#// EZRA !!!! he's so soft but also so worried about the fact that his book has taken off and people are wondering more about the writer and

[mythcaels-a]

slides ezra at the dash

[littleferal]

sleeping habits 3

headcanons for ezra (prospect)

a/n so far i have the most to say about ezra, my beloved bastard man :") rating teen. word count 1283 words. warnings some mild body horror in relation to his arm amputation. about a line right towards the end marked with ***

benny miller | din djarin | ezra | frankie morales | javier peña | santiago garcia | jack daniels

Ezra is a light sleeper no matter what position he’s in or where he is; it comes from the very nature of his job to always be ready

Wherever he’s sleeping he'll always know where the thrower or a knife is, and though he doesn’t particularly like to make a show of having one on hand it’s highly likely it’s there because he’s surreptitiously placed it within reach

Although that isn’t to say that he’s a particularly restless sleeper, at least not pre-Green. Despite it all Ezra is actually a really easy going guy and not the type to suddenly jerk awake at the slightest noise or lay awake all night worrying

He’s slow to settle in for sleep and just as slow to get up, lazily waking as if he has all the time in the world before easily navigating his morning routine (and somehow still running ahead of you)

With a partner - even of the non-romantic type - he’ll always sleep between them and the door where possible. Call it his old fashioned chivalry or perhaps long running distrust and survival instincts, but he just feels more comfortable this way

He also knows how to have a partner well and once the trust is there he never questions if they want to stay up late on watch, sleeping well for it. Actually that’s some of the few times he does sleep well on a job

Ezra has always made fitting into the small cots on dropship, tents, pods etc all look effortless despite his broad frame. It’s part of his nature to both be and appear carefree. He’ll sleep sprawled out on his back, perhaps with a leg propped up against the wall and at times falling asleep with a now forgotten book held to his chest after drifting off

Alone Ezra doesn’t much sleep on his side and he’d be a kevva forsaken fool to sleep on his front, even if it was what he found most comfortable (which it isn’t).

But with a partner? Ezra will either shamelessly wrap himself around you - in equal parts desiring and protective - lie pressed right up against your back, or sleep on your chest. True, space is luxury not offered to those in your line of work and learning to fit two people into a single cot takes forgoing any and all personal space, but it’s evident that even with all the space you could want Ezra would not stray far from you. He luxuriates in the physical contact and couldn’t deny himself, or you, any of it for even a moment

Ezra’s the type of man to practically purr with the physical contact, humming to himself into content. That is if he’s not talking into your soft skin, mumbling over the words because he’s so close there’s no space to form them properly or because he’s dotting kisses here and there

However, he won’t cling in hot weather or whenever you find yourself not wanting to be engulfed by him - Ezra has no insecurities that need feeding and is comfortable to give you whatever space you require at night to sleep well. It’s just not always an option with work

But! give an inch and he takes a mile, Ezra is a glutton. Unashamed of any of his desires Ezra will hold you to him or practically demand (non-verbally, this man is already settling himself down on your chest) to be held as and when his emotions and needs take him and he has often strongly suggested you do the same. He finds simplicity in this kind of honesty

(Oh he’s respectful always, but he communicates just as well physically as he does verbally and what can be said in actions he’ll choose to do unless he thinks the greater clarity is needed)

Ezra gives these affections as often and as easily as he takes them - in fact he thinks that's what makes a relationship fair and equal. If what you want is to be held to his chest, read to, as you drift off, he’ll give it. Or if you need him to lay across you like a weighted, heated blanket you hardly need to ask it of him

Ezra also takes well to being the little spoon, especially after the Green, and finds great comfort in it. Although he takes pride in a lot of things he’s not necessarily a “proud” man and can not only accept your help in this but actively seeks it out at times, either because the day has made him worry for you or because his demons are catching up with him

If he feels safe in whatever situation/environment he’s in Ezra prefers to sleep with as few layers as possible - enviro suits are nasty things and clothes get so worn and dirty on jobs it’s freeing to be without - and will comfortably go nude often. Otherwise he’s a boxers only kind of guy

Unfortunately it’s not normally a luxury one can have on the job so he’ll takes great advantage of the times he’s not working

Ezra likes naps a lot. It’s true that they’re damn useful in his line of work but beyond practicality it’s also a) partially because he always likes to take advantage of any opportunity of peace he finds and b) partially because the carefree attitude it displays is often part of his armour

Like a feral cat the man is, Ezra will always settle himself down in any beam of sunlight given the chance, propping himself up against a tree or shifting his cot in the pod to lay in the light. He works hard, does a job damned well and takes rest he wants.

He was much freer with his attitude about this sort of thing before the Green, content at all times to settle himself in for a short nap if the opportunity presented itself.

But even after and with all the trauma it left him with, Ezra still stubbornly clings to his ritual, determined to not let his fear steal away from him the good he has right now and continuing to play the carefree man as an armour. In those situations he never actually sleeps - rarely even dozes - but the mask is there

Ezra sleeps better and heavier off the job, always has and always will. But it takes a long time for him to be able to sleep restfully after the Green

*** He sometimes gets caught in nightmares and phantom feelings like his arm is still there, hanging on by the sinews or, horribly worse, slowly rotting away on him. It’s nights like these that as soon as he’s woken he’s seeking your embrace. Most times he’s settling himself against your chest so he can listen to your strong heartbeat, beating a cadence out for him if he chooses to talk or merely being a reassuring rhythm if he doesn’t

But some nights he’s so lost in his head he doesn’t even want that, instead drawing in on himself. The worse times are when Ezra gets non-responsive, even with your arms around him. These times you’ll need to wait him out but holding him helps massively and there’s no way he’d fall back asleep half as easily without you being there

Post-Green also means having to deal with his amputation and the many ways it affects him. Now most nights find him asleep on his side next to you, just so he can keep an arm around you. That touch is even more important now, anchoring him safely to you and calming his mind, slowing the continuous stream of consciousness to more of a soft burble than a rush

my masterlist

[insomniamamma]

Safe: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: What can I say? I'm hormonal and all my shit hurts and if I cannot get snuggles IRL then I will write something super soft and self-indulgent to make myself feel better. Part of the Prickle AU. Set sometime after Sacellum.

Warnings: Oh no! There's only one bed. Soft!Ezra. Language. Cee's best friend on The Pug is non-binary and also named after my little boy's favorite stuffy. Maybe the slightest bit of angst. But mostly super soft.

