#There's Only Room For One Thot In The Empire

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

the rise of sira | sci-fi!rhett x oc

Summary: Sira, a planet in the Far Reaches of the known galaxy. With a plethora of natural resources, the planet has been fought over and ruled by warlords, pirate kings, galactic empires, star princes, and the Order of the Nine. Over the last millennia, the people of the planet have grown restless. Tired of their oppression and the occupation of their lands. A rebellion has risen up, fighting against the Order for over 200 years. But has the long and good fight been all for naught? (wc: 3962)

Requested: YES by @dancinginsepia

Warnings: made-up sci-fi lore, flashbacks, grumpy rhett abbott w/ a bionic arm, violence, angst, whump, gore, injury, cliffhanger

✎……MASTERLIST

✎……listen, i don't know what this is as much as you don't know what this is. it came out of nowhere, but the prompt just really inspired me and i cranked this out in like four hours. so here we are. please please PLEASE come into my askbox or my dms to talk about this one cause i am plagued by Thoughts and dare i say Thots of them. i hope you all like this as much as i do <3

Rhett ripped off his helmet and shook out his hair, drops of sweat falling onto his shoulders as he surveyed the battlefield.

The fight was over, that much was certain. Golden grains of wheat and whey flattened to the ground — off in the distance, some of the crop still stood. Mangled bodies of mechs and alien guts covered the earth like a blanket. Whoever was left of their forces gathered  the wounded, beginning to shepherd them back to base. It had been a long fight, but a rewarding one. The Order’s battalion had been defeated at long last. It nearly brought a smile to Rhett’s scarred face. But he couldn’t celebrate. Not yet. Not when their fighters were still out on the field and the Order could very well command an airstrike at any minute. Bombing whoever was left into a million pieces before they could even regroup. Before news of their victory could even travel back to their people. 

He had seen it happen before. Joy and a moment’s peace ripped away so suddenly. Good people — friends — lost. 

But there was really only one person he cared about now. 

Rhett stepped into the medical hut with a huff, pulling back the heavy curtain and letting it fall behind him. He didn’t think he needed to be there, but his commander insisted. His arm wasn’t working right again. Twitching and spasming. Don’t want that happening out in the field, his commander had said, Should be some specialist in medical.

It was dimly lit inside the hut. Lamps turned down low and some incense burning to cover the smell of death and decay. It wasn’t really working. In the main room, there were ten beds lined up in a tight row along one wall. Injuries or illnessses nearly healed, ready to head out the door. A few medics milled amongst the beds, changing out cups of water and bringing food or fresh bandages. Further back, he could hear wailing and coughing and medics talking quietly but hurriedly with one another. Rhett gripped at his left arm, all metal and screws. The last time he was in a place like this was when he lost the real one. The flesh and blood. Replaced with something that still didn’t feel like his own — just so he could keep going. Like the good soldier he was. 

He could still feel the pain. All consuming, a fire and a flood. He could still see the hanging bits of flesh, the dripping, pouring, blood. The question about where his friend was on the tip of his tongue before he passed out from it all. He felt the metal fingers of his left hand twitch of their own volition.

“Captain Abbott,” a medic said as they approached, a ramshackle data tablet in their hand. “Do you need help?”

Rhett let go of himself and straightened his shoulders as he grumbled out, “Arm’s actin’ up.”

“Oh — of course, um — I-I’ll go get Tessa. She’s our new bionics specialist, just arrived last night,” the medic replied quickly. 

“Y’always talk when y’re nervous?” he asked quietly as he narrowed his eyes at them. 

The medic gulped then looked sharply down, cheeks darkening. “Just wait here.”

Rhett grunted as they turned on their heels and walked away. A soldier from one of the beds stiffled a laugh. Another whistled awkwardly. He knew his reputation around base. And he liked it that way. It kept people at a distance, arm’s length, close enough for him to trust with his life but far enough away that he didn’t mourn when they got blown to pieces.

He pushed a hand through his long hair and leaned back against the wall. How long was this going to take?

A minute later, one of the curtains at the far back of the hut was pulled open and a small woman stepped out. She was still shrugging on her coveralls overtop a skin tight undershirt, she didn’t bother zipping it up the rest of her chest as she picked up a spare data tablet from a table she passed and kept on walking. She looked frazzled. Light brown hair pulled back but messy, dark circles under her eyes. Her pink mouth downturned in a thoughtful frown as she messed with the tablet and walked. 

In another life, Rhett would have thought she was pretty. 

She came to a halt only a few steps in front of him, eyebrow quirking triumphantly when the data tablet finally showed her what she was looking for. Through the translucent screen, he could see it was his file. Then she looked up at him. It nearly shocked him how brilliant blue her eyes were, like so many oceans on Sira he had flown over on his way to recon missions and battles. Infinite and calm — but holding some danger he could never understand. 

But there was something else in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. A softness that he hadn’t seen since he was a boy. 

“Captain Abbott?” she questioned as she looked him directly in the face, unafraid.

He grunted. She grinned. It made the dark circles under her eyes seem less prominent.

“Come with me then,” she said, turning, and he pushed away from the wall to follow. “Still settin’ up my workstation — but she’s enough to check y’r arm out.” 

Rhett didn’t reply, and she didn’t say anything more. They ducked back under the curtained doorway she appeared out of. It led to what appeared to be a small break area. A table with playing cards and a set of shelves with mugs and a coffee maker, dried portion packs stacked up in rows. No one was in there now. She led them across the room to the door in the far back, with the swipe of her keycard the metal door slid open and she stepped inside. Rhett followed in after her.

There was natural light in this room. The high set window open, letting in the autumn breeze. A cot was shoved into one corner, blankets haphazardly tossed aside and pillows askew. Boxes were strewn about all over the floor. A large desk took up an entire wall, there were already mechanical parts, tools,  and blueprints laid out on it. 

“Learnin’ somethin’ about me, Captain?” she asked with a coy smile as she sat down on a rolling stool in front of the desk, setting down the tablet as she went. 

Rhett felt his cheeks heat up in the slightest at being caught. “You’re right. Still settin’ up y’r stuff.”

She cocked her head, messy bun flopping to one side as she narrowed her eyes at him and patted the stool across from her. “You from Obrana? Wabang?”

“Wabang…How’d you know?” he replied slowly as he lowered himself into the stool.

“S’the way you talk.” She gestured at her own mouth, picked up the tablet again and scooted herself closer. “I’m from there too.” 

Rhett felt his heart clench, his chest tighten. He didn’t think there was anyone left. Last time he heard, Wabang was raised to the ground. Nothing but ash and rubble and charred bones. Part of him itched to know more. But the other part of him just wanted to get this over with. Take a step or even several steps back. Most people on base didn’t even know what part of Sira he was from. People had asked, but he refused to answer, and they learned not to. 

Why had it been so easy for him to hand over that information to a complete stranger now?

“So, says here, that you got the arm three years ago. Shoulder socket down. Replacement after a battlefield explosion, that correct?” She looked up at him from the tablet. 

He nodded. Tried not to linger on the images of metal hiding in dirt and his friend’s surprised, accepting face. The hand pushed to his chest to get him further back. 

“Okay. What seems to be the problem?”

Rhett raised his left arm, looked towards it with disdain. “Hand won’t stop twitchin’.”

As if on cue, his digits flexed. She cocked her head curiously. 

“Did you have a twitch in that hand before?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

She shrugged. “The parts may be different, but the brain remembers n’can send electrical signals to the hand.”

“I’ve always had steady hands.”

“M’sure you have, Captain.”

There she went, pulling information from him so easily with a smile like they shared some secret. Rhett clenched his jaw and looked away from her.

She reached for his arm, but pulled back at the last second. “Mind if I take a look?” 

“Go for it,” he answered, staring down at his right hand, cinched in a fist. 

Getting up from her stool, she took another step closer to him, nearly between his spread legs. Rhett straightened his spine to create some distance between them. But it was no use, she didn’t seem to mind at all, as she gripped his left arm with both hands. One of them ghosted up the metal plating and cables along the outside, the built in sensors screaming at him at such a delicate and new touch. When she reached his shoulder, around at his back, she pressed the release and his arm popped out of the artificial socket it was housed in. The arm now firmly in her grasp, she stepped back from him and set it down gently on her workbench.

Rhett hated taking his arm off. It left him feeling like a piece was missing. Like he was incomplete. Unbalanced. He didn’t dare look over at his left side, eyes trained on her as she worked.

As she grabbed her goggles from one of the hooks on the wall and slid them over her eyes. A small tool already perched delicately in her small hand. She looked in her element. Confident and assured. Her movements were swift and precise as she used the electrified tool to test the delicate sensors, artificial muscles, tendons, and nerves. Starting at the elbow and working her way down. 

“So…” She glanced over at him from beneath her goggles, blue eyes nearly ten times larger under the magnifying lens. “How’d you end up here from Wabang? Don’meet many of us these days…”

His story was on the tip of his tongue. Ready to burst out of him after years and years of keeping it locked in a vault somewhere deep in the shadows of his chest. But he bit it back with a grimace. “That’s none of y’r business.” 

She laughed, quiet and fleeting, but it sounded beautiful. A reprieve. 

“Fair. I don’mind tellin’ you how I got here though. If y’r just gonna sit there while I do this.”

“Great.” Rhett popped his jaw to one side and tried not to roll his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t sound so excited, Captain. Someone’s gonna think y’r a real chatterbox,” she replied with a smirk. 

He scoffed, feeling a laugh bubbling away somewhere in his chest. “I could just leave.”

“Course you can. But you won’t.” 

“How d’you know that?”

She shrugged, moved on to the next piece of his arm. “‘Cause…Y’don’t want people t’see ya weak…No offense.” 

Rhett glanced over at his left side. Where he felt there should be something but there was currently nothing. His teeth grinded together as he stared down at her booted feet propped up on the footrest of her stool. Knowing that his silence was answer enough for her. She was right. One of her booted feet tapped against the metal for a second, and then — 

“M’sorry,” she sighed, lifting her goggles and turning to face him. He looked up into her face, and there was that softness again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just…If you don’t want me to talk, I won’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone from home, s’all.”

After a moment of looking at him, she went back to her work. The consistent small electric buzz and the distant sounds of the clinic the only things filling the silence.

It had been three years since Rhett met someone else from Wabang. Everyone he knew was either killed in the war or when the Order burned the place to the ground. Everyone who was left was scattered to the far corners of Sira. And he knew there couldn’t be many of them. The village was small to begin with. Just a group of farms and not much else. He barely remembered his time there anymore. Part of him wondered if that was by some purposeful design on his part. Or the only gift his years of war had given him. 

He looked at the side of her face. He knew the other medic said her name, but he couldn’t remember what it was now. Thinking it held no real importance to him. She was hunched over the workbench, tongue poking out between her teeth as she worked. The goggles masked most of her profile, but he could still see the easy slope of her nose. The delicate curve of her chin. The light scar on the edge of her jaw. 

How did she get that? How did she…End up here? On this rebel base of all places? They were hidden all over Sira, in every corner and region of the planet. Yet she ended up at the same one as him. Someone else from the same village that had been gone for over a year. 

Rhett found he was opening his mouth before he could stop himself: “Talk.”

“What?” she looked over at him with those magnified eyes, brow clearly furrowed beneath the goggles. 

“T-Tell y’r story, I mean…” he trailed off quietly, adjusting in his seat. 

She grinned like she had some joke at the ready but chose to keep it to herself. For that Rhett was thankful. He knew his people skills were rusty, but Maker. 

“I grew up on a Falcora ranch. Family raised ‘em for ridin’ and workin’ all over, not just in Wabang. My family…My dad…Tried to do everything by the Order’s rules so we could keep our land and keep our lives, but — he just couldn’t take it anymore. They-They ordered our ranch to supply Falcoras for their battalions, to use against the rebellion. Either we complied or they’d take ‘em by force. 

“My dad refused, so one day one of the Order’s drop ships came. I’ll never forget it. Big metal box with that symbol on the side in red. Soldiers came out and my mom — my mom grabbed me and my sisters n’hid us under the dining room floor. Didn’t even know that hole was there ‘till I was in it.” She glanced over at him and smiled sadly. “Heard the banging. The blaster fire. The screaming. Felt like we were down there for hours. Just…Listening. When it was finally quiet we came out of hiding. All the Falcoras were gone. Barns burned. Mom and Dad…”

She trailed off, took a shaking breath and swallowed hard.

“I — I remember hearin’ about that,” Rhett spoke quietly and low, she turned to look at him sharply. “Abernathy…Right?”

“Yeah, that was us.” She turned back to her work, lips pressed into a thin line. “I was only ten…My oldest sister decided we should go to the Sapphire Sisterhood. At least until we were of age.” 

He stiffened. “Those Order supportering religious zealots?”

“I never said she was smart. And I was too young to understand any of it. So I went along. The Sisters were cruel and I left as soon as I could. Barely sixteen. Went to Neo City and joined the Academy. Learned all about bionics and medicine and…About the Order and the Rebellion. I got recruited three years ago, at the end of my studies. Been bouncing around bases ever since.” 

“Y’r sisters? What about them?” 

This seemed to give her pause, a kind of sadness taking over her that Rhett could nearly see. “Rachel stayed with the Sisterhood. Shiloh…I don’t know where she is.” 

“M’sorry.” 

She only hummed in reply and said nothing more. She was testing down at the wrist now. Poking at all the various cables and metal mesh that acted as tendons and muscle. But when she pressed her tool into the center of the wrist, the hand twitched.

“Oh! There we go!” she exclaimed as she did it again, all the fingers clenching and unclenching as the electricity was applied. She set down her tool and inspected the area further. “Looks like you need a new transverse carpal ligament cable. Your current one is pretty much shot to shit.” 

“How?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “The thing’s supposed to be indestructible.” 

“Just normal wear and tear. You’ve had it for three years. Honestly surprised you haven’t needed maintenance before this.”

Getting up from her stool with a light groan, she opened up one of the many boxes scattered about and started digging through the contents. After a minute, she pulled out a bit of metal cable with a noise of success. 

“Knew I had one of these in here somewhere.” She sat back down with the new part and a few other tools. “Just gotta replace this, Captain, and you should be good to go.”

“Rhett.”

He didn’t even know he had said anything until he heard his own voice echo in his ears. It made his guts twist up in a knot, some heat prickle at his neck. He wanted to take it back. But he also wanted to hear her say it. Hear that voice of a stranger that also sounded so much like home say his name. His real name. Form those pretty pink lips around the words and hold onto it forever. The only person he’s ever allowed to call him that. 

“Rhett,” she repeated with a smile and it sounded like honey. “Suits you. I’m Tessa.” 

He spoke her name in a whisper to himself, determined to remember it this time. And he wasn’t even sure why. But he watched, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, as her cheeks became dusted with pink. He wanted to make her do that again. And again. And again.

Tessa finished the repair on his arm and popped it back into the socket. After a few tests to make sure everything was working properly, she led him back through the clinic to the front doorway. 

“If you have any more trouble, just let me know,” she said as she stepped through the thick curtain and out into the sun with him.

“I will.”

“See ya around, Rhett.”

Surveying the field one final time, Rhett put his lips together and whistled a tune. A simple four note thing, but one that carried on the wind easily across such an open place. It was a call. One that expected and anticipated a response. Rhett waited, breath held just in case that made him hear it better, for the responding whistle to come. The echo of that same four note tune.

But it didn’t come. 

Ice flooded his veins, froze his heart and let it sink into the pit of his gut as he scanned the battlefield yet again. He couldn’t see her either. Couldn’t pick her out amongst the other soldiers and medics who were quickly trying to gather those that they could. He swallowed down the panic as best he could as he shoved his helmet back onto his head. His viewfinder taking over his vision once more. 

“Search: Sergeant Tessa Abernathy.”

The viewfinder scanned the field for a second. Green lines going out in a grid, mapping the carnage and the trackers set into each rebel’s uniform before battle. 

Maker, she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Location acquired,” the robotic voice spoke in his ear as a marker for her location popped up. 

In the middle of the field, no other survivors around. Rhett took in a shaky breath as he moved forward. He whistled again as he got closer. 

But still, there was no echo.

A few months after Tessa’s arrival on base and her subsequent fixing of Captain Rhett Abbott’s arm, people began to notice things.

How the new bionic engineer sat next to one of the rebellion’s most famous soldiers and highest ranking officers at every meal. 

How Captain Abbott seemed to need a repair after every mission since her arrival. 

How Tessa would sometimes be escorted to his quarters after the sun went down and curfew was in action. 

How at victory celebrations, as few and far between as they were, the two of them seemed to be glued to one another's side.

Rhett kept repeating the whistle as he walked closer to her marker. Desperately. Brokenly. By the time he broke out into a run it was nothing more than a faint noise on his lips. 

She wasn’t going to respond. 

It felt like a rope was tied around his neck. Tighening and tightening the closer to her he became. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs but knew they were carrying him to her location. 

He threw off his helmet when her marker was only a few feet in front of him. 

And he could see her. 

Wearing a medics’ poncho because they had lost too many field medics and she stupidly volunteered to go. Despite his telling her not to. Despite him telling her to just go against orders and stay behind. But she was so stubborn. Always had to be. 

A giant pain in his ass and the sunshine of his entire life. 

Her face was pale, cheeks ashen. Eyes closed. 

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t. 

Rhett dropped to his knees at her side, uncaring of the bits of mech that dug into his flesh and cut his skin. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them uncaringly aside, he took her into his arms. Propped her up in his lap. Her head lolled to one side and he adjusted it to look up at him with one big hand to her cheek. Her skin was still warm. 

“Tess? Sunshine, you hear me?” he questioned quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder it would be a scream.

