#Starfire 'skee

[sw5w]

Jedi Business

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:55 - 00:23:56

Nergon14 pointed out on Twitter that it was ironic that Hasbro only released four figures specific to this scene (not counting Obi, Ani and Zam), just like Kenner did for the Cantina in 1979: Avy Vida, Elan Sleazebaggano, Dannl Faytonni and Achk Med-Beq.

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Anakin Skywalker • Bufon Taire • Dannl Faytonni • Di Mantid • Lunae Minx • Reina March • Ren-Quarr • Whimper Save • Yee Moh

• Andoan wine • Central liquid processing unit • Corellian Red • Padawan braid • Polyquaternium-7 multicarbonator • Port in a Storm • Starfire 'skee • Tsiraki • Turbolift

[campingwiththecharmings]

Love is a Game (For Fools to Play)

AN: So, hi. This is the first fic I’ve written in six years (OMG), and my first starring the lovely Poe Dameron, so please be gentle. I’m so sorry this is so long, btw, I meant for it to be a drabble and, well, obviously got a little carried away lmao.

Also, while I wrote this with a female reader in mind, I’m pretty sure it reads as gender neutral (please correct me if that’s wrong, I’ve read this so many times at this point I might be blind to it lol).

(Un-beta'd)

The Resistance has finally found a safe place to lay low and is celebrating their much-needed downtime with silly party games (and alcohol, obviously).

Rated: T Words: 4,600+ (idek y'all) Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Warnings: alcohol use, mild cursing, kissing, mutual pining, friends to lovers. AO3

—

You throw back a shot of Jet Juice and grimace as it burns down your throat.

“Shit, this stuff is terrible. Don’t we have anything palatable?”

Poe sits beside you on the floor of the common room, his own shot of Jet Juice between his fingers. “We’re on a secret base in the middle of nowhere. What were you expecting? A Takodana Quencher?”

You laugh, grabbing another shot. “No, but I’d kill for a Starfire 'skee right about now. Maker, I’d even settle for a Tsiraki, at least it tastes good.”

“Eh, I’m more of a Starshine Surprise kind of guy,” he jokes, taking another shot.

You hum in agreement, only kind of processing what he’s saying as you too take another drink. You feel pleasantly buzzed and you find yourself wishing you felt this good all of the time. “That stuff’ll kill you, you know.”

His entire left side is already pretty much flush with your right, so when he chuckles and tries to bump your shoulder with his, he almost falls over into your lap. 

“Maker, Dameron, why are you always throwing yourself at me?” You snort, slapping a hand over your face when it’s louder than you anticipated; apparently you’re more sloshed than you’d originally thought.

He rights himself and tries bumping your shoulder again, but only succeeds in pressing himself further into your side. “You’re irresistible, I just can’t help it.”

You huff a laugh and turn to answer him, realizing too late how close his face is to yours. His nose bumps your cheek and his breath fans against your lips as you lock eyes with him. His face is flushed and his eyes are a little hazy and your breath catches in your throat when his gaze dips briefly to your mouth. 

You should lean back, give the both of you some space, but you can’t. He’s warm and solid and he just smells so damn good. He licks his lips absently, eyes roaming over your face. 

“You know,” he whispers, raising a playful eyebrow, “if you want to kiss me, baby, all you have to do is ask.”

A strangled laugh escapes you as the tension breaks and he smiles and leans away, searching for another drink. He wrinkles his nose when he can’t find one and looks over at you. “We need more shots.”

Just then, someone across the room yells something about playing a game and mostly everyone cheers. Poe looks at you, raising his brows in askance. You shrug and begin the process of standing to your feet (which you don’t remember being so difficult…). Poe is up before you and helps you up the rest of the way, his hand grasping your upper arm.

“You good?” he asks, watching you wobble a little as he lets you go.

You nod and pat his shoulder. “Thanks for the assist, Black Leader.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Come on, let’s go see what the game is.”

When you make it to the crowd of people playing…whatever it is they’re playing, a game is already apparently in full swing. You can’t really see what’s happening, but everyone’s cheering and laughing. You try to ask the person closest to you what’s going on, but it’s so loud, they don’t hear you. You look at Poe, Poe looks at you and you both shrug and turn back to the crowd to wait for an opening. 

After a moment, there is one and you grab Poe by the arm and push your way through, dragging him behind you. When you emerge, you finally see what everyone’s so worked up about.

Spin-the-Bottle. They’re playing Spin-the-kriffing-Bottle.

You sigh in disappointment. You’ve never been into this game, even when you’re plastered. The thought of kissing some random person that you don’t even get to pick sounds like the furthest thing from fun to you. But Poe is laughing and cheering beside you (and has somehow found another drink) and you know you won’t be able to get him to leave, at least not right now, so you resign yourself and try to enjoy the antics of your comrades.

It becomes clear pretty quickly that they’re not playing a normal game of Spin-the-Bottle. According to the girl beside you (apparently named Mor), it’s some weird mash-up with another game she can’t recall the name of, but the gist is that a person spins the bottle and goes into a closet with whomever it lands on. 

“What do you do once you’re in the closet?” you ask, sure that this must only be fun if you’re totally trashed.

Mor smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you want, but you only get seven minutes.”

The thought of having to do “whatever” with a stranger for even one minute makes your stomach turn and you decide that you are not nearly drunk enough for this and reach over and grab the shot in Poe’s hand.

“I was gonna drink that, you know,” he says deadpans, glaring half-heartedly at you.

You shrug and hand him the empty shot glass. “I need it more than you.”

He shrugs and grabs your hand in his. “Come on, we’re in next.”

You sputter as he pulls you along behind him, trying desperately to pull your hand from his grasp. 

“What?! No. No, no, no, no, noooo. I do not want to go in next, I don’t want to go in at all.”

He brushes off your protests, tightening his hold on you. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

As soon as he makes it to the circle of people, there’s a spot open and he maneuvers you into it. You momentarily panic, thinking he’s leaving you alone, but then you see him fill an open spot almost directly across from you and relax a little. He smiles at you briefly and raises an eyebrow and you can practically hear him ordering you to ‘have fun.’ 

The person to your left nudges you with their elbow, drawing your attention to a tray of shots. You sigh in relief and thank them profusely before grabbing the tray and quickly downing a shot. You take another for later and pass the tray along to the next person.

You turn your attention back on the crowd just as someone’s taking their turn. You tense slightly as the bottle spins and you pray to the Maker that it doesn’t land on you. Thankfully, you are spared and it lands on someone sitting closer to Poe. The two rise from the circle and meet in front of a supply closet looking both nervous and excited. Someone opens the door for them and they cross the threshold and wave to their friends watching in the crowd. When the door closes, everyone cheers.

“You gonna drink that?” 

You turn to look at the man on your right, who’s pointing at the full shot glass between your fingers. He’s tall and kind of lanky with sandy blonde hair and green eyes. He’s cute enough, you suppose. If you have to kiss a stranger, you wouldn’t mind it being him (though, if you’re honest with yourself, you’d much rather it be a certain pilot…).

“I am, yes. Eventually.” You tell him, smiling serenely at him. “I was gonna hold onto it until it was my turn, but I’m not sure I can wait that long.”

He laughs and gestures somewhere off to his right. “You know you can just get another one, right?”

You look in the direction he’s pointing and see an Abednedo as he fills a tray with shots and sends it out into the crowd.

“Very good to know. Thanks.”

He nods, accepting your thanks, before holding out his hand to you. “I’m Merrick.”

You shake his hand with a smile and tell him your name. You talk briefly and discover that he joined the Resistance only a few months ago and that he’s training to be a medic. You’re about to get into your own story when the door to the closet opens and the cheering resumes, drowning everything else out. You look at each other and laugh before adding your voice to the cheers. 

By the time the next person takes their turn, you’re tipsy, but the room isn’t spinning yet and you don’t feel nervous anymore so you call it a win. The bottle stops on the guy beside you (Merrick, right?) and you cheer obnoxiously, clapping along with everyone else (mostly just happy it hadn't landed on you). He and the spinner head to the closet for their allotted seven minutes and the music and chatter resume. 

The tray of shots makes it way back to you and you grab one. You catch sight of Poe on the other side of the circle as you pass the tray along. He’s laughing and talking with the person on his left and you ignore the pang of jealousy that you feel. You stare at him for a little longer, trying not to let this ruin your buzz. He catches your gaze after a moment and smiles, but there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place. Instead of trying to figure it out, you return his smile and raise your drink to him before gulping it down.

