#modifying the setting is pretty standard now too

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 17 - Why do you run, only to let me catch you? Din Djarin x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.  Specific Warnings: PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.

Graphics made by me Thank you again to @beefrobeefcal @clawdee and @pastelnap for beta-ing! Read on AO3 Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Why do you run, only to let me catch you?

Your relationship – if you could even call it that – with Din Djarin is a complex one, and one you love to hate, or hate to love. It’s been too long now that those lines don’t really exist anymore. There’s a passion in your chest reserved only for him, but to call it love would be a disservice, what you shared with the most feared bounty hunter in the system is something much more than that.

But it’s been at least a Standard Year since you last caught a glimpse of polished Beskar, a sight that set your heart racing like a jump to light speed. You’d heard of his exploits alongside Bo-Katan , and that of his adopted son Din Grogu, and how the three of them took down Moff Gideon and reunited the Mandalorian people.

But, as much as hearing those feats make you somewhat proud of the Beskar clad menace, it only makes you yearn for him more. You’re lost in thought when the droid in front of you snaps you out of it.

“Miss?”

The chaotic roar of the casino comes back to you in a flash, you’d been deep in your own thought spiral you had cut out everything but the image of a silver-clad predator from your mind as you yearned for the thrill of the chase.

The table is looking at you expectantly as you realize you’d slipped off into a daydream, it was your hand. You study the purple skinned Twi’lek opposite you with a smirk, he’s hiding it well, but he’s panicking. You look back to your hand. You’re currently holding eight cards, between the minus 6 modifier and the rest, you’re sitting pretty at seventeen.

You could stand, and hope that your opponent goes bust but there’s no fun in playing this game safe. Especially when this is all the thrill you live for now that your cat and mouse days with Din Djarin are over.

You let your fingertips hover over your side deck, drawing out the moment as you eye up the ten-thousand credit pot on the table. You close your eyes, snatching the card from the deck and you can’t keep your poker face up when you draw a three.

The Twi’lek across from you swears and stands with such force it spills his Spotchka cocktail over the table and you quickly scoop up the credits, protecting your winnings from the hazy blue liquid. The casino hushes around you and you look up from your pile of riches to see what has everyone on edge.

Then you see him.

Shining Beskar, tattered, flowing black cloak, blaster on his hip as the lacquered black T of his visor bores into you. Your blood runs cold, then burns hotter than the binary suns when you see him. A broad smile stretches across your lips. You’re not dressed for a fight, nor a chase, with ridiculously high heels and a tight sequined, green bodycon dress that was not meant for running. Time seems to still as you drop the credits back on the table. The clink of metal-on-metal deafening in the otherwise silent casino.

Mando tilts his head to the side, just enough to issue the challenge. You take a deep breath, formulating your escape as you see him reach for his blaster.

I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.

Those first few words uttered to you as he had you pinned over the bar of a cantina on Tatooine replay in your head as you wink at the Beskar-clad menace. Heat pools in your core as you remember how it felt to be pinned by such a strong, confident man.

You kick off your heels, snatching them up before diving through the crowd. You’re sprinting through the main hall, bare feet slapping against the smooth flooring, making you slip and slide as you hear the unmistakable spur-like clink of metal on metal as Mando gives chase.

You barge through the chaos of Canto Bight, drinks fly as you blindly frisbee a tray at Mando, he bats it away with ease as he breaks into a run, forgoing the initial long, loping strides. You dash through the service entrance, following a waitress before the security door closes. The sound of Beskar pounding against Durasteel as Mando collides with the door has you grinning in premature triumph.

You slip through the halls, ducking confused looking waiters, a Bothan swearing at you as you make your way through to the back door. You break out into the neon-glare of the city and immediately slow your pace. You slip your heels back on and try to blend in with the denizens of Canto Bight.

The streets are packed, holographic screens of kids racing on Fathiers illuminate the facades of the various casinos and hotels. It’s a big race, you should know, you’ve got a lot of money on Skystrider tonight.