His eyes roamed her form for injuries. He didn’t find any until he got to her legs. Bile rose in his throat but he couldn’t. Her entire right leg was gone, blown off at the top of her thigh. Her left leg was missing below the knee. Both nothing more than charred stumps, like the end of a stick used to stoke a fire — coated in a thick layer of ash. It must have been one of those new fire bombs that the Order had been using as of late. Not caring that their own soldiers were killed with their use. Now that he looked around, many other bodies and bits that remained were burned black. The fires long put out.

A darkness consumed him. Weighed him down. It felt as if he would never rise from this earth. That he would stay here, with Tessa, as he should be. Forever. With a shaking breath, all hope draining from him like a plug had been pulled, his other hand slipped down to search for her pulse.

He gasped sharply. He clung to her tighter. 

Her pulse was weak, but it was there.

Bending down, he pressed his lips to her forehead, hard. Like that would embue her with some power to hang on. Just a little bit longer. 

“I’ve got you, sunshine, just hold on,” he whispered as he lifted her from the ground and started towards the transport that would take them back to base.

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t.

just tagging a few people who may be interesting, if you don't wanna be tagged in the future, just let me know! @arrthurpendragon @nerdysuperchick @bobfloydsbabe @crescentwolf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @onebigfangirlworld @yanna-banana @blue-aconite @gigisimsonmars @laracrofted @a-reader-and-a-writer

[firstofficerwiggles]

Happy Thot weekend! Congrats on finishing the semester!

Do you remember the Tik tok you sent me of Din sitting in a chair with legs spread wide and he taps with thigh to signal you to come sit in this lap?

I'm thinking of that with Sith Lord! Obi-Wan. You're in a meeting with him and other high ranking members of the first order. It's a pretty standard, boring, meeting that's more fluff than anything. Some of the officers are having disagreements about paperwork and efficiency. Obi finds this rather dull, though he loves a good chaotic argument. He looks over at you and pats his thigh for you to come sit. Everyone knows you're with the Dark Lord. No one questions it when you move to do what he asks. He praises you when you sit down. He promises to thoroughly reward you after the meeting with bending you over the table. Meanwhile he teases you with the force. Phantom touches trace up your thighs, chest, neck. Enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy your need for Obi. Obi takes immense pleasure in the effect he has on you. He's possessive and loves to show the power he has over you.

Idk I'm a slut for Sith!Obi. You've shown me the dark side and I'm obsessed. Lol.

Oooh, we are starting strong with my favorite new obsession Sith!Obi-Wan! An absolutely brilliant beginning to thot weekend. Welcome to the dark side 😈

Pairing: Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi x gender neutral reader

Rating: Explicit/Mature 18+ only

Note: I use my favorite pet name “sweetheart” in this but I am a firm believer that it can be used with everyone and is not inherently feminine

You stifle a sigh as yet another admiral argues that his fleet should be first in the Empire Day parade. It’s been a full week of meetings like this, all for an elaborate show of the Empire’s might and supremacy in the galaxy. As much as you’re looking forward to celebrating with everyone, you have to wonder how many galas, parades, and circuses are necessary, and why there needs to be an endless meeting for each one. 

Your eyes flick over to Lord Kenobi, resplendent in his white uniform, and looking rather bored himself as he sits to the side of the meeting room, comfortable in the luxurious leather-covered loveseat. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns his attention towards you, his golden gaze meets yours and a sly smile draws over his face. You feel a warmth come over you, a tingle that flows from your lower stomach to the rest of your body. Ghostly fingers brush over your cheek, caressing so softly you wonder if it is only a memory of the last time he touched you. Yet, the sensation continues, over your throat, across your collarbone, and then down your chest. Even though you’re dressed in your full uniform, it feels as though he is touching your bare skin. Your mouth falls open in a small gasp as you feel the invisible hand move between your legs. 

Obi-Wan’s smirk deepens, as he hears that soft breath leave your lips. He relaxes into his seat, placing his left arm on the back of the small couch, widening his body. Then he uncrosses his legs, spreading them open and shifting his hips upward in a movement that draws your eyes right to his growing arousal. With his right hand, he pats his thigh, a clear invitation for you to come join him.

You’re standing and moving towards him before you even realize that you’ve interrupted a heated argument about which uniforms the officers should wear on parade day. You mutter a quick, “Excuse me,” as all eyes are on you. Still though, you stride quickly over to your Dark Lord, always willing to give in to his whims. 

“You may continue,” Obi-Wan says lazily, paying the others almost no mind as he pats his lap again encouraging you to take your seat. Your arm winds around his neck as you settle onto his thigh. 

“That’s it, get comfortable, sweetheart,” he purrs to you, “I love it when you follow my instructions so well, I didn’t even need words this time.” 

His hand comes up to hold your jaw, making certain that you are looking right into his eyes, while his other arm has wrapped around you, low on your hips. 

“Shall we make this meeting more interesting? Hmm?” he inquires, his voice is low so that only you can hear him. You feel his Force fingers tracing over your skin once again. 

“Anything you desire, Lord Kenobi,” you reply with a soft smile, knowing that whatever he has in mind will certainly lead to your pleasure.

“What I really desire is to bend you over that table, and take you right in front of all these pompous windbags,” he tells you, his voice rich with want, “Would you like that? For me to show them all that you’re mine?”

Your eyes widen in surprise at his suggestion. Another gasp leaves you. You can’t say for certain whether it’s from shock or desire. You can feel him touching you with his mind, knowing exactly where his fingers will be most pleasurable, stroking and rubbing you in a way that makes your head spin. You lean into his otherworldly touch, yearning for more. You know he wants you to answer him though, so you manage to stumble a reply,

“Th-they all know I’m yours,” you reassure him.

“Perhaps they do.” 

Obi-Wan sounds so nonchalant, nothing in his voice betrays how well he’s working you up right now. But with the way your leg is pressed against him, you can feel how hard he is. 

“Although, perhaps it will solidify it for them that you are mine, if they see me railing into you, watching you take my cock like you were made for it.”

You can’t help the whimper that leaves your throat at his dirty words combined with the way he’s teasing you with the Force. The pleasure inside you is coiling tighter and tighter with each passing sweep of sensation. The room feels stifling and you squirm in his lap. It’s so much but still it’s not nearly enough. 

“Tell me that you want me to fuck you, sweetheart,” he demands in that velvet voice of his, “Tell me how you want it, how you need it.”

Your breath is coming in gasps now, as a shiver of embarrassment runs through you at how badly you do want it. The thought that he might actually carry out his idea, ravish you right in front of all of these officers, thrills you in a wholly unexpected way. 

“I do want it, my lord, and I don’t care who sees us, they should all know I’m yours,” you tell him, your words tumbling out as he keeps you right on the brink of an orgasm, “I want to feel you deep inside me, to feel you pressed against me, your weight on me, I need it so badly, I- I want to be full of your thick cock.”

“My, my, sweetheart, what a filthy mouth you have,” Obi-Wan drawls, before he pulls you into a deep open-mouthed kiss, heedless of whatever discussion is still going on in the room. 

When he breaks the kiss, you’re dizzy with pleasure. You’re so desperate for him that you’ll do anything he asks, and the naughty smile on his face tells you that he knows this. 

“This meeting is adjourned!” Obi-Wan announces in a loud voice, “Get out of my sight now.” And he waves the others away, sounding bored.

You watch dazed as the officers shuffle out of the room, and then you turn to your Dark Lord with a slightly puzzled expression. You were so certain he was going to do something more in front of them. 

“It pleases me to see you so willing,” he murmurs, “But I don’t like to share, and I think only I should get the pleasure of seeing you so thoroughly ruined.”

He leans closer to you, “Nevertheless, they should know for certain that you’re mine, so you be sure to scream that nice and loud for me. Now get on that table.”

Keep sending in your thots! It's going to be a very spicy weekend

@boomtowngirl @kavecika @becks-things @mysticalgalaxysalad @catsnkooks @starlightrows @tailorvizsla @bitchin-beskar @lilhawkeye3 @acourtofsnakes @grogusmum @buzzybeebee @deannie13 @ladykatakuri @noodlesfics @the-good-shittt @princessxkenobi @everythingyouwanted @jewfro24 @vaderthepotater @pinkiemme @laichka @elinedjarin @myeternalsin @kazthedestroyer @writeforfandoms @startrekkingaroundasgard @onabouteverything @beskarmermaid @flightlessangelwings

[a879a4-blog]

cruelhanded replied to your post: scallywxg replied to your posttwo dingle tiildeath...

uhhh excuse me i have staked a claim on some of those dongs ya gonna have ta fight me for em

Then fight me bitch.

[kanerallels]

Low And Lost Without You

For Kanera Week day one: "Alternate Universe". Dedicated to @chaoticdumbassrogue, who requested the original fic that this is a continuation of!

Rating/Warnings: Rated T (mention of canon typical violence and the Dark Side)

Taglist: @accidental-spice @laughingphoenixleader @heckin-music-dork @day-to-day-thots @firefoxtessa @auroramagpie @opalknight @kaneraweek

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One year, six months, a week and two days.

That was how long it had been since the Third Brother had returned, unsuccessful, from his mission to Thabeska, and been summarily punished. Painfully. Some of the scars still ached after long days or training sessions. He’d also been confined to the Imperial Palace for a few months, ostensibly to heal. However, it was more likely that it was so the other Inquisitors could exact their vengeance on him.

But that was also how long it had been since Kanan had joined the Rebellion as a spy, in the heart of the Inquisitor’s ranks. 

It had been the most terrifying and exhilarating year and a half of his life. The fear of being caught was almost constant, but Kanan was good at working through fear. 

And it was oddly reassuring that he wasn’t the only one. He had Fox, who’d been spying since the very beginning, and had pushed to have him recruited. And he had Hera. Hera, who repeatedly risked her own life by sneaking into the Imperial Palace disguised as a servant. Not just to collect intel, but to check on him. To make sure he was okay, and every time, to offer to get him out.

He would never say yes. But he appreciated it, just the same.

Most of the secretive meetings he and Hera would have were in the dead of night, in the furthest reaches of the palace. They planned carefully, checking guard rotations and the locations of the other Inquisitors repeatedly before confirming anything. They were spying right under the Emperor’s nose— and Kanan, for one, had no intention of getting Hera caught.

Everything was planned down to the second. Which was why Kanan was very confused when Fox woke him the night before he was supposed to meet Hera.

The clone commander had commed ahead with the warning that had woken Kanan up. His mind spinning with curiosity and exhaustion, he’d gotten dressed and was waiting outside the door, helmet on, when Fox arrived.

“We have a problem,” the clone said without preamble as he approached. Kanan didn’t take offense— that was just Fox’s way, and he’d gotten used to it by now.

“The kind we can solve fast so I can go back to bed?” he asked.

Wordlessly, Fox handed him a disposable cup of caf and kept walking. Sighing, Kanan muttered, “Guess not.”

He followed Fox down the hall, maneuvering off his helmet and sipping at the hot caf tentatively. The caffeine helped clear his head as they stepped into one of the meeting rooms that the Inquisitors often used for briefings. Kanan and Fox had cleared a few of them, making sure there were no bugs and that they could handle the security cams if necessary. Which it often was.

Fox closed the door behind him, and Kanan hastily knocked back the rest of his caf, wincing as it scalded the roof of his mouth. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asked. 

“The Empire nabbed a runner for the Path,” Fox said, his voice grim, and Kanan cursed.

“That is not good.”

He’d only been made aware of the Path a few months ago, when he’d needed to smuggle a Force sensitive kid off of Coruscant before the Empire caught onto their existence. Hera had told him about them then— how they protected Force sensitives, hiding former Jedi and children from the Inquisitorus and anyone who would hand them in for a ransom. For the Empire to have captured one of theirs…

“Exactly,” Fox said. “The good news is that they don’t know who they have. He was taken in by the Coruscant Guard for pulling a blaster in a public place, and is currently detained. His ship has been impounded, but they haven’t found the cargo.”

“That’s good,” Kanan said, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair. “Then we have time to act. We can make it look like he got out on his own, but we’re not gonna be able to get his ship out, are we?”

“I contacted Nephele,” Fox said, using the code name Hera had chosen when they’d first started. “She’s going to meet you in the usual place, and you can discuss the pilot and the cargo getting a ride out.” He paused, and Kanan frowned. There was something… off. Like he wasn’t saying something.

“What is it?” he asked.

To Fox’s credit, he didn’t try to deny anything. Handing Kanan a datapad he’d had tucked under one arm, he said, “You’re going to want to see the pilot’s file.”

Frowning, Kanan glanced down at the datapad, already opening his mouth to ask what Fox was talking about. And then he froze, his gaze locking on the name at the top of the page.

Janus Kasmir.

Kanan couldn’t breathe, his body humming with shock. A thousand questions swirled through his mind, but the only one he managed to get out was, “How did you know?”

“When I was first given this post, I made it my business to know,” Fox said. His voice wasn’t sympathetic, but it held a calm, in control note that was almost soothing, strangely enough. “I wanted to know what I was dealing with, so I read what I could find of your files.”

“Didn’t know there was one of those available to the average trooper,” Kanan muttered, staring blindly at the datapad. He’s here. How is he here? What is he doing with the Path, of all things? Kasmir had never been out for anyone but himself.

But here he was. “Are you sure he’s part of the Path?” Kanan asked, glancing at Fox, who nodded.

“It was confirmed by a source who couldn’t be wrong about this.”

Taking a deep breath, Kanan swallowed down the questions he felt bubbling inside of him and nodded. “Okay. I’ll make contact with Nephele in the usual spot. Get Kasmir and meet us at the back entrance of the palace.”

“On it,” Fox said briskly. He keyed open the door, disappearing down the hall, and Kanan took a moment to steady himself. Although how he planned to do that, he wasn’t quite sure. He just couldn’t think past the fact that it was Kasmir. Kasmir was imprisoned, and he was working for the Path. Why? Kanan wondered. What made him decide to do this?

It was a mystery that he couldn’t solve, not here and now. One thing at a time. First things first— go find Hera. Putting on his helmet, he headed out of the room.

Their usual meeting spot was down on the very first level of the Imperial Palace, in a back hallway near the kitchens. It was incredibly rare that anyone was seen down there, other than the servants and the odd guard. Which made it the perfect place for a discreet meeting.

Hera was waiting for him in their usual spot. Seeming to hear him coming, she turned to face him, and Kanan felt his heart skip a beat as he met her eyes. Force, she’s beautiful.

Upon deciding to commit to the Rebellion, Kanan had known there would be risks. The biggest one was being caught, and giving away his companions. There wasn’t much he could do, especially for Fox. But Hera was his link to the outside world, to the bigger Rebellion. There was no way he could let the Empire have that.

So, with a little experimentation, he’d figured out how to mess with his own memories using the Force. And every time one of their meetings had finished, he wiped the specific memory of her face away, leaving only the vaguest impressions.

Kanan recognized that this was dangerous, and possibly stupid. But he couldn’t risk her, and this was the only way he could protect her. So every meeting, when he saw Hera, it was for the first time. And every time, without fail, his heart skipped a beat.

He had a feeling it would be like that whether he remembered her face or not.

“Hi,” she said, and Kanan felt a shiver go down his spine at the sound of her voice. That was one thing that he could never forget, not that he would ever try. “What’s wrong?”

“Turns out, the Coruscant Guard nabbed a pretty important prisoner,” Kanan told her. Keeping his voice low, he quickly recounted everything Fox had told him, how a member of the Path had been caught, but his cargo hadn’t been found yet.

Hera listened intently, her eyes narrowed in thought as she tapped a finger against her chin. “One of us needs to get to the impounded ship, get the cargo off without anyone catching us. And with a guard at the impound lot, it isn’t going to be easy.”

“Fox is locating the pilot,” Kanan said. Kasmir,  his brain whispered. Janus Kasmir. The man who protected you for as long as he could. It just wasn’t long enough.

Shut up, he told his brain, refocusing on Hera. Who was frowning at him with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem a little off.”

“Just… tired,” Kanan said vaguely. “We should focus on the job.”

It wasn’t really that surprising when Hera didn’t accept his excuse. “That’s half the problem,” she pointed out gently. “You can’t focus, Kanan. Do you want to talk about it?”

Kanan opened his mouth, ready to tell her it wasn’t a big deal— but he couldn’t. Instead, he blurted out, “I know the pilot.”

One of Hera’s eyebrows lifted briefly in surprise. “You do? How?”

“From… before,” Kanan admitted. “Before the Empire caught me.”

Now that surprised Hera— he could see it in her eyes. “I’ve never heard you talk about your past before,” she said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Kanan said. “Nothing that isn’t regret or pain, anyways. But this situation… my judgment is compromised. You should know what’s going on.”

Hera nodded, but didn’t speak, leaving the silence for him to fill. Kanan tugged off his helmet— he wanted to really see her for this conversation, although he’d probably regret that later.

“His name is Janus Kasmir,” he said. “He hid me after… after Order 66.”

Just the words left a sour taste in his mouth, the sound of blasters and a familiar scream ringing in his head. Taking a deep breath, Kanan plowed forward. “He was a smuggler back then— gave me a place to hide, although it wasn’t exactly willingly at first. I worked with him for about a year. We managed to evade the Empire for the whole time. Until one day, I came back to the ship and… there they were.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the sight of Gray’s blaster pressed against Kasmir’s head. “They had him at blaster point. I had a choice between running, and turning myself in. I was so close to running— but then I heard my master’s voice in my head. I knew what she would have done, if she’d been there.”

“You turned yourself in,” Hera said softly.

“I did. And the rest of my life—” Kanan hefted the helmet in his hand— “has been this. The Empire breaking me down and rebuilding me into their little slave.”

Opening his eyes, he stared at the ground, unable to meet Hera’s gaze. “Anyways. I haven’t seen him since. I don’t know if he’ll remember me, or why he’s working for the Path now, but— I thought you should know.”

Something brushed his hand, and he twitched in surprise before realizing it was Hera. Taking his hand, she said, “You’re not their slave any more. And… I’m so sorry, Kanan.”