The fun continues for what feels like hours, days even, and you’ve had so much alcohol by the time it’s your turn to spin that you can barely see straight (which makes spinning the bottle ten times harder than it should be). You blow your first spin, giggling when you send the bottle flying off into the crowd, much to everyone’s amusement (they’re all just as trashed as you, after all). On your second try, you get it to spin but it barely makes a full rotation and someone in the crowd calls for a respin. On your third try, you manage to make it spin fast enough, and it feels like ages before it finally stops. When it does, you look up to see who it’s landed on and your breath catches.

Familiar brown eyes meet yours on the other side of the circle and you swallow thickly.

Kriffing hell.

Your walk to the closet is a little awkward. Pretty much everyone knows who Poe is, and about half of them also know that the two of you are basically attached at the hip, so this turn of events is probably entertaining the hell out of them. 

Everyone cheers when the door opens and suddenly you’re wondering how you managed to find any of this entertaining a few minutes ago…

You enter the closet, Poe trailing behind you. It’s more spacious than you’d anticipated, which you suppose is a good thing. The door shuts with a click and you’re struck by how quiet it suddenly is. It’s dark but you manage to figure out where Poe is with minimal effort. He hasn’t said anything since the bottle landed on him and you wonder if he’s trying not to be sick over the thought of having to kiss you. You don’t really know what to say either so you just let the silence permeate and try not to have a panic attack.

If this had been years ago, before you’d really known him, before the two of you had become almost inseparable, this would probably be one of the greatest moments of your life. But now, faced with the prospect of kissing your best friend when he clearly doesn't want to…you’re worried that your relationship will never recover and you’ll lose one of the most important people in your life.

It feels like it’s been hours, but you know it can’t have been because the door’s still closed, the silence around you almost deafening. You take a deep breath and look where you know he’s standing.

“Guess we should get this over with, huh?” you say awkwardly, thankful that he can’t see you cringe at yourself.

His laugh sounds forced and you can actually hear him run his hand nervously through his hair. “Look, we don't have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s just a dumb game.”

His voice is soft and a little gravely (probably from all the yelling) and you know he means it, but your pride won't let you back down from this.

“No, it’s fine. We’re friends, right? Friends kiss each other all the time.”

He actually laughs at this, and you imagine him shaking his head at you. “Do they?”

You shrug in response before remembering that he can’t see you. “Sure, probably. Somewhere.”

He laughs again and you smile to yourself, suddenly feeling a little braver. “Besides, I'm honestly a little bit curious. I've heard you’re pretty skilled in this area.” 

It comes out sounding like a joke, but you’re only half kidding. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve always wondered if the rumors of his prowess were true.

He says nothing but you hear him shift on his feet, as if he’s uncomfortable. You feel a pang of fear and rush to add, “I’m kidding. Obviously.”

He hums in response but says nothing else and it takes all your willpower not to find him, grab him, and shake him until he says something. Anything.

“Okay,” you try, taking a step in his direction, “how about we just count to three and, ya know…do it.”

“‘Do it?’” he repeats, voice laced with amusement.

You sigh and roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see you. “Yeah…kiss, or whatever.”

He laughs at you again and suddenly you’re annoyed that he’s clearly very much enjoying your discomfort.

“Could you please elaborate as to what actions fall under ‘whatever?’”

You grunt at him and reach out in the darkness. Your hand comes into contact with what you think is his chest and you push him in retaliation. 

“Alright, fine,” he placates, still laughing as he shuffles a little closer to you. “You’re right, let’s just do this and get back to the party.”

“Sounds good,” you reply with a nod to yourself.

“Right. So. Who goes first? Do you kiss me first, or do I kiss you first?”

You huff a laugh and nervously wet your lips. “I don’t think it really matters, Poe.”

“Sure it does. We can’t both move to kiss each other at the same time, we’ll bust a lip.”

Huh. He does kind of have a point. Too bad you can’t flip a coin.

"Alright. On the count of three, we both say a number between one and ten, the highest number initiates the kiss.”

It’s silent for a moment as he considers. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Great. Ready? One, two, three.”

You say five. Poe says seven.

Right then, so, Poe’s going to kiss you.

…Poe is going to kiss you.

Shit.

“Alright then. You ready?” He asks, clearing his throat.

“Sure. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sniffs a quiet laugh through his nose in response before stepping closer to you. You feel his hand land softly on your shoulder and you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

He remains silent as he gingerly feels his way up the side of your neck to cradle your face and your breath catches in your chest.

“Not much light in here. Need a little assistance if I’m gonna have to land blind.”

“My face isn’t a landing strip, Poe."

He snorts, his thumb absently caressing the apple of your cheek. “Noted.”

He’s close now, so close and you’re reminded of earlier that night when he joked about you wanting to kiss him and it’s then that you realize that you do. So much. Suddenly, there’s nothing else in the entire galaxy that you want more right now than for Poe Dameron, your best friend, to kiss you…

And kiss you he does.

His lips are warm, and when they touch yours, your first thought is of how unbelievably soft they are. They slide against yours slowly, almost hesitantly, and your chest aches a little at the sweetness of it. The scent of him is overwhelming, intoxicating, and you wonder, not for the first time, if it’s something he puts on or if it’s just him. After a moment, you remember to move your lips against his, causing him to pause briefly, and you wonder if he expected you to just stand there and let him do all the work.

All thoughts disappear from your head when he continues the kiss, gently angling your head and releasing a breath through his nose as he presses his mouth harder against yours. Your breath stutters in your chest as he pulls your body closer with his free hand, his boots bumping against yours as he slots his foot between them. Heat blossoms in your chest when his tongue lightly traces the seam of your lips and you part them without hesitation. His tongue dips into your mouth to brush against yours and you sigh softly at the sensation. He tastes divine; an intoxicating combination of spice, caf, and alcohol. Your hands, which had been clenched into fists at your sides, move instead to clutch at the fabric of his shirt so you can pull him closer, and you swear you hear him groan when his chest bumps against yours.

You're so lost in the feel of him, in the taste of him, you forget where you are and why you’re even doing this in the first place and, before your lust-fogged brain has a chance to clear, there is a click and door to the closet opens. You both pull away from each other automatically, squinting at the light spilling in from the common room and flinching as the cheers from the crowd fill your ears. As your eyes adjust, you glance at Poe, expecting him to look as wrecked as you feel…except, he doesn’t. Instead, he looks like he always does: cool, collected, and mildly irritated. A little embarrassed, you immediately school your expression to something similar, something unaffected, before he notices. 

You both nod awkwardly to the crowd as you exit the closet to return to the party. You start to walk in the direction of the make-shift bar, but stop suddenly when the room spins a little. You grunt and close your eyes at the feeling, Poe steadying you with a hand on your back. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” you assure, ignoring the pleasant heat of his hand through your shirt. “Just a little dizzy. Think I drank too much.”

He’s nodding when you open your eyes again, a teasing smile on his lips. “You definitely did.”

You huff a laugh and bump him with your shoulder. “You’re one to talk.”

“You’re right, we’ve both outdone ourselves tonight,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Let’s get some water and maybe a few snacks. Pretty sure I saw some over here earlier.”

You shake your head when he tries to walk and pull you with him. “Actually, I think I’m just gonna call it a night.”

He looks a little disappointed but you can tell he understands. “Alright, yeah. Let’s go, I’ll walk you back.”

“No, it's okay, I can make it,” you say, trying to sound more sure than you actually feel.

He studies you for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “You sure? I mean, you were all wobbly a couple seconds ago, remember?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure with a chuckle, “Really. Go, have fun.”

“Not sure how much more fun I can take at this point but, since you’re the one asking, I’ll give it a try.”

You smile and move to walk away. “Night, Poe.”

“Night. Make sure you drink lots of water, and eat something. It’ll help with the dizziness.”

You salute him mockingly and turn away with a laugh. “Yes, sir, Commander.”

As you walk slowly back to your room, all you can think about is your kiss with Poe. About how you wish you could do it again, do it everyday for the rest of your life. A pang of longing slices through your chest and you groan in annoyance, mentally kicking yourself for letting this happen.

Sleep, you tell yourself. Sleep will fix this. It fixes everything.

You manage to make it to your room unscathed and toe off your boots before falling into your bed with a groan, falling asleep the minute your head hits the pillow.

—

You wake a few hours later with a throbbing head and a mouth as dry as the sands of Jakku. 

Maker, you’re swearing off alcohol after this. 