         "You did this on purpose."         "Right hand to Kevva, I did not. I asked for double occupancy and they must have misunderstood and--"         "You don't have a right hand,"         "Let's go back to the reception desk," says Ezra, "We may be able to negotiate more appropriate accommodations."         "Errgh," you groan. Reception had been a nightmare, three freighters worth of traffic trying to secure berths all at once. It was a lot of people. Too many for your liking. Cee was staying with Kit and their family. Kit and Cee had practically tackled each other right there on the dock, everyone else forgotten, walked away arm in arm.         "We shove off in three cycles," Ezra hollered at her retreating back, and she flapped a dismissive hand at him. You had to smile. For three cycles Cee gets to be a normal teenager hanging out with her best friend without worrying about points and pulls and overhead costs and fuel margins.         "I don't wanna go back down there," you say, "Too many people. I think twice the population of Falnost was waiting in that fucking line." You brush past him and into the suite. The ceilings are low and slightly curved and it feels strange to be under this much grav. The outer rings of Puggart Bench have something close to terra-normal gravity, but after so much time spent on little moons and worldlets, this much G feels weird and you have no desire to trudge back down to reception.         "You sure?" Asks Ezra.         "Yeah," you drop your day bag and press a hand to the mattress. "Look at the size of this thing. It's, like, five crash-couches wide. This seems above our pay grade."         "They're overbooked," says Ezra, "We're paying the same points for the berth we should have gotten. I made sure of it. I can sleep in that recliner if--"         "No."         "No?"         "Kevva, Ez, we're both adults," you say, "I think we can share a bed for a night without exploding."

        Your suite has a real, honest-to-Goddess shower with a generous 15 minute timer. You scrub as fast as you can and then just let the water hit you, let the pressure pound on your tense back muscles until the chime sounds and the water cuts off. You towel off and dress, soft clothes you sleep in, and pad out into the main room. Ezra is reading, face far off and serious, and you just look at him for a minute, illuminated in the warm lamp-light, absorbed in his book, little furrow between his brows and then he looks up, all knowing smirk and dancing eyes, he's caught you staring.         "Your turn, Ez," You say and turn your face away. Kevva. This man. You've been trying to keep things professional, but it's a losing battle. His flirtations make you flush, but he's never tried to push you, never tried to leverage the fact that it's his name on the ship's title, that you signed a contract, that you are junior-most crew. You feel safe with him. And, from your limited experience in the fringe, that is a miracle in itself.

        Ezra sets his book aside and heads for the bathroom. You peel the sheets from the other side of the bed and settle in. There's a media player bolted to the wall, but you just want quiet. You switch off the lamp on your nightstand (we both have lamps, we both have a nightstand, how weird is that?) The sheets feel deliciously cool against your skin. To be clean and sleeping in clean sheets...if Heaven isn't like this Kevva's got some answering to do.         Ezra sings in the shower. You're barely awake and you smile. Ezra can't carry a tune in a bucket, singing fringeling songs and reels, stories of mercs and pirates and ghosts and you drift off to the sound of him, the sound of the water running.

        He sees you soft and loose and asleep. No rail-gun, no body armor, no thrower under your pillow. Your face slack, snoring slightly. You've kicked out of the blankets and lay curled as if chilled.         "Hey Artichoke," he murmurs, pulls the blankets up and tucks them around you, "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

        Ezra wakes. Bleared red numbers of the clock saying that this is still the deepest ditch of local night. Ezra is warm and confused. He feels you pressed against him, your chest to his back, an arm hooked around his middle, your legs entwined with his. You've sought him out in your sleep and folded yourself around him, your breath slow and steady against his nape. Ezra's eyes prick with tears. He can't remember the last time he's been held like this. He's had lovers. He has payed for sex on the less reputable Benches of the Great Arm, but for someone to hold him? For someone to touch him without payment, without trying to press some advantage, gain some kind of leverage, without priming him for the inevitable backstab?  He is overwhelmed. He tries to wriggle away from you, but your arm just tightens around him.         "...fixed the transponder," you mutter against his neck, "told you we didn't need...told you..." He pats your arm and relaxes against you.         "Okay, Artichoke, okay, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

        You wake enfolded, Ezra's good arm wrapped around you. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow sussurration of his breath, the snores that catch in his throat and turn to murmurs, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You've tucked yourself against him in your sleep. Your hand rests on his sternum. Oh Kevva. What are you doing? You go rigid.         Your first impulse is to wrestle out of his hold, take one of the blankets and install yourself in the recliner that you wouldn't let Ezra take, but part of you wants to stay right here in the combined warmth of your bodies, feeling his breath, his heart, his calloused palm spread against your shoulder. You shift, making the smallest effort to pull yourself away and his arm tightens further, a low, sleepy chuckle reverberates through his chest.         "Hi Ez,"         "Hi." He strokes the pad of his thumb along the exposed curve of your shoulder.         "I'll get up," you say, even as he shifts and cups the back of your head in his palm, tucking you closer.         "You don't have to," he says, voice rough with sleep. This gesture pricks at your heart. Coming up on Falnost has made you hard, guarded, there has been precious little gentleness in your life, pulling rocks out of the parched ground since you were big enough to lift a shovel. Learned to fight and shoot to chase water-thieves from the homestead. He strokes the back of your head like one might pet a skittish cat and your heart squeezes.         "Ezra?" You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate the uncertainty you hear there, "Are we okay?"         "Of course we are," he says, "Why wouldn't we be?"         "I wrapped around you like a Bueller's world python and I did it in my sleep-"         "The wrapping was mutual-"         "You're not mad or uncomfortable or anything?" He laughs again, gentle huff of breath against the crown of your head.         "Mad about waking with you in my arms? The day I'm mad about that you can just shoot me in the head and send me to Kevva because I will surely have lost my ever-loving mind." You smile against his skin and relax some, your hand unfists and you curl your arm around his soft belly, feel his breath hitch.         "Tickles."         "Sorry." You feel yourself drift, skirting the edge of sleep. He is warm and solid and you let yourself relax against him.         “This feels...safe..." you say, so close to sleep that you're not sure if you've said it aloud or if you've just thought it. And you're not sure if you hear his response or dream it, one word. Always.