Maybe I’ll get lucky a second time tonight?

You think to yourself as you lament the credits you had left behind. You just know the Twi’lek you beat would have taken the winnings in the confusion.

But there was a bigger prize at stake now, one that you were determined to win.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

Mando’s modulated voice growls from over your shoulder. You don’t react, keeping up your purposeful stride as you weave in and out of the throng of bodies. The clink of his suit loud in your ear, you can feel his presence behind you like a heavy weight on your back.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me Mando, way to make a girl feel unwanted.”

You purr as you feel a gloved hand brush the small of your back, you stop abruptly, making Mando crash into your back and you cry out. You give your best performance, letting out a terrified wail that has people turning to look at the way you cower away from the Mandalorian.

“Help he’s assaulting me, please!”

You turn on the spot, clutching at your chest as you back away from him. Mando halts as his visor scans the now antagonistic crowd around him. You wink and poke out your tongue as a man steps between you.

“Hey, tin-can, leave the lady alone.”

“She’s quarry, get out of my way.”

The man looks over his shoulder at you and you give him the waterworks, eyes pleading as you fight to keep the smile off your face.

“Heard that excuse before, just because you’re some hot shot Mando doesn’t mean you can treat a lady like that.”

The other man squares up to Din and you almost hang around to watch the pissing match, but you know you must take every advantage you can get. You take a tentative step back, Mando’s visor tilting to watch your movements as the other man keeps blustering on about honor and some other chivalrous shit. You blow Mando a kiss as you slip your heels off again.

The world blurs around you as you sprint as fast as your legs can carry you, neon lights, steam from exhaust vents, people of all races and creeds whipping by as you feel your lungs burn and you step on something sharp, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay.

You hear blaster fire behind you and wince a little at the fact you might have just got an innocent man killed.

There are no innocent partygoers on Canto Bight.

You think to yourself as you reach the spaceport. Your entire body trembles from overexertion as you stumble into the hangar that houses your X-wing. Your definitely, legitimately sourced X-Wing, and definitely not the one you won from a Sabacc game with a gullible young pilot.

You chuckle to yourself at the memory, opening the cockpit of your fighter until you look around the hangar and see a Mandalorian Class Gauntlet in the next bay over.

That wasn’t there when I landed.

Your stomach drops and you hear a soft modulated huff from the hangar door. Your head snaps up and you see the silhouette of the bounty hunter illuminated by the vibrant, neon rainbow of light bleeding in from the street.

You throw your heels onto the floor and launch yourself into the pilot’s seat, you begin your pre-flight checks but none of the lights or displays come online. You sigh, laughing breathily as you realize he’s done something to immobilize your ship. You have no idea how he knew this was yours, you’re pretty sure it’s still registered under the name Antilles.

You let yourself catch your breath for a moment as the clink of Beskar grows louder with every step. You try to think of a way out of this, some distraction, or final gambit to worm your way out of his clutches, but it’s futile. You’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, you’ve got me. If I promise to be good, could you forgo the carbonite? I break out every time.”

“I’m not stupid, you’d just find a way out of your restraints and gut me in my sleep.”

You shrug, you can’t blame him for that, you did shank him in his sleep the last time you promised to be good when he caught you on Endor. You can still hear the howl of pain as you disappeared into the undergrowth as he pulled the vibroknife – his vibroknife – out of his thigh.

“Fine, but I’m not moving, you’re dragging me onto that ship. I winded myself with all that running, and I think I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You babble as you look down at the crimson liquid pooling in your cockpit. You chuckle as you feel your head spin, fractals of light crack like shattering Transparisteel across your vision as you let your head loll back onto the headrest.

“What are you-?” Mando asks as he climbs the ladder attached to the cockpit, “Dank Farrik!” He swears as he hurries to pick you up. You laugh to yourself, bemused by the way he seems to care about whether you were hurt.

“Thought you could bring me in hot, or bring me in cold?” You slur as you wrap your arms drunkenly around Mando’s neck, leaning into the cool Beskar of his chest. You breathe in the scent of Beskar, oil, and something like citrus as your vision fades to black.