Or, Jet Juice, at least…

It’s then that you remember Poe’s “orders” to drink water and eat something and you instantly regret not listening to him (not that you’d ever admit that to him). You roll gingerly off of your bed and walk to the sink in the corner. After many, many cups of water, you start to feel slightly more human again. You search for food but can’t find any, and you’re seriously considering running down to the mess hall for some snacks, when you hear a knock at your door.

You pause, confused as to who it could be this early in the morning. Your bunkmate stayed with their partner last night so it likely isn’t for them, and you aren’t expecting anyone…

After a moment of deliberation, you open the door to find Poe. It’s only been a few hours since you saw him, but you can’t help but notice how exhausted he looks.

“Maker, you look as bad as I feel.”

Poe runs a hand through his hair and looks at you with tired eyes. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d check in on you.”

You ignore the warmth that spreads through your chest at his concern and usher him inside without another word, closing the door behind him with a click.

“Shit, I didn’t wake you, did I?” he adds with trepidation, turning abruptly to face you.

It’s early morning, and there isn’t much light filtering in through the small window on the other side of the room just yet, but the lamp on your desk is on and you can more or less make him out despite the dimness. 

“No, I was up. Looking for snacks when you knocked, actually.”

He nods absently, chewing on his lip as he silently studies your face. He’s close, so close, and you find yourself trying desperately to push the memory of kissing him just a few hours ago from your thoughts.

“Everything okay?” you ask evenly, resisting the urge to look at his mouth.

He hesitates, throat bobbing as he considers his response. “I’m just…so tired.”

Your brow furrows as he squeezes his eyes shut and looks away from you with a sigh. You can tell he doesn’t just mean the war, that there’s something else there that he isn’t sharing with you. Your mind immediately returns to the kiss and a sharp panic stabs through you. He knows. He knows and he’s struggling with that knowledge–the knowledge that you’re head-over-heels in love with him, that you’ve probably been in love with him since the day you met him.

His eyes meet yours again as you silently panic and his brow furrows. “What is it?”

He’s still close, standing in the doorway between you and the rest of your room. You shake your head as you look away and move to walk past him, but he catches your arms to keep you where you are.

“Uh, uh, don’t run away. Talk to me.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly a desert despite the copious amount of liquid you’ve consumed. You meet his eyes again and inhale slowly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You close your eyes and sigh in resignation. “It’s stupid,” you whisper.

“So what, you say stupid shit all the time.”

You let out a choked laugh and fight back the tears threatening to pool in your eyes. Poe. Solid, wonderful, always-there-for-you Poe. You can’t lose this, lose him. You’d crash and burn and there’d be no one to bring you back.

“Just tell me,” he whispers softly, moving one of his hands to cup your face.

You open your eyes to meet his gaze again, knowing he can probably read everything you don’t want him to know on your face.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, his eyes pleading but also…hopeful?

“What, like, in general?” you joke in an attempt to deflect. 

He frowns and shoots you a disapproving look. “You know what I mean.”

You swallow thickly and release a breath before responding. “I’m afraid that what happened will ruin our friendship.”

He nods sadly, as if he expected this answer. "Listen to me, okay? Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever change the way I feel about you."

His hand is still on your face, and he's looking at you in a way you've never seen him look at you before and a little flicker of hope starts to burn in your chest.

You nod, giving him a tight smile. 

He smiles back, moving to release you and step away, to give you the space you’d been seeking just a moment ago, but you realize suddenly that you don’t want it. You clasp your hand around his wrist to keep it in place, his eyes widening a little in surprise as he searches your face. He must find what he needs there, because his expression morphs quickly from surprised to determined and then he's pressing his lips to yours. 

You hesitate for a moment out of surprise, before smiling against his mouth as you kiss him back. He sighs in relief and kisses you harder, as if he's been wanting this, longing for this, just like you have. He cradles your face in his hand and angles your head slightly so he can deepen the kiss. Heat blossoms in your chest as your lips continue to slide against his and your body suddenly feels so hot you think you might combust. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips, it’s your turn to sigh. You part them and allow him entrance, moaning softly at the taste of him. Slowly, you slide your hands up his chest and plunge your fingers into his soft, thick hair. The rings on your fingers catch on his curls as you bury them deeper and he groans softly at each tug. 

You'll have to remember that for later.

He pulls back from you suddenly, pressing his forehead to yours, the hand on your face sliding down to rest at the base of your neck as he lets both of you catch your breath. You observe him from beneath your lashes while you wait, chewing your bottom lip as you survey the damage you’ve done to him; he’s flushed, his lips are red and puffy, his hair is a mess, and his eyes…kriffing hell, his eyes–Heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust. This. This is what you had hoped to see before, see him just as wrecked as you.

“You know,” you whisper teasingly, toying with a lock of his hair, “if you wanted to kiss me, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

He laughs and it takes everything in you not to grab him by his collar and immediately pull his mouth back to yours (though, you doubt he’d complain if you did). You know you have to talk about this, talk about what this means, what this is, but all you really want to do right now is keep kissing him.

So you do.

That's all folks, thanks for reading!

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

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closet scene (Poe’s POV)

[razor-crests]

Stomp and Grind

Pairing: (Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT 🛑

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Delirium[ dih-leer-ee-uh m ] - a state of violent excitement or emotion. A Mandalorian walks into a bar, and it's only a matter of time before he ruins your life.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954169/chapters/52391470

Business was booming, so to speak.

The lower city joint was what you considered to be comfortably packed from your own familiar spot behind the bar, tucked decisively away from the thunderous energy of colorful clientele. Every booth, table, and stool was spoken for, with excess patrons clamoring to huddle around large groups engaged in conversation or bravely attempt to wrassle their way toward you to gruffly request an order. Evidently, there wasn’t enough starfire ‘skee in the system to keep these thugs sated.

You couldn’t scarcely remember a time that you’d seen the cantina as packed as this. When you took the bartending job initially, Taris was no better than a ghost town, a rusted broken-down shell of what it once was pre-civil war. Truthfully, the history of the planet you called home was one muddled with class warfare and deception, but Taris proved to be prime real estate for the galaxy’s most morally ambiguous, despite remaining 70% decaying rubble and 30% ocean.

See, the thing about Taris was that it had served as the galaxy’s punching bag for thousands of years for a reason. In its heyday, over 60 billion Tarisians resided on the planet’s surface, whether they were privileged enough to afford upper city apartments or otherwise. It was an almost perfect waypoint between Hutt Space and Coruscant, two other juggernauts of industry. Skyscrapers towered hundreds of stories high, breaching the cloud cover so unremittingly that the naked eye might’ve deemed them towers to the heavens.

Only, unlike any other ecumenopolis, Taris was perfectly stationed within the Outer Rim, which naturally meant that nobody was enforcing shit.

All this made it a haven for bounty hunters and travelers alike, or really anyone who sought to make some quick currency without answering to a higher authority.

To distance yourself from that way of life would be absurd. After all, you weren’t just any run of the mill barkeep. Your status as an informant was well kept, but implied, as many of the businesses in the lower city area were not what they seemed at first glance. The man that owned the establishment had connections to smugglers, Separatists, Galactic Alliance politicians- you name it.

Live music began to blare from the stage, prompting another eruption of movement from the crowd as clusters of people began to siphon onto the dance floor, faces alight with the elation that only a back-alley watering hole could inspire.

You finish emptying out a glass of something neon green and cloudy, handing it swiftly to the worker droid for cleaning, and shift to lean forward against the counter when a silvery glint catches your eye, weaving within the crowd but out of sight in a mere flash. Craning your neck to identify it once more, your attention is forcibly yanked away by...ugh.

“It’s been too long,” drawled a familiar voice from beyond the bar, and you were instantly relieved to have said barrier in place. The speaker was a Balosar gang member that you distinctly remember from the week before, having had the privilege of cleaning up after him when he couldn’t hold his liquor. The ordeal only came after his vehement effort to coax you into a date. For three hours straight.

He was a lanky young thing, fresh off the docking bay from his homeworld. His clothes were disheveled, but only just enough that it was evident he was trying too hard to appear rugged. His eyes were glazed over this time, though, and you could tell he was barely lucid. You couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he’d last if staying in town was part of his MO.

“Not long enough, Bez,” you retort, instinctively. Funnily enough, your second instinct was to casually slide your hand underneath the glossy tabletop to grasp the handle of a blaster you kept at arm’s reach for safety reasons. You wouldn’t need it, necessarily, but perhaps you could chase him away so as to not be doomed to a shift spent babysitting. It was either that or staging a brawl, which sounded like way too much work.