There was something about her hand around his, about the soft sympathy laced with determination in Hera’s voice, that lifted the dark cloud around Kanan. He offered her a small smile. “Could be worse. At least I met you.”

It was a dangerous thing to say, just as dangerous to think. But her return smile made it all worth it. Kanan opened his mouth to speak— then froze as a warning flashed at him through the Force. “Someone’s coming,” he breathed.

Hera’s eyes widened. Her hand tightened around his, and she darted towards a nearby door, yanking him after her. She slapped the button to open the door, and they both dove into the room, the door sliding shut behind them.

The room turned out to be a supply closet, the shelves fully stocked, with barely enough space for the two of them to fit in. Kanan leaned backwards, leaving Hera as much space as he could in the back of the closet.

“Where are they?” she whispered.

Closing his eyes, Kanan reached out with the Force tentatively. “Almost at the door,” he responded, his voice equally low. “They’re not Force sensitive— but I think the officer heard something.”

They were both silent for a moment, straining their ears. Kanan caught the sound of footsteps outside the door, and low voices. And then they stopped.

“They know we’re here,” he breathed, meeting Hera’s eyes in the dark.

Hera seemed to hesitate, then stepped closer to him. “Play along,” she whispered, slipping her arms around his neck. 

Kanan’s heart somehow managed to skip a beat and pound harder as she tugged his hair free from its usual tie. “What are you—” he started, and then she kissed him.

For a moment, Kanan froze, his helmet slipping from his hands. What— why— And then it registered, and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. 

It was a cover. He knew that. But that didn’t stop him from kissing her like he wanted to for months now, like he knew he never really could. He cupped the side of her face gently, and he could have sworn she leaned into his touch as her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him closer still. And in that moment, he could think of nothing but Hera.

And then the door to the closet hissed open. “What is going on here?” a crisp Imperial voice snapped. “You’re not supposed to be… here…”

The officer’s voice trailed off, and Kanan knew he’d seen the helmet at his feet, the armor and the symbol that told anyone who saw it that he was an Inquisitor. Not to be messed with, and not to be questioned. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Hera. It took some effort to conjure up his iciest voice. “Is there something you want?”

“I— no, sir,” the officer managed. “I—”

“Good. Then get out.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice chastened.

The door slid shut, but Kanan couldn’t bring himself to fully relax until he heard the footsteps receding, a lot faster than they’d arrived. Then he let out a sigh. “That was too close. Uh, good call with the cover.”

“Luckily, you catch on quickly,” Hera said, her voice slightly unsteady. And somehow, that was what made Kanan realize that he was still holding her, her hands still knotted in his hair. She was so close he could feel her breathing, and he wondered if she could hear his heart pounding against his rib cage. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her again.

You can’t, he reminded himself. It’s not fair, not to either of you. It’s not safe. So he forced himself to let her go. She did the same seconds later, taking a few hasty steps back. “Okay,” she said, her voice firm. “What’s the plan?”

“You go get the cargo,” Kanan said. “They’ll trust you. If you take out the guard, they’ll know something’s up, so I’ll handle him.”

He caught Hera’s nod in the dim light. “We should contact Fox, and tell him to meet us at the Ghost.”

Snagging his helmet, Kanan replaced it, paused to check with the Force for any signs of passersby, then opened the door. The two of them moved quietly down the hallways together, and quickly made it to a back entrance.

The impound lot was a couple blocks from the palace and a level down. Hera took a speeder that Kanan wasn’t quite sure belonged to her, but he wasn’t about to argue. On the way, he messaged Fox and gave him a meeting place, and received a terse acknowledgement. This was pretty typical for Fox, so Kanan didn’t worry about him.

They made it to the lot in roughly ten minutes. Thanks to the fact that it was the dead of night, there were only two guards at the front gate. “I’ll handle them,” Kanan told Hera as they drew to a stop. “You just get in and find our cargo, fast. It’ll be in a Barloz-class freighter, according to Fox.”

“On it,” Hera said briskly, making a beeline for the gate leading into the lot.

Keeping his pace calm but purposeful, Kanan strode up to the shack set off to the side of the gate. He could see the moment when the two occupants spotted him— both froze, panic swelling off of them in waves.

Being an Inquisitor had its uses. But Kanan couldn’t help but hate the fear he inspired in people, the way they shook at the very sight of him. He’d never wanted to be someone who inspired fear. It was the opposite of what the Jedi had been. Which, he supposed, was the point.

Stopping in front of the window, Kanan snapped, “Open the gate to the impound lot.”

The human in the booth, a man who looked scared out of his wits, immediately smacked the button that opened the gate. As it creaked open, the less terrified of the two, a short Devaronian, said, “What— what is your purpose here?”

“None of your concern,” Kanan said briefly. “Keep your mouth shut and you’ll survive this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Hera disappearing into the impound lot, and prayed she’d be able to find the ship quickly. In the meantime… I should probably figure out some way of stalling these two. Directing his question to the Devaronian, he said, “Have you seen anyone coming in and out of here during your shift?”

“A couple people,” the Devaronian said warily. “Why—”

“Tell me,” Kanan said. “Don’t leave out anything.” He let a hint of menace fill his voice, and the Devaronian scrambled to recount the night’s visitors. 

As he rambled on, Kanan listened with one ear, keeping an eye out for Hera. Come on, come on. He started to drum his fingers against the armor on his leg, then stopped. He couldn’t show his impatience. Especially not when he was acting sinister.

May as well check in with Fox, while I’m waiting, he thought. Switching off the external com, he activated the longer range transmitter.

Fox answered after a few heartbeats. “You got the cargo?”

“Nephele is getting it right now,” Kanan replied. “We should be out of here in five minutes, tops. You?”

There was a crash in the background, and Kanan frowned as Fox responded, his voice irritable. “Not well. Your friend is incredibly distrusting and it’s a pain in the neck.”

“Then you two should get along just fine— and he’s not my friend,” Kanan said. “Do you need a hand?”

“Might be easier just to stun him at this point,” Fox muttered. “I can handle it—” he cut himself off with a loud curse, and the volume cut out for a minute. Kanan tensed, not able to let himself breathe easily until Fox’s voice finally came back. “Okay, I think I got him to calm down. But he’s… more of a handful than I expected.”

From Fox, that was basically begging for help. “Ping me your location,” Kanan ordered. “I’ll meet you there in five, ten minutes. I just need to finish up here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clicking off his long range com, Kanan tuned back into the Devaronian’s list just in time for him to say, “Oh, and there was— who’s that?”

Turning sharply, Kanan saw Hera slipping out of the gate, leading a hooded figure. At the figure’s side was a much shorter shape. A kid, Kanan realized with a pang. Now it’s my turn to do my job.

He spun to face the two beings in the shack. “You never saw them— or me,” he said, pushing his intention through the Force as he waved his hand. “As soon as I walk away, you will forget this entire conversation.”

Their faces going blank, the human and the Devaronian echoed the words back to him, and Kanan released a silent sigh of relief. Pivoting, he sprinted back the way he came, ducking into an alleyway out of sight, and keyed Hera’s frequency on his wrist com.

She answered almost immediately. “Hey. Where are you at?”

“Taking a detour— Fox needs a hand,” Kanan told her. “We’ll see you at the meeting point.”

“Okay,” she said. “Stay safe.”

Kanan felt his heart do a backflip in his chest at the gentle concern in her voice. You don’t want her to be worrying about you, he reminded himself. You’re supposed to be just working together, remember?

But that didn’t stop him from responding, “You, too, before switching off the com and heading down the street.

Fox was pretty easy to find. Mainly because of the signal he’d sent Kanan, showing his location. But in the dark streets of Coruscant, it would be all too easy to turn down the wrong alleyway and wind up in a situation he didn’t want to deal with. So as he drew closer to the back alley where Fox was waiting, Kanan slowed down, cautiously reaching out with the Force to make sure he wasn’t in the wrong place.

The minute he did so, the Force surged with a warning— and a tall figure bolted out of the alleyway, charging straight towards Kanan. Spotting a blaster in the figure’s hand, Kanan moved instinctively. Sending the blaster flying with the Force, he slammed his fist into the figure’s jaw. They crumpled to the ground, and Kanan’s hand was already slipping to his lightsaber when he saw their face.

It was Kasmir.

What— oh, kriff. Well, that’s one way of giving Fox a hand. Seeing as Kasmir was here, Fox was probably just around the corner, blasters at the ready as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Keying on their com channel, Kanan said, “I found your runaway.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then, a white-armored figure stepped out of the alleyway, DC-17s at the ready in his hands. Giving Kanan a brief nod, Fox said, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Kanan said, glancing back down at Kasmir, who was already starting to stir, groaning. It was odd how little he’d changed, when everything else in Kanan’s life had. But he still looked the same.

His eyes slid open and locked on Kanan, and a look of shock, then hatred flashed through his eyes. Scrambling to his feet, Kasmir lunged at him with a snarl. Kanan stumbled backwards, surprise paralyzing him. What did I—

Fox grabbed the Kalleran by the back of the shirt, hauling him backwards. “Filthy, tuft-sucking child killer,” Kasmir snarled, struggling fiercely. “I’ll tear you to pieces.”

Oh. Right. Somehow, in the moment of seeing Kasmir again for the first time in years, Kanan had almost forgotten about his armor, about who he was. “Doesn’t seem to be much a fan of Inquisitors,” he commented over his private com line with Fox.

“Well, I wonder why that is,” Fox said, his tone dripping with so much sarcasm that Kanan did a double take. He’s not implying— does he think that Kasmir’s here because of me?

Is he here because of me? 

The idea was impossible. He hadn’t had that much of an impact in Kasmir’s life— not enough to push him into joining the Rebellion. Unless he blames himself. But that doesn’t sound like Kasmir. Does it?

This was a problem that would take a lot more time than Kanan had to unravel. “Did you tell him we’re on his side?” he asked Fox.

“Repeatedly,” Fox said. “Thought I had him convinced earlier, but apparently not.”

“And an Inquisitor showing probably didn’t help,” Kanan said with a sigh. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

Switching on his external com, he told Kasmir, “We’re not your enemies. We’re here to help.”

“Oh, like I’ll believe that,” Kasmir sneered. “A clone and an Inquisitor “helping” me out in a dark alleyway makes perfect sense.”

Wow, Kanan thought. We really are the two worst possible people for this job. “If we were going to kill you, we would have already,” he said.

“Very convincing,” Kasmir said. “Got any other lies you want to try and sell me?”

So we’re taking the direct route. “Your cargo is safe,” Kanan told him.

He saw Kasmir stiffen, but only for a heartbeat. “I don’t have any cargo,” he said. “I already dropped it off.”

“Then why aren’t there any records of it?” Kanan asked. He could sense Kasmir’s tension growing, and the Kalleran���s gaze flicked to Fox’s now holster blaster. “Don’t try that,” Kanan told him.

“You’re gonna have to give me a real good reason not to.”

“We have an agent getting your cargo off the planet— discreetly,” Kanan added. “You’re going with them. Which means you either come with us, or we stun you and carry you. We’re not the bad guys here.”

“The terrifying armor tends to ruin that point,” Kasmir muttered. He frowned at both of them for a moment, clearly weighing his options. “I don’t trust either of you.”

Kanan nodded. “That’s fine by me. But if you want to get both of them to safety, you’re going to have to live with it.”

A scowl crossed Kasmir’s face, but finally he nodded. “Fine. But I want my blaster back.”

Extending a hand, Kanan called the blaster to his hand with the Force, and passed it to Kasmir. The minute he had it, the Kalleran pointed it directly at Kanan.

He sensed Fox stiffening, one of his hands straying down to his blasters, but Kanan didn’t move. “Let’s get something straight,” Kasmir growled. “I don’t like you. In fact, I’d happily blast both of you away, given the chance. But for some reason, you know about the cargo and you haven’t given them away. So… fine. Let’s go.”

“This way,” Kanan said, heading down the street. He sensed the other two following him, and heard his internal com click on.

“You know, most people don’t keep their back to someone who just pointed a blaster at them,” Fox muttered.

Kanan felt a ghost of a grin crossing his face. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you watching my back.”

The clone muttered something rude under his breath that Kanan chose to ignore.

They walked in silence for a while— Kanan taking the lead, with Kasmir following him closely, his blaster at the ready, and Fox taking up the rear. It was probably smarter to remain silent. But there was a part of Kanan that burned with curiosity, that desperately wanted to know what Kasmir was doing here, why he’d joined the Rebellion.

Was it actually because of me?

It definitely wasn’t the wisest decision to try and get information out of him, not now. But the Empire hadn’t totally been able to kill Kanan’s curious nature, and it was definitely coming to the surface today.

“So, Kasmir,” he said, keeping his tone casual as they continued down the street. “What makes a guy like you join the Path?”

“What. Are you. Doing,” Fox muttered. Kanan ignored him.

“I’ve seen your record,” he continued. “You’ve been a smuggler and a thief your whole life— nothing holding you down, no ties or any family. There wasn’t one thing that would indicate you, of all people, would want to join something that benefits someone other than yourself.”

“You realize questioning him isn’t going to help this situation at all, sir,” Fox said.

At the same time, Kasmir shot him a hostile glance. “I don’t need to justify my decisions to the likes of you, Inquisitor. You’re the one who’s working for the Empire. You do know what your bosses are doing with those children you’re taking, right?”

Kanan almost stopped in his tracks, taken aback. Oh— kark. I should have known he’d bring that up. But that didn’t stop a protest from slipping out. “I haven’t ever—”

“Don’t care,” Kasmir said flatly. “You’re still with them, no matter how much you might try to convince people otherwise. What you’re even doing helping me, I don’t know.”

“I’m trying to make things right.”

The words slipped out before Kanan could think better of it, and he cursed internally. It earned him a surprised look from Kasmir, but he seemed to brush it off seconds later. “You and every other person in the galaxy, buddy. Doesn’t mean it’ll work.”

Is that what he’s doing? Kanan wondered as they kept walking in silence. Trying to make amends for what happened? It was so unlike Kasmir— but so much of this was. Maybe he’d had more of an impact that he’d expected. Which seemed unlikely, but nothing about the past few hours was likely, anyways.

The Ghost was being kept on a landing platform down on one of the lower levels of Coruscant, several blocks away from the Imperial Palace and at least ten levels down. The owner of the platform wasn’t necessarily part of the cause, but he would happily turn a blind eye to the strange company and hours Hera kept for the right price. Which was good enough for now.

As they moved onto the platform in front of the Ghost, Kanan glanced around, seeking Hera. For a moment, he didn’t see her, and his heart skipped a beat. Were they caught? Oh, Force, please don’t let them have been caught—

And then he saw her, moving out from the shadow of the ship. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she turned to say something he couldn’t hear to whoever was standing behind her.

As they approached, the figure from earlier slipped out of the darkness. But now, Kanan could see that she was a Mirialan, with pale purple skin marked with dark tattoos. At her side was a little girl, clinging to her hand. Probably her daughter, Kanan guessed— the familial resemblance was striking. 

The Mirialan woman’s gaze flickered from Hera, to Kasmir, and then landed on Kanan. Her eyes went wide with horror. “No,” she gasped, pulling her daughter back. “No— get away! You can’t have her!”

“He’s a friend,” Hera said hastily, catching hold of her arm. “I promise, Darija. He’s the reason we managed to find you in the first place. He’s working against the Empire.”

Darija eyed him suspiciously, unmoving, and Hera shot Kanan a “please give me a hand making you look unmenacing” look. Which means taking off my helmet, Kanan realized.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second— removing his helmet was far from his favorite thing to do in front of anyone, let alone someone who’d known him before he was an Inquisitor— but no longer. Reaching up, he pulled off his helmet, tucking it under one arm. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he told Darija, keeping his voice low and calm.

She didn’t move, glaring at him, and Kanan hesitated, unsure. Then a flicker of movement caught his eye— the little girl, stepping out from behind her mother. She eyed him, curiosity mingling with fear in her eyes. But she’s not as afraid as her mother, Kanan thought. Which was a start.

Moving slowly, he knelt a few yards away from them, catching the little girl’s eye. “Hi,” he said softly. “I’m Kanan. What’s your name?”

She stared at him, eyes wide, for a long moment. Then, just when Kanan was beginning to get nervous, she spoke, her voice quiet. “Ahava.”

“Nice to meet you, Ahava,” Kanan said, keeping his own tone calm and level. “Now, I know my armor’s a little scary— especially the helmet. But I promise you, I’m here to help.” Looking up and meeting Darija’s eyes, he added, “I won’t let either of you be caught, I promise. I would never wish what I— what I’ve seen on anyone.”

A flicker of understanding flashed through Darija’s eyes, and Kanan saw her take a quick breath, looking undecided. Before she could speak, Ahava spoke again.

“Why are your eyes that color?”

“It’s…. Part of my disguise,” Kanan said, opting for the easiest explanation. “So no one knows I’m helping you out. But I promise, I’m one of the good guys.” Remembering a long ago lesson from the creche, he reached out through the Force, sending the little girl an impression of peace and hope.

Her eyes brightened. “I like your eyes better when they’re blue,” she told him.

Kanan paused, taken aback. What does she mean? And then he realized he’d used the Light side of the Force. So does that mean— doesn’t matter right now. Mostly.

“So do I,” Hera agreed, and Kanan glanced up at her, his eyebrows shooting up. Okay maybe it matters a little bit. She gave him a slight smile that sent a flush of warmth through him and dear Force he could not start blushing right now. Definitely not in front of Fox and Kasmir.

Focusing his attention back on Ahava, he offered her a smile. “Then we’re all agreed. Listen, Ahava— I know things are scary right now, but I promise it’s all gonna be fine. You’ve got some good people looking out for you.” He sent another pulse of reassurance through the Force, and to his surprise, she responded, her signature flaring a little. Like she was waving at him through the Force.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Kanan asked, “Now, who taught you to do that?”