~*~

You blink awake to a brightly lit hold. You hiss as the white light burns into your eyes, the sound of air recyclers humming all around you a telltale sign you were on ship, likely out of atmosphere already.

“Kriff.”

You groan as you close your eyes, you guess you’re on Mando’s ship, the Gauntlet you saw in the hangar most likely. You take in slow, steadying breaths as you try and figure out your next move. A small gurgle from beside you has you rolling your head to the side, slowly opening your eyes to the sweet little face of the little green kid Mando drags across space with him.

“Kiddo!” You cry and the little guy lights up at the sound of your voice. His large pointy ears perk up and his mouth parts open in joy as he scurries over to you, hopping up on the cot with ease and burying himself in your side as he coos softly against your chest. You smile as you feel something thin and rectangular slip under you on the cot.

“Missed you too buddy, old man’s still dragging you around the galaxy with him?”

The kid hums in a positive affirmation as he babbles away. You get hints of intention from him, like ghosts of thoughts brushing against your mind as he “talks” away at you.

“Grogu?”

Din calls from the cockpit and you sit up in the cot, the impromptu reunion with your secret best friend cut short as you watch Din freeze in the doorway to the hold.

“Get away from him.” Din’s voice is impossibly low, even through the modulator. You’ve never heard him this pissed before.

“Hey, he was the one to instigate this mutinous friendship, not me!”

You frown at the Beskar menace and cross your arms over your chest, Grogu, as you have always known him, follows suit. He plops himself down on the cot next to you and crosses his tiny little arms across his chest before grunting unhappily at his guardian.

“What do you mean friendship?”

“How many times have you gotten me this far Mando, and left me alone in your ship while you slept or got supplies?”

“How should I-?”

“Twenty-seven times, twenty-eight if we count the time I had you tied up-.”

“Naboo doesn’t count.” Din hisses as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so that you are all in some strange, mirrored standoff.

“Fine, but my point being, kiddo’s curious, and you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“I am not.”

“So, you don’t remember when we played Don’t wake the sleeping Nerf and covered you with forty-six different pieces of junk from around the ship, including the Darksaber?”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, kriff kiddo, he really did sleep through that.”

Grogu laughs, an angelic little sound that makes your cheeks burn with how much you’re smiling at him. Mando stands there, rage rolling off him in waves as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Mando?” You ask, your tone softer this time as you realize you’re more likely to push him away if you keep teasing him.

“What?”

“You ever figure out my real name?”

“Your real name? No. Why?”

“Just curious, you got my puck on you?”

“Of course.” He grumbles, as if it’s insulting for you to have even asked, before bringing up the holographic image of you. Four statements swirl around the image, and you smile as you read them off in your head.

Whyte Phantom – Thirty Thousand Credits – Exclusive contract.

The final statement is a name.

“Wanna see my identity card?” You ask rhetorically as you pull it up from the datapad the kid had slipped you before his dad came in. Din’s head tilts at the sight of it, before turning to look at Grogu who is pointedly looking anywhere but his dad.

Din grumbles something under his breath as he steps into the hold, head dipping low to read the datapad.

“But that’s? You’re?”

“I put the bounty on myself, yup.”

“Why?”

The question catches you off-guard, you don’t really know yourself, other than you thought it would be a way to ward off the crippling despair you felt every time you walked through the streets of Coruscant. To combat the loneliness in your soul that festers in the darkness of a post-Empire-pre-utopian galaxy. The galaxy that has war veterans dying of Spice addictions while places like Canto Bight prosper as if nothing ever changed.

You could say that, but you won’t, that would require inner strength you just don’t have. So, you quip instead.

“Thought it was kinda hot, having one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy chase me?”

You flash him a practiced, perfect smile and you wait for the anger to come, bracing yourself for violence or harsh words.

“Fine.”