“You know I couldn’t keep myself away for- hey, what the-”

While Baz was presumably gearing up to give his new and improved pitch, you were checking the barrel of your WESTAR-34 while your hip shifted to rest snugly against the nearby pillar.

“Oh, by all means, keep going,” you continue, the faint echo of a smile edging across your cheeks. You were occupying yourself with polishing the hilt using your jacket sleeve, watching the refraction of light bounce erratically from multicolored lamps overhead.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m here to speak to a man named Jigo Delac. Is he here?”

It’s amazing how the specific cadence of someone’s voice can carry such depth and promise, especially if it’s being augmented by a modulator. It was undeniable; your attention was captured in an instant.

You expected Baz to do something idiotic and ask who the fuck this guy thought he was talking to, but he seemed to slink away almost immediately.

Once you raised your head, you understood why.

“Rough timing, friend. You just missed him,” you respond swiftly, adjusting your gaze higher to meet the stranger’s eyes but finding the distinct gleam of a t-visor instead. Of course.

Your shoulders do something funny, not quite tensing up but rather rolling back as your posture shifted. The lone figure was taller than you by a couple inches from what you could tell, seemingly armored in beskar from head to toe. Well, that was what you assumed, given that anything below his chestplate was obscured by your little firewater-filled enclosure.

“But…,” you continue melodically, drawing out the word while simultaneously leaning in his direction until your elbows brushed the tabletop, “He’ll be back soon. You can hang tight ‘till then, if you want.”

Okay, that was a lie, and a pretty big one as well, considering that your boss had left on business two cycles ago and wouldn’t return for three more. It’s just that something was telling you not to let this one walk away so easily. To see the crowd consume him once again and be devoid of alluring conversation for the rest of the night was an unbearable consequence to dwell on.

He wasn’t the first Mandalorian you had the fortune of seeing in person. Their kind was few, practically archaic, and prone to isolation, but Taris was a hub for anyone interested in mercenary work. It was along the Hydian Way as well, previously passing through what scholars referred to as the Mandalorian Road.

You motioned for him to sit with a quick nod of your head and watched the stranger, this Mandalorian, exhibit an apprehensive indication before settling down on the stool directly in front of you. His helmet, though decisively tinted, left room for some expressiveness. Even though you couldn’t perceive any facial articulation, his body language spoke for itself.

Somebody further down the line flagged you down for a drink, and so you shifted into mixology mode, grabbing bottles off the wall. The man’s presence was certainly assertive. It was also strangely serene, as the two of you sank into a comfortable silence over the next twenty minutes.

His stoicism was kind of intriguing you, though. That whole crowd wasn’t really known for their talkative nature. Still, you were growing more intent on picking his brain. A lull in drink orders prompted you to retrieve two short glasses and plunk them down between the two of you.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he said, and you could sense he was looking at you. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was meeting your eyes.

“Is it uh, because of the…?,” you brought a finger up to trace the outline of your own jaw in an allusion to the helmet which remained on; this was according to religious protocol, you had heard.

“Mostly, yes.”

You nodded slowly, pouring a shot in each glass anyways.

“Guess I’ll pick up your slack,” you respond curtly, proceeding to throw back both of them.

You could’ve sworn you heard a low hint of laughter from under his breath.

______________

“I just now realized that you never told me your name.”

The roar of the late night crowd had all but died out, leaving wide open space at a nearby table. You had happily hurdled the bar as you’ve done a thousand times before, tossing a rag to KO-6D as you went. Hours had passed, and you suspected the moons to set soon enough. If he realized something was suspect, he hadn’t let on, instead choosing to trade stories for a while.

“Most people just end up calling me Mando,” he answered. He seemed relieved to see the labor droid power down fully, and reclined a little further back in his chair.

Your acquaintance, now Mando, had taken the seat opposite you once again. You drew your knees close to your chest, forever unable to sit in a chair correctly.

“Alright, short for Mandalorian. That’s what you are, but not who you are though, y’know?”

“Should I cut you off?” The tone was playful, and you matched his sarcasm with an airy giggle that trailed off with the surety that he was staring at you again.

Silence hung like a star in the sky for 10 palpable seconds before you blurted out,

“I might’ve uh...underestimated Jigo’s penchant to turn an errand into a business trip. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

Now you were stressing a little bit. Was he gonna be pissed? Even worse, would he leave?

Unable to cope with the uncertainty, you get up to go hop onto the bar, perched with your legs dangling off the edge in a sort of retreat.

“Yeah, I gathered that about an hour ago,” Mando said, mostly unfazed. He tilted his head inquisitively, as if he wanted you to finish a thought.

“Did I waste your time, though?” The second you say it, you want to groan at how stupid it sounds.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, trust me.”

There was a pronounced softness to that statement, and it brought heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. You were looking very hard at the floor, but you heard a distant shifting from his chair as he went to stand before you, leaving just enough room so that you could get down if you wanted to, but you were close enough to see your own reflection in the helmet.

The courage to look back at him accrued slowly but surely, and you reached for his gloved hand first, as a test.

He allowed you to take it, but did little else.

“I don’t usually…” he trailed off a bit shakily, a surprising display of shyness from someone who spoke with such conviction. You noticed at this proximity that his shoulders, pauldrons or no, were broad as hell. You nodded faintly, finding an explanation needless. Your thumb ghosted over the material covering his palm, and you attempted to tug him closer by the arm.

“C’mere,” is what you could muster, and it worked well enough judging by the way he shifted to settle his arms at your waist. You were drawn in from the get go, but steeled yourself enough to reach for the surface of his chest plating first, letting your hands skim the expanse before landing tentatively on his shoulders.

Effects of the firewater still burned faintly within your chest, swirling around in a vortex of confusion and anticipation and more strikingly, want.

Paying attention to where the beskar plating met twiny, thick fabric, you grasped tighter as if to soothe the tension from his neck. Body heat was radiating from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and you felt the strongest urge to bury your face into it.

Just when you expected it the least, he hooked both of his hands underneath your knees, pulling you closer with ease until he was properly stood between your legs.

You had a bit of a height advantage, situated on the chilly slab of synrock. Thankfully, you’d cleared it off earlier, but broken glass wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

You were caught in a light gasp, suddenly at a much closer proximity. Both of his hands settled steadily on your clothed outer thighs. Clearly, you would be thrilled to be rid of every layer, to feel how rough his palms were from the strain of combat as they dug into your bare skin. It was increasingly apparent, though, that this type of intimacy was already pushing his boundaries. Try as he might to inhibit it, you could detect a tremor in his breaths that you couldn’t resist trying to soothe.

You leaned back briefly in order to shrug the patched bomber jacket off of your shoulders and land on the floor, neglected. All that remained was your black sleeveless top, which was already beginning to ride up on your torso, prompting goosebumps to form.

You were mindful of the blaster at his hip, as well as the blades sheathed along his thigh, but knew better than to think they posed a danger. Nobody had a bounty out on you, surely. Your boss took good care of his charges, provided protection. If you were being tracked, Jigo would be the first to know.

Slowly, you wind your arms around the Mandalorian’s neck until your forehead meets the front of his helmet with a gentle thud. Eyes lidded, you spent a moment just like that, imagining what exactly the galaxy was playing at by bringing this masked bounty hunter to your cantina.

You felt his hands hover at your waist for a beat before one came to grip your inner thigh, and you decided then that this slow burn was no good for your nerves.

“Does a girl have to beg for it?” You ask at a half-whisper, fingers skimming the contours of the helmet.

It seemed like this one was full of surprises. In an instant, he was lifting you and making short work of your pants, which you suspect ended up on the floor as well. Left feeling significantly underdressed and equally aroused, you could do nothing but hold on tight as the hand that wasn’t holding you steady brushed your inner thighs, inching ever closer to where you needed it most.

It didn’t even bother you that his gloves remained on, and you arched into his palm, muttering obscenities while he palmed you over your underclothes.

“Only if you want to,” he retorted, more than a little breathless himself. You made an instinctive reach for the sizable tent below his belt, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when he dropped his head onto your shoulder with a low groan.

You sure as hell didn’t see it happen, but Mando yanked the glove off his right hand and proceeded to continue teasing you.

Whimpering in realization, you understood that he wanted to feel for himself whether you were soaked through your panties.

The answer was yes.

Every part of you was screaming for him, eager to come apart under his hands as he busied himself parting the fabric to give you even better friction. One finger slipped in easily, and two had you keening within his grasp. He was enveloping you, and you felt yourself going mad with it, especially when you inhaled to draw in his scent.