        "She's late," says Ezra.         "We still got a sixteenth to button up and board,"         "Still," says Ezra, "Yon freighter will leave with our pod wether we're strapped in it or not." You see Cee and Kit, trailed by Kit's parents, weaving through the crowd. Cee is beaming, her blonde hair has a brilliant streak of blue, and Kit has a matching streak in their hair.         "Hey guys!" Cee hugs Ezra and then hugs you.         "How was your shore leave, Little Bird? I like the fancy hair."         "Isn't that cool? We've got matching streaks," says Cee.         "It's semi-permanent," says Kit, "We'll pick a different color next time!" You have to smile. Cee looks revitalized. Three cycles spent with her friend, just doing normal kid things has been good for her.         "Check this out!" says Cee and pushes a laminated drawing towards the two of you. Ezra makes a show of looking carefully.         "I recognize you and Kit," he says, "I am not familiar with these other people, though."         "They're from The Streamer Girl, dumbass," says Cee, "Here's Clo and Reive and Lily and Auri. See? Kit put us right in the story." Ezra gives Kit his best smile.         “You drew this? You are very talented." Kit smiles big.         "Thanks!" says Kit, "I'll put you guys in the next one! Maybe you could be professors at Bowsun Academy or something."         "I look forward to it," says Ezra.         "Time to go, Cee," you say and Cee and Kit exchange one more enthusiastic hug.         "Later fringeling!" Calls Kit.         "Piss off, stationer!" Cee calls back. Ezra curls his fingers around yours and squeezes. Cee tells you all about her three cycles with Kit, the movies they watched, the Real Food they ate. How Kit's little brother wanted a blue streak in his hair too and Kit's parents said no and how mad he got. I wanna be cool like Kit and Cee.         "I told him he's got plenty of time to be cool," says Cee, "And he told me that I don't understand how the world works. He's like, four." Ezra laughs.         "Wise for his years." Says Ezra. And the three of you fall quiet. You find the pod much as you left it, towed to the Polly Jean and clipped in, transferred by the station's tugs. You settle in and do a full systems check. Calling out the checklists and making sure everything is good for transit.         "What are you guys so happy about?" asks Cee.         "Whatever do you mean?" asks Ezra.         "You been all smiles since I hit the dock," says Cee, "Both of you. Did we score a really good job? Did we win the Puggart Bench lottery or something? What aren't you telling me?"         "That," says Ezra, "Is for us to know and you to endlessly speculate about."         "Hmph," says Cee.

Tagging: @oonajaeadira, @grogusmum , @honestly-shite, @writeforfandoms, @ladyvengeancesposts, @the-blind-assassin-12

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

[engineeredfiction]

Solace Among the Stars Ch.1 “The Stranger”

Finally here.

Rating: PG-13 

What: Crossover fanfiction comprising of themes and elements from: The Expanse, Blade Runner, Prospect(2018)

Characters: All original characters except for Ezra and Murtry. OC are based on actors I like such as Tobias Menzies (Greer) and Adele Haenel (Allard).

Plot: A group of banned Earthers attempt to improve their life beyond their home system, but come up against a powerful enemy.

Mood board is here. You can also check out the ‘sol mood’ tag

Aaaaaand if you would like to listen to music to put you in the mood then check out the playlist. I’ll be adding to it as time goes on.

Special thanks: @tom-riddleston-me and @yourpalmoony for being beta readers! I appreciate the time and effort!

   Keane was conscious long enough to feel her saliva boil off her tongue and the formerly inert nitrogen gas bubbled in her blood caused intense pain. Her instinctive nature forced her body to scramble back to the lander a few meters away. Yet, everything went black after seconds of the forlorn effort.

   The stench of stale metallic air woke Keane up from what felt like a deep slumber. This was not a sickbay or her ship. A dark and empty bar surrounded her; the only source of light was coming from the two windows on either side of the door. The deteriorated wooden floor creaked under her stillness. Behind there was a pack, it must be hers.  A tumbler of substance was in front of her; she cautiously brought it to her nose. Whiskey. She threw it back, picked up the pack, and pulled open the door. Tall grey mountains surrounded the desolate building , so tall in fact they nearly blocked out the light. Not far in front a path was laid out that led to a thick pine forest. She felt an internal pull towards the path.

   The forest was silent except for the sound of her feet hitting the ground. Her passing seemed to echo between the trees. There was no fear in her which she thought was strange. Ahead the scenery changed, there was a small warm glow at the end of the path and it grew in size with every step. Just before she reached the natural exit she was perplexed by the sight of tall sand dunes in front of her. 

   She walked into a clearing where the grass gradually turned into sand. To her left and right stood a clear line of trees that went on forever in both directions. The mountains loomed behind them.  Keane continued to follow the internal pull in her gut and walked up a dune. Once she reached the summit she paused to look around her. The desert only extended ten kilometers in front of her. Snow peaked mountains surrounded it and the smell of pine was strong. The wind was soft and the small grains of sand drifted over each other. For the first time she heard a sound that she didn’t make. She stood still and felt the wind blow through her long loose strands of hair.

   Her breath quickened when she realised she had no idea where she was or why she was there. Her wonder was interrupted by movement a few dunes over. A figure was making its way over to her.. The figure was getting closer, but she couldn’t make out who it was. 

   A man? 

   New smells reached her nose, a scent of alcohol and blood. Immediately, her joints started to ache and her left hand felt like it was fire. She looked down to the terrifying sight of her hand profusely bleeding, torn to shreds, and with bones sticking out.

   Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. The figure was approaching, but took no notice to the gory injury.  Her head lolled back as nausea and vertigo became overwhelming. The fall into the warm darkness  was slow.

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

   Keane’s eyes fluttered open. Seated in a hyperbaric chamber with a window on the door she slowly bent over in the reclined chair to see medical staff tending to patients. Her head throbbed and she squeezed her eyes shut. Pain radiated through every limb and settled in the joints. Her hand. She looked down and saw her left hand in a clear rectangle contraption. Below the wrist was a clean sawed line and a new skeletal hand was attached. Lasers travelled back and forth scanning and dispensing bio fluids to start the construction of the nerves. She swallowed and closed her eyes again. Her mouth was dry and her body relaxed.

   Morphine, she guessed to herself, that’s good. 

   She tried to remember what happened. Someone was attacking the lander. Greer was ahead of her and he was aiming at someone in the rocky mountains. Or was it the field? The field beside the mountains? It was nighttime. Keane didn’t see who shot her. She clenched her teeth to swallow the nausea. Whoever the perpetrator was, nearly killed her by decompressing her suit to the vacuum of space. 

  She leaned forward again and peered out the window. The medical staff were no longer tending to the patient closest to her and she got a wide view of the sickbay. None of her crew were in the other chairs. This could be good or very bad. The patient in the chair closest to her chamber was getting a limb regrowth procedure for his right arm. The skeleton and nerves of his arm were complete and the lasers started to build up the muscle system. He was reclined back and sleeping. His hair was wet with grime and sweat. The tuffs of brown hair matted to his face. He had a blond patch above his brow. Her study of the man was interrupted by the appearance of Greer.

   He strode in with confidence and charm that Keane was well acquainted with over the past two years. Greer spotted her face in the window after a quick glance of the hyperbaric pods. He smiled with  relief and gave her an okay hand symbol with a questioning look. 

   Behind Keane’s returned smile was pain and weakness, but she gave a thumbs up. Greer peered in with curiosity and saw her soon to be new hand. 

   “Cool,” he remarked. His baritone British voice sounded muffled and faint through the door. “Another two days and you’re out. Allard and Murtry are fine, they’re worried about you,” he added.

   Keane nodded and gave another thumbs up. His smile reassured her about the rest of the crew and he left the sick bay for her to heal in peace.

