#Starrypawz

[antisocialxconstruct]

oh man talking about 'bad choices that don't make sense' swtor was good for that on the imperial side as a lot of the choices were like 'you can make a sensible adult choice that would make sense as a stragetic choice during a war' and the dark side option would be something really like 'muhahahah teh evilz edgelord' that just didn't make any logical sense but then as we know bioware is not great at actually doing grey morality

oh SO TRUE gfdsgsd that's definitely an example of like, even me playing a character who was meant to be self-serving and amoral, a lot of times I couldn't rationalize the "dark side" choices because they were just... silly?? Like you cannot expect me to believe the Sith Empire is this galaxy-spanning unshakable powerhouse when they've got people running around just murdering and blowing things up at the expense of literally any ounce of actual military strategy.

On the other hand, my favorite mmo experience was definitely playing swtor with Vartan and having the moments where we were split on how to resolve a Moral Choice and had to leave it up to a dice roll, which inevitably always ended up with one of us being like "noooo 😭" while the other did something extremely normal or comically evil.

[oolathurman]

A 99 for the smut prompts?

Prompt 99: "I want more, please, give me more!!"

heeheehoo SUBBY WANWO TIME LET'S GO

Vette didn’t have any particular feelings towards nipple piercings, but she had to admit, they looked good on her giant Sith husband. Even better with clamps and a little chain tying the two together, and even-even better when he was strapped down to the bed, limbs spread in all directions, asshole shiny with lube, precum dripping from his hard-on.

Her strap-on rested besides his dick, and as he squirmed for friction, the golden chain and its metal beads around his waist made a pretty jingling sound. The ropes around his wrists groaned. They might have to get new ones soon, depending on how hard he pulled. He’d broken a set before and the pounding she got afterwards left her immobile for days.

Sith strength could be a pain in the ass when you were trying to peg your husband.

She yanked hard on the chain between his nipples and he yelled, his hips bucked, and she was sure those ropes would snap. “What’d I say about moving?” she growled.

“More. Please,” he whimpered, “Please fuck me, Vette, Mistress, please. I want more.”

Vette shook her head, picking up the chain again, and he finally stilled. Stars, he was just so cute when he was so desperate. She leaned over him, tugging on the chain gently. “You can have my dick when you deserve it, baby boy.” She kissed him, her lekku wrapping around his. And then she moved to undo the clamp on a nipple, replacing it with her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and biting it until his whimpers became louder moans. He was actually staying still, the sweet thing, though his muscles tensed so hard he shook in a valiant attempt to follow orders.

She chuckled. “Sweet, sweet, sweet baby boy,” she cooed, pulling herself up to sit upright. With her free hand, she moved her dick to his entrance, with the other she tugged at him again. “Good job, baby. Now, stay still. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget how to breathe.”

[daraasum]

a kiss on the inner thigh.

apparently i wrote this and never posted it oops. Ryl'lil Raet belongs to @dak-legacy (he doesnt use tumblr anymore but he lives in my house and i use his OCs like paper dolls)

NSFW below cut

The hell with the Jedi, Elessabeth thought, if they were going to keep someone this stunning all wrapped up in brown robes and chaste. That would have been an absolute crime against the galaxy at large, against all that was good and sexy, to hide all of that lovely toned flesh away in an enclave.

Ryl’lil smirked, scooting further up Elessabeth’s torso with a wicked glint in her eye. She could pretend that she didn’t care for the gawking, but she was having too much fun. Straddling her favorite bounty hunter and having her wicked way with her was a rare treat for Ryl’lil, and she intended to savor it before the galaxy took them their separate ways once more. “How about you close that mouth before I find something for you to do with it?” 

“Oh, ahead of you, love.” Elessabeth grinned, and Ryl’lil only had a moment to realize what was happening; Elessabeth was sliding under her until her broad shoulders hit Ryl’lil’s thighs and she couldn’t go much further, though a quick, grunted, urge gave Ryl’lil the prompt to adjust herself until Elessabeth was neatly situated between her thighs. 