The Mandalorian walks over to your cot and picks up Grogu, moving wordlessly as he scoops him up and takes him up into the cockpit. You curse to yourself quietly as you rub your tired eyes. You were so close to telling him the truth, revealing yourself to the most closed-off person in this damned galaxy.

You lie back down on the cot and take a look at your foot. You smile at the smooth skin, no doubt the kid has healed you with his magic little claws. You can almost hear the conversation between them, Grogu would have insisted on using the force to heal you, Din would have argued against it, you deserved to heal slowly for being such a brat.

You feel Grogu’s mind brush against yours and you get two clear feelings flash through in your mind, his dad, and the intention to speak.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, kid.

You think back, pushing your intent towards the cockpit. Grogu simply responds with a second, stronger intention, talk to him.

You sigh to yourself as you feel his little brainwaves dim as he clearly drifts off to sleep. You rub your hands over your eyes and decide to look for the fresher, and some clean clothes.

~*~

An hour later you hover outside the cockpit door, trying to decide if you should go in or not. You’re about to press the call button when the door hisses open in front of you. Mando charges through, seemingly not noticing you until he’s crashing his chest plate against your nose.

“Son of a Wompa!” You cry out as you feel your nose pop, blood gushes down your face and onto the soft cotton shirt you’d fished out from the storage bins. You stumble backwards and feel yourself pitching backwards, your head spinning as you wait for the inevitable crash of your body on the metal grating.

But Mando saves you from the fall, pulling you up into a loose embrace as he stops you from hurting yourself further.

“Maker, you’re a menace.” He grumbles through the modulator as his hands linger on your biceps.

“Yeah, well maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

“Kriff, this was a mistake.”

Din growls as he releases you and turns to walk back into the cockpit. You curse inwardly as you catch his wrist before he can move.

“Wait,” You growl, guilt and frustration making your stomach turn, “Please, can we talk?”

Din looks over his shoulder at you, giving you the perfect view of the profile of his helmet. Not for the first time you wonder what he looks like under there.

“Fine.”

You expect him to pull out of your grip – which he does – but what you don’t expect is the way his gloved hand falls to rest between your shoulder blades, steering you back towards the cot. He expects you to sit but you gesture for him to take a seat instead. He sits up straight, broad hands splayed on his knees as he follows you with his visor as you pace in front of him.

“So, I put the bounty on my head because I needed something in my life that wasn’t death, pain, suffering, or losing my mind to the poisons of gambling, Spice, and liquor.”

“Go on.”

You pause, looking down at the crimson spill of blood on the stolen t-shirt. You drag the back of your hand across the wet smear on your top lip and let out a soft sigh.

“I ran circles around the first six bounty hunters, and it was getting boring, I was considering calling it off,” You continue pacing, wringing your hands on the hem of the t-shirt that barely covers your ass, “Then, you come along, Din kriffing Djarin, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy.”  

Din is silent but you see him shift, sitting up a little straighter at your harsh words of scornful praise.

“And the chase began, you were always so close, often a step or two ahead, and it was like I was breathing fresh air after having only ever known the stale, recycled air of a space station my whole life.”

Din turns his head, the action jarring as you realize he’s avoiding your gaze, you can almost imagine him blushing under that helmet and the thought alone makes heat flutter under your skin.

“And by the fourth time, on Coruscant, you became my own personal blend of Spice.”

You stop pacing, waiting for Din to say something, anything. He sits, still looking away from you and you shake your head. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you’ve kriffed up yet another thing in your life.

But this was by far the most pain you’d ever endured, spilling your guts to a man you had no right feeling anything for. It feels like your skin is positively charged, tremors rocking you as you fight the urge to cry, your chest tight and painful as you feel the binding sting of rejection heavy and constricting.

“Look, just forget it, space me, drop me off at the nearest system, whatever. I’ll get your credits transferred now. You won’t have to see me again.”

You pull up your datapad and through blurry eyes you close the contract, the credits transferring instantly. You turn away, making for the fresher once more, you need to set your nose and clean up. You also need to cry, and you weren’t going to make yourself look any more pathetic in front of him than you already had.