It became apparent that this wasn’t his first rodeo, so to speak. He was crooking his fingers so precisely, kneading the heel of his wrist into your most sensitive area, avoiding any direct contact that would make you flinch or shy away. Within minutes, you were nearing your climax at breakneck speed.

“Go ahead,” he urged, voice alight with the anticipation of witnessing your peak. His hips had been canting against you with his own need, seemingly not of his own accord, and the prospect of getting him over the edge as well made a whimper bubble to the surface of your chest while you spasmed fiercely on his fingers.

All the Imperial troops in the galaxy couldn’t stop you from dropping to your knees after that. One moment, you were mouthing his clothed length, and the next, he was gripping the edge of the table and moaning words of encouragement, even as he came.

It boggled your mind to think that a brief, frankly juvenile sexual encounter could feel meaningful, dare you say...intimate? Living on the lawless side of the systems had its perks, but trustworthy confidants were in short supply; and people that you’d allow in your bed, even shorter.

The two of you spent a good while catching your breath. You threw the bounty hunter a hand towel, exchanging quips like you’d known each other for years. That fondness, the heart-wrenching ease with which he ran his fingers through your hair- that was worth something.

When you parted ways, you were leaning gingerly against the doorway, having had the pleasure of flustering your Mandalorian all over again after standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to the beskar where his cheek would be.

As you watched him take his leave under the heavy shadow of Taris’ moons, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being sentenced to a great deal of waiting. For what, you didn’t yet understand.

There were worse things than that.

[cosleia]

The Face of Evil

kylux, 3805 words, rated T for teen (for some sex references). Also on AO3 here.

"What do you do on a date though?" Hux groaned into his brandy. "I should never have asked him, I don't know what I'm doing."

Phasma patted him roughly on the back in a way that was probably meant to be comforting. "It'll be fine," she drawled. "You just do something you enjoy that can be done with more than one person."

"What do I even enjoy?" Hux was at a loss. "Sitting around drinking with you? I can't very well invite you on the date. And does he even drink?"

"Arms," Phasma said, "you're making a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. It's just a date. Just take him back to your quarters---"

"I'm not that kind of man!" Hux yelped, face going hot. Scandalized, he glanced quickly around to see if any of the other officers in the club were looking. At the next table, Lt. Mitaka was staring intently into his beer. So he'd heard, then. Wonderful. What speculation might be running through the Finalizer gossip mill tomorrow?

Phasma was grinning when he turned back to her. "Well, that's not what I meant, but interesting that it's the first place your mind went."

"What did you mean, then?" Hux asked. Maybe if he completely ignored the second half of her statement, she wouldn't press it.

...or maybe not, he thought glumly as Phasma leaned in close. "Is the general looking forward to having sex with Kylo Ren?" she purred. At least she'd kept her voice down.

"Phas," Hux said pleadingly. "Don't tease me."

"Teasing you is one of the great enjoyments of my life, Arms. It's why I get out of bed in the morning."

Hux downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.

"If he wanted to, would you do it on the first date?"

"Phas."

"Are you going to do a little trimming down there, just in case? Or I have some wax you could use."

"Phas."

"What about your underwear? Got anything special? I know a guy---"

"Phas, for the love and glory of the Empire---"

"Oh," Phasma interrupted, snapping her fingers. "Are you gonna let him fuck you? That takes special prep, right?"

"...you did not just ask me that."

"I know what's involved," Phasma said, and then she leaned even closer, the laser-burn scent of her starfire 'skee filling Hux's nose. "One of your officers is really into pegging. Wanna know who?"

"No, thank you," Hux said, leaning away.

"It's not who you think."

"Who do you think I think? Wait, don't answer that." Hux shook his head; the room wobbled slightly. "Phas, I've hit my limit,” he said, putting a hand to his forehead. “I've gotta go."

"Aw, the armchair general runs at the first sign of real danger?"

Yes, it was definitely time to go. Phasma was slipping out of "obnoxious drunk" and into "mean drunk." Hux slid off his stool. "Good night, Phas," he said, and began to walk away.

"You should let him fuck you," Phasma said to his back, a little too loudly. He clenched his fists, started walking faster. "I bet he'd tear you in half!"

Hux fled the officers' club.

~

If she hadn't been talking about sex to begin with, Hux thought as he carefully downed two painkillers and chased them with an entire glass of water, then what had she meant to advise Hux to do with Kylo Ren in his quarters?

It wasn’t that Hux didn’t want to have sex with Kylo Ren---

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd have to worry about this later; for now, he had three shifts on the bridge ahead of him. Sighing, he stepped out of his quarters, turned, and strode down the corridor.

"Sir?"

Hux startled, somehow managing not to leap away from the officer who’d suddenly appeared at his elbow. "Lieutenant," he said, nodding as if he had not just been completely taken off guard.

Mitaka fell into step at his flank, hands clasped behind his back. "I was wondering, sir, if you...that is...I have some ideas, maybe, for your date?"

Hux stopped walking.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overhear, but I was right next to the bar," Mitaka said in a rush.

"No, please," Hux said, hoping he didn't sound too eager. "I appreciate your consideration."

Mitaka smiled in obvious relief. "All right," he said. "So there are really two problems. First, it's hard to find a date activity on-ship. We don't really waste space here, so there aren't as many options as you'd have on-planet. Second, there isn't much privacy. Not many quiet places to talk with someone."

Hux was thankful that Mitaka did not assume the privacy would be used for anything else---or, if he did, that he didn’t mention it. "So what do you propose?"

"One option is to simply do the things you would normally do, but together. So a workout, for example. You could be each other's spotters."

Hux considered this. It seemed early to allow Ren to become intimately acquainted with the extent of his physical capabilities. "Perhaps," he said doubtfully.

"You could take a meal together in the officers' club," Mitaka continued. "You could book it for yourself, so there wouldn't be anyone else around."

Now that was an idea. Hux tapped his chin. "That's good," he said.

Mitaka almost beamed. "Thank you, sir. There's also the forward conference rooms, the ones with viewports? That might be a nice place for a quiet conversation. You could take dessert there. It would be pretty romantic." Mitaka suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to; he quickly added, "Sir."

"All right," Hux said. He ignored Mitaka's familiarity. It was a bit irregular, but so was the entire conversation. So was Hux's reason for having it, for that matter. "Dinner and dessert. Would those be the only date...er, activities?"

"Not necessarily, sir," Mitaka said. "There's the recreation area. That would be more public, but there are things to do there. Like the shooting range, or the game room, or the holotheater."

Hux did not want to dismiss Mitaka's suggestions out of hand, but the shooting range and the game room just seemed like opportunities for Ren to one-up him. He'd been wondering if this was a bad idea since the fateful words Ren, I want you to go on a date with me slipped through his lips, but now his concern was shifting into panic. Was there even anything they could do together?

"What's playing at the holotheater?" he asked desperately, hands curling into fists.

"Well, you can have them play whatever you want, but right now the schedule's got a horror holo that's pretty good. Captain Phasma took me to see it last week."

Hux's head whipped around, causing his dull headache to flare into hot needles of pain. Was Mitaka dating Phasma? Did that mean…

No, no, he did not want to think about his lieutenant in that way.

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose again, willed the painkillers to start working. Mitaka shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "Horror," Hux said. "What kind of horror? Is it a thriller, or more like a series of jump scares?"

"It's a thriller," Mitaka said, "and it gets really intense. There are definitely some jump scares, though. That's kind of romantic too," he confided, "because---" He broke off. "Sorry."

"Nonsense," Hux said, "I am asking your advice. There's no need to apologize. Why is it---" and he fought vainly against the flush he felt rising high on his cheekbones, "---romantic?"

"Well," Mitaka said, his voice going quiet, "if you get scared, your date will kind of...want to protect you." And then he was actually scuffing his foot against the floor.

"Hmm," Hux said, and at that Mitaka looked up in alarm.

"I mean!" he said. "I don't think you'd be scared of a holo, sir! I meant 'you' to mean anyone, like your date---" Then he went silent, almost certainly because the idea of Kylo Ren being scared of a holo was completely ludicrous.

"Don't worry about it, Lieutenant," Hux said. "Thank you for your input. I will take it all under advisement. Go ahead to the bridge; I have a small matter to attend to."

As Mitaka marched stoically down the hall, Hux took a long, slow breath and forced himself not to slump against the bulkhead. He had a lot to think about, but at the moment he was having trouble pushing a certain image out of his mind. It was silly, it was beneath him, and it was the sort of thing that had gotten him into this predicament in the first place.