“You’re evil.” Ryl’lil ended her accusation with a gasp as Elessabeth planted a lingering kiss right on her inner thigh, smudging the pale skin with her dark lipstick. All she could do was reach down, grab as much of Elessabeth’s short, dark, hair as she was able, and hold on for the ride, as the newly named Galaxy’s Most Wanted went in for the kill.

[swtorpadawan]

@grandninjamasterren

I don’t draw enough Chiss! So… I decided to draw starrypawz’s lovely bounty hunter, Zanearo! More SWTAW!

[lalaloves]

Based on @starrypawz post

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary: 

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin. 

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains. 

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him. 

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram. 

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes. 

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head. 

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges. 

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke. 

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh. 

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian. 

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son. 

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur. 

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm. 

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.” 

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks. 

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble. 

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.” 

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.” 

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head. 

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,��� she says. 

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet. 

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory. 

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks. 

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart. 

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn." 

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal��galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly. 

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks. 

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim. 

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further. 

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern. 

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar. 

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines. 

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you. 

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins. 

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground. 

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours. 

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver. 

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back. 

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand. 

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three. 

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

For the kiss asks:

GerryMichael (or DoorKeay) for either

Throat, inner thighs, or palm

Pretty please with a cherry on top? I'm making you an icecream cup

Hell yeah ice cream!

This prompt was also suggested by @starrypawz ...glad the samebrain is still going strong in this corner of the fandom

~*~

Michael had to admit, somewhat begrudgingly, that sometimes he overdid things.

Once he had reached the point of accepting that he couldn't be fired from the Institute, and Gertrude simply didn't care, and Gerry outright encouraged him, his personal style shifted drastically. He still loved a good sweater vest, cherished every jumper he made with his own hands, but letting loose with his fashion was freeing in ways he couldn't even say. Bright button downs, patterned cardigans, unique charity shop finds that he'd hoarded for years, never working up the nerve to wear them. But now he had no reason to hold back.

Unfortunately sometimes his common sense was held back as well.

"I hate this dress!" he announced as he burst through the door of their flat. Gerry looked up placidly from his vegetable chopping, raising an eyebrow at his outburst.

"First of all, that's my dress-"

"Pfft," Michael blew a raspberry at him as he struggled to kick off his knee-high boots.

"Second of all, while it does make your legs look fantastic, that's not what I personally would have picked for you." Gerry turned away to wash his hands as Michael collapsed forlornly on the couch cushions, legs hooked over the armrest. The tight fabric immediatly rode up his thighs, as it had been doing all day. The whole ensemble had been a struggle to keep together, mildly uncomfortable, and he'd barely had anyone to show it off to. It was all such a waste. "I think a longer skirt would have been the better choice, love."

"I wanted to look like you," Michael admitted sadly, swinging his legs idly. Gerry hummed and made his way over to him with his hands on his hips, examining him from a higher vantage for once. "You always look so cool and confident in this. I thought I would too."

Gerry's hands landed on his knees, pushing them apart as he leaned in over him. Michael's breath caught in his chest as he blushed, staring up at him with wide eyes and a suddenly pounding heart.

"It takes a surprising amount of skill to wear short skirts," Gerry said, his tone conversational and casual as if his hands weren't brazenly sliding down his thighs. "I'm sure you figured that out today, didn't you?" Michael nodded breathlessly, desperately hoping his hands would keep going. "Did you do the deodorant trick?"

"What's the deodorant trick?" Michael asked weakly. Gerry's smile turned wicked as his hands shifted, sliding along the inside of his thighs.

"Putting it on your inner thighs helps reduce chafing. Although-" he raised one of Michael's legs up, sliding it over his shoulder, eyes warm with intention- "that does make this better."

Michael didn't have to ask what would be better, because it was so obvious as Gerry lowered his head and began kissing the inside of his thigh. He gasped in delight, arching back against the cushions. The skin there had felt hot and irritated all day, and Gerry's lips were soothing and cool, the piercing through his lip a hard contrast that made Michael moan. Gerry echoed it back to him, his kisses light and fast as he moved up and down the length of his thigh.

