here. The man known as Ran and the Twi’lek Xi’an. But with the wind howling at this height, she had no chance of hearing what they were saying.

Xi’an, who had thrown her into this makeshift cell, had given a cackle and slammed the door tightly shut behind her, leaving Lysa alone, where she had been for the past hour.

It was cold up here, and Lysa cursed herself for deciding to wear just a long tunic dress this morning after she had left for work. The dress itself was now coated in blood from her blaster wound.

Lysa’s head still throbbed, as did her shoulder now, which had started to ache painfully once more and bleed a little, as the course of bacta spray began to wear off. 

“Come on, you son of a bantha!” Lysa muttered to herself in a desperate voice, as she struggled to free her hands from the wire tie that bound her wrists together.

She knew that escaping would be a fruitless task, being so far away from the safety of Nevarro. But if somehow she could just find her way to a comlink…

Lysa could feel the razor sharp wire cutting painfully into her skin, but she knew just an inch more and-

She gave a cry, gritting her teeth against the pain, but stopped suddenly as she heard the clunk of the door being unlocked, gazing up hurriedly as it slid open before her.

Crix strolled inside the room, a vile smirk plastered over his features. His outfit was all black, with a leather tunic buttoned up to his neck. His salt and pepper hair slicked back from his long tanned features.

“That bacta spray wearing off yet?” he said, rattling a canister in one hand, circling around her, as Lysa shuffled back, watching his every move with tired green eyes. But she didn't reply.

She hated Crix and feared him in equal measure. Only wishing that she hadn't missed when that blaster had been in her hand, all those weeks ago in Din’s cabin.

“Come on now, Lys’,” grinned Crix, crouching down in front of her and tugging her forwards sharply by her bonds. “No hard feelings, huh?”

Lysa before she could stop herself, bared her teeth at him. “I wish I’d killed you when I had the chance-”

But she was cut off by Crix grabbing her chin, and squeezing both cheeks hard with his fingers.

“Yeah but you didn't,” he said with a harsh laugh. “And now look where you are. Tied up and as useless as ever. We’re only keeping you alive long enough for him to watch you die. Like I said, none of this is even about you anymore. You’re just bait.”

He let go of her face, shaving her back a little as Lysa felt her lip tremble but she held it together. As Crix sprayed the bacta spray over Lysa’s blaster wound, sealing it over once more.

“You know when you an’ him left me for dead, I was in that kriffing desert for a day hiding from those Peacekeepers before I sneaked my way back into the city,” he uttered. “I stowed away onto the nearest ship bound for Corulag, and just happened to run into a couple of old friends of mine, who were mightily intrigued to hear about the Mandalorian. Turns out they were old pals of his who he’d double crossed a couple of years back.”

Lysa swallowed as she listened.

“Small world, huh?” continued Crix. “And well that's when we realised we all wanted the same thing. We all want to see the Mandalorian dead. Because of him, Ran lost his base, Xi’an lost her brother. And I lost you.”

Lysa scowled. “I was never yours to lose,” she snarled at him. “Real men don’t treat the women they love like you did-”

But Crix’s eyes seemed to flash at her words as he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back as she let out a cry of pain. And Lysa could only watch as he bared his teeth close to her face, feeling his hot and foul breath on her cheek.

“I never loved you,” he spat. “You hear me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you, Lysa. Cause’ y’know what? A gal like you ain’t worth loving. And at the end of all this…my smilin’  face is the last thing you’re going to see when the light leaves your eyes.”

And with that, he gave her a hard shove backwards, as Lysa whimpered out involuntarily, watching as he rose to his feet and left the room…

…the door sliding shut behind him as he went.

-----------------------------------

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[unchartedcloud]

Light's Long Shadow - Final Chapter

A Clexa Star Wars AU

In the finale of Part 1, Clarke and Lexa come face to face with the person who put the bounty on Clarke's head. Everything goes according to plan...just not their plan.

Bad guys are always one step ahead.

"You're the one behind all of this?" she demands of the human man. Nia stands at his elbow, and seeing the difference in the way she lingered by Titus versus the way she lingers now, Clarke can finally identify what was so weird about her interactions with the former. She looks a lot more like a bodyguard now, and a lot less like a jailer. "You're the one collecting Sith relics?" "Guilty," he answers, splaying both his hands in the air in a kind of shrug, a cocky grin tipping his lips. Clarke thinks she'd very much like to punch that grin right off his face. "After I was exiled, I needed a way to continue my research. Congratulations—you've found it." Not only are the people on the stage now decidedly more threatening-looking, blasters raised and fingers twitchy on the triggers, but a quick glance around the theater tells Clarke that this man has no intention of letting them leave. All around them in the pod balconies, droids in various states of repair rise as if summoned and train blasters on both her and Lexa. "You two know each other, I take it?" Clarke asks, eyebrows raised. Lexa doesn’t respond, but the man does. "We do indeed. I would say we were actually quite close. Wouldn't you, Lexa? "It really is unfortunate you got caught up in all this," the human man says. He stands from the chair, claps his hands together in front of him, and Clarke knows what he's about to do a split second before he says, "But you know how it is. Farewell, Woods."

Read on Ao3.

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #24: No Time To Rest

It’s impossible that they have all made it back here, that they are all sitting around the scrubbed wooden table in the mess eating as they have a hundred times before. The Valjean is drifting in the empty, no stars for miles and precious little traffic this far off the main shipping lanes. The computer will warn them if anything unexpected does come within range - and long before it can see them thanks to Gene’s modifications, but the autopilot can handle it.

They can sit, eat, rest. The whole family back together against impossible odds.

Darrow pulled out of an interrogation chamber and Lee from a prison cell. Gene and David and Jemma all in detention blocks, all subject to the Domain’s various flavours of mental torture, but here and whole and hearty and knowing themselves. He and Rosie and Nico and Casey, no damage but a few bruises and glancing lazer burns, a twisted ankle and lacerated tendril. Their impossible rescue a success. 

They should be able to stop.

And yet, Jay can’t. Some is the residual adrenaline, the nightmares and shakes. The memory every time he closes his eyes of that exo-steel wall that they’d come within millimetres of smearing themselves across, the blast that had missed Nico and Casey by a mere hair with him too far away to do anything, the electrical stun that had nearly ended his too-brief stint in command. More is that the men he has followed much of his life are falling apart.

Lee’s actions have trickled through the crew by now. He keeps to himself, locked in his cabin - for his own safety. Jay would have no hesitation is spacing him. Darrow is almost as reclusive. The betrayal by the man he considered a son has emptied him of spirit far more effectively than the Domain has ever managed. 

David, Gene and Jemma haven’t spoken about their experiences, but they’re all pale, twitchy, jumping at shadows. David had ushered Jay and Rosie and Nico and Casey to the medbay, as he always does, taken one look at his equipment and bolted. Jay had patched them up best he can, guiding Rosie through putting surgical staples down his own clavicle where he couldn’t reach with the help of a mirror and a double dose of pain killers. 

The autopilot can probably handle anything in this area of space, and Jay fervently hopes that that is the case, because no one but him is in any state to answer the alarms. He’s taken to dozing on the bridge, lulled by the gentle beep and whir of the scanners, afraid that if he falls deeply to rest in his cabin he won’t be able to respond to an emergency. When the pull of sleep becomes too seductive, too much the promise of a tide to sweep him away rather than a simple, brief moment, he gets up and walks around.  