   Two days came and went. The doctor finished Keane’s final health evaluation. Her health had returned and her limb regrowth had been completed. She admired her new hand, which now had a new set of fingerprints. She thought it funny, if she had ever been booked for a crime it would set off confusion if anyone tried to accuse her based on her former fingerprints. 

   “Surprisingly the CT scan found no brain damage,” the doctor stated without looking up from her tablet, “your heart stopped for a little over seven minutes. Your crewmate….Greer did CPR for five minutes and you spontaneously resuscitated about two minutes after.”  She didn’t hear a reaction from Keane and so peered over her the device, “with no brain damage that is impressive.”

   Keane felt the lump wedged in her throat. She fixated on a stain on the floor ahead of her.

   “You’ll have a weird tingling sensation for the next week or two,” the doctor calmly stated. “If you follow the rehabilitation guidelines I sent to your PCA that new hand will feel like your original. Or better.” 

   “Thank you,” Keane acknowledged and promptly gathered her personal belongings into her weekend bag that Greer brought to her. She opened it and the odor of stale sweat and blood wafted up. Her nose scrunched up and she knew her next destination. 

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

   Arcadia Station-Alpha is the last bastion of civilization this far out from the Primus System. The Primus System is home to Earth. When humans advanced enough to travel the further reaches of space through The Ring, what was then known as The Solar System needed a new name. Arcadia bore the title Alpha due to its size and grandeur. One of the many luxuries it housed was a public bath. For a few credits a traveller could get cleaned and soak in a pool of heated grey water. The aesthetic of the public bath recalls the glory of Roman architecture. In the midst of modern appearances and technology a revival of ancient art and decor made its way throughout the human inhabited Universe.      

   Keane departed Arcadia’s sickbay and strolled to the bathhouse; where the gentle floral aromas drifted throughout its dimly lit rooms.  In the locker room, she fully undressed, saved for sandals and a towel that were given at reception. She stepped into the busy shower room and turned an unoccupied  faucet to hot. The steam rose up  as she vigorously scrubbed off the scent of sweat and iodoform. She stood still under the showerhead letting the hot water roll over her body. 

   A desert in the middle of the mountains. A cool sandy desert. Earth? Somewhere else? Made up, most likely.

   Keane exited the bathhouse and the clean clothes felt refreshing against her skin. She smiled in comfort at the immediate sight of her crew. They waited at the foot of the stairs to the bathhouse. Greer, Allard, the pilot, and Murtry, who assigned himself the role of security area manager, chatted amongst themselves. Murtry was the first one to see Keane exiting the bathhouse.

   “Good to see you’re alive and well!” Murtry exclaimed. He gave her a casual hug, “How’s the hand?”

   Keane offered her hand lady-like, “As good as new. Feels a bit funny at the moment, but it should go away in a week or two and back to full strength in a month,” she changed topics, “fuck those guys. What the hell were they doing?”

   “Apparently it was an accident.” Greer added.

   “How?”

   “He…simply said…he thought we were raiders.”

   “We were picking up civilians.”

   Greer shrugged, “That’s what he said. His name is Axtin and he’s part of Terra Corp. They’re going to get slapped with another violation for this. Probably put them out for awhile.”

   “Good riddance!” Murtry hummed.

   “Someone has to topple the giant, it might as well be you,” Allard jested in her thick French accent. 

   “With my life,” Keane sighed, “I’m starving.”

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

   Another part of Arcadia’s grandeur was the fifth level dining halls. They boasted meals for those on the go to the multiple course sit down affair. The level bustled with a variety of travellers and station workers. Some were well-dressed and others covered in grime. The rough ones were usually floaters who worked independently and performed random odd jobs. The money to be made was in harvesting resources from the assorted planets and moons within the half parsex area. 

   The sushi restaurant bustled with customers, some crammed up to the bar and the rest squeezed into tables in the cramped space. The crew sat shoulder to shoulder at the bar with little words exchanged as they quickly ate their food. Keane waved her hand quickly any time the prickly sensation became too much and somehow the movement calmed the new nerves.

   Between mouthfuls of ramen Allard asked, “You know what they call that feeling? Of a new limb.”

   “Oh ‘the stranger’.” interjected Greer.

   “Yeah because when you masturbate it feels like someone else.” Keane quipped. 

   “Really?” asked Murtry.

   “I don’t know…yet.” 

   Keane and Murtry chuckled. She was the only crew member Murtry felt, if only a tad bit, close to on a personal level. He admired her dry sense of humour. 

   A shadowy figure appeared behind them revealed himself under the neon glow of the bar’s sign. The four paused their eating to look up at this newcomer. His face was heavy with scars, but his clothing was finely made. After a few beats the man cleared his throat.

  “Which one of you is Captain Greer?” his voice was low and rough.

  Greer stood up from his seat to get on the same eye level, “I am.”

  “Mr. Wallis of Terra Corp would like you to join him for a drink in his office.”

  “When?”

   “Now.”

   Greer looked back at his crew and was met with silence. Keane gave him a nod.

   “Can’t hurt can it?” she whispered.

   Greer hesitated, “Sure.”

Chapter 2

Taglist (for those that asked and who I think might be interested, if you want to be removed send me a message):

@pascalisthepunkest @dindjarindiaries @pedropascalisadilf @1-800-fandomtrashqueen @a-carnie-and-a-cop @rzrcrst

[genuflectx]

Robot Butler/Reader CH 2

Ch 2 Length: 3,279 words

Full Story Length: 8,029 words

Main Kinks: Robots, risk of being seen/heard, public sex, creampie, fingering,

Other Warnings: Mentions of university, arguing with parents, former sex work,

1/30/2020: REPOST

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

The next semester was closing in fast; it felt like you were caught upon the train tracks, unable to will your car's wheels to bumble over the edges. If you didn't think fast, you'd be flattened. Luckily you had emotional life support to push you on, in spite of the lingering anxieties that the world instilled into you.

“You will be fine. You've made it this far,” soothed Ezra, said life support.

Leaning against him on the couch, you made yourself into a ball and pouted. “I just barely passed my classes last semester! I don't wanna make mom keep having to pay for extra classes if I fail them.”

This bout of nervousness was brought on by a simple grocery list, of all things. The bulky robot rubbed your arm and glanced at the list in hand. He read it over in a millisecond: milk, eggs, bread, hotdog buns, chicken, rice, noodles, basil, parsley, mustard, packing tape, staples, glossy paper, new school clothes, notebooks, note cards- the list went on and on. It was rather long.

When you found the paper on the kitchen table, your eyes had focused right on the school supplies. Ezra had a hard time understanding why it would make you so, so anxious. But he did understand the logic behind saving money, and how it could upset you to spend past a limit. University was expensive.

“Your parents are quite well off, and I am paid well. They gave me a debit card to buy the groceries, you won't run out of money... so don't be sad,” he tried.