"Wasn't kidding about your fantastic legs," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against his skin. "Fucking legs for days. Miles long. Wrap me up in them and I'll be a happy man."

"Stay there and you'll make me a happy man, too," Michael sighed, cinching his leg tighter as Gerry turned his attention to his other thigh.

"One of us has to make dinner," Gerry reminded him with a sigh, reluctantly extracting himself with one last kiss. "Why don't you get changed into something more comfortable?"

"Why don't I just lay here with my legs spread and you forget about dinner?" Michael shot back, not moving an inch as Gerry tried to move away. "What if I make you forget about dinner?" That certainly seemed like a possibility, due to the absolutely longing look Gerry was giving him, mixed with fond exasperation. Michael shifted his hips enticingly, and Gerry groaned.

"Bit of a bastard, aren't you?"

"You could have a bit of bastard, if you like," Michael offered teasingly and spread his legs wider. Gerry looked deeply tempted, and Michael encouraged him further by fumbling for the side zip and pulling it down, revealing the lacy pants hiding beneath the skirt. "Come on..."

Gerry groaned in defeat, resting his head against his knee and smiling down at him. "You're not allowed to complain when dinner is late, then."

"Imagine how much I would have complained if you left me here like this," Michael pointed out with a laugh. Gerry laughed with him, and climbed up onto the armrest, obviously intent on crawling up to kiss him properly. Michael welcomed him happily, and was even more happy when the skirt finally came off.

[pearl-kite]

WIP Wednesday

I've been tagged! By the ever wonderful @ejunkiet!

And believe it or not I DO have a WIP that I've been very very very very very slowly chipping away at:

I had no ideas a few months ago so I decided to start a ref sheet for Gale partially because I just like drawing them but also partially because I bothered to design those godamn tattoos, I need them to be seen at least once. But I didn't really want it to be just an fhr sheet, so OG luck demon version will be included as well.

In theory I want to do a couple of outfits. Eventually. I would like to finish this before the end of the year, but at this rate ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'll tag some people BUT absolutely no pressure. Idk if you even have anything going and if you don't pleeeease don't worry about it I'm also sort of just waving :3c

@andr0leda @elemenepee @starrypawz @craftsbyrom @mihqorio @impossible-rat-babies and anyone else who wants o3o

[antisocialxconstruct]

Welcome to the 30 club

Thanks! I'm so glad you had a chance to review my application and decided I would be a good fit for the group 👍

[impossible-rat-babies]

share something sunday!

@isayashai tagged me! ty isa! <3 im gonna tag: @starrypawz, @pinayelf, @lvllns, @brightaxe, @curiousstrawberry, @lavellane and genuinely whomever else pls go for it (and tag me i want to seeeeee)

im doing da:tv writing, but redacting stuff for spoilers:

she dragged the mirror from the infirmary to her room down the one sleepless night a few days after [redacted]. Part of rearranging the room once more. Curtains to block the light from the sea life, the couch turned around--better to keep an eye on the door. Blankets and pillows pilled up on the floor beside it. A dressing screen that had finally found a home near the wardrobe where she had originally placed it. She tried not to think too hard about the ravens that screamed and beat their wings bloody circling the inside of their gilded cages in the rafters of the de riva estate. the splotches left on the carpets by flight feathers torn from their sheathes. The wardrobe in her room is big enough to fit several small children inside of it. her own hot breath--covering her ears with her hands to not hear. dragged out kicking and screeching, scratching biting--don't listen, don't listen, don't listen, don't listen-- She stares too long at the dark depths of it sometimes, trying very hard not to think about her hot tears and wobbling lips. She blinks, the lamp light dimming. She turns the wick and it flares to life once more. Soft green light against warm orange and she stares hard at the face in mirror.

[starrypawz]

Seems a good time to share this Halloween themed smut from a while back since I haven't got any new Halloween fic kicking around yet

“I’m feeling a little jealous,”

“Is that so?” Nemo grins.