Her smile was shy but radiant as she said, “My daddy, before he left. He said his daddy taught him after he left the Jedi, and he wanted me to be able to reach the Force. That way, we’ll always be together.”

Kanan felt a pang run through him at the grave, pure belief in the little girl’s words. She trusted her parents, trusted the Force. He could almost imagine a young Caleb Dume next to her.

“I’m glad,” he told Ahava. “Your dad was right. The Force connects us to everything— he’ll always be with you.”

As he rose to his feet, Hera stepped forward. “Why don’t we get everything on board? We’ll be taking off soon.”

Darija and Ahava picked up their bags, heading towards the ship, Ahava waving to Kanan as she walked. Kanan gave her a return wave as Darija paused in her tracks, turning back towards him.

“Thank you,” she told him. “For what you said. Avner— my husband— he was… taken a few years back. By…”

“By one of the Inquisitorus,” Kanan guessed, and Darija nodded.

“We haven’t heard from him since. We have no idea what happened to him.” 

“If it helps,” Kanan said hesitantly, and Darija’s gaze fixed on him, hope flaring within them. “If it helps— I’ve been in the Inquisitorus for years. And I’ve never met a male Mirialan Inquisitor. I know it’s not good news—”

“But it’s not the worst news,” Darija finished. She took a shaky breath, the sorrow in her eyes heavy. But not, Kanan sensed, heavy enough to break her. “Thank you. I would never want to think that Avner ended up there. He would have hated that.”

“Of course,” Kanan said. “Safe travels.” He paused, unsure if he should say it, but the words slipped out anyways. “May the Force be with you.”

A very small smile crossed Darija’s face, and she gave him a nod. “And with you.” Turning, she headed onto the Ghost after her daughter.

As Kanan watched them go, he felt someone watching him. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of Kasmir, who was studying him with a puzzled half frown. “What?” Kanan asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You seem— have we met?” Kasmir asked. “Before now.”

Oh kriff. Does he recognize me? Kanan was well aware that he’d changed over the past seven years, so it was unlikely. But he’d spent months traveling with Kasmir, and the Kalleran smuggler was smart. Too smart.

“I think I’d remember if we had,” he said, opting for evasiveness. “You should get going. There’s no telling how long we have before the Coruscant Guard realizes you’re missing.”

“Right,” Kasmir said slowly. He started walking towards the ship, but halfway to the ramp, he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Kanan. This could be bad, Kanan thought before Kasmir said the last thing he expected to hear.

“Caleb Dume.”

Kanan froze, shock racing through him. “You asked why I’m doing this, there’s your answer,” Kasmir said. He directed a piercing stare at Kanan. “You know him, don’t you?”

He doesn’t know who I am, Kanan realized with a burst of relief. He didn’t particularly want to lie to Kasmir— but there was a part of him that didn’t want his old friend to know who he was, to face his past. Not yet, anyways.

“I may have,” he said. “Not sure.”

“What happened to him?” Kasmir asked, and Kanan couldn’t help but be taken aback at the concern in the Kalleran’s eyes. He’s worried about me— about Caleb. He’s probably just feeling guilty. But he knew that wasn’t true. Towards the end of their time working together, they had been friends. Kasmir legitimately cared about him, in some way.

But he couldn’t tell him the truth. “He’s dead,” Kanan told him, striving to keep his voice steady.

It must not have worked, because Kasmir’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m telling the truth or not,” Kanan told him. “If he didn’t die, the other option is worse. Either way, your friend is gone. I— I’m sorry, Kasmir. One way or another… Caleb Dume isn’t coming back.”

It was true, and he hated himself for saying it. He hated that there was no going back to a time when he was a true Jedi, not a Dark sider desperately clinging to any scrap of Light in his life, a time when younglings like Ahava would have been safe, and not hunted.

But there was no going back.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Kasmir said slowly, his frown deep. “Isn’t there?”

“If I haven’t told you yet, what makes you think I’m going to tell you now?” Kanan pointed out. “Now get going, you’re putting yourself and your cargo in danger by staying.”

“Fair enough,” Kasmir muttered. He paused, then gave Kanan and Fox a nod. “Thanks for the assist.”

“No problem,” Kanan replied. “You probably would have gotten out of there sooner or later, though, given your chosen profession.”

Kasmir let out a snort of amusement, although Kanan could still see the glint of sorrow in his eyes. “Might have a point there, kid.”

Kanan almost told him not to call him that— but stopped himself just in time, biting his tongue hard. That would have been a dead giveaway, and he couldn’t afford that. Instead, he just said, “Probably. Safe trip, Kasmir.”

Giving them another nod, Kasmir made his way onto the Ghost, where Hera was standing on the ramp waiting. She said something to Kasmir, who nodded, then headed towards Kanan. Kanan felt his heartbeat quicken a little, and instinctively reached for the Force to steady him.

Behind him, Fox said quietly, “I’ll meet you back at the Palace, sir. Don’t take too long.”

Any other day, Kanan would be irritated that the clone could see through him so easily— but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t glad to be getting time alone with Hera. “I’ll see you there,” he said.

As Fox headed back towards the lift, Kanan turned his attention back to Hera, who had just reached him. “Thank you for all your help,” she told him.

“I should be thanking you,” Kanan replied. “You’re the one who’s doing most of the work.”

“It’s what we do,” Hera said. She paused, studying him for a moment. “Who Kasmir was talking about— Caleb Dume. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Irrationally, Kanan felt his heart skip a beat. There was something so incredibly odd about hearing her say his name, the name he’d long since known would never belong to him again. “You heard that, huh? Yeah, that was me.” He ran an absent hand through his hair, realizing he hadn’t tied it back again. “It’s… it’s strange to see him after all the years. To hear him talk about me like— like I was the reason he’s doing all this.”

“It sounds like you are,” Hera said quietly.

“It’s not what I expected to hear,” Kanan said wryly. A half smile twitched across his face. “I guess we’re both trying to make amends for everything.” Pausing, he caught Hera’s eye. “If he figures it out— which he might, knowing him— will you tell him… that I don’t blame him? Please?”

“Of course,” Hera said instantly. She hesitated, and Kanan knew what she was going to say before she spoke. “You could tell him yourself,” she said gently. “You could come with us.”

For one very, very brief moment, Kanan allowed himself to imagine a world where he accepted that offer. He would follow Hera onto the ship, and yes, he’d have to deal with the tangled mess that was his relationship with Kasmir first.

But after that, he would be free. He’d stay with Hera and fight the Empire by her side and maybe, just maybe, their friendship could grow into the something more he longed for. He could turn his back on the Inquisitorus and never look back.

It was the one thing he desperately wanted, above all else. And it was the one thing he could never accept. “You know I can’t,” he said softly. “I have people here I can’t leave behind.”

Nodding, Hera let out a rueful sigh. “I know. It’s one of the things that I like about you.” Stepping forward, she threw her arms around him, and Kanan froze, panicked, before he realized what happened a beat later.

She was hugging him.

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. For a moment, he just held her, feeling her breathing steadily as she rested her head against his chest. “Be safe,” Hera whispered. “I can’t— I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine, Captain Hera,” Kanan told her, releasing her. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he added, “I promise.”

Her responding smile filled him with warmth, and he couldn’t help but think back to the moment when she’d kissed him, how he hadn’t wanted to let her go then, either. But Kanan always would let her go. He would do anything he could to keep her safe.

She started to head back towards the Ghost, then glanced back over her shoulder. “For the record,” she told him, “I don’t think Caleb Dume is gone. Not the way you think he is.”

Without waiting for a response, she made her way back on board, past Kasmir, who Kanan realized had been watching them with a smirk the whole time. As the ramp started to raise, however, he saw the smirk falter, and the Kalleran stepped forward, his eyes widening. Just before it closed, Kanan saw Kasmir say something, and his heart skipped a beat as he realized what it was.

“Kid?”

He knows, Kanan thought, unable to move. Of course he does. He half expected the ramp to open again and for Kasmir to come charging out and— what? Demand explanations? Punch him? Shout at him? He honestly wasn’t sure.

But a few seconds later, the Ghost took off, heading towards the upper levels. Kanan exhaled, strangely relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Picking up his helmet, he replaced it— and saw he had a few new messages. Activating the HUD, he made his way towards the lift, reading them as he went.

13th Brother (Dark): KANAN WHY AM I HEARING RUMORS ABOUT YOU HAVING A GIRLFRIEND?? HOW HAVE YOU NOT TOLD ME ABOUT THIS EARLIER??

Commander Fox: Some Lieutenant Venka is spreading rumors about you. We need to talk. Play along if asked. 

What— oh, KRIFF, Kanan thought, remembering the Imperial officer who’d found him and Hera. This could be… interesting.

He started to answer Fox’s message, but noticed another notification, from an unknown source. This better not be some kind of virus, he thought, selecting it.

VCX-100 Com System: He says he’s sorry. 

Hera, Kanan realized with a jolt. Somehow, she’d hacked into his helmet. Well, that could be useful in the future, he mused as another message popped up.

VCX-100 Com System: He also says to tell you you’re a kriffing tuft sucker for implying that you were dead.

Kanan couldn’t help a snort of amusement. Yep, that sounds like Kasmir, all right.

K: Tell him it takes one to know one.

VCX-100 Com System: He’s currently laughing and calling you a little punk. So I think it’s safe to say he’s not upset.

K: I’m glad. Make sure he gets to safety?

VCX-100 Com System: Of course. You be safe, too.

K: Just for you, Captain.

VCX-100 Com System: Thank you very much, dear.

K: You’re welcome, Hera.

For another moment, Kanan stared at the messages she’d sent, letting her words stay with him. Then, he switched them off and headed down the streets of Coruscant. He had a long day ahead of him. But the memory of doing something right, and of Hera’s voice, would keep him going. It always did.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[fandom-blackhole]

Not that I think that it’s in any of their characters to really go along with this but King! Boba, Mandalor! Din, and Tribe Leader! Paz in an arranged marriage with a very innocent and pure partner. Who would woo their new spouse? Who would jump right in on corrupting them?

Omg yeeessss, I love this.....

Din didn't want an arranged marriage and he hated that the Mand'alor court was forcing his hand and making him agree to one. Din was raised in a world where you found your own riduur that you would love and raise little warriors with, and the fact that he had no say in the matter upset him. But when he met you, his first thought was that maybe the arranged marriage wasn't such a bad thing. The more he got to know you the more he realized that you were just so sweet and pure and you would be the perfect person to rule the planet by his side. Being the mandalorians that they were the marriage moved quickly and soon the two of you were married. Din kept his distance and never did anything that you didn't encourage. But then one day Jedi Master Luke Skywalker came for a visit, and he brought Grogu along with him. Din couldn't keep his eyes off of you as you played with his son and just how attached Grogu got to you before he left later that night after a shared dinner. Din could feel something pressing in the back of his mind everytime he looked at you, but he always pushed back not wanting to acknowledge it. But when he stood outside your room after walking you there after the jedi and his son left, that pressing feeling hit him full force and he couldn't hold back from you. He followed you into your room and pressed you against the wall. You had seen his face a handful of times, but you were still shocked by his beauty everytime you saw him. So when he took off his helmet and kissed you, you could do nothing but kiss him back just as passionately. Then he pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours and said, "Tell me to stop and I will sweet girl, but you need to tell me now because I won't be able to stop myself soon." You could only stare at him speechless until he started pulling off his armor carefully. Once he was in only his undergarments, he pulled you close and stripped you before laying you on the bed and making love to you. After that he periodically comes to your room and ravishes you, and you find out very quickly about that breeding kink of his.

Boba didn't care for the idea of an arranged marriage, but if it meant he could expand his empire he would consider it. So when the time came to meet you, he was grumpy and just wanted everything to be over, but when you smiled softly at him and gave him a little bow he immediately took interest. After the meeting where he and your father made pressed out the last details of the deal and marriage, you had asked him softly to walk with you, and Boba couldn't find it in himself to say no. So he lead you throughout the palace, and as you made small talk Boba very quickly caught onto the innocence and sweetness that surrounded you, and he was hooked. The two of you spent hours walking and when you both reached the hall that lead to Boba's bedroom he instantly formed an idea. He lead you down the hall and into the room, and when you turned to look at him quizzically, you were only met with his mouth on your own in a harsh passionate kiss. When you finally pulled back from the kiss to breath, Boba kissed to your ear and said, "Little one, you're so sweet its addictive..." Then he started kissing you again and backing you up until you fell back onto the bed. You could see the hungry way Boba's eyes followed you and how they watched your chest heave from you heavy breaths, then he huskily whispered, "Little one, I'm going to wreck that innocence of yours, are you going to let me?" You could only whimper and nod, before Boba was ripping your clothes off of your body and feeling every inch of you he could. And when he got impatient, he pulled his cod piece off and moved his pants down just enough for his hard cock to bounce out. You could only whimper when you caught sight of how large he was, and you saw his smirk as he pumped himself a few times before he leaned over you and said, "Its okay little one, I'll go slow this time," before he started slowly pressing into you. True to his word, Boba went slow while he fucked you, torturously slow, all the while whispering dirty things in your ear that made you blush all the way down to your nipples. By the time you finally came on his cock you felt like you had been drug across the dune sea only to find the freshest and most clear and beautiful oasis. You came so hard that your ears started ringing and you swear your screamed out his name, but you weren't sure. By the time you came down from your high, you felt Boba still seated deep inside of you, hard as ever, and he whispered, "Such a good girl. Are you ready for more?"

Paz was pretty indifferent to the idea of the arranged marriage. It definitely wasn't how he wanted to meet or marry his ridduur, but it was for the betterment of his clan, and his clan always comes first. The marriage was set up to bring both your clan and his own together. He knew a little about you before ever meeting you, mainly only your family history and the basics about your tribe. What he didn't know was that the second he saw you he was going to become enamored. Before you even spoke to him Paz knew that you were soft and innocent, he knew that you were a pure being. Paz was instantly taken with you, and as part of his agreement for the marriage he set up a period for courting and getting to know eachother, so that the marriage would not fall apart. Paz instantly took to courting you, he would bring you gifts constantly, flowers from the patch that grew outside the covert, trinkets from the local villiages he visited when getting supplies, little treats and snacks he though you would like. He also took you on small dates where the two of you could talk, these were often short and not often because of his duties as a leader but he tried to make time for you. A week before the wedding was to take place he, showed up suddenly and asked if you would like to go for a walk. On the walk he lead to a quiet field not far from the covert, but it was hidden and very much untouched. He told you that he came there to think when he was stressed and you could only smile at him softly and squeeze the hand that you were holding. Then he lead you to a blanket that had a basket sitting on the edge and you gasped and smiled wider realizing that he had gone through the trouble to set up the date before he went and got you. After sitting you down on the blanket and settling beside the basket himself, he told you that he had the rest of the day off to spend with just you. The two of you talked for a few minutes until you noticed the basket move slightly, when you pointed it out, you could feel Paz’s smile as he grabbed the basket setting it on his lap. He informed you that he had two more gifts for you before the wedding. Then he pulled out a small cute little lothcat kitten and handed it to you, you could only giggle with happiness as you held the kitten close to your chest. Then he pulled put a ring, and you instantly recognized it to be made from beskar. He gently took your hand and said, "I had my Armorer make this for you, mesh'la. It has our clan names engraved inside of it as well as my clan signet on the outside....It...it is also made from beskar taken from my own armor..." You felt yourself tear up as you looked at him and whispered about how beautiful it was. The week flew by quickly, as did the wedding celebration. Everything felt like a blur, but the second Paz lead you into his home you were instantly nervous. Paz pressed his forehead against your own before pulling back and gently taking off his helmet. You stood there soaking in and memorizing his face before the two of you at the same time leaned forward and connected your lips. Paz pulled you close and held you as he kissed you with as much love as he could. Then he pulled back and the two of you silently and lovingly undressed eachother. Once the two of you were bare Paz laid you against the furs that made up his bed and he made slow, passionate love to you.

I may or may not have gotten carried away with this one...whoops.....

(SEND ME THOTS)

[rexxdjarin]

WIP Word Search Game

thank you @ariadnes-red-thread and @samspenandsword for the tags 💙

Rules: Find the words in your fic, post the section, pick new words, and tag more people!

My Prompt Words: Armor, Star, Connection, Red, Jump, and Whole

Your Prompt Words: Heart, Pretty, Watch, Golden

NPT: @kaminocasey @zinzinina @galacticgraffiti @twistedstitcher27 and anyone else who wants to try !!

Armor:

From my 30s Empire Era Boba Fett WIP

He stood in front of me, both hands pinning me by my hips to the cold metal hull of Slave 1. He took several deep breaths, his armor plated shoulders rising and falling like he was charging up for a fight.

Star

From Captain’s Log Chapter 11

I slowly rolled over to face him, curling an arm around his back and dragging my nails along the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. “Rex. My sun, moon and stars.” I started, muttering the words of comfort into his ear. “You’re so loved. Admired. You’re my safety. Our little family will be together soon. And we can hold our ad’ika between us every night.”

Connection

From the still unnamed Captain’s Log prequel series about the first time Rex and Mari met.

But those big, desperate, golden eyes of his. Maker how could I resist? He needed this. He needed to go home with someone who understood him, who had a real connection with him. Who could take his stress away and remind him how fucking good it would feel to be cared for. This wasn’t even about yourself. You wanted it for him. And you didn’t trust that anyone would take care of him better than you could.

Red

From a little Rex drabble I wrote, he and reader having a bit of down time in a beautiful field on Naboo

He tilted his head at you, remarking all the ways your face shows beauty he swears could’ve only been made for him. He leans down to brush his thumb along the redness of your blushing cheek and smiles. “Come here. Can’t wait any longer to kiss you.”