“It's not just that! I also don't want to disappoint them, ya know? They're both so smart and they expect a lot from me and Lilly. When mom realized how, erm, close you and I had gotten, I think she got it in her head that maybe I wanted to be like her. A mechanic, or engineer even,” you sighed.

Ezra physically rumbled, laughing. “We are rather close.”

You rolled your eyes and gently smacked his chest. “Get your mind out of the gutter weirdo.”

“Made you smile, though.”

He was right. Trying not to smile made you smile harder. You sighed with defeat, still rather anxious, but glad to have him around. “Let's just get this over with.”

Resigned to worrying about the future, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. Ezra took the wheel and started it up, and off the two of you went. Tall suburban homes flew by, painting the world a blur of ugly, white washed brick.

“We should get the non-perishables first, like the bread and school supplies,” Ezra idly spoke up to break the silence.

You hummed. Ezra was a good butler. He'd been around about two months now, and rather enjoyed getting out of the house. His chipper mood was a great contrast to your inward tenseness. To one not already accustomed to the subtle tone changes of his voice, or the gentle expressions of his eyes, it would be nearly impossible to read his joy. But you could tell.

You could see his emotions as if they were written out before you, clear as a bell. Like earlier, when he didn't totally comprehend your apprehension. He had been confused, but still tried to comfort you. It was an endearing quality that Ezra had; always looking for solutions to problems that he didn't understand. He was a compassionate robot, and you loved that about him.

Ever since that night a few months ago, when he'd leaned you over the dining room table, the two of you were increasingly intimate. It hadn't gotten to a round two over the couch or on the corner of the washing machine, but there was always a question in the air. Would it happen again? Do you want it to happen again? Instead, you settled for the occasional cuddle. And despite Ezra's boldness with his dick, kissing him made him shy. It was adorable.

It occurred to you that you'd pushed the bad thoughts about school away by thinking about sex. What sort of deplorable little demon were you? Maybe the horny kind, you supposed.

“What are you grinning about?”

Your cheeks reddened and you shrugged. “Nothing, just about food and such,” you didn't really sound believable.

He blinked, smirk evident in his tone. “Alright. We're here.”

The grocery store was packed. People had no choice but to make room for and avoid Ezra. He was tall and took up quite a bit of space; people probably worried that he'd step on their children like ants. In reality, Ezra had wonderful reflexes. He was gentle and crept around the crowd with daintiness, not minding the occasional wide-eyed stare. In the corner of his eye, he could see a kid pointing at him.

“You'd think no one has seen a robot before,” you grumbled as you navigated the cart.

He shrugged. “You haven't come with me to the store before, this is the same reaction I always get. I'm not exactly a spick and span model designed for domestic affairs.”

The corner of your mouth twitched up. “Yeah, I noticed. Okay! So first on the list?”

Having the list memorized, he answered almost instantaneously; pointed a finger up at the isle names. “There's the bread aisle.”

So the two of you collected a couple of the close items that didn't require refrigeration. As you went along, there was some idle banter. Mostly Ezra having to scold you for trying to cram the cart with junk foods. He at least allowed you to get some candy for Lilly. She was fond of chocolate. Then he read the next goal upon the list: school supplies. In fact, there were the office isles now!

You cringed. You'd been actively pushing thought of school out of your brain since you'd arrived at the store. Suddenly the numerous, white overhead lights felt hot against your scalp. “Eugh...”

Ezra gave your head a pat. “I know it upsets you. Here, why don't we buy the most prestigious items they have, so you've only got the best when school begins. Sound good?”

You looked sick as you came into the isle. Notebooks, pens, coloring books for children, it had all the good stuff. Maybe you could get some crafts to make a hand turkey. Coat it with sticky white off-brand glue and sprinkle it with glitter. Wow. You missed kindergarten.

“How about this?” Ezra lifted a folder. It was plain black, with a slightly textured surface.

“Naaah. How about... this?” You displayed one with a puppy on it instead.

He studied it, puzzled. “That is the cheapest brand they have.”

“Yep!”

“... If that's what you'd like, [Y/N].”

“Sure is,” you declared, dropping it unceremoniously in the cart. “If it's cheap, I won't freak out about ruining it with garbage essays and shitty notes.”

He took a moment to process that answer before turning away. You were tired of thinking about school and ripped through the isle with determination to leave as soon as possible. Ezra watched blankly, lost in thought.

You sighed. There was still the matter of clothes and perishables. Ezra took the lead onward, bringing the two of you to stop among the haphazard clothes racks. After fingering through the designs nauseously, you were finally coaxed into getting a few button ups. Some bottoms were also picked up, as an after thought.

“Let's find a changing room. Quick.”

There was an older lady at the desk. She chewed gum noisily and smiled a wrinkled smile, then smiled more nervously at your towering robot. You supposed no number of bright, frivolously colors could make people lose their unease.

Ezra held his hands politely behind his back. “May I go in with them, mam?”

The lady rose a brow. “Sure, if you can fit.”

As the two of you squeezed into the fitting room, you began to whisper. “Why'd you have to follow me in? You're too big, silly!”

“I wanted to see what you looked like in the clothes,” he replied, somewhat suggestively. “Besides. What if you became lonely in here? All by yourself.”

You rolled your eyes. He took a seat behind you and you were forced to stand between his knees, the little changing room being rather cramped. You decided to try the plain blue one, first. Ezra helped you squirm out of your current get up, pulling it over your head and promptly messing up your hair, but he carefully smoothed it back down right after.

He could see your bra. And though he was facing your back, the mirror to the side gave his roving eyes access to your front; it was a perfect, personal little show.

“You're blushing, are you uncomfortable?”

“No!” You exclaimed, removing the shirt from the hanger.

Ezra laughed playfully. “Allow me. Please.”

He slipped the sleeves onto your arms, like a jacket. More intimately, he gently pressed your back towards his chest so that he could reach your front and button it up. You tried not to breathe too hard.

“You're a tease,” you whispered.

His hands smoothed the wrinkles down on your stomach, making you jump and squeak. “Well, does it fit?”

You peeked at the mirror; eyes noting the hands that still gently splayed over your belly. “Yeah, it looks good to me. Really soft.”

He nodded. Then his thumbs looped under the elastic rim of your pants. “Next?”

Silently, you helped him pull off your skinny jeans so that you could try on one of the bottoms you'd picked up on a whim. If you thought being in your bra was nerve-racking, this was way worse. As you leaned to take something from the hook, you realized he was checking out your ass. You scoffed.

“What are you looking at?”

“You.” His hands came up and softly rested against your rear, cupping the cheeks. You were no stranger to this during cuddling, but his admiring eyes were making your heart quicken.

“You're awfully touchy today, mister.”

“I love the softness of human flesh,” he gave a squeeze.

A laugh escaped your throat. “Weird way to put it Ezra. If you love it so much, why didn't you stick to your old business?”