“Yeah,” Gerry gently cups Nemo’s chin and kisses them slowly, seemingly trying to steal all the sweetness lingering from the chocolate they’ve just eaten and Nemo shudders as he catches their lip.

He licks his lips once he’s pulled back and Nemo bites down on their moan as they take another chocolate with a grin.They close their and let themself get lost in the sweetness as they savour the taste of white chocolate and strawberry to the point they moan and hear Gerry give a frustrated groan.

Nemo opens their eyes.

“I’m the one who's meant to make you moan like that,” He pouts.

[swtorpadawan]

Ten Facts About Ulannium Kaarz

I wasn’t actually tagged to do one of these for Ulannium, but I started putting this together as a sort of case-study for him, and it seemed to make sense to do this. Tagging the following people just in case they want to do this for one of their own OCs: @raven-of-domain-kwaad @anchanted-one @actualanxiousswampwitch @grandninjamasterren @sullustangin @cyraniadebergerac @starrypawz @intheinkpot @voidendron @lanabenikosdoormat @dragons-bones @clifford-telegenic @cryo-lily

Fact One – Parentage and Early Childhood: Ulannium Kaarz was born on Coruscant, the son of Ishris Kaarz, his mother, a brilliant research scientist with a Republic pharmaceutical conglomerate, and Luncib Kaarz, his father, a marketing executive and lobbyist with the same company. Both of his parents were very affectionate, Ishits especially. Although she worked long hours, his mother always made time for her son at bedtime, first by singing him Mirialan lullabies, and later by reading to him, fictional stories at first but later more advanced texts such as scientific manuals. Years later, Ulannium would credit his mother’s efforts (and her genetics) with the development of his impressive intellect. By chance, Ulannium’s Force sensitivity was not discovered until he was already six years old. (Possibly a result of his mother’s interference in the screening process.) By then, he was already academically precocious in the extreme, devouring books far beyond his age-level. When he was selected by the Jedi and told he might one day gain access to the full wealth of the Jedi Archives, Ulannium was thrilled at the opportunity. Indeed, if he had an ambition at this point, it would have been to spend the rest of his life in the galaxy’s greatest library. Ulannium had a younger sister, Tharia, who was possibly even more curious about the universe than he. As she was four at the time, he regarded her as a pest who kept stealing his scientific holopads. When the Jedi tested her for Force-sensitivity, it came back negative, much to the relief of her parents who were already giving up a son.

Art by @theoasiswinds

Fact Two – Inspirations: One of my inspirations for the character of Ulannium is George Smiley from John le Carré’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. When he does finally confront someone, whether an enemy or even an ally whom he’s trying to persuade, he brings the full force of his intellect to bare on them, and people often find it as overpowering as a force of nature. Ulannium is remarkably proficient at understanding and analyzing most of the people he encounters, including some who others find enigmatic. (Such is the case with Corellan Halcyon. Ulannium understands the Hero of Tython far better than someone like Satele Shan, at least earlier in the story.) On the flip side, a select few people are something of a mystery to Ulannium, and throw him off entirely. (This was the case with Zenith.) Another character who inspired me was Vaegon Targaryen, a minor character from George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. He could have done a hundred things, including becoming the King. He preferred his books, however.  

Fact Three – Growing up on Uphrades: To avoid potential contact with his family on Coruscant, the Jedi sent Ulannium to their small enclave on the agricultural world of Uphrades. It was a small training cadre; two semi-retired Jedi Masters and eight younglings. To discourage unhealthy attachments amongst the younglings, they were arranged on a tiered-age system. The oldest of the younglings would be around fourteen and would be considered on the precipice of their initiate trials to become Padawans. The next-oldest would be a year or two younger than the eldest, and so on down the line until the youngest child, who would be around four or five. With the age difference, it was hoped that the younglings would be less likely to adopt detrimental attachments to each other.