He checks and inventories their supplies, determined they can stay here for some time yet. Time enough for someone to heal. 

If they do.

Jay has no idea how to help them. Put a ship and a course before him and there’s no one better, a blaster in hand and a plan of attack - well, hadn’t he proved his skills? Even injuries (his staples pull and itch, but they’ll do, and he knows that the ones he placed in Nico and Casey were far more expert. But this? The terrible loss of self and respect and everything yo u build yourself on that the Domain inflicts?

Darrow and Gene and David have always been so solid, the walls against which Jay has always sheltered. How now to shore up those battlements when their foundations turn out to be made of sand?

He sighs. Checks the plotter once more. Debates weighing anchor and risking the sleep that is weighing down both eyes and mind. 

But they can’t take another battle and the Domain must be searching for them. They are unlikely to simply let half a dozen prisoners including the infamous Darrow slip through their grasp without a murmur. 

How could Lee do this to them? He’s grown up with him, thought him a brother…cousin at least. And more, how can one man destroy everything Jay has built his life on with such catastrophic ease? He’d never thought of Darrow as old before, but now it is easy to see his decades, skin haggard and eyes dimmed. 

Jay checks the board again, determines that nothing will need his attention in the next few minutes and goes to check the engine room. Half his life, the engine room has been Gene’s private domain, entry by invitation only, but Gene too is aged by whatever the Domain did to him. Timid, prone to anxiety and completely shutting down if Jemma is not in immediate sight. She’d cut herself cooking one night, and the engineer had cried. 

Jay never thought he’d bought into the idea that men should act a certain way. Stars know, he cries. Jemma is the strongest of them all. He’s never thought about it, but he’d been horrified by the brawny man’s breakdown as he’d curled against the wall, weeping like a child.

He should have rescued them sooner. Not a mistake he’ll make again, if it drives him mad and sleep deprivation liquifies his brain, he’ll keep the Valjean in perfect working order, on his own if need be. He’ll be ready to go and get them, before they can be hurt like this again. 

[mafiaamongstus]

Character Information: Joris

Name: Joris

Rank: Commander

Designation: Teal

Gender: Nonbinary (She/They/It)

Affiliation: The Government?

Current Status: Stationed on the Mira Colony of Olia

Personality:

Even from a young age, Joris has been obsessed with space. Born during the prime era of Space Travel, everybody knew that Joris would be among the stars during their adult life, so it came at no surprise when they shipped out to Albion Military Base. And serving with the Government did little to dampen her interests. Had their skills not been what they are, they likely would have been written up several times for dismantling the meteor blasters and reassembling them. However, each time came with improvements, and no little boost to their ego. 

War is not without its marks though, and the war did change Joris. Although she still loves space, she finds it hard to be at rest. Others have noted she grows twitchy in large crowds, and some nights she can be found wandering about, staring at the stars. 

Story:

Joris was born an only child to an older couple. As a child, she was introduced to the space program through a special VR field trip, and quickly fell in love with the cosmos. Every year on her birthday, her parents would take them on a trip to the Stickmin Resort and Casino, allowing them to spend a week surrounded by that which she loved most.

As she grew, studying engineering and programming, Joris easily could have become a researcher, signing on with a company to study the stars. Instead however, they decided to join the military, requesting only that they be stationed offworld. 

Joris was initially stationed on Albion, developing weaponry for the soldiers to use. However, when the war started and it became all hands on deck, she was transferred to Polus. They performed constant adjustments to the blasters on-base; and they did everything she could to make sure the living quarters were as comfortable as possible.

And had things progressed as normal, perhaps in a few years when the war ended they would have retired from the military and gone into a more civilian career. Or she could have moved to the Stickmin Resort, joining its new Permanent Housing plan in exchange for helping keep the station running. 

But things ever so rarely go as we want.

And one night, General Joris was caught off base during a heavy snowfall. She was injured, weak, and dying. And that is how the Imposter found her. 

But there was something…different, about this Imposter. It…showed compassion for her. It tried to treat their wound, though it had definite struggles. It spoke with her, revealing that the Imposters were shifting into a new phase. One where they weren’t fighting anymore. Where they would integrate with society, hiding from them forever. 

It revealed that the Imposters were a war ravaged race. Torn apart by a race called the Spiree, the Imposters (or, as it called them, the Kinlings) had only known war for generations. Even after the Spiree shifted to peacekeeping instead of warmongering, the Kinglings lived in fear. They survived by replacing other beings and taking their place. It was pure survival. 

And during the war, the Kinlings had believed that the humans were just the same as the Spiree of old. 

But then a miraculous thing happened. One of the Kinlings had made it to Earth. And they had revealed to the rest of the species that the humans were just as afraid as the Kinlings were. They were done fighting. They were going to stop killing and replacing, and instead, they were going to craft new forms for themselves, integrating into humanity without replacing its members. They were going to hide, for how could they inflict the same pain they had received?

And Joris, dying in the snowbank, realized that she wanted this future that the Kinling spoke of. And although the creature could have been lying, they wanted to believe. They had always loved space and the stars and everything that the galaxy held. Was it so hard to believe that the aliens might want peace too?

In her final act, Joris granted the Kinling permission to replace her. Those last few hours she spent retelling the alien every bit of her life she could think of. They gave it the passwords to her devices, the codes it would need to know. She told them about her family, her friends, and her dreams.

And when she died, the Kinling buried Joris and swore to honor her memory, to live the life that Joris would have wanted. 

It was tested when it returned to base. Standard protocol for anyone who had been outside alone for an extended period of time. But thanks to the information given, she passed and was welcomed back inside. They tore themselves into Joris’s life work, studying and practicing until they could do anything Joris had once done, and beyond.

When the war ended, Joris was afraid to travel to Earth. All she had known was space and the stars and freedom. How could it go to a home where it had never known? Beside that, the real Joris’s parents had died years before it had replaced Joris, and without the structure of the military, Joris feared they might be discovered. 

And so, Joris remained in the military. Although it has considered several times trying to pitch colonization to the government it now serves, fear has held it back. 

Joris enjoyed the companionship of the friends of the real Joris, and was saddened to hear when several of them had died while on earth. As they were promoted to Commander, Joris decided to finally take that leap. They approached the higher ranks with their idea of colonizing Mira, the original home planet of the Kinlings (not that any of them knew that), now that the war had ended. Her request was approved, and she named the colony Olia, after the Commander that had taught her so much about humanity. 

Most of the Olia colony are also Kinlings, though there is a good number of humans present. The goal is to slowly introduce humanity to the idea that the Kinlings no longer which to fight them. Though perhaps…under a different name. After all, the Kinlings are far from the only alien species to possess shapeshifting abilities, and humanity never did call the Kinlings anything but Imposter. 

[sorrow-already-spoiled]

A Light Touch

The planet of Maliv was a shining beacon of light and technology across the vast galaxies, a crowning achievement of human advancement. A billion lights glowed across its surface, rivaling a small sun. Home to the Empire’s monarchy, and its central seat of power in the universe, Maliv was a utopia, casting its shadow long and far. 