Your skin is on fire, nervous sweat beading on your brow as your skin itches and tingles. Pain rocks through your body as you force the sobs down, just a few more steps and you can cry before wresting your bleeding and broken heart – or whatever is left of it – back into submission.

A Spice addiction can’t be that bad surely?

You joke morbidly to yourself as you reach the fresher door, it slides open just as you hear the spur-like clink of Beskar behind you.

“Wait.”

You halt in your tracks, heart threatening to burst from your chest as you feel him looming behind you. Two armor-clad arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against him, the cool press of Beskar on your flushed skin is blissful.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper that you almost miss it through the modulator.

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose, then we should talk, for real this time.”

You turn in his grip and look up into the glossy black “T” of his visor. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his arms are wrapping around you like the moment he loosens off you’ll disappear.

Can you blame him?

You think to yourself as you realize that every time you managed to escape, it was harder and harder for you to leave. Not because you had grown bored of the chase – no quite the opposite – you were afraid that with every time you left the chances of him giving up on you grew. One day he was going to stop coming for you.

And for a year he did.

“Ok.” You say softly as you let him steer you into the fresher, he hoists you up before setting you down on the edge of the Durasteel sink. He removes his gloves, stuffing them in the back of his belt before readying himself.

“This’ll hurt.”

Din warns you as he lines himself up in front of you. He slots between your thighs without hesitation, and you regret not stealing a pair of his boxer briefs to slip on under the t-shirt. You had thought that was crossing a line into his privacy. But now, as your bare, embarrassingly wet core is but millimeters from his crotch, you really wish you had.

“Ready?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Din braces himself a little closer again and you hiss through your teeth as his strong, warm fingers snap your broken nose back into place.

“There you go,” his modulated voice is soft as he cups your cheeks with his impossibly broad hands, his fingertips ghosting your hairline as he turns your head back and forth with meticulous care for his handiwork, “Should heal up just fine.”

He starts to pulls away from your face, but you capture his wrists in your hands. You gently pull on his wrists and guide them to your hips. His chest heaves as you hear his breathing speed up through the modulator and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel the heat prickle over your skin as your drenched core presses against his crotch. You gasp as you feel him twitch in his flight suit against you.

“What are you doing?”

 “What I should have done on Naboo.” You breathe as you gently unclasp his cloak, fingers trembling as you pull down the neck of his flight suit, baring a thin strip of tan skin. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and press a delicate, feather-light kiss to his exposed skin.

You don’t know what to expect, but the soft, whimpering moan that crackles through his modulator is more than you bargained for. You arch up into him, nipples pebbling as the thin fabric of his blood-soaked shirt does little to mute the cold press of Beskar against your skin.

“Maker.” Din whines again as you latch onto his skin, laving your tongue over his pulse point as you pull the collar down further, you nip lightly at his skin as you grind your core against him. He slowly pushes up the hem of the oversized t-shirt and as his fingertips reach the swell of your ass. He grinds forward aggressively, and you can tell he’s fully hard now. He leans back and tilts his helmet to the side in a silent question.

“Didn’t think stealing your underwear was the right thing to do.”

“So, you just decided to go commando?”

“What can I say? I like the freedom, besides the synthetic silk of my thong was starting to chafe.”

Din swears in another language, you assume Mando’a, before laughing softly, he presses the side of his helmet against your cheek, and you are reminded of the way Lothcats headbutt to show affection.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You say softly as you slowly pull away, moving the collar back up to cover his tantalizing skin, “I just needed to touch you, just once.”

“I want you.”

You pull back and look into the deep depths of his visor and you nod slowly, you place your hands on either side of his helmet, nestling in the concave cheeks. He flinches and you feel his hands twitch on your thighs, but you shake your head slowly before leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss over where you guess his lips are.

“Bed. Now.”

Din barks as he picks you up with ease, one arm wrapped around your waist as he strides through into the crew quarters. He uses his free hand to turn off the lights on the control panel next to the fresher door. The cavernous space is pitch black as Din lays you back down on the cot.