Hux let the scene play out in his imagination anyway: sitting in a darkened theater next to Kylo Ren, close to him, knees touching maybe, and at a certain point in the holo pretending to be scared, jumping, perhaps making a soft sound, leaning toward him...and Kylo Ren wrapping a big, strong arm around his shoulders.

~

The third problem with trying to go on a date on a military vessel, of course, was attire. Hux didn't think it would be quite proper to requisition civilian clothing for personal use, so he was left to choose from his dress uniform, his standard uniform, his combat uniform, and his physical training uniform. The dress uniform was far too formal, and Ren saw the standard uniform every day. The physical training uniform, on the other hand, was extremely casual. He might as well wear pajamas.

Hux frowned at his combat uniform, the uniform he would wear should he ever have need to visit a hot zone. It gave the impression of going to war. Hux supposed a date might be compared to a battle, but he didn't want to make Ren think he was looking for a fight. The jacket at least had to go.

The trousers were thick, made to endure harsh conditions, but more fitted than those of his standard uniform. They were a drab sort of tan with large pockets. He'd wear the brown boots that went with them, but he'd leave the matching gloves behind. For the shirt…

It was within regulations to wear a short-sleeved shirt of a respectable color with combat uniform trousers. Hux surveyed his small selection and realized he had no colored shirts at all; they were all black and gray. Gray wouldn't match, so black it was.

Hux tucked in the shirt, buckled the belt, and surveyed himself critically in the mirror. Was he too casual? Should he---but there was really nothing else to be done, was there? The blaster-resistant vest that went over the uniform jacket would hardly help matters, and there were no other options.

Perhaps he should have a set of civilian clothes made for him after all, to keep on hand. Standard sizes rarely fit him anyway, he reasoned, so having something premade would ensure he would be prepared for a planetside mission at all times.

It was too late for that tonight, unfortunately; Hux was due to meet Ren at the officers' club in ten minutes.

He glanced over to his desk, where he'd laid his datapad. Should he take it? He might be needed, and it would be convenient to have. And it would fit in one of these huge pockets.

But. Bringing work along on a date seemed incredibly rude. Hux let out a huffing sigh. No, this evening was going to happen properly. No distractions.

He stared at his reflection, checking his hair, willing the nervousness from his face.

He was going on a date with Kylo Ren.

~

Hux arrived at the officers' club exactly on time. He swept through the hatch as the door slid away, eyes darting around the room to ensure everything was still in order. Thankfully, it appeared that nothing had changed since he checked the space earlier that afternoon; the lights were set slightly lower than usual, soothing music was playing quietly in the background, the tables were covered with crisp white cloths, and the table at the center of the room was graced by a tall drinking glass containing a decorative faux blossom. There wasn't much to be had in terms of luxury on a ship like this, but Hux had made do.

Yes, everything was as he'd left it, except there was a stranger in the otherwise empty room, standing at the bar. He wore flowing red robes that Hux didn't recognize as being part of any First Order uniform, and something was sparkling in his wavy black hair.

"Excuse me," Hux said, stepping forward, "the club is reserved---"

The man turned, and Hux sucked in a breath. "General Hux," Kylo Ren said, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Ren," Hux stammered. "I didn't...recognize you."

Honestly, what had he expected? That Ren would wear the uniform of the Knights of Ren? That he would go on a date in helmet and hood?

Ren closed the distance between them. "These are the robes of the old Imperial Guard," he explained. "Worthy attire for the protector of the throne. There's a special helmet, too, but I brought my own instead."

Of course. Ren would have to wear his helmet at some point, if they expected to engage in any public date activities. Hux noticed now that Ren's usual helmet was indeed sitting on the bar.

"Shall we, General?" Ren asked, gesturing to the table.

"Armitage," Hux blurted. "My--my name is Armitage."

Ren smiled again, and it was the strangest thing. It took a moment for Hux to realize why: tonight was the first time he'd ever seen it happen. "Armitage," Ren repeated, and the sound of his name in that low purr of a voice sent a hot jolt straight through Hux's body. "And you may call me Kylo."

"Kylo," Hux said, and it was with effort that he did not add "Ren." He nodded at the table. "Yes, let's have dinner."

The food wasn't anything special; it would be some time before the next supply shipment, and the Finalizer had not had reason to linger at any planets lately, so all he’d had to work with was the same cafeteria fare all the other officers were having tonight. There was a wedge of protein, a cluster of noodles in sauce, and a salad. Hux had helped himself to a few extra bread rolls for the table.

Ren was quiet, eating steadily, gazing at Hux for long moments before turning his attention back to his plate. He ate elegantly, Hux noted, as though he had been trained in etiquette. But then of course he had. That was easy to forget, given his usual demeanor.

"Is that...traditional?" Hux asked finally. "Somewhere? To wear those robes."

Ren chuckled. "Hardly. They are part of my collection. I thought they might be more appropriate for dinner than a modern warrior's robes."

"Ah," Hux said. "Do you---have you ever worn a First Order uniform?" He mentally kicked himself. Ren in uniform, perfectly pressed, shimmery tunic putting his broad chest and shoulders on display, was something he'd been rather curious to see for quite some time now. But it was far too soon to bring it up. Now he was in danger of showing his hand.

"I was issued a duty uniform," Ren said, "but I have never had reason to wear it."

"Ah," Hux said again. He could hardly ask Ren to put it on for him, could he? No. No, he could not. Hux sawed off a chunk of protein and drew it to his mouth to keep himself from saying anything stupid.

After a moment of silence, Ren spoke again. "So what do you have planned for this evening, Gen---Armitage?"

Hux knew he was blushing and rather wanted to sink through the floor. "Well," he said, licking his lips nervously, "after dinner I thought we'd take in a holo at the recreation area. And then..." He trailed off. He was looking forward to the end of the evening the most, but he wasn't sure he should spoil it. Then again, would it really seem all that special to Ren...?

"And then...?" Ren asked, raising an eyebrow, and then he smirked a little.

Hux let out a rather undignified sound as he jolted in his chair, jostling the table a bit. "That's not---I mean---I wasn't implying---"

"Armitage," Ren said. He was smiling, though he also looked a little confused. "So...it's a surprise? The next thing."

"Yes," Hux said, relieved. "It's nothing huge, just something I thought would be nice."

"I look forward to it," Ren said.

~

They sat in silence long after the dessert and caf were gone, propped back on their palms with their legs stretched out, enjoying the expanse of stars that lay beyond the viewport. All in all it had been a lovely date. Kylo had taken Hux’s arm as they strolled from the officer’s mess to the holotheater and again when they came here to the largest forward conference room, and the combination of the warm press of Kylo’s hand on his bicep and the way Kylo looked in his helmet and brilliant red robes made Hux feel so light it was as though the artificial gravity was malfunctioning. Everyone had seen them together. The most powerful man in the First Order---at least in terms of physical strength---was on a date with Hux.

There had been awkward moments, and he hadn’t quite managed to fake being frightened by the holo, but on the whole Hux felt confident there would be a next time. Maybe...maybe he'd work up the courage to kiss Kylo, then.

He was shifting his hand slowly toward Kylo's when: "You're so...normal," Kylo said.

Hux blinked, flattening his palm against the hard metal floor. "Er. Beg pardon?"

"You're just...a person."

"Of course I'm a person," Hux frowned.

"It's just...you're not what I expected."

Hux pushed forward, folding himself into a cross-legged position and resting his forearms on his knees. "What did you expect?" he asked.

"When I first met you, I'd heard how quickly you'd risen through the ranks, how...ruthless you'd been. I thought for sure..." Kylo trailed off.

Hux kept his eyes fixed on the viewport, though he wasn't really seeing the stars. There was a sudden twisting in his belly. Had he disappointed Kylo somehow? Was this all too mundane for him? "You thought for sure what?" he asked. Better to get it over with quickly.

But Kylo said, "I thought you'd be cruel."

Hux swiveled to face him, eyebrows climbing his forehead. "Cruel? Why would I be cruel?"

"It's just, the things you do, they affect so many people. And you do them without hesitation. Horrible---that is, things our enemies consider horrible---"

"Our enemies are weak, Ren," Hux said, only noticing he'd used Kylo's last name after he'd said it. This was a date, he reminded himself. He had specifically decided not to go looking for an argument with Kylo tonight. Hux steadied himself, tried to keep his voice calm. "Kylo. They won't do what's necessary, so we have to step in and do it for them," he explained. "We have the right of things, and it is up to us to bring order to the galaxy."

"The Starkiller," Kylo said. "You made it a reality. And you're in command of it. You wanted command of it."