“We've talked about this before. Clientele selfish, joints overworked,” he hummed and nuzzled your shoulder. “I'd much rather be here, with you.”

So sappy. You giggled and bit your lip, pressing your ass harder against his hands. It prompted him to knead. Mustering up much bravery, you replied. “Well, you didn't seem to have a problem working with me before.”

A hand slipped lower, over your inner thighs. “I like you.”

You nodded, spreading your legs. “So I've been told, several times. Robots are funny.”

“I'll tell you a thousand more. [Y/N], who is the tease now? It's almost if you are attempting to obtain a certain response,” he gripped your hips suddenly and jerked you back between his legs.

You squeaked and he covered your mouth, lowering his voice. “We're in public. Be quiet.”

Mouth still covered, his free hand moved low and just barely swiped over your panties. You jerked and sighed between his fingers, your hands propping you up via his thighs. He started slow, the tips of his silicone fingers softly rubbing up and down. It was just enough to make you desperate.

“You've been so stressed today,” he noted, above a whisper. “Let me help.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, leaned against him with eyes closed.

You breathed a steadying breath as the hand slipped from your mouth to your neck. The other dipped under your panties to give a harder rub.

“Feels good,” you praised, turning to kiss his rainbow cheek.

His middle finger felt through the folds, simply enjoying the sensation. Then he started to prod at your hole. Luckily, it was wet enough to give way easily and quickly, with little to no friction. You gasped as quietly as possible, hands gripping his thighs. A second finger joined the first, and then he was pumping gently. If he moved too fast the sound of wetness would become rather apparent, so slow and steady it was.

You had to bite your cheeks to refrain from whining. It had been way too long. The fingers inched out, wiping the slime up against your clit, before focusing there a second time. Suddenly the tips began to vibrate and you jolted.

“Ahhh, I didn't know you could do that!”

He chuckled with amusement and nuzzled affectionately. The vibration speed increased. Your muscles became twitchy and jerky with the sheer willpower it took to keep from mewling like a kitten. Ezra watched the mirror, loving the display.

“If you're going to cum... then cum,” he whispered commandingly.

His low voice was the last thing you needed to tip over the edge. The orgasm rocketed through your body, as if the ocean was swallowing you whole. The hand around your neck squeezed carefully, just enough pressure to remind you to keep your mouth shut. Then the vibration ceased, and it was over. The last waves ebbed down your spine as you calmed.

You caught your breath as silently as possible as he stroked your back sweetly.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

Nod. “Doesn't make my problems go away but... wow,” you grinned.

Knock knock knock!

Ezra wasn't surprised at the abrupt interruption, but it made you straighten with fear. “S-some one's in here! One second!”

New college clothes forgotten, you scrambled to dress in what you'd come with. The older woman smiled as you passed by her desk.

“Taking any of'em home today?” she asked, unaware of the happenings.

Ezra replied for you; you were obviously still a little high off of adrenaline. “No. We will leave them on the return rack. Have a nice day.”

So the clothes were left behind and he shepherded you to the cart, to which you swiftly drove away down a random isle. Seemed like you were wandering around the store with no destination in mind. You were just nervous someone had heard you.

“Can't believe we got away with that!” You laughed mischievously, glancing around.

Ezra patted your shoulder, totally inconspicuous. “We did, flawlessly. A few times I thought you would crack.”

“Aw, no faith in me?”

“... A few times I thought I would crack, as well.”

You peeked up at him, brow risen. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, before sparing a glance down at your still pink face. “It's been a while for me, too,” he looked away.

You squinted, then it hit you. Of course! “Maaaybe we should go home?”

“The list isn't complete.”

You gave him a silly look and waggled your brow. “Ezra.. Ezra come on now, you know what I mean.”

He blinked and squinted. “Ah, I see. We can still do that after we gather the remaining perishables.”

You slumped. “You really want to wait?”

“...Not particularly.”

Patting his arm playfully and grinning a toothy grin, you exclaimed. “Then come on! Go go go!”

The bot behind you had to increase his normal walking pace to keep up as you flew down the store, aiming for the self checkout. “Th-the groceries,” you heard him stutter.

You giggled devilishly and sent an ecstatic look his way, the anxieties of the morning buried back into the deep crevices of your mind.

EPILOGUE

It took some extravagantly articulated thought to convince your parents that you were fine in your current major. Yes, you and Ezra had unintentionally grown close. But you were not interested in becoming an engineer. After a long drawn out conversation with them (ignoring a look or two of disappointment), Lilly slugged your shoulder and gave you the thumbs up.

“Way to stick it to em,” she complimented. “Now how am I gonna break it to them that I want to be a traveling rodeo clown,” she sighed dramatically.

“Who can juggle small dogs that live in old ladies' purses?”

She started to snap her fingers, then finger gunned you while walking backwards down the hall.

Such a strange girl. She'd make it okay, whatever she wanted to do in life. Despite the hollow, sick feeling one gets after an awkward talk with the parents, the support of both your sibling and your butler- boyfriend- friend with benefits(?) was a balm. You made your way upstairs to his room, where he'd retired.

The door was closed, and you rapped at the wood. There was a pause, then your heard his heavy footsteps draw near. His eyes brightened when the sound revealed to be you.

“Do you need something?” he asked courteously, voice soft.

“Just.. to talk,” you noticed a book in his hand, hanging to the side. “Sorry, were you reading?”

He nodded, then stepped out of the way. Seemed he wasn't bothered by the unexpected intrusion. You strode on in. Not much had changed about his room since he'd moved here. Other than the extra chair you'd drug up, it was relatively the same.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asked, shutting the door silently and keeping a respectful distance.

Shrug. You noted how there was not a single grain of dust on the surface of his near-empty bookshelf. “I talked to mom and dad about school. It was... weird.”

Ezra nodded, waiting for more.

Taking a seat, you went on. “I can tell they think I should be doing something different with myself. And I really know they hoped that I was like, tinkering with you or something, but,” you sighed. “I don't know.”

“They were upset.”

You furrowed your brows, eyes downcast. “Yeah. I expected it. At least they're not forcing me to switch majors.”

He studied your features, then took a seat beside you in his own chair. The book rested in his lap patiently. “And you're sad,” his hand squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “But you got it done.”

You reluctantly agreed. “I guess. I'm still terrified about failing my classes, but mom said she'd hire a tutor. I could just use the free tutors on campus but,” you rolled your eyes. “you know mom.”

Ezra would smile at that comment if he could. It was true that your caretakers could spend a bit frivolously.

“I'm glad I have you, though,” you commented quietly, expression easing up. “I hope you stick around for a long time. Even if you're not a butler in the future.”

A warm feeling overcame the girthy robot at your side. His eyes glistened and the minute movement of his inner apertures clicked, inaudible. The hand at your shoulder slipped down over your arm, then took your hand. When you looked up, he was staring with such passion that it struck you with a intense longing.