“Din what are you doing?” You giggle softly, anticipation making you giddy.

“Want to taste you,” Din murmurs as you hear the sound of Beskar buckles and plates sliding over one another. He sets them down gently somewhere near the bottom of the cot, followed by the soft sound of his flight suit dropping to the floor, “Need you.”

“Din, you have me.”

You feel him settle between your knees and Maker is he broad. Then you hear the soft hiss-click of his helmet coming off. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing the significance of him taking his helmet off in your presence.

“I won’t look, I promise,” You whisper as you feel him covering over you, his strong hands roam your body, mapping out your dips and curves.

“I trust you. You could have taken my helmet off many times over the years, and yet, you did not.”

His voice hits you like a long-lost melody, silken and sweet with a burning richness to it that makes you whine and keen up into him. Your hips roll against his length, and you gasp as his tip glides through your folds.

“Can I taste you, please?” You ask, suddenly feeling bold in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.” Din suddenly sounds bashful, and you smile to yourself as he shows you the side of him you’ve only caught in glimpses when he thought you were out of earshot. The softness he shows Grogu, the care for his adopted son. This is different, unlike those interactions entirely, but the man beneath the Beskar is finally laid bare, for you.

“I want to Din, please.”

“Anything, take anything you want.”

Your heart swells and your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. You blindly reposition, careful to keep your eyes shut, until you’re kneeling between Din’s knees. You run your hands over the thick expanse of his muscular thighs as you gently, teasingly move towards his cock.

Your hands brush over neatly kept curls at the base of it, and you smile to yourself as you use your hands to blindly size it up.

“Interesting.” You hum to yourself and you feel Din shift under you.

“What? Do you not like it? Is it too small?”

“Din, shh,” You coo as you cup his balls with one hand, making your way to the base of his shaft with your lips, “Just expected you to be painfully large, you give off some serious big dick energy strutting around in your Beskar like you own the entire Maker-be-damned galaxy.”

“So, you like it?” He huffs out, squirming at your praise as you flatten your tip against his soft foreskin, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“I think it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, pressing your tongue against his slit, circling around his tip, lapping up the pre-come before sinking down his length.

He pants and whines under you as you feel him shift under you, he cups your jaw with one hand as he props himself up on his elbow with the other. You feel his eyes on you, you expect his night vision to be pretty good at this point, but you keep your eyes clamped shut.

“You’re beautiful.”

You groan at his praise and wish you could open your eyes, to look up at him as you choke on his cock. You sink all the way down, you breathe through your nose, inhaling the musky scent of his cock and you let out a soft whine as he nudges against the back of your throat.

“Kriff.” Din grunts as he trembles underneath you, his breathing is shallow as he twitches and whines at every particularly deep bob of our dead.

“Stop.”

He growls aggressively as he sits up, moving you off his cock before pushing you onto your back. He settles between your legs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he buries his mouth in your dripping folds.

“So sweet.” He murmurs into your skin as you feel the coarse rake of facial hair on your outer folds. His lips find your clit and you cry out when his tongue licks a stripe up from your core to your clit. Everything about him is broad, his tongue laves over your swollen bundle of nerves and you near lose it.

“Din, kriff your mouth feels so good.” You pant as your hips cant up, you glide your fingertips in his hair, not thinking to check if he even had hair. You’re met with soft, damp curls that you immediately twist into your grip. You pull him closer, letting him devour you with abandon. His tongue is unrelenting as two thick fingers come to press against your core.

“Please.”

Is all you can say as you need him inside you, you’re already so close and you want to feel him inside you however possible.

“So kriffing tight.”

Din breathes incredulously as he buries his fingers to the knuckle, his lips find your clit once more and he sucks. You bite down hard on your lip as you fight the urge to scream. Pleasure assaults you like a solar flare, permeating every cell of your body in violent waves as you come hard around his fingers. You’re delirious as you sob through your aftershocks, his thick fingers finally stilling as you tremble from overstimulation.