Jump

From mine and @literallydontlook HoloNewsNet Reporter!Reader and Rex post-interview meet up ask/thot

You peaked out of your room, sliding your arm down the length of the doors entryway and leaning up against it in all your seductive glory. “Over here, Captain.” You replied, watching him turn around and stop dead in his tracks, his heart practically jumping out of his chest. You swore time froze, planets stopped spinning, stars exploded as his shoulders lowered and his jaw dropped open at the sight of you waiting for him.

Whole

From a Daimyo Boba x Reader cries when your upset drabble I wrote hehe

“Come here, little one.” He muttered, reaching his whole gloved hand out to guide me into his lap. I took it, collapsing into him, wrapping my legs around his waist and laying my head on the broad plane of his impossibly strong shoulder. I tucked my face into his neck and sobbed pathetically as I let loose.

[wetalkinboutbooks]

An Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir

Summary: Laia is a slave. Elias is a soldier. Neither is free.

Under the Martial Empire, defiance is met with death. Those who do not vow their blood and bodies to the Emperor risk the execution of their loved ones and the destruction of all they hold dear.

It is in this brutal world, inspired by ancient Rome, that Laia lives with her grandparents and older brother. The family ekes out an existence in the Empire’s impoverished backstreets. They do not challenge the Empire. They’ve seen what happens to those who do.

But when Laia’s brother is arrested for treason, Laia is forced to make a decision. In exchange for help from rebels who promise to rescue her brother, she will risk her life to spy for them from within the Empire’s greatest military academy.

There, Laia meets Elias, the school’s finest soldier—and secretly, its most unwilling. Elias wants only to be free of the tyranny he’s being trained to enforce. He and Laia will soon realize that their destinies are intertwined—and that their choices will change the fate of the Empire itself. (Taken from Goodreads)

Our Ratings:  

 → Geena:  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

 → Kae: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: We genuinely love this book series so much that our brains recircuit talking about it... all we can do is say if you’re looking for good fantasy with amazing characters and plot... this is it!

Check out the spoiler full review below~

The Good:

→ The Worldbuilding 

Kae: Worldbuilding baybeeeeee. I LOVE IT. Reading this series was such an eye opener for me. It was so far from the usual European magic and broomsticks, that I NEEDED MORE. So I kept reading lol. The worldbuilding in this series is fantastic. There are Efrits, Jinn, magic, and more. This world is set in a Romanish Empire/Pakistani fusion of cultures. You have the Scholars are the lowest caste of people, the Tribes which is basically just a step up from ScholarS, but they are free. Then we have the Plebeians and the Martials. All of these cultures are so well written and developed that you have no trouble differentiating what culture certain characters might belong to just based on their name. Ex: Afyah, Ilyaas = Tribes; Darin, Laia, Izzy= Scholars; Markus=Pleb; Helene, Elias = Martials. All very easy to distinguish, I think. 

We also have some magical beings who are more or less immortal. The Jinn and Efrits, the Nightbringer, Shaeva, the Augurs. They’re all linked to a literal higher power. 

We also have The Waiting Place, which is basically purgatory. But it’s where the dead go to be escorted to the next life. 

Geena: I deserve no rights because I've always loved the whole roman empire history shit, it was always the most interesting shit to learn about so when I read the synopsis like roman inspired… written by a SA woman… i LOST MY SHIT!!! AND LIKE KAE DESCRIBED Sabaa does an amazing job of weaving in magical elements too, and ugh….. Her mind… BUT ALSO WHAT I LOVED IS, something a lot of fantasy authors do is fall into a hole of introducing race politics (aka RACISM) based on skin colour, but Sabaa was like… Wait Ik how to format this

Tired: Fantasy world skin-colour based racism

Wired: Fantasy world-class system based beef 

Sabaa tackles the issue of class systems and so on, and she did it all from scratch and I fucking loved it, it was gratifying to see an author who put so much effort into her worldbuilding. Also… this is v dumb… but the whole detail with sending messages using drums….. I was here for it 

→ Laia and Elias 

Kae: They’re wonderful and need a hug

Geena: Sabaa made an executive decision to write two whole cinnamon rolls and she did! COMPLEX cinnamon rolls that we love from the bottoms of our hearts. We start off with Laia’s perspective as she waits for her brother in her room, but shit hits the fan real quick and the Martial empire’s elite soldiers storm their small home searching for her brother. We learn that her brother, Darin, has got his hands on top secret info and if he doesn’t turn it over they’ll murder everyone. Darin and Laia try to make a run for it but are apprehended by a Mask (Essentially an elite soldier) and they’re forced to watch their grandparents die, Darin tells Laia to run and get out of there and our girl… our girl listens but she has mad ragrets. We follow Laia as she stumbles to the Resistance, an underground Scholar organization that has mad beef with the Martial empire. There she’s tasked with acting as a slave to hands down, the WORST person in the empire, Keris Veturia. All of this in the hopes that the Resistance will help save her brother who’s been imprisoned in the most brutal prison in the empire. 

What I love about Laia is that she’s not perfect, she’s not an amazing fighter and strategist off the bat… she’s an 18/19 year old girl from an oppressed group that has no idea what’s going on and her only skill set is that of a healer. BUT!!! Throughout the book we get to watch Laia make mistakes and learn from them, all of which makes her stronger and smarter. She’s so determined 🥺 even when Keris is carving her initials into Laia’s chest, even when she’s brought to the brink of death, Laia sticks with her goal to find Darin no matter the cost. Anyways.. We stan…. THOUGH TO BE HONEST, when I had started reading it, her first few chapters were frustrating to read because I was like “why would you do that1!!!” but then I set the book down at one moment and thought about how I’d act in the same situation and I was like….. I would’ve fucked up and been killed like 10 pages ago so Laia is doing really well LMAO… and since then I’ve been ready to fight for Laia whenever I see people shit on her.  

Kae: BOOM! So Geena summed up Laia’s character/situation perfectly. WE STAN LAIA OF SERRA. Now, we’re gonna talk about our brooding, handsome boy, Elias aka Ilyaas. Elias, is WILDLY the son of Keris. Keris had a lil boo thang back in the day and got preggers. She did everything she could to terminate the pregnancy, but nothing worked. So she was forced to give birth to him. She fucked off to the desert tribes for a while and learned how to deliver a baby, so she could deliver her own. When the time came, Keris gave birth to Elias. She cared for him for about five minutes before she was like “Yeah, I’m not with the shits. Fuck this kid.” And she left Elias in the desert near the tribes so he could be raised with them. Years later, Elias was chosen by the Martials to attend Blackcliff. Blackcliffe is a school where the Martials train to become the most elite soldiers in this world. Elias trains and trains and is ultimately the top of his class. At a certain age, the students are given silver mask that will eventually completely fuse to their face. Elias hates his mask. He takes it off every night, so it still hasn’t fused to his face like the rest of his class. Elias also hates Blackcliffe and was planning on being a deserter. He had a bag packed and was fully prepared to leave. He was sad to leave his best friend and confidant, Helene, but he was RET TA GO. That is, until he was selected to compete in the Trials that would change his world forever. These trials are to select who is to rule the Empire. He gets this news, when Laia, Keris’s slave is sent to retrieve him. When he meets Laia, he is instantly smitten. He forgets himself, is smiling, shooting the breeze, asking her names, etc. Then realizes, he could get her in trouble just for being nice to her. So they move along. 

Elias is a very sweet boy who just got caught up in a lot of shit with the trails. Every day he spends at Blackcliffe is another day he hates himself. The kid (well he’s like 20), is just straight up MISERABLE. These trials are to rest his mind, power, and strength and all the usual. The last two winners in the end will be the ruler and the Blood Shrike, aka advisor. This is almost a good thing, because Elias is competing with Helene and if they both win, they can both rule. Things are going pretty well for them. They’re winning, it’s looking good. But then, Elias has to go against Helene and they both have to lead a small armada against one another. It’s either kill or be killed. In the end, he has to go against Helene . In the end, he and Helene reluctantly battle it TF OUT. Elias wins because Helene had to forfeit because she was wearing some magical armor that couldn’t be penetrated. Elias feels HORRIBLE. His friends are dead. He ALMOST killed his best friend. He feels ashamed and like a monster. If he hadn’t hated himself before (which he totally die), he SURELY hates himself now. Laia is then sent to his chambers/rooms as his prize. He’s meant to sleep with her, but he hates himself too much and he doesn’t want to take advantage of her. So they just talk and end up sharing a little smoochy smooch. But uh, ya boy is lowkey SPRUNG cause Laia is cute and she got them CHILD BIRTHING HIPS.

Geena: Kae got that *Chef’s kiss* Elias/Ilyaas summary I s2g. I loved Elias because he was honest to god such a refreshing character to read. Like he seems like the typical YA boy → Tall, dark, handsome, and brooding. BUT!!! He’s so different and in the best way possible. FIRST OFF!!! He actually has such a fulfilling childhood (no sad backstory other than learning his mom is an actual piece of shit rip…. More like sad present story). Secondly, he recognizes that what he’s doing is wrong and the way the Martials terrorize Scholar’s is garbage and he wants no part of it. THIRD, he doesn’t like to push his own trauma on those around him? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT WELL, but like he’s such an upstanding guy that treats people well no matter what? Also… he’s lowkey a dumbass… like Kae mentioned when he first met Laia his brain hit a reset and he was essentially like “Me name potato.” We love a hot dumb jock that chugs that respecting women juice. 

Kae: OMG HE’S A TALL, THINNER ALTAIR MINUS DICK JOKES. HE’S NASIR AND ALTAIR IN ONE.  ASDFGHJKL 

Geena: YEEEEAASSSSS (check out that review here). ALSO MY final thots on Laia and Elias that as a duo they’re amazing! Laia gives Elias advice when they’re stuck in his room together 🤪 and he finally chooses that he’ll do what HE wants and not what the empire wants. Elias, in turn, vows to help find and save Darin…. I love them sm they bring the best out of each other 😭 

→ Izzy ft. Helene’s One Singular Good Person Moment

Kae: IZZY! Izzy is the epitome is sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, minus the spice because she’s really just a sweet little sugar plum. Izzy is also Keris’ slave. She’s around the same age as Laia if not a year or two younger. She’s very quiet and tries to keep to herself. But she finds herself secretly being friends with Laia and helping her when things are the absolute worst. When Keris carved her initials into Laia’s chest, Laia got really sick. Our girl had a crazy fever and Izzy was there to help her through it. Well, she got Elias and he got some herbs and shit, BUT IZZY HELPED. Though Izzy has been a slave her entire life, she has always wanted to be free of Blackcliffe and all of its horrors. So she works with Laia, sneaking out, and sometimes stealing, to make sure that can happen for the both of them. I should also mention that Keris took Izzy’s eye as a child. So Izzy is a small, skinny, fragile, one eyed sweetie. But all of her hardship doesn’t stop her from being such a genuinely good person. 

Geena: Izzy is such a sweet character who tries her best to not be friends with Laia, but people GRAVITATE to Laia (good and bad rip) so she didn’t hold out very long. My favourite scene with them was when they sneak out to participate in some yearly festival that is ~~illegal~~ such a sweet moment I lowkey died.  Moving on to Helene though, the poster child of brainwashed, patriotic, eating-propaganda-for-breakfast, and the second best Mask after Elias. Helene is also shown to have feelings for Elias so when Laia shows up she’s not pleased at all! And Elias himself is confused about his feelings and rip when he was like “Let me try to kiss Helene and see if I like her too” LIKE BOY…. DON’T PLAY HER LIKE THAT PLS…. BUT he doesn’t bc Laia is ATTACKED thus interrupting their moment and Helene is annoyed like “OFC IT’D BE THAT BINCH!!!” like Helene the poor girl was attacked by another walking bag of shit o my god… BUT!!! Near the end of the book when Elias and Laia are escaping Helene is the first one to catch them, but she lets them go! A turning point for her character maybe? Though I know for a fact she didn’t care about Laia, but was doing it bc she still cared for Elias and didn’t want to see him slaughtered no matter how much she’s a ride-or-die for the Martials. 

The Bad :  

→ The Scholar Resistance 

Kae: Is that what they were called? Because they HIGHKEY played tf out of Laia. Alright. The Resistance. They’re mean and I HATE THEM. The Resistance is a rebel movement by a few Scholars who are fighting for the freedom and equality or their people. Laia’s parents were like, the biggest, most badass leaders who have ever lead them. But after they died, things kind of fell apart for The Resistance. Laia, stumbles into their hideout after she runs away from home, after her brother was kidnapped and her grandparents were killed. She begs for them to help her and they’re basically like “Mmmm. No. But you look familiar tho… Who ya momma nem?” and she’s like “lol yeah actually my parents used to run this shit so help me.” And they help her… Kind of… They basically send her ona  dummy mission. A SUICIDE MISSION to be the Commandant’s slave (Keris), to gather information about the Martials and their next plan. In return, they were to help free Darin. Laia was to gather info, then meet with Keenan (a boy in the Resistance) to give over said info every week. Well, they also chose not to tell Laia that she was basically on this mission for nothing. They had no real way to get Darin out of the prison he was being held at. They were really just sending her to die because they KNEW Keris was ruthless and that none of her slaves lasted more than a few months before they were killed or killed themselves. Long story short, FUCK The Resistance. They’re bitches and we HATE THEM. 

Geena: Kae’s right… the Resistance is a bunch of wrinkly ass losers that can kiss our asses. When it was revealed that the Resistance didn’t know SHIT about Darin and were just fucking with Laia…. I was ready to to go down to this place and fight them mySELF. Laia risked EVERYTHING to get them information, she survived for god knows how long under Keris and when she couldn’t come up with something substantial they’d be like “Oh well you’re fucking useless” as if she’s not the daughter of the Lioness aka the most fierce Resistance leader that they ever had. Also, Keenan (....) comes through in the end and offers her a way to break her slave cuffs and escape, but Laia decides that Izzy deserves that more than she does and that Laia would find her own way out… But also imagine the betrayal that Laia felt, the people that were supposed to keep her safe and help her were just screwing her over the whole time. But… despite everything that happens Laia is still her sweet self? Just like Ilyaas… both manage to maintain their humanity no matter the shit thrown at them. 

The Ugly:  

→ Keris’ tiny little mean ass 

Kae: Geena said that shit, baybeeee! Ugh, her MIIIIND. Alright. Now. Let’s talk about “The Bitch of Blackcliffe”. This woman. Evil, vile woman, is basically a 5’3, blonde hair demon. She has absolutely no patience. If you sneeze in the same room as her she’ll probs slit your throat and make a disgusted, disappointed face at you while doing it. She will tolerate NOTHING. You will not speak to her unless spoken to. I mean, this is a woman who wanted to look like so much of a badass that she thought being pregnant and delivering her own baby in a cave alone would make her look weak. I think that was actually pretty tough of her though because whew… I couldn’t do it.

Geena: She got back to her neanderthal roots

Kae: LMAOOO GIRL IM DEAD.But like,  in her youth, Keris went to Blackcliffe. As we heard from her father at some point, Keris was miserable there. She was taunted, picked on, and beat up (mind you she was the only girl at that school so that’s fucked up). She had absolutely no friends and had to fend for herself. So, to make up for it, Keris became ruthless. She became a heartless woman because people made her that way. I hate to be that person, but like, I get it? I can see why someone would become so coldhearted. She did not have a good life. Her mother died when she was young, her father wasn’t there, and she had no friends. I’m not surprised at all that she turned out to be such a horrible person as an adult. No, I’m not giving he an excuse. She had the option to be a good person and she didn’t choose that. But, yeah. That’s my take on her evil ass.  WHEW. OKAY DO YA THANG. 

Geena: TRUE, Kae’s right, Keris had that sad :( childhood :( but at the same time, it’s like… you didn’t have to continue being a dick like people were to you but here we are. Also, she’s genuinely such a terrible person and orchestrates the genocide of the Scholars and is a BITCH about everything. What I realize now is that…. She’s essentially Elias’s foil? Like neither had a solid father figure, both had a tough time growing up (with Elias missing his tribal home and being forced to murder, and Keris being bullied), but Elias does his best to break out of that cycle but Keris is like… *slurps up the shitty Martial mudwater*... she is the bootlicker supreme who finds joy at having her son beheaded (Helene is Bootlicker Lite because at least she let Elias live whereas Keris tried her best to get him killed) BUT JOKES ON THAT BITCH BC ELIAS LIVES!!!!  Elias would send Keris a crude drawing of himself like “I lived bitch!” 

Anyways, she’s an extremely well-written villain else we wouldn’t hate her so much lmao…

Conclusion 

Kae: In conclusion, we fuck with it. I loved this series so much, I read the first three books in one week and was heartbroken to find out that the fourth book wasn’t out yet. YA GIRL IS ATTACHED TO THESE CHARACTERS, OKAY!???? An Ember in the Ashes is a wonderful, extremely well written book. I think Sabaa is a literal genuis. This book made me fall in love with reading all over again. I think the characters are so individually different, it’s amazing. They are well distinguished and independent of each other. They are strong and sweet and funny and evil. Just all around AMAZING as well as the folklore, stories, and cultures that are presented to the audience. 

Geena: yyyeeeaaaass the care that Sabaa Tahir put into this book, ranging from how each character is written to the intricate worldbuilding got a bitch tearing up, BECAUSE ONE DAY I WISH TO WRITE THIS WELL!! An Ember in the Ashes draws you in from the first page, and I litcherally say this for every book we’ve reviewed but there’s NEVER a dull moment (I need a new phrase lmao) you are constantly stressed reading this book (in a good way) and there’s like 2 more books after… and the last book in the series on the way. BLEASE READ Ember, because Kae and I have spent our whole time talking SCREECHING about this book. THINKING ABOUT IT, WITHOUT EMBER WE WOULDN’T HAVE THIS BLOG LMAOOO  

Kae: OKAY BUT LIKE. LITERALLY. WE STARTED TALKING AND BECAME REAL GOOD FRIENDS BECAUSE OF THIS BOOK. LIKE, WITHOUT EMBER, THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED. SO THANKS, SABAA. 