The beating heart of the planet was undoubtedly Stellaris Academy, home to only the top 0.01% of candidates. Cadets move with precision, each step and breath calculated and practice-perfect. Neat black cut uniforms adorn their forms, boots and gold buttons polished to a shine. Three colors of arm bands were visible amongst the students. The carmine of sentinels, the azure of nulls, and the vastly outnumbered ivory of guides. The academy produced generals, politicians, cutting edge engineers, diplomats, pilots… Any alumni of the Academy was most assuredly worth something. 

Students of the Academy were hand picked at age 18 to spend the next four years preparing for the rest of their lives. Half of those students would not graduate from the program, the intensive demands of the curriculum leaving them husks of their former selves, dropping out in shame. 

Vellin was a special case. 

“We’re pleased to have you join our ranks Cadet Lawrynce. Please let me know anything I can do to help you adjust.” Dean Astin smiled. “I will do my best to see you succeed here.” Vellin only nodded in response. Dean Astin seemed like a nice woman, but he was not keen to trust her. Trust didn’t seem to go well for him. The freshly upgraded cybernetics in his arm ached on cue.

The non-lethal blaster pistol on his hip felt like a ridiculous toy after the reality of his previous few years. He hadn’t expected the engineer who did the preliminary work on his arm to send a video of his rehabilitation training to the Academy, and certainly hadn’t expected them to come to collect. He wouldn’t care at all, if the Academy couldn’t offer him what he wanted. 

A guide. 

Vellin’s battalion had one. A handsome, but chronically twitchy thing with deep set circles under his eyes. He had been a tall, muscular thing, good structure for a guide. It hadn’t saved him. Auxiliary guides were ineffective things, they died easily. Vellin wanted something more than that. He was going to need more than that. He had things he needed to do, and he couldn’t afford to lose himself to a powerful zone. He needed a bonded guide - a good match. Only the academys could provide that. 

Vellin was at a disadvantage already. He was 23, the last year of eligibility for Stellaris Academy. He lacked the educational basis that the rest of the students had, though he had not been recruited for his intellect. His schedule was full of specialized courses, ready to prime him for a military position on the front lines. His evenings were to be filled with one-on-one meetings with guides. He was going to need them all. He had no pre-existing connection to a guide, so any match would have to be strong without any chance of conditioning. 

He could feel eyes on him as they passed through the halls, the dean herself escorting him to his first class. He could hear every whisper. 

Who’s that?

A new student at this time of year?

He’s a sentinel. 

He looks strong. 

Vellin only cared about the ivory armbands. He would get what he came for. He squared his shoulders and followed Dean Astin. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

After the seventh guide broke down sobbing, or became catatonic after trying to guide him out of a shallow zone, Vellin was beginning to become a bit disillusioned with the whole process. 

“The bombs… why are there bombs? It’s so loud…”

“It’s a mindscape, how can it be that dangerous?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Vellin was not the typical sentinel. For one, his mindscape reflected the things he’d seen, and it wasn’t pretty. Second, he had absolutely no faith in guides. 

Vellin threw himself into guilt, and hauled himself out the the zone. Dean Astin raised an eyebrow, and he avoided her gaze. He knew sentinels couldn’t typically end a zone on their own, but he dismissed her curiosity with an excuse of the zone being shallow enough it ended on it’s own. 

In reality, it was a skill learned under fire, and one he didn’t care to discuss. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Vellin sat with his back against one of the massive birch trees in the courtyard. His arm was aching, a throbbing pain lancing through artificial veins. At least it numbed him to the noise of the academy. It was easier to ignore the hundreds of footsteps and conversations filling the air. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to actually focus on the pain. He could feel where the oil and blood were mixing at his elbow joint, kept apart by only a thin carbon fiber sheet. He could feel the electric currents running through each individual copper wire, and where the wire was fraying and diffusing the current into his muscles to cause a twitch in his arm. 

A gentle warmth pressed unexpectedly against his shoulder, and it was warm, it was gentle, it was warm, it was gentle, it was warm, and Vellin descended into his own mind, spiraling into a true zone for the first time in over a year.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

This room was too familiar. Sterile. Only the small window at the top of the room, too tall to see out of, gave him any indication of the passage of time. Light came and went, day and night, again and again. The glow of bomb-light was brighter at night, turning the darkness to a red glow, as the foundations shook. Vellin stayed in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, the warmth on his shoulder burningly gentle. That couldn’t be right, he couldn’t be warm and safe here. He couldn’t be in anything but agony here. He didn’t know where this feeling went, where could it go?

Quiet steps echo from the hallway, somehow audible through the gray steel door. It was not the steps of the warden, not the steps of his brother, he did not know these steps. Soft but sure. The door swung open without a key, inviting the unknown guest in. 

He’d never seen this woman before. She wore the academy’s uniform, with an ivory armband around her bicep. Half her hair was dyed in a bright kaleidoscope of colors to create a purple holographic effect, and caring caramel eyes looked at him from the doorway. Her features were delicate and etched with concern. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a zone. Honestly, I was checking to see if you were still alive. Your breathing was so slow, I was worried you’d fully died in the courtyard.” 

Vellin blinks as a bomb goes off in the distance. The girl does not flinch, or take her eyes off him. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice is hoarse.

“I was planning on helping you out of your zone, if that's alright? My name is Staziya.” Vellin blinks again, nodding slowly. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“No, I’m not. Where am I supposed to be?”

“Somewhere safe. Away from the war. Away from the compound.” 

“Take me there then.” Staiya reaches out her hand, and he takes it. He follows her down the hallway. “Look back for a moment?” He does, and the warmth on his shoulder becomes bearable. He blinks again and she slips out of his mind, dragging him to the surface with her.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Her hand was still on his shoulder when he opened his eyes. She was crouched down in front of him with that same look of concern he’d seen in his mind. 

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” Her hand left his shoulder, and she stood up, preventing the sun from shining right in his eyes, creating a halo effect around her. 

“I guess I know you aren’t dead or dying then. What’s your name?” 

“Vellin Lawrynce.” 

“Oh, you’re the new student right? The mysterious fourth year?” 

“Yeah. Who are you?” 

“Anastaziya Kingsley.”

“You’re a guide.” The corner of her lip curved up as she tried to prevent a smile from taking over.

“How did you know?!” Vellin stared at her. He couldn’t be mad, it had been an obvious answer. “I’m more than just a guide though, for the record. I was extraordinary before I ever came to the academy.” Somehow her tone sounded more like she was rattling off a statistic than bragging of her abilities. “Not that it matters much now.” She shrugged. “Anyways, seeing as you aren’t dead, I should get back to the lab. Have a good rest of your afternoon, Vellin.” Vellin blinked. 

“I will?” Staziya smiled, warm enough to take his breath from him, and turned on a polished heel to head towards the labs.

She was a guide. A guide who did not cry, or go catatonic, or flinch at his mindscape. He hadn’t even felt her moving about, and the door to his cell had opened for her. The defenses that pushed out other guides had not only allowed her in. They had escorted her. She had pulled him from a true zone without any side effects, or trace of exertion on her part. 

Vellin didn’t know much about auras, or about guides in general, but he knew what a touch that light could mean. They were a match. A perfect match. 