“Can I have you, please?”

“Yes.”

You hear the lewd sound of him sucking his fingers clean before he crawls back over your body, wet fingers trail over your left nipple and you chase the touch, arching up off the cot.

“So pretty like this.”

Din hums softly as he rolls your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, making you squeal in overstimulated pain and pleasure as he lines up his tip at your core with the other hand. He eases in and you pant at the delicious stretch. He enters you with ease, yet makes your walls flutter and clamp around him as he fits you snugly.  

“Kiss me.”

You plead. His lips crash into yours without hesitation and you moan into his mouth as he starts to move, rolling his hips into you like he knows exactly how you like it. You tease your tongue over his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to meet yours.

Your tongues meet outside of your mouths, sliding over one another in a lewd dance as his thrusts pick up speed. You’re both panting hard when Din seals his lips over yours. His tongue presses into your mouth as you dig your nails into his back. You press together, skin to skin, nails digging little crescent circles in the broad expanse of his back.

Your lips part only to gasp for air before you both dive back in for more, more, more. One of your hand moves to fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, the other drops to your clit. You want to come for him one more time, you want him to feel you squeeze him tight.

“Din, going to come.” You pant against his lips and he groans as he picks up the pace, railing you like it’s the last time.

“Come for me Cyar’ika, let me feel you.”

You do as your told, for the first time in your life, and you come hard. Pleasure seeps into your very bones as fire dances down your spine. Your clit throbs as you press hard circles into it. You feel Din stutter inside you and you feel him start to pull out but you hook your ankles around the small of his back.

“Come inside me.”

You whisper into the crook of his ear as you pull him deep into you.

“Maker!”

Din roars, no longer caring about noise it seems, as he pounds into you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You’re whimpering in his ear as his desperate grunts and moans fill your own. He stills inside you, buried to the hilt as he twitches inside you, his spend coating your walls as you pant in his ear.

“Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?”

Din’s voice is heavy with concern, his breath fanning over your slick skin in soft puffs and you wrap yourself around him like an Ewok.

“No, no you’ve never hurt me, Din.”

You breathe as you nuzzle into his neck, you leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. You never want this moment to end.

“Come on, we need to shower.”

“Nooooo,” You whine, “Just a few more minutes, don’t want to lose you.”

The words escape from your lips before you can stop them; and Din huffs a short, barking laugh against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple as he pulls out.

“You can’t lose me, I’ve been tracking you for too long, I know you.”

“And I know you. Forever.”

You say, knowing those words in Mando’a means much more than in Galactic Basic. Din presses a soft kiss to your lips, neither acknowledging them nor refuting them. But there’s no rejection in his silence, just a mutual understanding that you are both in this for real.

“Five more minutes.”

Din grunts in submission as he settles on the small cot, pulling you against his bare chest as he places soft kisses to your hairline as you both drift off into the best sleep either of you could ever remember.

Tag list: @pr0ximamidnight @ktheunready @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @neverwheremoonchild @noisynightmarepoetry @casa-boiardi @xoxabs88xox @guelyury @its-nebuleuse @deadly-femme-bimbo @covetyou @christinamadsen @mirandablue1 @clawdee @youandmeand5bucks-blog @hiddenbabynyc @stevie75 @star017 @vabeachazn @darkheartgatita @patti7dc @pastelnap @beskarandblasters @jksprincess10 @beefrobeefcal

Join my taglist here

Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din x reader #Din x you #The mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #The mandalorian smut #din Djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold #smut #ao3 fanfic #MDKT #MDKT2023 #MDKT23 #Murder daddy kinktober 2023 #Murder daddy kinktober #Theywhowriteandknowthings #Vi writes #fic writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut

[tmntheadcanons]

tmnt 2003 Michelangelo headcanons

Mikey talks to himself when he's alone. He'll either have a full on conversation with himself or he'll narrate what he's doing like he's being interviewed for a tv show. Like when he's cooking he'll be like "So folks you're gonna wanna fold not stir your batter." or like "Now for this part you're gonna need to use some hand mixers, these are a great set my brother Don found them in the garbage."