Fact Four – First Friendship: Two years after Ulannium arrived on Uphrades, the next youngling was sent. The younger child seemed untalented and almost Force-blind to Ulannium, who by then was already demonstrating an impressive sensitivity to the Force. But as the Masters were unwilling to give up on him yet, when he turned six, he was handed a training saber. Within a week, he had surpassed every other youngling in combat, even those twice his age. Within a year, no two initiates could match him. Even Master Sagottoh, once a Blademaster of the Order in his younger years, soon found himself pressed. This youngling - one age tier below Ulannium - was named Corellan Halcyon. When they first met, Ulannium himself thought the youngling was untalented and barely worth his notice. Later, when his martial capability manifested, Nowan Ko Detizu realized that Corellan needed Ulannium’s help to acclimate to the other children, most of whom were intimidated by the young firebrand. The bond the two developed would last them the rest of their lives. In recognition of this reality and her responsibilities, when Ulannium was ready to become a padawan, Nowan Ko’s report to the council would advise them not to assign the two to work together, which is why they were kept separated for the next eight years. Although they were both disappointed, both would ultimately conclude it had been the right thing to do.

Fact Five – Tragedy: When the Sack of Coruscant took place, Ulannium was still far away on Uphrades, reading a text on archaeology. He recalls feeling a deep sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, but as he was unable to determine what it was, he soon resumed reading. A few days later once the reports had come in, the Uphrades Masters regretfully informed him that his family had been killed during the attack when falling debris had collapsed on them on the street. The youngling showed little reaction at first, then finally announced his intention to head off to find solitude to meditate. The masters, decided that he needed time to process what had happened, let him. Corellan, recognizing that he needed friendship, pursued him and talked. [I may write about that encounter someday.]

Fact Six – Personality: One of Ulannium’s personality quirks is his tendency to answer a question with a question. This is sometimes a defensive mechanism, and sometimes simply a way to get an individual to rethink their position diplomatically. In the normal flow of conversation, he does this skillfully enough that people rarely even notice. He picked up this particular quirk from Master Nowan Ko Detizu, one of his mentors back on Uphrades. The Cathar Jedi taught him a multitude of simple techniques that aid him in his day-to-day life as a Jedi, diplomat and sometime political and military leader.

Fact Seven – Traits: By the time the class stories begin, Ulannium is already an expert in the fields of biology, archaeology, geology and history, and could probably have earned a master’s degree in any of those areas if given the time and inclination to do so. Although he was appropriately honored to meet the esteemed members of the Jedi Council, he was most excited to meet Gnost-Dural, as the Kel Dor had, by then, been named the Keeper of the Jedi Archives. Ulannium definitely has a strong interest – some might even say a passion – for ancient Force knowledge and would live in the Jedi Archives if he could. One of the most difficult decisions he ever faced was rescuing Laria Taphoni on Taris, effectively sacrificing the holocron the expedition team had found. In making his choice, Ulannium was guided by the principles of the Jedi code and recognizes that it was the correct decision, but nevertheless he had to meditate for a long while to process everything that happened. Although he recognizes that Rajivari’s teachings ran contrary to the Jedi code and had corrupted many ancient Jedi, Ulannium never quite forgot what he had learned of it. He wishes he had spent more time with the fallen Je'daii Master to learn where things had gone wrong.

Fact Eight – His Relationship with Nadia Grell: Ulannium doesn’t believe in concepts like “love at first sight”. But when he met Nadia, he generally became more protective of her innocence. Eventually, those feelings evolved into romantic impulses, but even in their early days together, he was somewhat distracted. That was one of the reasons he didn’t immediately pick up on Nadia’s force-sensitivity, which he would have normally understood right from the get-go. As a side note, his relationship with Nadia develops very differently in my story than in the game and does not progress until after she is Knighted almost three years after becoming his Padawan. As a fluffy note, To date, Nadia is the only person who has ever called him “Uli”. She’s usually discreet about the practice, but she did actually let it slip in front of Felix Iresso on one occasion. Ulannium was embarrassed, Nadia was aghast, and Felix was amused.