[wuxiaphoenix]

For Fun: Who Shot First?

Okay, people, here’s a thought experiment. Somewhere, somehow, there’s been a massive multidimensional cross-rip and a Star Wars stormtrooper ends up in a shootout with a Star Trek redshirt. Who survives?

Stormtrooper: Canonically weak-minded. May be vulnerable to distracting shouts of, “Hey! Are those the droids you’re looking for?”

Redshirt: Canonically unlucky against lethal aliens. Do stormtroopers count as alien?

Stormtrooper: Trained in marksmanship by the Imperial Academy, which seems to mean “good aim unless you’re shooting a main character or something fuzzy.” Alas for our poor redshirt, he or she is likely not fuzzy.

Redshirt: Trained by Starfleet, which tends to result in good aim except against man-eating monsters. The stormtrooper should be fair game.

Stormtrooper: Armed with a blaster that can be set to stun.

Redshirt: Armed with a phaser, but ditto.

Stormtrooper: Has armor, which may or may not help against phasers.

Redshirt: Does not. Better dodge.

Stormtrooper: Usually comes in patrols of at least two. Either backup’s nearby or he’s twitchy because it’s not.

Redshirt: Number varies; may be a lone guard or separated from a larger away mission. In which case they’ll also be distracted.

Stormtrooper: Usually in stark white armor with black accents, will have a hard time taking advantage of camouflage.

Redshirt: Well. The name says it all.

On the surface, it would seem these two opponents are fairly evenly matched. I’m sure true Trekkers or denizens of the Expanded Universe can come up with a multitude of reasons as to why this is not actually so. Make your case! State your evidence! Who survives?

Or as we might say... who shot first?

[ooops-i-arted]

Fanfic prompt: Daimyo Boba Fett teaching the royal Clan Djarin children how to take on imps while their parents are away for a diplomatic trip to Naboo.

It was Alanne who noticed the guy first, how he stood out a bit oddly from the usual crowd in Boba’s throne room during one of his open court days - keeping himself apart, being a bit twitchy, nervously picking a thread on his jacket.  Grogu reached out with the Force and confirmed he was feeling tense, but also had the mental discipline to keep his thoughts ordered.

“You dweebs,” Brizsa said.  “He has an EC-17 holdout blaster in his jacket.  Standard issue for Imps.  He’s obviously a dankin’ spy.”

“You can’t say dank.  You’re only nine,” Grogu reminded her.

“I can say what I want.  Mom and Dad aren’t here, they’re on Naboo eating honeyed moons.”

“They’re on a diplomatic trip, not eating sweets,” Alanne said.

“I heard Mom tell Dad they should get honeyed moon sweets.  It must be a Naboo sweet,” Brizsa insisted.

“Uncle Boba can find some sweets for us later.  We gotta tell him about the Imp first,” Grogu said.

-

“If Uncle Boba says it’s no big deal, maybe it isn’t,” said Alanne.  “He doesn’t like the Empire either.  Maybe it’s just a former Imp.”

“Grogu said he was hiding something,” Brizsa argued.  “Besides, Mom is right about the only good Imp being a dead Imp.”

“Are you suggesting we kill him ourselves?” Grogu asked dryly.

“We can’t let an Imp just run around.”

“We can’t just execute him without just cause either,” Alanne said.  “Besides, Uncle Boba is the ruler here and we can’t violate the laws of hospitality in his own palace.  If this is an Imp spy, we need proof.”

“I could break his kneecaps and make him talk,” said Brizsa.

“I’m gonna tell Dad you keep watching those bad Coruscanti crime holos,” Alanne sniffed.

“Stop arguing,” Grogu said.  “I can sneak through the ventilation shafts easily and get into his room if you two keep him distracted.”

-

“I can’t believe your plan didn’t work!” Alanne hissed as they ran through the hallways of Boba’s palace.

“Brizsa is the one who ruined it!” Grogu snapped from his perch on her back.

“I did not!  I swiped his secret comm!” Brizsa snapped back, holding it up.  “We have all the evidence we need!”

“Yeah, until he shoots us and takes it back!” Alanne said as they scrambled through an access corridor meant for droids.

“Wait!  I have an idea,” said Brizsa.  “Can you get him to the throne room?”

“The throne room?  We need to get Uncle Boba or Auntie Fennec!” Alanne hissed.

“Just do it!” Brizsa said, splitting down another corridor.

Alanne climbed an access ladder that would take her up several levels quickly, Grogu imbuing her with extra strength and speed with the Force.  But the Imp was an adult and right behind them.  A stun blast went whizzing by their heads.  “Dank farrik!” hissed Alanne.

“I’m telling Dad!”

“You better not!”

They had learned all the hidden passages that they were still small enough to fit through and in a few minutes they’d made it to the throne room.  Alanne ran to the throne and climbed on it.  “Isn’t there a secret emergency signal built in?”

“Auntie Fennec showed me,” insisted Grogu, crawling around the big throne.  “But -”

“Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“She gave me cookies before she showed me!”

The Imp appeared then, blaster drawn.  “Hands up, brats.”

Alanne obeyed, positioning herself in front of Grogu.  “When my father hears of this -”

“Your father?  I hope he’s got enough credits to pay the ransom the Empire’s gonna charge him when I bring you and your ugly green pet in,” snarled the Imp, stepping closer, right over the elaborate grate on the floor.  “For you, anyway.  He’s going to a lab.  Heard those places are pretty nasty.”

“Nastier than a rancor pit?” asked Brizsa, popping up behind the throne and pulling the concealed lever in its arm.

The Imp screamed as he fell down below.  The gears under the throne groaned as it slid forward, Brizsa scrambling to join her siblings in the seat.  “Great idea,” Alanne told her.

“I always have good ideas,” Brizsa said smugly.

The throne stopped and they peered down below.  The Imp was screaming, running in circles as the rancor strolled out, growling softly as he figured out who interrupted his sleep and starting to follow the Imp around, one huge clawed hand reaching out.

“Should we tell him the rancor likes playing chase?” Grogu asked.

“Nah,” said Alanne.  “Let him figure it out.”

-

“Of course I’d already had Fennec disable every weapon he had, and I had monitor droids tracking them the whole time,” Boba said.  “They were perfectly safe and even collected evidence with those pickpocketing skills you didn’t want me to teach them.  And they were so proud when they told me they’d trapped a spy in with the rancor.”

Din sighed.  “You know I had a very different experience with your pet.”

“He was upset that day.  He loves playing.  He had so much fun chasing that Imp.  The guy was crying when Fennec got him out.  He’s already packed up and on his way to Mandalore for trying to harm the royal heirs.”

Cara rolled her eyes.  “We can’t take one vacation.”

“Oh they’re fine.  And they can’t wait to tell you how they caught their very own Imp just like Mom and Dad.  I can tell they were really paying attention when I took them out on that hunt.”

“You sure you don’t need us?” Din asked.

Boba waved his hand.  “Finish your trip.  If they get bored we’ll visit the Sand People and practice diplomacy next.”

“Thanks for watching them, Boba,” Din said before ending the call.

Cara wrapped an arm around his.  “Already catching their first Imp.  They grow up so fast.”