Geena: WE LOVE YOU, SABAA!!

Kae: And I guess that concludes today’s book rant/review! I hope you all enjoy our ramblings and more! 

[olberic]

vesperia ask meme from this post 

👤 favourite character?

pretty even tie between raven and patty! love their backstories. love their development. love their thottiness

👥 most used party?

yuri or flynn / raven / patty / rita ! yuri or flynn depends on what mood im in or if i want extra healing

👍 who do you play as most?

still yuri, but ive been playing as patty a lotttt more lately

👎 who do you play as least?

estelle and judith.... i love them but im so bad at targeting estelle’s spells and i can’t keep judith in the air for longer than like.. 20 hits....

🌆 favourite town?

aurnion!! the music is so so good, i love that its a base of sorts for a lot of the npcs, and i really like that its like in a corner of a mountain too! i’d live there

🏞 favourite dungeon?

manor of the wicked, mostly bc i spent sooo much time grinding in and around there! honourary mention for tarqaron for having the best soundtrack tho

🌎 is there anywhere on the world map that’s comforting to you?

i love the zopheir drifts! 

😴 what inn do you go to most often?

the one in myorzo even tho its super inconvenient bc it has everyone sharing a bed which i think is super cute 

🎧 favourite song on the soundtrack?

YES i listen to the soundtrack all the time YES i have these memorized: breath of resonance (aurnion), fury sparks (vs flynn), twisted blades (vs zagi), oath of the union (dahngrest), tragic resolution (sad music from the post-cumore confrontation), dark conspiracy and the tower of contraption (upper ghasfarost), radiant light fostering life (egothor forest), the world at your fingertips (zaude), brooding omen (tarqaron)

🦅 most fun giganto beast to fight?

BRUTAL BY FAR... it spawns so often and u can get ur allies to distract the summons and just 1v1 it w a paralysis charm

🐆 favourite monster?

first time i had to fight a skunky i nearly cried i can’t kill them i always run away

🐉 favourite boss?

fight wise? probably gauche and droite bc they’re fun or estelle bc she’s really easy to practice combos on! character wise its schwann bc ill admit it i simp for raven

⚔️ most fun battle?

again probably gauche and droite, and outside of bosses it’d be the wrath nails in the labyrinth of memories! if u take flynn and just use dazzling glare on them two or three times you get a fatal strike and its fun to make a 300000 hp total battle go down to like. 6 hits

💀 hardest boss battle?

besides the first gattuso def the cameos in the tag team battle... how many times have i gotten barbatos almost dead before he gets healed and my healers get sealed... then stressing about the time left for the party battle im sick of it im SICK 

✨ favourite mystic arte?

raven’s wink in crisis rain it’d be wolf fury if not for the rare time i can get seifer with summon friends

🎉 any victory quotes that stand out to you?

“our weapons are love!” “justice!” “sexualityyyyy” “WOULD YOU STOP” 

and besides that i love patty’s “the queen of the seas has arrived!” and yuri and flynn’s fistbump bc those are cute 

🥰 favourite NPC?

i didn’t really have any for this game?? like i much prefer the PCs but also... gauche and droite hold a special place in my heart, and nan won me over with her development. also yeager. kakyoin lookin ass

🧥 favourite outfits?

yuri: true knight + the hairpins attachment. i’d die for the ponytail

estelle: her default is actually my fave, but heroic actress for the ristelle

repede: not an outfit but overdrive brigade or bust

karol: warehouse master! i love the jacket

rita: seeker. its what she deserves

raven: that summer guy bc his hair in that has me 😳 and also adept assassin

judith: draconic lancer or glamourous maid... i am not immune to hot girl

patty: pirate queen bc its what she deserves

flynn: benevolent beneficiary and its soley because of the thigh holster

👕 least favourite outfits?

whoever decided on yuri’s yumanju/swim outfits needs to be JAILED... miska doctoral degree and the frog outfit and sultry temptress and dont get me started on the xmas and samurai ones 

🎥 favourite skit?

POINTS SKIT POINTS SKIT

❤️ did you ship any characters?

from the moment rita blushed at estelle i was hooked on them... also yuri/flynn is like. too canon to not love. also raven/literally anyone except karol (son) and rita (lesbian)

💔 any ships you don’t like?

yuri/estelle and flynn/estelle bc i can’t stomach her not being a rita im not even joking 

🏥 what healer do you use most?

raven! i usually don’t need more than a few love shots and i have more than enough items to make up for the lack of recovery spells

🗺 most enjoyed side quest / side quest chain?

do i even have to say best friends? and the sicily ones are pretty fun and i also like seeing nan in the hunting blades ones

🤢 most annoying side quest / side quest chain?

FUCK GUILD QUEST ALL MY HOMIES HATE GUILD QUEST

🔪 what difficulty do you play on most often?

normal for now sjvbksdvjbs i plan on doing hard next tho

💯 solo coliseum fights or tag team coliseum fights?

tag team bc i love fighting the others! i usually bring raven but by god do i love rita and schwann’s dialogue in the knights fight

➕ have you played the EX new game plus?

not yet! i’ll be doing that for the mid-hundreds levels tho 

🔨 are there any weapons you always keep equipped?

meteorite blade and defender for yuri, strike eagle +1a and misericorde for raven, holy avenger for estelle, beserker heart for flynn, song of gaia for rita, brionac for judith, and leoluca + black thunder for patty

🗣 do you play dubbed or subbed?

dubbed

🎮 which is your favourite minigame (warehouse, draspi, snowboarding, poker, dragon rider)?

fuck minigames but gun to my head i had to pick one it’d be poker bc the mechanics make sense

🗡 yuri or flynn?

sorry king but it’s yuri for this one yall had me with the vigilantism 

👑 ioder or estelle?

estelle obvs tho ioder is def the better choice for emperor

🏹 raven or schwann?

raven bc hes a thot and not a bootlicker but id be lying if i said schwann couldnt get it

👯‍♀️ gauche or droite?

gauche 

💪 hunting blades or leviathan’s claw?

leviathan’s claw! even if the hunting blades werent awful i’d still pick them bc i love LOVE the serpent’s fang lore and how the guild itself is linked to patty’s backstory and also. also yeager. 

🏠 zaphias or dahngrest?

dahngrest! i truly cannot stand the empire imagine living there

🏕 inns or camping?

inns 100% i will go so far out of my way to make them share rooms rather than camping which is so so boring 

👾 original or definitive edition?

definitive! its the only one ive played, i love patty too much to ever play the og, and being available on the switch is so good

🎢 what difficulty do you play on?

oh my god. oh my god i put this question in twice FUCK

💿 have you played any other tales games?

not yet :-( i love this one too much to change tho i do have beseria bought and ready to go

👬 have you watched first strike?

not yet :-(((( i havent found it anywhere yet but i heard raven’s in it and im. im

⏱ how long have you spent on the game?

....190 hours and counting.....

🗻 what part of the game are you at right now?

working through the 200 man melees now! once i finish those (ive only got yuri and raven done so far)

✅ how did you decide to start playing?

1 i heard it was similar to octopath 2 i thought it was turn based going into it SKJSBDVKSJDVB 3 saw a gif of yuri and flynn on here somewhere and thought aw shit guess i’ll start this game if there’s an active fandom (NOT THAT THERE’S MUCH OF ONE) 4 the game was on sale sdbksdvjbksdjv

[sonicawareness]

The Best Albums of 2019

After listening to more than 2000 new albums in 2019, I’ve narrowed my picks down to The 20 Best Records of 2019.

I’ve included 3 essential songs from each pick, as well as a choice lyrical clip and a brief description of the album.

Noting beats actually LISTENING TO MUSIC! So don’t just read my thoughts: follow and listen to the Spotify playlist containing 60 songs from the top 20 albums:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TWlfWoo54MQ5cYTMmB0RI?si=M_23L6DDRieVuA845A90Pg

01: Yung Gravy - Sensational

Aptly titled Sensational, this debut full-length is a thirty minute party that dances between the hottest trap beats, well-placed samples, and the young Minnesota rapper’s braggadocious persona and ridiculous raps

Hey Alexa, how many bitches can we fit in the Tesla?...Pull up in that Model X with your model ex!

“Whip a Tesla” • “1 Thot 2 Thot Red Thot Blue Thot” • “The Boys Are Back in Town”

02: TWICE - &TWICE • Feel Special EP • FANCY YOU EP

Nine young South Korean women radiate endless energy, bountiful bliss, and some of the catchiest songs to come out not only in 2019 but recent memory 

Even when things go wrong, feelings out of control: lessons, to be sure. Be okay, all right! Even a crying face is glittering, filter and laugh! You can return to invincibility, right? Blow off, and we havin’ fun! [Translated from original Japanese]

“Fake and True” • “Breakthrough” • “Stronger”

03: Sublime with Rome - Blessings

Frontman, bandleader, multi-instrumentalist, and producer Rome Ramirez delivers his finest record to date: eleven heartfelt reggae-driven songs that are as well-written as they are masterfully recorded and produced

Watching you feel good tonight: it's your song up on the station, and we don't even know no words. I wanna hear you roll your R’s, singing Spanish in the car, “Dime algo hermosa tonight”.

“Wicked Heart” • “Light On” • “For the Night”

04: Bring Me the Horizon - amo 

Cohesive yet genre-spanning (metalcore, hip-hop, electronic, and pop, to name just a few), the sixth album from the English quintet is an emotional yet insightful rollercoaster masterpiece

Before the truth will set you free, it'll piss you off. Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot. Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one ‘cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra.

“MANTRA” • “wonderful life” • “i apologise if you feel something”

05: Weezer - Weezer (Black Album)

Expertly produced and instantly memorable, the long-running Rivers Cuomo-driven California quartet is once again in top form, adding yet another fresh and unique — but distinctly Weezer — record to their extensive discography 

Don't get mad at me, I'm just being honest. I should have lied, now you're mad at me? I'm just being honest. How 'bout from now on you'll write the script, I'll read the lines?

“Can’t Knock the Hustle” • “Zombie Bastards” • “Living in L.A.”

06: Big Data - 3.0

Like this sophomore album’s lyrical content — exploration of the impact artificial intelligence will have on humans and on the Earth — the latest project from producer, multi-instrumentalist, and mastermind Alan Wilkis is paradoxically dark yet bright; like AI, this album’s execution is equally flawless and Dangerous

I created a monster, it's out of control, it's going to take me...I didn't know what I was making...But now it's coming, coming for all of us!

“Monster” • “See Through” • “Evolution Once Again”

07: blackbear - ANONYMOUS

Vibrant yet dark, personal yet accessible, the fifth album from Mat Musto is a collection of 18 vulnerable, confessional songs told over slick electronic and hip-hop sounds

You drop the bag and ask me how my weekend was. I love that, though. You laugh when I make stupid jokes, and when I went to rehab, you didn't judge me that bad. I struggle with addiction probs, you always got my back. What am I gonna do the day that my drug dealer moves away? Whatever am I gonna say to my new plug? It just ain't the same.

“DOWN” • “HATE MY GUTS” • “DRUG DEALER”

08: Denzel Curry - ZUU

Hit-after-hit of hip-hop bangers pack this album’s half-hour runtime, with a plethora of guests joining the fray but never quite knocking it out like the young Miami native, Denzel Curry 

First they mockin', now they hoppin', all on the wave, 'cause they see me poppin'. Big-big-big large pockets, they start flockin'. Here's what I say when they ass keep knockin'...

“RICKY” • “BIRDZ” • “ZUU”

09: DaBaby - KIRK / Baby on Baby

On his two 2019 albums, his first proper efforts after countless mixtapes and singles, DaBaby unleashes his signature, incessant vocals over relentless trap and modern hip-hop beats

Prolly heard I was broke from a broke nigga, prolly heard I'm a ho from a ho! I don't know what you know, I ain't runnin' from no nigga, let’s go!

“BOP” • “OFF THE RIP” • “Suge”

10: Bayside - Interrobang

On their eighth album, the Anthony Raneri-fronted New York natives sound refreshed, focused, and tighter than ever telling their trademark tales of heartbreak and healing

I love that music saved you, and Lord knows it’s saved me too, but songs never love you back, and you never know the person preaching to you...

“Interrobang” • “Prayers” • “Bury Me”

11: The Hold Steady - Thrashing Thru The Passion

Few frontmen can weave an album’s worth of compelling narratives, yet the Brooklyn band’s Craig Finn finds himself on the seventh The Hold Steady album once again delivering ten more engaging, interlocked tales over his band’s fierce guitar riffs and all-too-catchy choruses

Thanks for listening, thanks for understanding: tequila takeoff, Tecate landing.

“Entitlement Crew” • “Denver Haircut” • “You Did Good Kid”

12: Electric Guest - KIN

Sugary sweet, the third record from the California duo promptly polishes any rough few rough edges they once had to deliver a perfectly slick yet quirkily heartwarming collection of eleven easy-listening songs

I'm like, “this mothafucka might sue me, and that mothafucka might boo me”. I'ma keep on goin' to a better day, all this other bitterness can fade away.

“Dollar” • “I Got the Money” • “More”

13: Billie Eilish - WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

Part punk energy without sounding even slightly punk, part emo diary without being a dashboard confessional, the debut record from American teenager Billie Eilish craftily bounces between genres, haunting sounds, and strange stories

If you think I’m pretty, you should see me in a crown. I'm gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make 'em bow one by one by one.

“bad guy” • “my strange addiction” • “you should see me in a crown”

14: The Cat Empire - Stolen Diamonds

The eighth album from Australia’s The Cat Empire is a full-blown dance party packed with catchy, clever songwriting and a room full of drums, horns, strings, keyboards, turntables, and bass

Operator, please, I can’t get out my head. Tell me where I’m going or where I’m being led. Tell me like an order, and order I’ll obey. Maybe I just thought you said, or did I did I hear you say, “We’re going to ([kill a man]) Kilaman-jaro, jaro…”

“KIla” • “Stolen Diamonds” • “Ready Now”

15: Dirty Heads - Super Moon

Co-frontmen Dirty J and Duddy B return to the beach for the seventh Dirty Heads album, borrowing sounds from across their entire discography of acoustic guitars and witty hip-hop to craft a surprisingly delicate record

I'm a flame, I'm a beacon that won't go out. In the dark, in the rain, I'm your lighthouse. When you can't stand the pain, hope you know now, I'll keep you safe, I'm your lighthouse.

“Super Moon” • “Lift Me Up” • “Tender Boy”

16: TENDER - Fear of Falling Asleep

Dark and uninviting, the second album from this London duo is an intimidating but rewarding listen delicately spiced with just enough hooks to keep you trapped in its atmospheric dreams 

I’ll be looking for the scent when it goes cold. I’ve been trying to beat the maze with a blindfold on. I’ve been foraging through mud and sticks searching for that power that don’t exist.

“Closer Still” • “Bottled Up” • “Handmade Ego”

17: Logic - Confessions of a Dangerous Mind / Supermarket Soundtrack

Logic returns once again with countless rhymes delivered over his trademark breathless bars, frequently painting an all-too-vivid picture of a famous rapper struggling to comprehend the world around him

All these comments got me lost in my mind; all these thoughts that I'm having are not mine. I always post that I'm having a good time so my life looks perfect online...

“Homicide” • “Don’t Be Afraid to Be Different” • “Lemon Drop”

18: Tyga - Legendary

More than just a collection of hits, the seventh album from the Compton rapper is well-sequenced and effortlessly laced with hook-after-hook for Tyga to deliver his signature obscene lines about things he self-admittedly has too many [sic] of: money, cash, hoes, cars, clothes, flows

Hey, shut the fuck up, bitch, you know who I are. Point blank range, and I'm shootin' for the stars. You niggas subpar and I just raised the bar. You got Rollies on your wrist, this is Chopard. Slide on your block like a fuckin' go-kart, my nigga A&R, still got an AR.

“Haute” • “Lightskin Little Wayne” • “On Me”

19: The Chainsmokers - World War Joy

The third album in three years from Alex Pall and Drew Taggart (and no shortage of guests) is an easy, light collection of ten slick relationship-focused pop songs that find the duo largely eschewing their dance-centric history 

You said, "Hey, whatcha doing for the rest of your life?" and I said, "I don't even know what I'm doing tonight". Went from one conversation to your lips on mine.

“The Reaper” • “Family” • “P.S. I Hope You’re Happy”

20: Bear Hands - Fake Tunes

Brooklyn’s Bear Hands returns with another collection of bright, bouncy songs that ever-so-slightly conceal the trio’s underlying sadness and struggles  

I don't see how you think you can come to me, and bitch to me, lay out your problems, like ancient history, like I ain't got no other shit to do. I love you, baby, but my lips are turnin' blue.

“Blue Lips” • “Back Seat Driver (Spirit Guide)” • “Mr. Radioactive”

THE BEST ALBUMS OF 2019

Yung Gravy - Sensational

TWICE - &TWICE • Feel Special EP • FANCY YOU EP

Sublime with Rome - Blessings

Bring Me the Horizon - amo 

Weezer - Weezer (Black Album)

Big Data - 3.0

blackbear - ANONYMOUS

Denzel Curry - ZUU

DaBaby - KIRK / Baby on Baby

Bayside - Interrobang

The Hold Steady - Thrashing Thru The Passion

Electric Guest - KIN

Billie Eilish - WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

The Cat Empire - Stolen Diamonds

Dirty Heads - Super Moon

TENDER - Fear of Falling Asleep

Logic - Confessions of a Dangerous Mind / Supermarket Soundtrack

Tyga - Legendary

The Chainsmokers - World War Joy

Bear Hands - Fake Tunes

[kanerallels]

Steve Miller Au update!!! It might take a little while for the next one, since it's not, ya know, actually fully written yet. But we're getting there, and we're almost done with this story!! First lines under the cut

Taglist: @accidental-spice @firefoxtessa @laughingphoenixleader @day-to-day-thots @heckin-music-dork @opalknight @auroramagpie (let me know if you want to me added or removed, as always!)