Fact Nine – Joining the Alliance: After Ulannium and the rest of the Ossus colony rejoined the rest of the galaxy (lining up with the Jedi Under Siege expansion from the canon story), he and Nadia became honorary members of the Eternal Alliance, with Ulannium serving as the Alliance’s liaison with the Council. The Council - when it eventually reformed - did not formally condone or condemn this relationship; they simply pretended that they didn’t know it existed, despite it becoming common knowledge by that point. [Note: This mirrors Revan’s post-KOTOR relationship with Bastilla in the “Revan” novel.] Far from being past his prime after joining the Eternal Alliance, Ulannium achieved some of the most impressive efforts of his career as the Alliance’s top diplomatic negotiator, writing much of the treaty that Corellan and the Alliance would eventually sign with the Galactic Republic. But arguably the most impressive feat of his career was the negotiation of the Treaty of Alderaan, a pact that ended nearly twenty years of civil war and internal discord. Leading the Alliance’s diplomatic corps, one of Ulannium’s top deputies would be the Killik Joiner and former Imperial diplomat and Intelligence operative, Vector Hyllus. Ulannium learned a great deal of respect for Hyllus and his capabilities, which was reciprocated by the Joiner.

Fact Ten - His Legacy: Some years joining the Alliance, he and Nadia had their first child: Maykia Ishris Kaarz. She is named for both of her grandmothers; Maykia on Nadia’s side and Ishris on Ulannium’s. She’s a couple of years younger than Bela and Tasiele, who are friends of hers who I’ve spoken about elsewhere. Her childhood was complicated to say the least, but she eventually fully joined the Jedi order on her own terms as she began adulthood. She wields a double-bladed lightsaber as her mother did, albeit she’s not a true Jedi Shadow. [Note: Maykia is part of the “Future Halcyon Legacy” I’ve been putting together. ]

Thousands of years later, Teela Kaarz, one of Ulannium’s descendants, would be conscripted to work on the construction of the Death Star. Teela and a group of Rebel recruits fled the doomed space station before it exploded. [Novel: Death Star ]

Thank you for reading!

[mihqorio]

Tag game

Got tagged by @starrypawz​! Thank you, buddy ❤️

Tagging @kruk-art​, @eydika​, @sjokoladekjeksen​, and @marshalortega​ to run some OCs through this here quiz.

Since I only really talk about Caleb, I am doing this one just for him.

[moonisthedoor]

WIP Wednesday (thank you @starrypawz!)

tagging @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit and @robyn-i-guess if you want to

She comes up gasping, her face suspiciously wet. Michael's face is suddenly right against hers. It touches her cheek with the part of its hand that's not sharp. She wonders if it's messed up to wish for it to break her skin. Even that thought is muted. "Bookburner," Michael says. Her tears are staining its palm somehow. Gerry makes a vague questioning sound and thinks about leaning into it. Doesn't. "You're crying." "Glad you've noticed," she says; aiming for sarcasm, really, but the words come out flat. Michael blinks with its whole face at her. "I… can go?" It almost sounds confused. Gerry knows, with stone-cold certainty, that if she asked, it would leave. If she's being honest, that scares her. Since then does Distortion listen to humans? Even so, the fact that she wishes for it to stay is a thousand times worse. She shakes her head – Michael snatches its hand back before she can scratch her ear on it: "Don't." It tilts its head, staring at her. "You humans are weird," it concludes. Gerry has no strength to answer anything of substance so she simply tugs its body over herself like a weird multicolor blanket. Michael goes willingly, giggling in a way that makes her head spin.

[sweetlyfez]

tagged by @makesometime

left the fandoms blank bc I'm not writing atm...

tagging @deannastrois, @starrypawz, @petraforgedyke

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

WIP Game!

@fuckthisshitimin thanks for the tag!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs!

Linger in the Doorway

Who Has to Know?

Bookwyrm

Wedding Bells

Bedsharing

Tagging @ollieofthebeholder @magnetarmadda @moonisthedoor @robyn-i-guess @starrypawz