Din kissed her cheek.  “I’m proud of them.  And wishing they still didn’t have to deal with that.”

“That recording of it though?  They were a team.  They fight like loth cats and akk dogs but when it came down to it, they pulled together and acted like a clan,” Cara said with a smile.  “They did good.”

“They did,” Din said, wrapping an arm around her.  “I’m glad they’re safe.”

“Me too.  And that we finished negotiations and can just enjoy a vacation,” Cara said, popping a sugared moon-sweet into his mouth.

[mythical-illustrator]

Shipping time! How about Grace x Wolffe? If you already have that one maybe Cody?

I'm gonna do both of theme becuase you know what...the thots be thotting.

The cody one gets a little...spicy at the end.

Grace x Wolffe

They are eyeroll buddies, the amount of judgment the both of them can capture in one face, and whole ass conversations with glance at each other. They're defiently comunicate via eyebrow. Grace cares, so much but doesn't tollerate stupid. And will tell people-usually in such a way they have no idea they've been inuslted what she thinks of them. Wolffe has no filter but has learned to let Grace talk to people on diplomatic missions when Plo isn't around.

One of Grace's best friends is Anakin Skywalker, and she loves him, but boy do they both hate C3PO. Grace is constantly making jokes about pushing him off/out of the ship. What she doesn't know if she makes to many, Wolffe is defiently taking her up on that offer. He usually snaps and tells him to shut up when even Grace starts getting twitchy. When Wolffe reaches for blasters, Grace gives the droid a task to get him out of Wolffe's hair.

Wolffe and Grace would have met- when Grace transfered one her medicas to his new batallion. She stayed to make sure the transition went smooth. They defiently didn't hit it off right way. Wolffe looks stand offish and rude and Grace has a bad habit of holding herself tightly wound with the "Perfect Jedi" appearnce. Plo told the rest of the pack to be patient and trust in the force. Eventually Grace sliped, and said something deepily sarcastic at one of their missions- and the person was being less than respectful to his clone rescuers- and got Wolffe to chuckle which made her chuckle. After that it became a way of them to communicate- sarcasitc comments back and forth then witty banttern.

When ever Wolffe gets to grouchy with her she just snorts and says "I was there when we had to hold your eyeball in your head, you're not chasing me away that easily." Plo likes putting them together because despite the biting words, he feels good about them in the force.

These two...there banter builds and builds untill it explodes. He took more risks than she thought was neicasrry as a medic and when he refused medical treatment she would hunt him down. She corners him one day, shouting about how hes not actually expendable, and dying would be a waste of life.

"Start taking care of yourself you one eyed Bastard."

"Make me witch."

And then she shoved him over and agressibly kissed him. She immiedly back uped and tried hinding among her "Jedi" Persona but he just growled and shoved her agaisnt the wall. *Spicy times*

After that, there banter took on a more sexual edge then a more romantic one.

Grace x Cody.

Grace and cody have a more slow bulid realtionship. She gets temporary assigment aboard the Negotator and immeditly the crew notes her tendiency to behabe like Kenobi...which is a relief for Cody. He was afraid the child hood best friend of Skywalker would be as crazy as him. She was professional, Jedi persona that took charge of medical treatments and oragnization and it was one less thing they needed to worry about. Till someone attacked ther convoy. And he got to see the more untamed feral side of the this nightsiter turned Jedi. She stood her ground against hte droids and refused to leave men behind, fighting off clankers with a mixture of magic and the force, snarling at anythign that moved. Then she dragged back all the wounded men and treated their energies with smiles and laughter like she hadn't flipped a feral switch on the battle field. Cody decided then and there he would follow this woman anywhere into battle. Kenobi just smiled and left his commander in capable hands.

Grace and Cody are subtle in their relationships. Slow building as it is. It started with late nights, after Grace tracks down Kenobi for medical check ups, sassing the man and rolling her eyes and running healing energies and med scanners where ever she happens to find him. She'd do paperwork with the three, or just him when Kenobi was busy. At first she sat in silence, then she started asking after his men- like Waxer and boil, or the Ghost crew and how it got its name. He started asking her about the meaning of her tatttos. Those late night dicussions lead to a deep understanding between the two as they drifted closer and closer. She brought him caf and smiled, and he made her tea from Kenobis stash. One day while doing paperwork, he got up to go refeal her tea and when he came back- and to this day he still didn't know why he did it- but as he set her cup down, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on the arch of her lekku. She moaned uner the attention and they both froze. Slowly, so very slowly, Grace looked up at him and Cody swore he stopped breathing. She stood, maintaining eye contact as she went till they stood chst to chset, breathing each others air.

"Being a jedi means putting the galaxy before your own needs." She said, and he nodded, trying to not flinch but she reached out and cupped his check. "But that doesn't mean we cant...you will always be second to the glaxy...but...." "I would happily stand beside you against the entire galaxy.' He whispered and she sucked in a breath before noding. Carfully she leaned up and pressed a kiss agains the side of his mouth- so carefully then waited to see if he would return her feelings. He did so galdly.

One of Grace's favorate things to do is help cody relax, so she'll put his head in her lap, and run her fingers through his hair and sing for him. She explained she didn't sing for anyone, not anympre, not since her bother was sold. But she sings soft songs about love and hope and runs her hands thorugh his hair because hes worth singing again.

Cody paints one of her tattos- after leaning all of their meanings on the underside of his amror, the one for Bravery and Championship. It presses agains his heart the same way hers does and only he knows its there. Grace cried when she saw it, stroking hte paint and before kissing Cody with all the love she had to give.

Grace went to men and asked if anyone on board did tattoos, the clones were very excited to tattoo their tattoed jedi and the ones who did it stuided hers with great intrest. She got a sun burst on her hip-all the men weere giddy while they watched it happen, distracting Cody the whole day while she got it done. She showed it to him later, lifting hte part of her dress and black under suit to show him the fresh ink. He spent the rest of the night pressing kisses around the tatto and once it was healed, lavishing all the attention on it while she rode his fingers.

Tag list:

@anxiouspineapple99 @dickarchivist @clonemedickix @dangraccoon @secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @wizardofrozz @523rdrebel @multi-fan-dom-madness

[shadowvalkyrie]

Look, I have nothing but the utmost respect for the Mando fandom's dedication to putting its main character in sexy underwear, but let's be real here, Din Djarin is not a man who knows how to keep nice clothes looking nice, or could be bothered to if he did.

This is a man who took one look at a toddler wearing a burlap sack and went "hm, the armour stats on this thing suck, better get the kid some chainmail".

Consider his moth-eaten cape and his collection of 2-3 identical flightsuits that only differ by degrees of washed-out-ness. That is simply not the wardrobe of a man who separates the delicates from the rest of his laundry.

I'm therefore 100% convinced that he would wear lingerie in the most butch bisexual disaster way possible:

Stretched out elastic and ripped seams. Worn thin patches and unravelling lace. Multiple runs up the whole lengths of his stockings.

Suspicious stains that have nothing whatsoever to do with sex and absolutely everything with blaster fire and the blood of his enemies.

Some very neat (if wildly off-colour) stitching on the side of his camisole where a knife went through the underarm gap of his beskar.