He had never felt this wonderfully certain about a partner, never in all his time of sex work. You didn't act like he was just some common 'bot. You treated him like Ezra. “You're my favorite human,” he said.

You wanted to laugh with glee. “Always a way with words,” you joked, leaning forward and nuzzling his chest. “Thank you for being here for me Ezra. Not just the.. sex or soft touches. You always make me feel better.”

Nothing delighted Ezra more to hear. The book slipped from his lap onto the floor, momentarily forgotten, as he hugged you as if you were made of china.

[onwardintolight]

Leia Organa, INFP

Recently I read a fantastic post by @bestmixtapeintherecorder about how Han and Leia are so often misjudged as an introvert and an extravert, respectively, when it’s really vice versa. This is something I’ve also been thinking about for a long time, particularly with Leia. In MBTI terms, Leia is almost always typed as either an ESTJ or an ENTJ, and that’s never sat right with me. Both of those seem more like typings based on a pop culture idea of who Leia is rather than on the Leia we actually see in the movies and books. While I realize that as a fictional character, the minutia of her personality is somewhat open to interpretation, I think I have ample reason to argue that she’s an INFP instead.

Disclaimer: I myself am an INFP. Maybe this makes me biased. Maybe this means I have unique insight into how an INFP would act when thrown into Leia’s situation. Maybe both! Either way, I think there’s plenty of evidence to back up my opinion. BUT: one of the joys of fictional characters is that we get to project ourselves onto them, and consequently they shape our perception of our own journeys and who we are. So if you prefer an ESTJ Leia or some other type entirely, more power to you. Feel free to ignore this (or argue away to your heart’s content). I’m writing this for everyone else who isn’t satisfied with that typing.

I’m going to be drawing evidence from not only the movies, but also from parts of the new Disney canon like Bloodline and the Aftermath Trilogy, as well as what I see as generally accepted fanon (particularly among fanfic writers). If you’re not into Disney canon, don’t worry — there should still be enough without it to back up my argument.

You may be asking, why INFP? Aren’t INFPs more of a quiet, soft and gentle type compared to Leia, who takes charge and will not hesitate to put you in your place? Truth is, INFPs often get stereotyped as the most cinnamon roll type of all the cinnamon rolls, but this is, quite frankly, wrong. They certainly can act like cinnamon rolls at times (when they’re at their least stressed), often being very kind, tolerant, sensitive and compassionate. But cross their deeply-held values, or get them stressed, and they will wipe the floor with you. In reality, INFPs are the type that looks like a cinnamon roll but will kill you.

I’m going to argue that most of the time we see Leia in the movies (especially in ANH and ESB), she is really stressed. Consequently, we see a lot more of her inferior function, Te, than we would otherwise. This is why people often mistakenly type her as a Te-dom (ESTJ or ENTJ). In doing so, they’re failing to account for the fact that Leia has had/is having a whole lot of super freaking stressful and traumatic things happen to her, which is naturally going to shape how her personality appears to us.

First let’s take a look at each of the INFP cognitive functions and how Leia exhibits them, and then I’ll do some further expounding and comparison with ESTJ/ENTJ.

Dominant Function: Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Leia’s core motivation for everything she does is her values — this is what drives her. Very idealistic, she throws her entire life into championing her cause and fighting for justice, freedom, and everything she believes is right. In the SW Rebels episode A Princess on Lothal, she tells Ezra, “I feel like because I can fight, I have to, for those who cannot.” (Te-doms, on the other hand, while having Fi as their inferior function, are driven more by a need to direct, organize and problem-solve.) While she may be a lot more open-minded on lesser matters, she will rigidly defend her values when they are challenged and can be somewhat black and white when it comes to them.

She doesn’t feel the need to conform. She is strong-willed and stubborn, and can be a bit rebellious, willing even to defy her superiors in order to do what she feels is right. We can see this in the Princess Leia comic when she disobeys General Dodonna’s orders in order to gather and protect the galaxy’s remaining Alderaanians, in Aftermath: Life Debt when she defies Mon Mothma and runs off to rescue Han and help liberate Kashyyyk, in Bloodline when she engages in some questionably legal behavior because she feels her investigation is so important, and of course, in her position as a rebel to begin with.

Additionally, growing up, she sometimes struggled with conforming to what was expected of her as a princess or learning certain things (such as her aunts’ etiquette lessons and politics) if she didn’t think they were meaningful, true to her values and/or herself. Eventually, after talks such as the one she remembers having with her father in the Princess Leia comic (#2), her eyes were opened to the meaning and potential in politics, how it could be used to champion a cause, and she decided to follow in Bail’s footsteps.

At the beginning of Bloodline, Leia is disillusioned by the state of the Senate and wants to quit her role as senator.  She tells Han, “Every debate on the Senate floor turns into an endless argument over ‘tone’ or ‘form’ and never about issues of substance.” When she takes action later, she feels much more like herself again, because she feels like she’s doing something meaningful. This shows she’s less concerned about the organization of the New Republic than about defending the values and causes that are close to her heart.

Leia is incredibly passionate. Like all Fi-doms, she has a rich inner world of emotion, though it is sometimes not apparent to others due to her natural guardedness. She can appear cold, but underneath the surface she is anything but. She may be able to analyze her own feelings but have trouble opening up about them to others, except in the occasional outburst. She struggles with admitting her feelings for Han aloud, instead talking about him in the context of her values/the cause (e.g. in the corridors of Hoth — Han is directly asking her to admit her feelings for him and all she can allow herself to say is “You’re a great help to us. You’re a natural leader….”). Later, when confronted by Luke about the truth of her family in RotJ, as @bestmixtapeintherecorder has already said, she shuts down emotionally. She is extremely distressed but unable to open up to Han about everything just yet (she needs more time to process it all inside, first). And yet, throughout the movies, I get the sense that even though she doesn’t always express it, just underneath the surface is a well of deep passion and feeling (which Han can sometimes be pretty good at provoking). I think it is clear that she has a deep emotional fire that both fuels and assails her, and helps drive her in her fight for justice.

Auxiliary Function: Extraverted Intuition (Ne)

Leia chose to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a senator. I doubt she would have done this if she was utterly lacking in Ne, a function that balances the strength of her Fi by helping her to engage empathetically with people and see many possibilities. She is skilled in diplomacy — we see this firsthand in her interaction with the Ewoks in RotJ, whom she is able to befriend and consequently rally to her cause, and throughout the expanded universe (both Disney Canon and old EU). Caring and open-minded, she is able to see and understand multiple points of view (though she may still oppose them rigidly if they run up against the values of her Fi). Her comment to Luke about Han in ANH, “He’s got to follow his own path, no one can choose it for him,” illustrates this. Also, in Bloodline, she is able to acknowledge the perspectives of both Populists and Centrists to some extent, and while she firmly rejects certain Centrist viewpoints, she is willing to seek a compromise for the sake of the bigger picture (her value of protecting the New Republic) when most of her fellow Populists aren’t. She does not dogmatically take a side and stay there unquestioningly. Instead, using her Ne in combination with her Fi, she evaluates all sides of an issue and determines what fits with her values.