"Of course," Hux said, fighting down irritation at this odd, cadet-level conversation. Kylo had had an unconventional upbringing, after all. "It's my best option to bring order swiftly. We'll save more lives than Starkiller takes by winning the war right away, and we'll eliminate the largest roadblock to order at the same time."

"Entire planets," Kylo said. "Innocent people." He was starting to sound a bit too much like the useless culture he'd escaped from.

"There isn't an innocent being in the entire galaxy," Hux reminded him firmly. "And putting down non-combatants is often the wisest, most efficient course of action. You've done it yourself, haven't you?"

The knight went silent at that, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. In the blue glow of the starlight, sitting there swathed in loose robes, he looked rather like a child.

"But...you were following orders," Hux realized. "You've never given the order yourself." Kylo didn't answer.

This was not the Kylo Ren Hux thought he knew. This was not a man dedicated to his cause.

Hux watched him quietly. He wondered if Supreme Leader Snoke knew his apprentice wavered this much. Surely he must. But…

Kylo turned his head to look at Hux. "How do you do it, Armitage?" he asked. His eyes were intent, searching. "How do you give the orders you give? How do you decide who lives or dies?"

"I'm just doing what's right,” Hux said.

"But how do you know what's right?"

What a ridiculous question. But it explained so much. Hux tapped his lower lip, considering how to answer. This was almost like trying to teach a burrafish how to fly. "Well," he said, "I carefully evaluate every situation in order to draw the most logical conclusion, and I come up with a course of action based on that." He paused. Kylo was a rather mystical person. Would logic even help him? "But also," he added, "it's in my heart. I feel what's right. I know what's right. I believe in order, and I know I can achieve it."

Kylo gazed at him for a moment. "I wish---I wish I was like you," he said at last.

Relief washed over Hux like a real-water shower. Kylo was misguided, a little lost, but he was dedicated after all, in his own peculiar way. Hux moved closer, settling back in next to Kylo so that their shoulders bumped together. Kylo was so strong, yet powerless, impotent, without guidance.

"It's all right, Kylo," Hux said. He wrapped an arm around Kylo’s broad shoulders. "I'll help you." He turned his head to smile at Kylo, and Kylo gave him a small, tentative smile in response. “It’ll get easier,” Hux assured him. “Don’t worry. Try giving the order yourself next time. You’ll see.”

Kylo ducked his head shyly in a way Hux never would have imagined before tonight, big brown eyes gazing up at him through thick, dark lashes. “Okay,” Kylo said.

Something swelled in Hux’s chest. He squeezed Kylo’s shoulders and echoed, “Okay.”

Kylo’s New Republic indoctrination would be difficult to shake off. It was insidious; it had been drummed into him since birth. But Kylo could do it. Hux could help him.

Kylo needed him.

Hux smiled, feeling warm, as they gazed out at the stars, at the galaxy that lay waiting before them.

[aion-rsa]

The Best Cosplay at New York Comic Con 2021

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For the first time during the pandemic era, a major Comic Con was held in person, and where there’s a Comic Con, there’s a cosplayer waiting for a chance to display their impressive handmade looks. Mask mandates and vaccination requirements didn’t stop fans from strutting their stuff around the showroom of the Javits Center at New York Comic Con 2021. Den of Geek was on the floor, bringing you on-the-ground coverage and our print magazine featuring an exclusive Dune cover story and the NYCC show guide. One of the more enjoyable parts of the convention for us, beyond spending way too much time browsing which comics to purchase, was seeing all the creative cosplay.

Here are some of the best cosplays we saw each day of the convention! 

Thursday 

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The first day of the convention featured some Marvel-ous cosplay, including a life-sized LEGO figure of Carnage, fresh off the character’s breakthrough into mainstream media in Venom: Let There Be Carnage. A recreation of the villain Taskmaster, featured in Black Widow this past summer, was also at the Con. DC Comics were well represented, with popular female characters such as Wonder Woman, Starfire, and Raven being featured. A couple dressed as Jawas from the original Star Wars stole the show, while one man dressed as Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender disguised as a Kyoshi Warrior dressed to impress. 

Friday

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Day 2 was highlighted by an impressively armored costume of Aries, one of Wonder Woman’s arch-nemeses in DC Comics. Other DC villains were there as well, such as Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. Some of Marvel’s greatest heroes were additionally present, including Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, and Thor during his Big Lebowski-esc appearance from Avengers: Endgame. Finally, iconic super-fast hedgehog Sonic stopped by, a Royal Guard from Return of the Jedi and the iconic Predator from the film series of the same name. 

Saturday

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Saturday was the busiest day of the convention, and with it came some of the most striking looks. One showstopper was a brilliantly chiseled version of Squidward from Spongebob Squarepants with chest hair and all. Other scene stealers were a crewmember from hit game Among Us, the May Queen from Midsommar in a beautifully detailed flowery dress, Ghost Rider from the frightening Marvel Comic, and a pair dressed as Frodo and Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. 

Sunday

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While the convention’s final day is traditionally known for finding the best deals on items remaining at vendor’s booths, more fabulous cosplay creations were showcased as the convention drew to a close. Some of the best looks from our final outing at NYCC included some highly-detailed sets of Mandalorian armor, another Carnage costume with functioning smoke features, immaculate representations of Spider-Man villains such as the Lizard and Mysterio, Geralt from The Witcher, and finally, a massive group of some of the darkest characters from DC Comics lore. 

New York Comic Con 2021 was a fan-centered event, with incredible cosplayers lightening up the floor after a long hiatus away from conventions. Outside of the cosplay, you can learn more about our Collector’s Digest partnership with eBay and all the fun exclusives they had at their booth, including this beauty of a variant cover of The Death of Doctor Strange #1 designed by DJ Skee.

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[nitewrighter]

Can we get the cantina scene where Princess Satya hires the scruffy pilot Pharah?

I just want you to know that writing Pharah channeling Han Solo has made me like 40% gayer so thank you. 

—

“So there I was,” Pharah knocked back a shot of starfire ‘skee and shuddered, grinning, her breath burning in the back of her throat, “Six ships from the parallax chain off my port, two on my starboard. Now, I’ve modded my Stalwart to hell and back but… 8 on one? Hardly a fair fight, right? Auxiliary cannons are busted, I’m running on fumes, co-pilot is nowhere to be seen—”

“I was putting out the fires,” said Winston, straightening his glasses, before muttering quietly, “Honestly…”

“So I’m thinking we’re done for,” said Pharah, “But then there’s a flash of light and I’m thinking ‘oh no, more reinforcements, we’re even more dead.’”

“How would you be more dead?” said Winston.

“But then I hear this kind of… moaning, high sound, and I look out my viewport and I see them: Purrgils.”

“Banthashit,” said another smuggler.

“Swear it on the grave of Jaster Mereel. A whole pod of them,” said Pharah.

“You’re saying a whole pod of purrgils just happened to show up right when you were about to be blasted to stardust by the parallax chain?” said the smuggler.

“I’ve seen stranger things,” said Pharah with a grin before knocking back another shot, “Then what did I say, Winston?” she glanced over at him.

Winston sighed. “Then you said, ‘There’s our ticket out, Winston,’” he said flatly.

“’There’s our ticket out, Winston,’” Pharah said with far more panache than Winston, “So I put all power to our thrusters, aim right for this little gap in the pod and—” Pharah heard the metallic ‘shing’ of the door of the cantina opening and closing and her eyes flicked toward the door out of instinct, then she paused.

A woman walked through the door, donning a robe of white, pale blue, and seafoam green. Pharah knew the look in a heartbeat—high class, trying to blend in, but clearly being too high class to actually blend in. The woman turned her head clearly casing the cantina.

“and…?” the smuggler listening to the story said.

“And… what?” Pharah said vacantly, watching as the woman readjusted the hood of her robe and quickly started walking again. Winston elbowed Pharah. “What?” said Pharah.

“The purrgils. What happened next with the purrgils,” said Winston.

“Oh… right… well… uh…” Pharah was not about to admit that she had completely lost her place so she just chuckled and clapped winston on the shoulder, “Tell you what, you finish up the story, I’ll be right back, and the next round’s on me,” she said, walking off after the woman.

“What?” said Winston, but Pharah just gave him a thumbs up as she walked off and he sighed, “So… we aim right for the heart of the pod and, against literally all of my warnings…”

—

Pharah caught the woman in the robe in the back halls of the cantina, speaking very softly on a holo-comm to someone she didn’t quite recognize. Pharah couldn’t hear the conversation, didn’t really listen in to what was being said. The woman ended the call and her shoulders slumped, then she turned on her heel. Pharah quickly straightened her jacket and leaned one hand on the wall as the woman pivoted and Pharah entered her field of sight. 