A pervasive smell of engine grease, because the rag that he used to mop up an oil spill during his latest emergency repairs also went in the same single batch of laundry as the flightsuits and the silky knickers.

I'm not saying it's not sexy, mind you! It's incredibly sexy. Just in that deeply queer way that makes a lot of people a very twitchy. (As it does whoever bought that lingerie for him. Just for a very different reason.)

[cloud-monki]

My cool ass dnd characters

Character #33: Adoleia Pantazis

Class: Sorcerer

Subclass: Aberrant Mind

Species: Siren

Alignment: Chaotic Good/Neutral

Personality: Twitchy, neurotic, demanding, asocial, kinda reserved but with a powerful personality that shows itself when needed. Very obviously traumatized. Has moments of extreme intensity, paranoia and panic. Is at her heart a very kind person that believes that life should be cherished and people should live unbothered and happy lives.

Appearance: A short skinny siren (The bird kind) with long silver hair, tanned skin and very small black pupils. She wears a torn up grey cloak and a choaker made of bones.

Stats:

Strength: Medium

Dexterity: Above Average

Constitution: Low

Intelligence: Above Average

Wisdom: Above Average

Charisma: High

Age: 18

Where did you get your powers? These aren't powers, they're a curse I use for good.

Title: The Wailing Siren

Gender/Pronouns: Female. She/Them

Sexuality: Biromantic Asexual

Backstory: She is an alien being that has seen all the planes of every universe, and how it ends. She has seen time itself and it's meaningless. Cursed with this knowledge, she now roams the forgotten realms trying to forget what she saw.

Roles: Face, Striker, Blaster and Uitlity

Conclusion: I like the idea of a twitching and constantly anxious person beating/scaring the shit out of people in their way, add to that a demanding, but reserved personality and her being a fucking siren, I really like her.

[dynamicsgreys]

Space pioneer switch

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The game has a lot of the little issues from the original like the feeling that the true enemy of the game is its auto targeting system that I often wish there was a way to let me quickly override in game. I had to play on the developers time when they wanted me to now I can play on my time when I feel like it. I tried out the original on a recommendation, but the chest timers and energies and grind really just made the game unapproachable for me.

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[twitchesandstitches]

Red Lantern Alighting

In the dark, there was loss.

In ages so often made dark and grim by the selfishness and vainglory of those who measured personal achievement in mountains of the dead, there were plenty who looked up from the bottom of the heap, and found something there.

Jackboots ground down on their faces, and the warlords who destroyed their lives cared nothing for the suffering they wrought. Tyrants, fascists, conquerors and world-wreckers all simply did their thing, and like incredibly inattentive farmers, did not realize what they were sowing.

The people ground down on the bottom learned well what it meant to suffer. To lose everything. And in the pits, in the slave arenas and at the end of an overseer’s whip, they learned the shape of hate.

And one day, on so many worlds stained with suffering, made into something filthy by despair and torment, a red star bloomed in the sky.

And those who suffered the most, burning on the inside, found a clawed hand extended to them.

And in his claws, there was a ring offered out to them.

“Make them pay.”

-------

It was a common rumor, perhaps to pass the time, but there was enough of an edge to it to suggest some panic that remained in the news, all the same:

Ten thousand worlds are burning.

To many across the places touched by the Eunoianet, the magical web of communications, stories, and media that connected the Fleet worlds and kept their culture alive, there was some mild interest. Plenty took the news literally, and organized fire brigade fleets to put the fires out.

Blaster, an Endowed Autobot with a keen interest in xenosociology particularly as related to culture and music, thought something was off the moment she first heard the specific phrasing, and its connections to conflicts on a chain of interstellar empires.

“Ten thousands worlds,” as she told her team, “Is a kenning.” Her team gave her politely incomprehensible looks. With a look of delight, one of her daughters (a minibot named Rewind) eagerly leaned out of her seat, visor shining bright, faceplate wiggling excitedly.

Wicke, possibly one of Blaster’s closest friends in the theoretical engineering sub-sets, opened her mouth to say that she knew what it meant. Blaster shook her head repeatedly. ‘Let Rewind have her moment!’

Rewind spoke up. Like many minibots, she was human-sized; about seven feet tall, but so incredibly thick that she was almost that wide too (at least at the chest-mounted Energon tanks and her impressively massive hips), her heavily plated exterior indicating her preferred alt mode of a tanky attack drone. As she began to speak, her present siblings (both of them beastformers; a moody red robot rhino named Ramhorn and a yellow leonine tracker called Steeljaw) rolled their optics. “Did you all know? A kenning! Is a common term for a culture-specific metaphor, usually tied to folklore. Typically it is a shorthand for a more complicated concept, you see!”

Wicke, shifting about and balancing her gargantuan breasts onto legs easily thick enough to be bust-supporting shelves, nodded. “And what might this kenning refer to, dear?”

The other two of this particular mission winced at Rewind went into a needlessly and painful convoluted explanation with too much time spent on unnecessary asides on cultural context. Bismuth, rolled her temporary optics and tried to nap. A tricky thing considering that to save on space, she had installed her Gem into a fembot shell that at least matched her amazonian, outrageously curvy true form, but one of the things it couldn’t do was sleep. Smaller even than Rewind was arguably the most famous of them all; Toshinori Yagi, better known by his professional name All Might; once a massive tower of muscle and masculine charm, his self-sacrificing job as a Fleet champion had left him an emaciated wreck, his powers too dangerous to access often. Nonetheless, his experience made him a highly skilled mech pilot to channel his spirit. He was doing his best to pretend to be listening but was clearly suffering.

The gist of the lecture, in any case, was this: ‘a thousand worlds is slang, in this little intersection between a dozen or so little empires, for all known worlds’.

“So,” Toshinori said gravely after some thought. “It’s a great deal more serious than even ten thousand individual worlds!”

Bismuth’s fembot shell shrugged its expansive shoulders. “Honestly, you sure it’s even appropriate for us to get involved? I mean, I’m all for intervening, but the people in this area…” Her shell’s emoticon-displaying face cycled through a number of uncomfortable expressions. “They’re not gonna be welcoming or appreciate us.”

“The power structure could use a shake-up,” Steeljaw observed, his voice cultured, deliberately refined. This was the voice of a cat-bot who could somehow hold a cup with his pinky-claw out. It was a strange thing to see from someone who had grown up in a society where setting yourself on fire was considered a good icebreaker. “They’re… well, I shouldn’t SAY they are dreadful tyrants, by and by, but alas…”

“Can we kick their ass?” Ramhorn said hopefully. “Please tell me, we get to do some tyrant toppling!”

They looked at Blaster, to see what her vote might be. She thought about it and shrugged. “Personally I’d rather do what we can if trouble comes to us; I won’t say no to rescue, even if the folks around here yell at us. But actively dismantling their empire, however deserved, is really not a good idea. We’d need to work things out better before we decide if we have the RIGHT to do that or not.”

The ship approached the first world to investigate, and Toshinori’s eyes widened, the modded dark patches around them accentuating his shock. “I… do not believe we will have the opportunity! Look!”

They looked out.

The flames were bright on the windows, even from super-orbit.

They had seen continents, entire landmasses, on fire before.

They hadn’t often seen the landmasses in question rearranged to spell out an extremely crude message.