To say that Empire Day hadn’t gone the way the Ghost crew and the Yellow Submarine crew had wanted it to was an understatement. On the bright side, it had also not gone the way the Empire wanted it to, which was always good in Jyn’s book.

But now Kanan and Ezra were gone, using the Phantom to lure the Empire off to Force only knew where. Which Jyn hated. She really, really hated it. The idea of two of the most important people in her life just taking off without any backup grated on her.

So she’d tried to convince Kanan to let more of them come with, to help him and Ezra. It hadn’t gone well, to say the least. Kanan had refused to take her with, and Jyn had ended up yelling at him then running out of the room like a teenage brat who hadn’t gotten her way.

She hated that she’d acted that way. Hated that she’d yelled at Kanan when he was about to take off on a mission that he might not come back from, and that she hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye before she stormed off.

[spockina]

teeny tiny au where link does indeed go to film school and rhett takes business instead so that they could be a team, but then link is a shit lmao i love hurting. thanks to the beautiful @mythicallyrhink for the handholding. i’m truly scared of this one so gimme your thots lmao

-

Oh the dawn won’t stop weighing a tonne I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done But I haven’t stopped loving you once 

.

After a short, but hard time of tears, screams of anger and frustration, sadness and fake laughter to fill the room, they decided, collectively, that Link would, in the end, go to film school, and Rhett would take business. “We’re gon’ be a team if I have to kill someone, Link,” Rhett had said, and Link had laughed, and replied with blood oath, as they did when things got rough.

Coming of age was difficult enough all on its own, hormones doing the Devil’s work on his body – and doing enough of it to send Link into overdrive sometimes. Link shied away from thoughts of Rhett’s body when they were down by the river; craved the nights where he’d fall asleep with his head pillowed on Rhett’s extended arm; tried to stop relating Rhett to the stars in the sky.

College brought them closer – literally, they were living together. Link felt as if he was supposed to learn something new about Rhett, what with actually living with him, but he ended up only learning about himself: he would mold to be whatever fitted best with Rhett. It was that way about dishes, socks left everywhere around the apartment, Rhett writing his papers at the last minute and Link having to annoy him about it.

It was Rhett giving him a shy, quiet peck on the lips, and Link having to do a double take, because that wasn’t on the script. Link could feel Rhett’s breath in his own lungs, they way Rhett’s breaths stuttered, waiting for Link to decide what the future of this was going to be. Having just learned something about himself, Link took the plunge, arms around Rhett like he could stop his best friend from shaking, lips seeking Rhett’s like he hadn’t allowed himself to think about for so long.

They never talked about it. They never settled an agreement, it was just what it was: behind closed doors, in the darkest hours, in hidden spots. It felt so natural, so good, real, but it was wrong, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what Link heard his whole life? It was a sin, and Link, a God-fearing kid, found himself sinning in the dark, all thoughts abandoned for those nights where laying with Rhett, listening to his breaths, was all Link wanted, and he was gonna get it.

Link was very funny (is very funny), and he had all the improv groups and drama clubs to show for it. Film school was fun, and he liked the technical part of it, but he was made for comedy. From the gangly, skinny, long body that made for great punchlines out of himself, to the dumb southern hick vibes; from the genius mind that could come up with jokes on the spot, to making and then laughing at anything resembling a fart or a dick. Link was funny, and so was Rhett. No one ever asked, and so Link never told, but most of his improv practices was rehashing Rhett’s jokes. (Rhett knew. They were a team – they are a team.)

And then, one day, Link met a girl. He met a girl because he was funny, and she was funny, too, and that was the pattern of Link’s affections: funny. Link wanted to think it didn’t mean anything, but he knew on that first night, in that deep, undeniable way, that she was gonna change everything.

She did, but she didn’t mean to.

Link just… couldn’t. He couldn’t, in his right mind, keep going like that. He never retreated from Rhett, he just introduced them. And Rhett, gorgeous, smart, sharp Rhett knew. Took the interaction for what it meant: Link’s kindest way of telling him we’re through.

They never talked about it, but Link never stopped loving Rhett.

When they graduated from college, Rhett said, “we should move. Hollywood is gon’ do you wonders,” and Link said, mirth in his voice, “it’s gon’ do us wonders,” and Rhett smiled down at him just by virtue of being taller – any bystander would tell you that Rhett meant, in fact, to be smiling up at Link, because he was always looking at Link like Link hung the moon. Link knew it, too.

They couldn’t just move, though. Link got married, and didn’t dare ask Rhett to be his best mean; it felt like casual cruelty, and he wouldn’t. Rhett got married after that, and didn’t ask Link either, but made sure Link knew he was just returning the favor, except – except Rhett didn’t take his kindness at all, except Rhett thought Link’s kindness was its own kind of cruelty, and he made sure Link knew.

There were rocky times between the conversation and the wedding, but wedding day, when it was just the two of them, Rhett looked at him, and said “I still love you,” and Link, this time, recognized it for what it was: a chance for them. Rhett wasn’t offering to walk out on his own wedding; he loved her too much for that. But Rhett was offering them another chance, and Link knew. He could have said any variation of words: me too, I love you, let’s fix this. Instead he said I know, and Rhett nodded, and again, understood it for what it was: I love you, but we ain’t doing this.

They move to California. It was, simultaneously, the easiest and the hardest thing Link did in his life. The easiest, because Link shot to stardom in the blink of an eye, already having a well stablished base back home, and the hardest, because the larger he got, the farthest he got from Rhett.

Not literally, either. It would have been easier if he were literally away from Rhett, but he wasn’t. Rhett was right there, literally his manager, from the start. That was the reason why Rhett took business in school: he always said, “you’re gon’ be a star, and I’ll be there.” So, not literally. Rhett was always right there, his manager, with an assistant, an agent; Link’s right-hand man. But Link could feel it happening. Link could see in the contrast between Rhett’s booming laughter and his dry eyes, his loud voice and the emptiness in his tone.

Rhett was living in a house just down the street from Link, with his wife and his children, and Link was living in a house down the street from Rhett, with his wife and his children, and they both had dogs, and they were best friends. The best of friends.

Best friends. Blood oath brothers. Two halves of a whole. Except for the bit where Link killed a little bit of Rhett every day. Except for the bit where he made sure he had to add a like a brother, every time he wanted to say he loved Rhett. Except for the part where he would only ever touch Rhett if a camera was present, to make sure nothing could be deconstructed. Except for how he never forgot how Rhett’s lips tasted, or how Rhett’s skin smelled, or how Rhett’s heartbeat skipped a bit when Link was laying with his head on Rhett’s chest and ran his nails up Rhett’s belly, and to try and purge those memories, he pushed Rhett away when Rhett needed his best friend.

Link was (is) a comedy genius, Rhett by his side every step of the way – more often than not, guiding his steps. Link won awards, starred in movies, was the face of campaigns. Funny to die for, and handsome to boot.

Link was a powerhouse, and Rhett was the driving force. Not everyone knew that, but Link did. Rhett did, too. Rhett ran an empire called Mythical, with Link Neal center-front, with creations far and wide away from only Link, but, truly: an empire. Link’s name attached to it, but Rhett’s work behind it.

They worked hard, and worked well, and worked together. And Rhett still loved Link, so deeply, like it had never started so that it could have never ended, but he also resented Link, and Link could see that in the lines around his eyes. Link didn’t take offense; he allowed Rhett his resentment.

Link still loved Rhett, he never stopped.

But being a comedy genius and a good man didn’t come for free. And when they parted ways in the late afternoon, each going for their own car even though they lived down the street from each other, Link couldn’t help thinking of what could have been.

[exmachinus]

ascension

another gift for @melissaknowsthings featuring The Thot being imperial, and The Banana Bae being fond

Watching the Talos priest arrive in Solitude had been an utterly hilarious moment. It was partly why she’d chosen Solitude to be crowned in. Well. That and because it was a rather graceful melding of Imperial and Nord. Solitude, city of the Empire, home of General Tullius himself, having to play host to an ancient Nord custom, appointing a Nord Dragonborn Queenship of the land. Ah, but, she’d ever-so-sweetly reasoned with the table of uncomfortable generals, priests, politicians, and various other Old Men of Note, surely there was a better title to confer on a Nord Lady about to assume the throne? After all, the Empire as an institution was functional. There wasn’t any real reason to abandon it. Just the Thalmor and their… barbaric practices about Talos. Yes, she’d mused out loud, it was absolutely best to give her the Imperial title of Empress. She’d taken their silence as assent. She knew she had them under her thumb, and not just because Marcus was sitting obsequiously in a corner behind her, sharpening a Daedric greatsword.  

No. They owed her. They owed her the happiness and safety of their collective peoples. Bards throughout Skyrim sang odes to her beauty and generosity, wherever she went the common folk would approach to grip her hands and thank her, embrace her with joy and hope. They owed her this. And no one would dare to stop her. And who could? She had the Blackbriars and the Thieves around her little finger, the Dark Brotherhood was at her command, even the Thalmor dared not move openly against her. Besides, assassination attempts would keep life interesting.

The only thing more amusing than Talos worshipers in the streets of Solitude was sauntering into the Palace of Kings with Marcus and Rumarin. Being in Windhelm at all with Marcus was always a delight; she loved watching Ulfric and his blustering buffoons nearly rupture the veins in their foreheads when she brought a dremora and a High Elf into their most revered sanctum. But of course, Ulfric was as powerless as the others to stop her. Once her business was finished, she released Marcus into the snowy wilds to let off some steam and find some bandits to destroy, as was his wont, and grinned at Rumarin, who rolled his eyes even as he smiled, fondness apparent. “Really, one day they’ll all drop dead if you keep doing that.”

She laughed, unbridled. “Oh, that would be fun, but I’ve promised Marcus he can have them once I don’t need them anymore.” Ru’s eyes glittered at her cruel grin.

“It’s really almost too attractive when you get ruthless like that.”

She’d laughed again and kissed his cheek. Then fucked him senseless that night.

-

That was two days ago. Now she leaned against a balcony railing in Castle Dour with Rumarin, watching the common folk of the city learn to adjust to the restoration of the Nine. It had taken some work, and would continue to take some work, but she was confident Talos would be re-accepted with time. She knew it, the way she felt the gentle warmth of a benevolent smile whenever she passed one of His shrines. Like a distant, but proud and loving, father.

A servant briefly interrupted their game of guessing who would try and step awkwardly around whom in the streets to let her know the seamstresses had arrived for the fittings for her coronation gown. She’d dismissed him with a nod and finished the last of the wine in her goblet, and was turning to head inside when Rumarin stopped her with a light hand on her forearm. She’d turned back with her brows raised, intending to tell him, yes, she would leave the jug of wine here with him, when she was stopped by the strangely fond expression on his face.

“I don’t mean to get all, ugh, mushy on you here, and maybe this is just the wine and skooma talking, but. Before I met you, did I ever once think a High Elf would be able to walk freely through Windhelm, or be the guest of the Nord Dragonborn about to gain the highest office in the land? If anyone’d suggested it a year and a half ago, I would have accused them of taking skooma shots off an Argonian’s ballsack.”

She’d choked. “Ru-”

“Look, before I lose my nerve, what I’m trying to say is I really am quite proud of you. And I’m grateful. For all you’ve given me.”

Her mouth fell open a little and her eyes stung. When she said nothing, he coughed and leaned back out over the railing. “Do you remember when we met? You were wearing leather armors. That you’d bought from a storekeep. Incredible. You’ve come so far.”

She put her arms around him and pressed a loud, smacking, kiss against his temple. “And what have I given you? Aside from a collection of fantastic scars and memories?” He turned in her arms, expression offended.

“You did the best thing anyone’s ever done for me: you introduced me to Marcus, and by extension some of the best orgasms I’ve had in my life.”

She couldn’t help it, she collapsed against his shoulder laughing, and through the giggles she managed to get out, “He’d be so offended his fucking has only given you some of the best orgasms of your life.”

Ru considered that. “Well,” he said solemnly, “he’ll just have to continue fucking me until I don’t care to remember getting fucked by anyone or anything else, won’t he?”

She nearly screamed with laughter, and that point she had to retire indoors or she was going to spend the whole afternoon kissing him, and have to wear something unsightly to her own coronation.

Of course, that would be fun, as well.

-

The Temple of the Divines was resplendent in the afternoon sun, the colored glass in the high windows throwing shafts of brilliant light across the congregation. Rather than have a private ceremony, with only Skyrim’s nobles in attendance, she’d ordered the doors of the Temple thrown open so the gathered throngs of people could witness their Queen become Empress. As she processed down the aisle, she was keenly aware of the gazes of the people around her. Bits of jealousy, still some anger, love, devotion, fear. Marcus, leaning against the back wall of the Temple, equally resplendent in his fine clothes, his red eyes nearly aglow with fierce pride.

She went through the rehearsed motions, kneeling carefully in her magnificent cream and gold gown. She bent her head and swore to love, protect, and serve the peoples of Skyrim and Tamriel with all her life and spirit, and to uphold the fairness of the justice and laws of the land. The Talos priest, nearly bursting with Nordic pride, raised his arms and bid her lift her head. She did, and felt with equally keen awareness the heavy enameled crown placed atop her hair. In a single fluid motion she rose to her feet and turned, magisterial and imperial, nearly aglow herself in the shining light of the mid-afternoon sun, framed by the Nine Divines, set in the knowledge of the right of her birth and what she had accomplished, she rose Kira I, Empress of Skyrim and Tamriel.

A deafening flood of approving sound, roars and cries and applause, greeted her. Then, from the back of the assembled crowd, came the cry: “Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin!” and the Nords collectively launched into the old, once nearly-forgotten, song, greeting their hero and their empress, in the tongue of their ancestors and of hers: “...naal ok zin los vahriin! Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!”

Also near the back of the room, her eyes caught on the one High Elf present, his kind yellow eyes glossy and bright. She watched as he mouthed the words in the tongue of dovah along with the Nords, shining with pride and joy for her. In that moment, she was nearly overcome. He’d learned the words of the song, not necessarily knowing it would be sung, but he’d learned them anyway, for her, the old old song of her people to the Dragonborn.

“...Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok! Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz! Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot! Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!”

[squaredcircleconfess]

To The Top 6 News & Rumors

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗦𝗤𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗜𝗥𝗖𝗟𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞 𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗘, 𝗦𝗔𝗠 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗦𝗔𝗝𝗘 𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗪𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗗

6. Paris Traeger's Dinner

Kourtney Kardale: Here’s the first headline of the day; Natalie and Paris are planning a big dinner event. Unfortunately the details remain tight lipped and not even where or when this suit and tie event will take place. All I can say right now is the guest list is open, so who do you think will show up?

Saje Crawford: First off, I just think it’s amazing that Paris has done so much for being a frickin’ toddler. Now as far as the guest list goes, anyone who is anyone will show up. I just want to be invited and see how these people live.

Sam Cartwright: I’m gonna be the first to say it, babies hosting dinners?  They’re messy eaters, we all know it.  This is a recipe for disaster but that said, I’m also here for it.  I want to see a baby hitting grown men with food.

Kourtney Kardale: Does your mind spiral into ultimate chaos mode when it comes to children? We don’t even know what the event entails. I expect nothing but the best out of this dinner. Just imagine the beautiful gowns and the wonderful setup. It will be magical.

Saje Crawford: Am I the only one who wants something juicy to happen? This dinner will be attended by wrestlers and their significant others. 

Sam Cartwright: You remember Paris Traeger Presents?  We saw things like Brennan Devlin getting attacked by a killer baby and god knows what else.  Anything can and will happen.  Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s a Clue situation and someone is killed.

Saje Crawford: True. We never really know what those rich people are into. At least it’ll be pretty right, Kourtney?

Kourtney Kardale: I think we’re getting a slight off topic here. Moving on.

5. Many returns scheduled for the Couples Cup.

Kourtney Kardale: CCW is holding a tournament style Valentine’s day couples cup. Thirty-two couples signed up for the event within days that it was announced. So many wrestlers are returning to wrestle along side their sweethearts. Couples that haven’t teamed up, couples that are seasoned in tag teaming. Who was the most shocking to you that signed on for the event?

Sam Cartwright: I’ll give you a couple.  We hadn’t seen Skylar Knight and Matt Knight since early in CCW.  We thought they were long gone, maybe retired, but the first person to have the record of Golden Ticket reigns in Skylar Knight is back.  Also, another shocker to me was Cartier finding a partner in Fudgecake.  We’ve seen him briefly in CCW in the past, so it’ll be interesting to see what the duo calling themselves ‘Thot Fudge’ do.

Saje Crawford: I thought it was ‘Thot Fudge Sundae.’ Anyway, the most shocking couple to join the ranks, in my opinion, is The Carlsons. It’s gonna be the first time we see Genie and Elijah in a ring since forevers ago. They’ve been away raising a beautiful family. It’ll be nice to see how they function as a unit in the ring. 

Kourtney Kardale: My pick would have to be Chad Kassidy and Natalie Dalton. Those two have been inseparable since it was revealed they were dating. It’s interesting to see their dynamic in twitter interactions. Will it translate well in the ring? 

Saje Crawford: They’ve been putting in some training for the show since there is a lot of great couples in the tournament. Greenly Lancaster is returning and bringing her husband Eddie Olivier along with her. Georgia Lancaster is doing the same and joining in with her boyfriend Conor Machina. Don’t forget about the blind date.

Sam Cartwright: I think we’re all ignoring the elephant in the room.  What is going to happen if for some reason, Genie Carlson, Georgia Lancaster and Cecily Golding all end up in the same room?  Or even the same ring?!

Kourtney Kardale: A little mystery for us to find out when it happens. Number four.