“Hey, Starshine, you lost?” said Pharah, summoning her most charming smile.

The woman drew a blaster.

“Woah!” Pharah pushed off the wall and put her hands up.

“Who sent you?” said the woman, pointing the blaster at her. 

“No one! No one sent me!” said Pharah, “I just… thought I could buy you a drink?”

“…you’re offering to buy me a drink with a blaster pointed at you,” the woman said flatly.

“I’ve offered to buy people drinks in worse situations,” said Pharah.

The woman huffed and lowered her blaster. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said, holstering the blaster at her hip and effectively hiding it behind the voluminous sleeves of her robe.

“So… that’s… a yes on the drink?” said Pharah.

“I need to get off this planet,” said the woman.

“…Oh,” said Pharah.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” the woman said, stepping past her. 

There was a beat as the woman was walking away, her heels clicking across the cantina floor, then Pharah suddenly blurted out, “Wait–I can get you off!”

The woman stopped walking, glanced over her shoulder at Pharah and made a face.

“…planet,” said Pharah, it only now hitting her what she had just said, “…I can get you off-planet. I mean–not that I can’t get you–Not to be presumptuous or anythi–I mean you–But–Well–I have a ship.” The last words came as a desperate blurt to stop the disastrous steam of unfinished sentences, and Pharah wondered if she had knocked back one starfire ‘skee shot too many.

“…You have a ship?” said the woman.

“Stalwart-class freighter,” said Pharah, “Can get you anywhere in the outer rim quickly and discreetly,” Pharah gave a wink at the word ‘Discreetly.’

“…I like ‘discreetly,’” said the woman, touching her finger to her lower lip thoughtfully.

“Lots of people do,” said Pharah, resuming her previous swagger.

“What about Chandrila?” said the woman, “Can you get me to Chandrila?”

“…Core worlds?” said Pharah, “That’s… uh….Well, I can get you as far as–”

“I’ll give you 5,000 Credits if you get me to Chandrila,” said the woman.

“…Chandrila, here we come,” said Pharah. She stuck out a hand, “Captain Fareeha of the Raptora. At your service.”

“A pleasure to meet you captain,” said the woman pulling her hood back and revealing a head of long black hair swept back in a low bun with silver lotus-shaped clasps with a long braid over her shoulder. “My… apologies for the blaster. I’m afraid my current engagements are a bit… risky. You may call me Satya,” she took Pharah’s hand and shook it.

“Satya,” Pharah repeated the name, “Just Satya? Not ‘Lady Satya?’ Not ‘Senator Satya’ or ‘Ambassadress Satya?’ Not–”

“Just Satya—Not that it’s any of your concern, my dear captain,” said Satya, gently chucking Pharah on the chin, “I’ll be at the spaceport. Stalwart class, was it? I’m sure I’ll find it.”

“It’s blue—” Pharah blurted out as Satya made her way down the hall and out of sight. She watched the sway of her hips, the way the charms in her braid chimed as it bobbed against her back as she walked, the sound falling away to the din of the cantina.

“Satya,” Pharah said to herself, leaning against the wall of the cantina, “…Just ‘Satya.’“ She smiled to herself for a few seconds before her face suddenly dropped. “Oh kriff, we’re going to the core worlds,” said Pharah.

[ibonekoen]

Things you said the first thing in the morning (after some wild night) for Rebelcaptain please and thank you! ;)

You have waited forever for this, and I’m so sorry it’s short, lmao. These two weren’t cooperating.

Rumours claimed that Corellian brandy would give a person or alien the worst hangover they’d experienced in their lives. Cassian had never sought to test that statement, but he couldn’t deny that he’d never felt as badly as he did upon waking after consuming half a bottle of the stuff.

He’d woken up with a pounding headache after drinking homemade hooch brewed by the X-Wing pilots, and he’d woken up feeling nauseated after one too many ales. He even distinctly recalled one morning where he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he didn’t have holes all down his chest and gut after drinking what he presumed to be laser fire. He’d sworn off starfire ‘skees from that moment forward.

Corellian brandy not only gave him a pounding headache and a disquieting feeling that he was going to throw up before he could even make it out of bed, it also had the side effect of making him hallucinate.

At least, that was how he was choosing to explain the small, fiery brunette curled up beside him, her face peaceful and youthful in sleep.

Right up until she shifted and threw one leg across his and an arm across his stomach.

He tried to clear his throat, hoping to wake her up, but what came out instead was a squeak. She made a soft noise and snuggled up to him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her dark hair spilled down onto his chest, and he dimly noted that he’d been right — she did look beautiful with her hair down.

“Jyn,” he rasped. “Jyn, I have to—”

He couldn’t get out any more than that before his stomach decided to rebel. He all but shoved her off of him and scrambled out of bed, shutting the refresher door behind him.

Jyn blinked awake as she heard the sound of retching from the refresher, and she snorted softly before rolling onto her stomach and taking up his half of the bed. Let him fight her for it.

[sw5w]

Go Back to Your Drinks

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:57 - 00:23:58

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Achk Med-Beq • Anakin Skywalker • Bufon Taire • Civ Sila • Dannl Faytonni • Di Mantid • Lunae Minx • Reina March • Ren-Quarr • Whimper Save • Yee Moh

• Unidentified Bith • Unidentified humans • Unidentified Ishi Tib • Unidentified Klatooinian • Unidentified Sullustan

• Padawan braid • Polyquaternium-7 multicarbonator • Starfire 'skee • Synthetic leather surcoat • Turbolift

[sw5w]

Obi-Wan Attacks His Stalker

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:44

Found confirmation that the extra I have labeled as Klatooinian is in fact a Klatooinian! From the DeAgostini Star Wars Helmets Collection issue #39, this photo also gives us a look at "Unidentified Human 9" in these two shots.

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Achk Med-Beq • Bufon Taire • Dannl Faytonni • Eos Morne • Immi Danoo • Lunae Minx • Oakie Dokes • Obi-Wan Kenobi • Reina March • Whimper Save • Zam Wesell

• Unidentified humans • Unidentified Klatooinian • Unidentified Rodian

• Aludium Pu-36 • Andoan wine • Central liquid processing unit • Corellian Red • Insecticide • KYD-21 blaster pistol • Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber • Polyquaternium-7 multicarbonator • Starfire 'skee

[sw5w]

You Want to Go Home and Rethink Your Life

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:01 - 00:23:02

As Immi Thrax points out on Bluesky, one of the sources for identification of drinks at the Outlander, How Not to Get Eaten by Ewoks and Other Galactic Survival Skills, may not be entirely accurate.

Toniray wine, which here is labeled as the reddish beverage that Elan Sel'Sabagno drinks, is actually described in Bloodline by Claudia Gray as being teal in color. The Toniray you can buy at Oga's Cantina at Galaxy's Edge also supports this, as it too is teal in color.

Immi also noted that several other drinks in the How Not to Get Eaten by Ewoks... diagram don't match their descriptions in other sources:

• Starfire 'Skee, shown in the diagram as a dark blue color, is described in Aftermath by Chuck Wendig as being "brown and muddy".

• Port in a Storm, shown in the diagram as yellowish-orange in color, is described in Bloodline as being "reddish amber" (maybe better matching the tube labeled as Trandoshan ale or even Corellian Red).

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Agira Nyrat • Artuo Pratuhr • Civ Sila • Dannl Faytonni • Daro Willits • Di Mantid • Elan Sel'Sabagno, aka Elan Sleazebaggano • Immi Danoo • Joshua Jinzler • Kalyn Farnmir • Obi-Wan Kenobi • Onyeth Canavar • Reina March • Rosha Vess • Whimper Save • Zey Nep

• Unidentified Humans

• Alderaan • Core Worlds • Jedi mind trick • Toniray wine

• Unidentified beverages

[sw5w]

Cho Mai

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:45

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Achk Med-Beq • Agira Nyrat • Bufon Taire • Dannl Faytonni • Eos Morne • Immi Danoo • Lunae Minx • Oakie Dokes • Obi-Wan Kenobi • Reina March • Whimper Save • Zam Wesell

• Aludium Pu-36 • Andoan wine • Central liquid processing unit • Cho Mai • Corellian Red • Electro-goggles • Insecticide • KYD-21 blaster pistol • light helmet • Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber • Polyquaternium-7 multicarbonator • Starfire 'skee • Utility belt