“...Ah,” Wicke said, wincing. “I suppose the worlds being on fire was not entirely a metaphor, then.”

The ship found stable orbit, relatively safe from most sensors, and with their on-board alchemizers and raw materials, it was a simple matter to build an observation station to live in and wait to come to some kind of a conclusion. If there was a problem with the Fleet’s organization, Blaster mused, it was that waiting for every participating citizen to come to some kind of a consensus took forever, even with cybernetic telepathic stations to work it out. At least with this small group, it was easier to work it out.

Rewind and Blaster were considered the best at stealth to go down and put the fires out; Wicke was undoubtedly the most powerful but her raw power made her inefficient at HIDING her presence, and they weren’t sure if they were ready for confrontation. Bismuth waiting for the all clear (and once she got it, she alchemized terraforming rainfall that put the fires out in days), and Toshinori had many sterling qualities to make him such a paragon, they put his face in the Big Book of How To Hero. Holding back or being stealthy was NOT one of those traits.

Before Bismuth got to work, Rewind gave her report to the others:

��Most strange, so very strange indeed? Did you know, it is very strange for there to be no one left on the planet?”

“The place WAS on fire,” Bismuth had said. Sourly, she had added, “Maybe they were attacking each other… this whole region is a mess of conquerors trying to kill each other. Yeerks looking for better hosts to enslave, elven supremacists, orks that kill everything just to get a better fight out of it…”

Rewind nodded. “Yes, certainly! But, there were NO bodies! Not on the scale that we ought to have seen!” She had paused, looking uncomfortable. “At the very least, those bodies were not killed by the fire.”

Wicke frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rewind was equipped with recording abilities, in her role as a scout. She did warn them first, though, that it would be graphic; Wicke often was employed as a coroner to study the bodies of metanatural encounters, Bismuth was a vetern of many revolutions, and Toshinori had been a hero for a very long time. All of them were acquainted with brutality.

Even so, they were taken aback by the horrors on the screen. “Oh… Arceus’ peg…” Wicke said softly, as they showed them ashen streets and bodies that were by then mostly… pulled apart. Heads were mounted on spikes, and were the only recognizable bit. Everything else had been torn apart, burned so badly and then pulverized into a meaty pulp to coat buildings and streets.

The Fleet was a rough place, and its heroes tended towards extreme fury and ferocity as a rule; nonetheless, this was extreme, even by the standards Wicke knew. “I thought you said fire hadn’t killed them?”

“Analysis indicates that they WERE burned to death, but not by the fires we see. It was a different sort of burning inconsistent with what’s ravaging the planets.

Bismuth had examined several other such photos. She was a ferocious fighter, even by the standards of her Dinobot partners (long since married to them, by this point), but even the greatest savagery of Grimlock or the combined fury of Volcanicus had a point; the shock was intended to terrify the enemy into retreat, or encourage allies to greater morale. This felt more like just randomized lashing out.

Toshinori didn’t much like what he was looking at. “Infighting, perhaps? This is just so… excessive, though. Why would they kill each other so brutally?”

“Rivalries? Combat doctrine?” Ramhorn suggested.

“Or maybe whoever killed them was really angry,” Bismuth suggested. “I’ve done stuff that… okay, not as bad as THIS but… when you’ve been ground done long enough, you’d be surprised what happens when you let that monster off its leash.”

Toshinori considered this. His eyes widened. “Oh…! Rewind, Blaster! You said there were no bodies found, yes?”

“Indeed, sir!” Rewind said. “No bodies besides these!”

“No ashes, then?”

“None that would fit the profile of the bodies, or any traces of incinerated corpses on the scale of an entire population.”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Perhaps there are no survivors because they have already been evacuated from the world.”

Bismuth brightened up. “Oh! That’d be a relief.” Perhaps thinking along the same lines as whatever was prompting Toshinori, she compared the visible mounted heads, stabbed on display by whoever had been angry enough to burn the whole planet down, and compared them with all Fleet records of multiversally-wanted villains.

Most of them matched someone on the lists, with the ones who weren’t at least suspected of awful crimes. Bismuth did not much dwell on the evil deeds attached to them; it was sickening to behold, but it was enough to know that very evil men and women had died this day. “Check this out. I compared the skulls to records of some serious bad guys, and they’re all… yeah, the multiverse is better off without them.”

Toshinori nodded. “As I suspected.”

Steeljaw was several times the size of Toshinori (who was tall for a human, but puny by Fleet women standards), but he gave him an adoring look nonetheless. “Sir, do you perhaps have an idea?”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Let us at least consider the idea that the downtrodden of this world may have had their opportunity to rise up, at least.”

“You think so?” Wicke said, raising an eyebrow. “This much destruction is rather excessive.”

“People who have suffered terribly, all their lives, often do not have much reason to hold back once they have the opportunity to strike!”

“True enough.” Wicke had turned, and other matters called their attention.

Bismuth’s terraformers conjured forth enough rain, with a mild connection to the Elemental Plane of Water, to put out the fires and render the planet suitable for all of them to at least walk on. Several days onwards, they landed to investigate properly.

As they suspected, there was no life on the planet anywhere. Blaster had flown across the planet in her preferred aerial form with a massive armory of sensory drones, and there was no signs of life; no organic presence, no living movement, no hints of the electromagnetic activity that marked the presence of synthetic life forms. And the ashes of burned things did not account for all the inhabitants being dead, either.

Several days, the mystery continued to deepen as they continued the search on other worlds, and the pattern on the first repeated itself. Uncannily the same, at that.

And it WAS a pattern; Wicke was certain.

Above them, far in the sky, a red star seemed to appear; the figure within watched them dispassionately, weighing their hearts.

They shone bright and good. But, he judged, they did not have the burning anger he sought out.

He contemplated the Gem, however. There was the spark of fury there…. Perhaps later, then.

The red light flew away, leaving the battleground behind.

And in the meantime, unaware of this, Blaster’s team continued to search. Unexpectedly, they found something interesting on one of the cities that hadn’t quite been exploded.

Blaster was over sixty feet tall, her minibot offspring incorporated into her body in cassette forms and channeling their power to her, so she could achieve a far greater size and curve level than normal, and she had to be careful not to let her waist-level bustline demolish things worse. Slowly she leaned forward, studying something on the wall. “I found something!”

Bismuth was in her true form now that she had room to grow, and she stood over a hundred and twenty feet, not even a trickle of her full power being used. SHe wasn’t just an amazon, she was a gigantic gray-blue beauty, her multi-colored dreadlocks shining bright, her gem core just barely visible in the cleavage of two massive breasts with lower slopes extending past her mighty thighs. Power crackled in her hard light body, and she was cheerfully refusing to reign it in. (“This much awesome DESERVES to be on display!” she had boasted, and kissed her biceps.) “Whatcha got there, Blast?”

Toshinori approached. While he did have his own powers, they were so strong as to be a serious threat to his emaciated body, and he preferred to channel them through powered exoskeleton frames; in this case, he operated a mech slightly too large to be considered power armor, but small enough to operate on a human scale, which seemed to be the standard size on this world. It looked like a brightly colored egg, with powerful limbs to channel his energies through and punch things, and a colorful aura of energy created a luminous V-shape above him from the back.