4. Beauty giant interested in Britain Cosmetics?

Kourtney Kardale: This one is huge. Britain Jade is selling half of her cosmetics brand to CoverGirl owner Coty. The deal has been ongoing for some time now and Britains rep has told us it’s pretty much a done deal at this point. Get this, the price tag they put on it is six  hundred million dollars. The rep goes on saying that they wanna produce more products under the Britain brand to sell to more counties around the world.

Saje Crawford: That’s amazing, sweetie. I love when a woman like Britain is working hard on turning her passion into an empire. Her cosmetics company is truly a beauty powerhouse. The only way customers could purchase the products is online. Now that they’re gonna make them available in stores? I love it.

Kourtney Kardale: It explains why some of her products were also Ulta exclusives. Britain had successful pop-up shops in New York and Los Angeles. She has the beauty truck that goes around LA and her fans line up around the corners for those. Her vending machines at the Las Vegas airport are selling out of the lip kits. 

Saje Crawford: Honestly, this was her next step. She also launched a new cosmetics brand with her bestie Natalie. You got anything to say, Sam? I feel like we took over for a bit. Wanna talk makeup?

Sam Cartwright: I honestly do not know a thing about makeup but, six hundred million dollars, nice.  I hope nobody in wrestling gets mad at her now for having had a makeup company.

Saje Crawford: Can’t hate on a woman who is minding her business and building an empire.

3. Lola and Noah Weavers repeated attacks on Faith McKinsey in CCW…  WHY?!

Sam Cartwright: Here’s a weird topic, on CCW as of late, someone had been repeatedly attacking Faith McKinsey and it turned out to be Lola and Noah Weaver.  I think a few of us are familiar with them from previous promotions…  but there’s been the underlying theme of ‘why’?  Everything’s been vague and it ultimately came to wrap up Faith McKinsey’s boyfriend, Aaron Pace…  so I suppose the question is - what, if anything, did Faith and Aaron do to rile up the Weavers?

Saje Crawford: Faith and Aaron left the sex cult. I said it! All four of them seem like those sort of people. I mean there’s nothing wrong with getting down and dirty with another couple. Whatever keeps the spice alive. 

Kourtney Kardale: Everything she just said was her opinion. Let’s get that straight. I don’t really know what to say about the unrest that Noah and Lola Weaver are causing. It could be anything. It could be for fun. Who knows. 

Sam Cartwright: The sex cult idea is pretty interesting, I’m kind of with Saje.  Maybe something will be illuminated on in the future, or they’ll settle it in the ring.  Either way, interesting.  It could even just be for attention, Faith has been general manager of Christ Centered Combat from the start.  She’s one of the most powerful women in CCW right up there with Chellsea.  But, all we can do at this time really is speculate.

Saje Crawford: I’m telling you right now, the women of wrestling need their own reality show. I’m sure a lot happens in their lives outside of the wrestling ring.

Kourtney Kardale: Right? I feel like that would make for good television.

Saje Crawford: I wanna know what goes on when they go on dates. Like what does their date think when they’re having those getting-to-know them conversations and the wrestling comes up. Do they have a lovely time and just go back to their place for just the tip? Or what? 

Kourtney Kardale: Just the tip?

Saje Crawford: It happened to a friend of mine. She and this guy had a great time, dated a couple of weeks and they ended up going home together. Then the following day she finds out that he hooked up with another friend of hers and she found out from that same friend! I was so disgusted.. Point is, sex makes people do crazy things.

Kourtney Kardale: So, before we get to our final two spots. Let’s see what Laurel Vaillancourt has for us with the wrestling forecast. 

LAUREL VAILLANCOURT WRESTLING FORECAST

Laurel Vaillancourt: Thanks, Kourtney! In case you didn’t know already, my name is Laurel Vaillancourt and I am here to give you the run down on what’s happening inside the squared circle. Christ Centered Wrestling has come out with another great show this past week and it looks like Angel McMaster is set to defend the CCW world heavyweight championship against Siberia Zombie at Valentine’s Slay. The match was made official at the end of the night at a contract signing that was overseen by the co-owner Chellsea with Brennan Devlin nowhere in sight. With the championship match set, Chellsea upped the stakes and made it a lumberjack match and the lumberjacks are previous opponents of Angel McMaster. Check out Valentine’s Slay and the couples cup this February..

Laurel Vaillancourt: Kings Road Pro Wrestling will be in Las Vegas and the confirmed main event of the night is for the KRPW world championship. The KRPW champion Lisa Seldon will put her championship on the line against challenger Aaron Pace. Aaron defeated Santana Johnson for his chance at the top championship. The same night Lisa Seldon defeated Allister Meowly in an epic main event match. What’s in store when the haughty number one contender meets the unorthodox KRPW champion? Expect the unexpected at Kings Road Pro Wrestling Chapter 57.

Laurel Vaillancourt: Atlanta, Georgia is the site for the next APEX Wrestling Volume nine. New APEX North American Champion Pete Osbourne will defend his newly won championship against the APEX world heavyweight champion Brennan Devlin! At Greener Pastures, Brennan picked up a huge win over Kid Nova retaining the prestigious APEX world heavyweight championship and with a little help from his fiancée Keana and that Dastardly Duo of Donny and Danny. Earlier in the night Pete Osbourne captured the North American championship in a hellish chamber match that saw its own controversy, when Sera St. James attacked Blaise and had Pete declared the winner. With both men coming off wins from Greener Pastures, this is the match you want to see. 

Laurel Vaillancourt: Skull Kids Wrestling is cooking up a world championship match you can’t miss. The ISGC world champion Unknown will be taking on Zack Fantana and the championship will be up for grabs in this bout. After his match with Logan Traeger, Zack declared his desire to face the ISGC world champion at the season finale. When Unknown retained his championship at the end of Identity Crisis, we saw Zack again and the two men came face to face.Their match will take place at ‘In The Cradle of Destiny’ but there is also another match set to take place. It’s a ISGC world championship contendership match battle royal. We’re gonna have a definite number one contender but, will we have a new Champion? Tune into In The Cradle of Destiny when it airs.

Laurel Vaillancourt: I would give you an update on Legacy Wrestling but Frank has been stingy with his report. That’s it for me, guys. Back to you.

                ____________________________________________

2. Britain Jade hiding her pregnancy?

Kourtney Kardale:  Okay, as of right now, this is a rumor. But the first time anyone has ever heard of the alleged pregnancy was a couple months back on the That’s Hot... Tea podcast. Sookie Valentine and Harmony Belle opened the flood gates with this. Now my question is… do you think it’s true.

Saje Crawford: I think it is true. I’ve seen Britain’s twitter page and she doesn’t share too much of her personal life on there. There was also this one tweet she retweeted from an account that read ‘keeping the things that I love to myself.’ Something like that. 

Kourtney Kardale: I’m a little on the fence about it. If it were true, wouldn’t there be a belly present in all the pictures she’s been posting the past year? 

Saje Crawford: It’s easy… the pictures weren’t recent. You think she wouldn’t want to keep her pregnancy a secret being in the public eye for so long? A pregnancy is something I would like to keep to myself and my family. 

Sam Cartwright: How do you keep a pregnancy secret?  I mean, I know we’ve seen Jesus and God appear on CCW programming but, okay, magic pregnancies don’t really happen.  And I still don’t believe in any of that anyway.  Someone would have seen her, somewhere.  Hasn’t she appeared a while back attacking Brennan Devlin at Paris Traeger presents?  A pregnant woman would never have been cleared by the baby doctors on that show.

Kourtney Kardale: That’s another thing. She was at Paris’ Halloween show.

Saje Crawford: In a frumpy looking witch costume. That thing could hide anything. The whole attacking Brennan spot wasn’t that serious. She wouldn’t have gone out there if she didn’t think it wasn’t safe for her. With the resources she could have, you can pretty much do anything you want. 

Sam Cartwright: I don’t know, I saw her post attractive girl shots just the other day so I find this one hard to believe.  But I mean, if it is true, and that bun is in the oven…  well it’s going to have to come out soon or…  get burnt. 

Kourtney Kardale: That’s what gets me the most. She tweets those incredible photos of herself with no signs of pregnancy. A gorgeous figure. I’m not saying that she wouldn’t look amazing pregnant. There is way too many evidence to suggest otherwise.

Saje Crawford: Oh, my god. You can tweet photos of yourself whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be the time you took them. You can scroll back on your phones photo album and choose one from months ago. Her friends, her family and her team are the only ones who know about it. Britain is about to give birth soon, like, next month soon.

Kourtney Kardale: If that’s the argument you wanna make. Who would be the baby’s father? She hasn’t posted about a man in over a year or so. She mutually ended her relationship with Chandler Scott early 2019, so it can’t be his. Give me a baby daddy name and I will believe you.

Sam Cartwright: Well, she posts a lot of a gentleman who looks a lot like a mix between Chad Kassidy and Leo Dawson.  Both men are identical.  But, it’s clearly neither of them.  But still, this guy she’s always showing off looks just like those two.  Is there a third one?  It’s hard to believe there’s that many identical handsome men.

Kourtney Kardale: There could be. 

Saje Crawford: If you two would shut up for a second, I would be able to tell you. So, there’s this one guy she’s known for years, like he use to work for her as a bodyguard. He’s obviously handsome. She’s liked a few of his tweets sporadically. Are you guys ready to hear his name for the first time ever?

Kourtney Kardale: Just say it.

Saje Crawford: Andre. His name is Andre. 

Sam Cartwright: Uncommon name, hard to iron down from there.  But Andre…  a man named Andre who is the spitting image of Chad and Leo.

Saje Crawford: Let’s get a fourth opinion. Laurel, do you think it’s true that Britain is pregnant?

Laurel Vaillancourt: Maybe! She has so much going on in her life right now, a baby wouldn’t be a bad thing for her. 

Sam Cartwright: If we’re just speculating on nothing, and you want a baby, Britain, please call me.  Or call the office.

Kourtney Kardale: Thanks, Laurel. But let’s get on with our number one headline.

1.Chad Kassidy and Natalie Dalton rushing into a new life?

Saje Crawford: Natalie and Britain are dominating the headlines today. We got another hot topic for you to indulge in. So, a source close to Chad Kassidy revealed to us that things within the Natalie and Chad relationship are moving pretty fast. They’re discussing marriage. They’re discussing more kids. They’re discussing moving in together. They’re discussing everything.

Sam Cartwright: Is anyone really close to Chad Kassidy though?  He’s awful.  Literally one of the most annoying human beings I’ve ever met.  Also that saying his own name thing every few minutes?  Kill me.

Kourtney Kardale: They’re really cute together. I wouldn’t be surprised by any of that at all, I mean if it were true. Right now, I feel like they’re enjoying their time together. The relationship is new and fresh for her coming off a divorce.

Saje Crawford: Which brings up another question. Is her divorce like official official? I know she posted a statement about her ending things with her husband but, is it final?

Kourtney Kardale: It seems that way to me. 

Saje Crawford: Wow, it’s hella easy being rich. Normally you’d have to be separated for a year for the divorce to be finalized. 

Sam Cartwright: Listen, she missed out on Logan Traeger.  He is hot.  And he is barely around too.  That’s the dream, a hot person who isn’t there to annoy you all the time all ‘what are you thinking about’.  She missed the boat.

Kourtney Kardale: We were told things are very civil between them considering they have two daughters together. That means they’ll be in each other lives for the rest of their lives. Then you have Chad who is now in the picture, dating Natalie, and getting to know the girls. 

Saje Crawford: Spins us back around to the original topic here. 

Sam Cartwright: I think it’s too early to speculate what’s on with those two.  But hey, love moves fast in wrestling.  People meet, get married in a day, then divorce in the next week, so who knows?

Kourtney Kardale: The world moves fast. That’s all from us right now. Check back with us soon!

[fandom-blackhole]

Sardine's reaction to you being a former Darth Vader secret sith apprentice? Maybe you got tired of empire's bullshit and went rogue to become a bounty hunter? Having known Boba before because of his association with empire? Meeting Din in the guild? Finding Paz because one of tribe's foundlings was force sensitive and you wanted to protect them? Awww training with Din teaching him how to fight with the dark saber? Being Boba's second right hand after Fennec and scaring off stupid people with your red lightsaber? Being a guide and protector for Paz's foundlings?

Omg, you have soooo many good great ideas for this au, and I can't pick one so I am just writing what their reaction was when they found out about your past....

It was Gideon that spilled your most well kept secret to Din. He had done it as the two of you along with IG-11 and Cara had been holed up in the old covert building. It was shortly after that he set the building on fire. Din wouldn't look at you as he told you all to leave, to protect the kid. You fought him and he had just growled out your name and told you to go. So you did, while fighting back tears. Then Din had met up with you and he still wouldn't look at you. It wasn't until everything was done and over with that you pulled him aside. As soon as you opened your mouth to apologize for not telling him he interrupted you saying, "I don't care about your past, I wish you had told me yourself, but I don't hold it against you because you have more than proved yourself to me." Then he softly laid his forehead against yours, and your tears finally fell.

Boba had known something was up with you. He had known you had been apart of the Empire, he had seen you a handful of times while he had been working with Vader. And he was honestly just curious as to how deep into the Empire you had been, so he had gotten the best of the best to track down the truth, and when he had found out the dark secret you had been keeping from him he had instantly gone to you and pushed you into the wall. Still wearing all of his armor he asked, "What is Vader's little attack dog want with me?" You just clenched your jaw tightly and had closed your eyes. This was the day you had been avoiding for awhile. You hadn't wanted Boba to find out because you knew he wouldn't react well. And he only confirmed that suspicion when he pulled you head back and growled out, answer me. So you replied calmly, "Boba, I left the Empire long before you had been pronounced dead. I got tired of seeing the carnage they were leaving behind in the galaxy. I'm disgusted with my past and I have been avoiding and burying it for a reason." You swallowed and waited for his response but he just nodded and let you go before walking away tensely. Before he could leave completely you spoke out stopping him for only a second to say, "I am sorry Boba, I should have told you..."

You had come to the decision that you needed to tell Paz about your past. You wanted to hide from it and just not acknowledge it, but Paz deserved to know all of you before your relationship progressed any further. The problem was you didn't know how to tell him. You worried about it for days and you knew you were being obvious because you could sense Paz’s worry for you everytime he caught you getting stuck in your own thoughts around him, everytime he noticed your anxiousness. Finally Paz pulled you into his room one day and sat you down saying, "What is wrong, cyare? I can tell something is bothering you, please I am here for you." So you bit your lip before nodding and telling him about everything. You watched and sensed as he tensed with everything you told him, and when you finished you stared at his visor, waiting for his reaction. Paz finally reached over and grabbed your hand before saying, "Cyar'ika, I am proud of you for standing up to the Empire all by yourself. You did the right thing and you are brave. I am glad you told me about this, it only makes me happier to call you mine." You gave him a watery smile and asked, really? And he replied, of course.

(SEND ME THOTS!!!)

[colonel-killa-bee]

Umm...

https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Dunmer_of_Skyrim

Dunmer.

That is our name. Yet you deny us even this courtesy. You, the white-skinned, jaundice-haired apes of this godsforsaken frozen wilderness. To you Nords, we are the gray ones, the ashen-skinned, the "dark elves" of Morrowind who have as much place in your land as an infection in an open wound.

Oh yes, we have read your great cultural work, "Nords of Skyrim," in which you extol the many virtues of your people and province, and invite any visitors to come experience your homeland for themselves. Well come we did, Nords, and the reception was less than was promised - but exactly what we expected.

So I, Atal [sic] Sarys, Dunmer and immigrant to Skyrim, have decided to answer your beloved book with a work of my own. And let all who read it know that Nords are not the only race to reside in this cold and inhospitable realm. For we dark elves have come, and little by little, shall claim Skyrim as our own.

But where, you may ask, have we taken up residence? Why none other than the ancient city of Windhelm, once the capital of the First Empire. Yes, Nords, in the shadow of your own Palace of the Kings, where the Nord hero Ysgramor once held court, we now thrive. Oh yes. Your beloved Five Hundred Companions may have driven our ancestors from Skyrim, but that was then. This is now.

Indeed, one might be surprised as to just how well we've settled into Windhelm. The district once known as the Snow Quarter is thus named no more. Now, they call it the Gray Quarter, for such is the reality of the Dunmer occupation. The district is now populated entirely by my kind, a victory not lost on its residents.

Oh, but the peaceful occupation goes even further. Thirsty? You'll find no Nord mead hall in the Gray Quarter. But the spirits flow well enough in the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Seeking a respected family? You'll find no Gray-Manes within these walls. But perhaps you'd like to pay a visit to the home of Belyn Hlaalu, descendant of one of the most noble houses in all of Morrowind. Ah, but no. You Nords don't come to the Gray Quarter, do you? You fear our streets as you fear our skin.

So now, "children of Skyrim," you have the truth of it. You may call this province home, but you can no sooner claim to own it than a cow can claim to own its master's field. You are just another breed of domestic animal, grazing stupidly while higher beings plot your slaughter.

I can count on one hand how many times you see racism from Nords in Windhelm, none of those instances being from Ulfric mind you... his racism is a myth. 

The Dunmer have farms, Nord workers, free room and board, while homeless Sofie sells flowers on the streets.

Honestly the Nords are super tame compared to other races, in any title. Case in point:

You’re right tho, the Nords are very carefree in Windhelm during the second era, however the Dunmer have remained despicable. 

Also that Nord chick that wants to fuck that Lizard is a nasty thot lol that shouldn’t be celebrated. Scalies... *shivers*

I gotta say that playing Skyrim after spending far too many hours on ESO causes major whiplash. You go from the nords who just want to get drunk, party, and are pretty okay/indifferent for the most part with interracial romances (the stable girl and the argonian in windhelm as well as Holgunn and Walks-in-ash) to a bunch of racists. Like damn, Holgunn One-Eye and Rigurt the Brash did not walk for the nords to run into the racism ball pit. Do I gotta call Mera Stormcloak on you Ulfric? Do I?