She is a good listener, and others may find themselves confiding in her, as Luke does on the way to Yavin, or as Casterfo ends up doing in Bloodline.

Ne also helps her adapt to a situation and be resourceful. We see this in her finding a way out of the detention block through the garbage chute in ANH, her use of the chain that bound her to Jabba to strangle him, and countless other ways.

Fanon usually describes Leia as a broadly intelligent person with wide academic interests and an appreciation for the arts and sciences. While we don’t have a chance to see this side of her in the movies simply because it’s wartime, Ne would make her curious and eager to learn and understand (at least whatever her Fi tells her to be interested in). It would also give her a measure of creativity and a way to healthily channel her emotions, something which she has no opportunity to do while at war, to her own detriment. An INFP’s Ne can also give them a particular skill with words and language, which we see in Leia’s ability (bolstered by the Force) to compose inspiring and persuading speeches.

Finally, her Ne may be a factor in making her particularly adept at certain Force skills. Leia seems to have a profound intuitive connection with her environment, magnified through the Force. She is very sensitive to the ambience of a place, to feelings, and impressions. We see this in her nervousness at Cloud City because something doesn’t feel right, and her sense of having “always known” during her talk with Luke in RotJ. There’s a beautiful passage in the RotJ novel where, as she’s led by Wicket to the Ewok’s village, she has a sudden awareness of the trees and the world around her that fills her with wonder, and a sense of being caught up in the grandness of the universe and the life-force. This not only fits with her Force abilities, but also with Ne.

Tertiary Function: Introverted Sensing (Si)

Si places a lot of weight on personal experiences/memories, lessons learned in the past. It is nostalgic and takes comfort in routine, tradition and familiarity (providing some balance with her Ne, which is more open to new experiences and adventure).

Leia has a good memory; she remembers “images” of her real mother (possibly from a dream). She is also committed to continuing her father’s work and upholding the ideals of Alderaan and the Republic. When she is struggling, she often turns to routine for comfort, losing herself in her work and in her efforts for the cause.


In the Aftermath trilogy, she has trouble adjusting to both her new life post-fighting and the New Republic. She is so used to being able to act when she sees something wrong, but now it seems like there are a million political hoops to jump through that weren’t there before. When faced with a breach in her Fi’s values, she falls back on tradition and, in a sense, never stops being a rebel. Later, she will found the Resistance — once again, it’s a familiar way of doing things for her, coupled with her Fi’s quest for meaning and defense of values.

Inferior Function: Extraverted Thinking (Te)

Leia has been thrust into leadership positions throughout her whole life. As @bestmixtapeintherecorder said, this doesn’t mean that she’d choose it for herself, all things being equal. In fact, in RotJ, we see her taking more of a backseat, and in Bloodline, she only accepts her nomination for First Senator with extreme reluctance. However, when put into a leadership position, she shows herself to be effective and able. Her Te also couples with her Fi to lead her to jump into a debate or fight if she feels her values are challenged.

Like I said earlier, Te is where I think everyone gets hung up when typing Leia. She so clearly exhibits Te that most people assume it’s her dominant function (hence ESTJ and ENTJ). However, throughout much of the movies, Leia is incredibly stressed. Under extreme stress, the inferior function tends to take the lead, though it often comes out in negative ways or as somewhat of a caricature of dominant Te. This is exactly what we often see in Leia, particularly in ANH and ESB. Throughout those movies, she’s lost her home and family, she’s been through torture and trauma, she’s fighting on the front lines in a war, and on top of all that, she’s struggling with her frustration at and feelings for Han. Consequently, she is frequently “in the grip” of her Te. When this happens, she lashes out at others, unleashing sarcasm and biting remarks, becoming more rigid, judgmental, intolerant and even insensitive. Everything becomes even more black and white as the tempering nature of her Ne is gone. She will often seek to gain control of a situation (and thus control of herself, too).

A good example of this is in Aftermath: Life Debt when her stress over Han’s disappearance and her frustration over what she feels are heartless political processes cause her to explode during a meeting with Mon Mothma, Admiral Ackbar, and others. We also see this at the beginning of Bloodline — when faced with Casterfo’s collection of Imperial paraphernalia (which challenges her values and likely also triggers her PTSD), she eventually loses control of her anger, forgets any semblance of tolerance she had previously tried to summon, and lets loose on Casterfo, arguing viciously with him before coldly leaving the room. And of course, we see this throughout the movies in her sarcasm and insults as she takes charge of her rescue in ANH, and in her constant fighting with Han in ESB.

Sometimes, when in the grip of her Te, she may make questionable decisions in the heat of the moment, saying things she’ll later regret or trying to “fix” a situation in a way that won’t fix it at all (for example, kissing Luke in ESB to prove a point to Han that isn’t even true).

By the second half of RotJ, while she is still in a stressful wartime situation, I’d argue that she’s much more relaxed, having Han back and feeling a new sense of determination and purpose. Consequently, we don’t see as much of her sharp tongue, angry outbursts, or need for control.

If Leia were an ESTJ or an ENTJ, her behavior would be somewhat different when stressed. An ExTJ in the grip of inferior Fi is less able to think logically or stay organized and efficient, and they will tend to be overcome by the feeling that they aren’t appreciated for what they do. I don’t think we see this in Leia at all during her most stressful moments. On the contrary, she becomes more logical, rigid, and efficient, and doesn’t seem to wallow in self-pity (though she may be very critical of both herself and others).

I also think that if Leia were an ESTJ or ENTJ, she wouldn’t be quite as idealistic as we see her throughout the books and the movies. Leia is so clearly driven by her values, by her fight for the cause, and she will and often does push back against what she sees as cold, sterile rules and bureaucracy when it hinders her fight for what she believes is right. An ESTJ or ENTJ would be more likely to see the necessity of those rules and bureaucracy.

Overall, INFPs are passionate, idealistic, caring, empathetic, stubborn, defensive, deeply emotional but closed off, sometimes tolerant and sometimes intolerant, imaginative, resourceful, sensitive, artistic, intelligent, intuitive, critical, nostalgic, intense dreamers who seek truth, justice and authenticity and are driven to make the world a better place. We see many of these qualities in Leia, and the few that aren’t as readily apparent can be easily explained due to the fact that we’re seeing her in wartime/during a time of stress, where those qualities would naturally be missing. This combined with the fact that Leia’s character and actions fit very well with the INFP functional stack, as I’ve already argued, makes me conclude that Leia is best characterized as an INFP.