Its sensors relayed it to him. Toshinori studied it. “Graffiti, or perhaps a calling card.”

Wicke, standing at a very far distance from everyone else in case she suddenly needed to grow to fight (and would thus need a LOT of space; she could exceed planetary size without even putting in effort), linked up to Toshinori’s mech to see it for herself. “It IS more recent. I think this was left as a message.”

It was all red against the slag; a bright cherry-red color that would have been friendly if not for it being carved into the collected skulls of, apparently, the most cruel and hateful tyrants in the entire system. It had been burned into them, in fact, possibly by whatever had set the planets on fire, and then painted over.

It looked a little bit, then, like a round circle. Two vertical lines were set on either side, with additional zags moving outwards over that. There was a short message, written in an unfamiliar script similar to the Daedric alphabet. “A curious sign,” Rewind communed to Blaster. “It resembles that of the Green Lantern Order.”

“Green Lanterns?” Blaster said aloud.

Toshinori shifted. “Green Lanterns, did you say?” He looked at the sign. Bismuth and Wicke were running a translation cipher, comparing the letters to the most likely solutions. “They were an ancient order of heroes! They predated the Cataclysm by many eons; I suspect the last of them perished trying to fight that disaster, though they left behind relics and lore.” He patted his chest proudly. “My heroic predecessor, One For All, supposedly refined the power I carry with Green Lantern secrets!”

“So perhaps whoever did this was evoking their legacy?” Blaster said. Well, Ramhorn asked, and she relayed it.

Toshinori considered it. “I think that is possible, but it would be an odd thing. The symbol is different; the Green Lantern sigil was a, well, a lantern, with horizontal lines above and below.” He pointed out another thing: two circles inside the sign, at angles. “Nothing like that there. And it was green, of course. Not… well, red.”

Bismuth glanced aside. “It does look like a lantern, though.”

“Yes,” Blaster said thoughtfully, surrounded by charred landscape, burned by the rage of those suffering for so long. “A red lantern.”

“Got it!” Wicke said triumphantly. “The script originates from Beforus! A curious thing; It hasn’t been spoken since Beforus.was lost; it is similar to various forms that have derived from it since then, but… oh, just a digression, not that important.”

Rewind perked up, eager to hear more, but Blaster was in a hurry. “So why Beforus? It’s not anywhere near here, and these worlds didn’t have a significant troll population.”

“Yes. That is the difficult part. And the language is fairly obscure; there are a few figures who survived Beforus and gained the ability to avoid aging who would still speak it, but I can’t imagine what they would be doing here.”

The Condesce, Blaster thought. The Dolorosa, mother of vampires. The Grand Highblood. The Blue Arrow and executioner of the degenerate. The Psiionic, sailor of the stars. And the others, the founders of modern troll-kind and preservationists of their culture; most were within the Fleet, and all of them had at least spent some time with it, in the past. Most were accounted for.

But not at all.

Bismuth frowned as the translation software ran. “The symbol thing is a bit wonky; someone chipped away a few bits here and there. See?”

“Yes,” Toshinori said. “It looks a bit like like an incomplete circle, then. I wonder if it was sending a message?”

Blaster leaned in. “And with those little circles inside, it kind of looks like the astrological sign for Cancer, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, it does!”

Blaster chuckled. “Now that’s obscure, what does that even-”

Oh. OH.

Bright red colored. Mutant red.

A sign that looked like what trolls called the Iron Manacles, the Crab Claws.

And Beforan script, as would be remembered by someone who had actually lived through the fall of Beforus.

And now, she realized, she had seen this level of brutal destructiveness, this unfettered and passionate rage.

She kept it to herself for now. “Is that translation ready?”

“Yes,” said Wicke. She cleared her throat, and spoke aloud. “Bear in mind, this is quite a rough translation, and the software likes poetic meter, but nonetheless, this should get the spirit across.”

Wicke translated thusly:

“With blood and rage of crimson red,

“Passed on by those long dead.

“Together with our righteous hate,

“We will burn them all.

“No one else will share our fate.”

Wicke finished. “And it is signed… I think it translates as the Anointed.  Of… the Red Lantern Corps? I don’t suppose you know anyone by that term.”

“None that fit the situation,” Toshinori said. Bismuth said much the same.

“Kankri Vantas the first.”

Blaster said this heavily, with mounting shock.

The name called to mind a fussy and passive-aggressively angry young troll, a bit older than the likes of Terezi and her generation. “Uh, are you sure you have the right guy?” Bismuth said. “Kankri, you said? Chubby, really pretty? Has a really bad case of pent-up anger he needs to deal with?”

“Not him,” Bismuth said. “The other one.”

“What other one, I don’t- oh.” Bismuth’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“The Sufferer.” Toshinori said, horrified. “He’s here!?”

“Or he was. It fits his… preference for rising up. But on a bigger scale. And of course, the Anointed is what Beforan religious practices named him. He’s never liked being called the Sufferer or the Signless.”

There was silence, then, for a time.

It was not bad news, exactly. But it was certainly concerning.

The Signless, the Suffferer or whatever you might call him, had come here. He had… slaughtered the worst of these worlds, and had done something with everyone else. The wording indicated numbers; the ‘we’ and all’. Perhaps… he had been recruiting?

For what?

They stared at the sign of a red lantern, shaped to be like the sign of suffering among trolls; an icon of enduring the unspeakable, a sign for those fighting to make a kinder world even if you did it on a tide of blood.

Kankri Vantas of Beforus was the kindest of his people. A living prophet to some, handing down law and covenant to mortals, fulfilling ancient prophecies and setting people free. He was a just man, a good man.

And he was also someone who had waged wars so bloody that even the Condesce, a woman no stranger to cruelty and ferocity, had been afraid of his savagery.

“Let’s get back up and upload our findings to the Eunoianet,” Blaster suggested. “We need to figure out what to do from here. And someone give the word to Karkat Vantas that I need to have a talk with him,” she said wearily.

“We’ve found his ancestor.”

-----

(It should be noted that some elements of this fic aren’t exactly in chronlogical order.

Yes, the Signless is the leader of the Red Lanterns here, rather than Atrocitus. As it is, they are the only extant Lanterns, but the others will soon arise, more likely than not. This much is certain!

However, I’ve planned for Signless’ Red Lanterns to predate the Fleet, at least as a fully functional organization. He may either have been making it during his initial time with the Fleet, or at some point, the proto-Fleet’s founding families discovered relics that the Signless was inspired to create the first Red Power Battery and rings from; it could be that he’s only recently made them fully practical and is expanding his Corps’ reach.

They are intended as heroes; merciless, angry and destructive, but they are good guys all the same. Their job is to make the monsters fuckin’ BURN. They are not antagonists, but the Fleet does not yet know what to make of them!)

[kuttiesstuff]

Twitchy Timeloop -The journey across the timelines-

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Visited AUs:

Beastly Underfell - General Underfell design by @underfell and the Undertale fandom community, story of Beastly Underfell (and some of its designs) by me

Mentioned AUs:

This certain design of Comic Papyrus comes by @moofrog

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Finally the happy fun times are here. ... Darn invisible ninjas, always cutting onions. QvQ