There's like a sweet old lady who has her own cooking show and Mikey worships her like he has all her cook books and if he's in a cooking bind he'll be like "What would betty do?". He just talks about her like they're old friends he'll be like "Yeah this is a new recipe. Betty told me to use cream instead of milk"

Or he'll be like "What are we making tonight? Let's ask Betty" and open up his cookbook

For tv shows Mikey will watch just about anything he has no standards. I like to think that when they first got the tv set up, they only had like free-to-air channels and Mikey just likes having something on the tv. Like he'll be watching the shopping channel and just be like "omg that's so tacky"

Like he'll be yelling at the tv and everyone will be like wow what's mikey watching? and it's the shopping channel

One day he was left unsupervised and actually called cause he didn't know you needed a credit card and he'll be mad about that for the rest of his life cause he was gonna buy like a fancy toaster or something (and then he complained to donnie about it so donnie modified the toaster for him)

Also he's memorized most of the commercials jingles and he sings them constantly and everyone hates him for it.

Mikey writes and draws his own super hero comics in a big notebook and it's an ongoing story he's had for years. He's got like a self insert turtle-titan main character and he's created cameos for all his brothers too. Splinter is the mentor, Leo is the leader of like the superhero force, Donnie is his sidekick and he made Raph the damsel in distress out of spite.

But he's a pretty good artist. And I feel like he would be good at music too. Like he has an old keyboard in his room he likes to just mess around with. Nothing too fancy but sometimes he'll just play little jingles on it. Or 90% of the time it's him mashing the sound effects.

But april also plays piano and when she's there she'll show him a few little songs like she taught him heart and soul and they'll play that together.

Mikey is a couch hog if you sit beside him he is gonna put his feet on you. Like he'll be laying on the couch and he'll move his feet so someone can sit and then he'll put them right back down on top of them. And you can shove him off but he'll just stick them right back. Him and Raph go through this cycle every time they sit together.

Mikey collects human accessories like he's got a bunch of hats and sunglasses and necklaces. I feel like he would like to accessorize.

Mikey has a highlighter orange beach shirt with flamingos and palm trees and he's obsessed.

Also he has one of those tacky ab aprons he refuses to get rid of.

#tmnt #tmnt headcanons #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt michelangelo #I'm gonna do one of these for each I have a lot of thoughts #I love Mikey he's so fun #I want to watch reality tv shows with him #I want his opinion on the new love is blind season #I feel like it would be weirdly insightful #tmnt 2003 headcanons

[onlymingyus]

The King's Gambit: Contracts (Teaser 1)

pairing; joshua hong x female reader

genre; smut, angst, fluff, slow burn (there may be changes to this once the full fic is posted to tumblr upon completion)

warnings; mentions of a contract, BDSM contract, mention of punishment (spanking) -- there will be other warnings listed on the final fic upon completion

w/c; 510 and some change for this teaser

The King's Gambit Collab masterlist & taglist

a/n; this is just a small teaser for The King's Gambit: Contracts -- there is no completion date set at this time, so please be patient with me. I am currently sitting at 31k and have plenty of story left to write. this will be a very long story so there may be other teasers posted here on Tumblr but I know I will be posting other teasers and behind the scene things on Patreon. if you would like more there is a longer teaser already available for my peaches (subscribers).

please consider supporting me read how to do that here

Because of his phone call, Joshua was running late. He still looked fine but he had skipped breakfast after a pretty intense workout, and he was running on spite. Barely glancing at his assistant the man furrows his brows at the way Jeonghan is leaning against her desk. 

“Jeonghan, I don’t have all fucking day.” 

A smirk crosses the lawyer’s face before he offers a wink to the assistant causing her to scoff and roll her eyes going back to her work as Jeonghan follows Joshua into his office closing the door. 

“No need to be so damn grumpy, Shua. I was here on time, you are the one who is late.” 

Sitting down behind his desk, Joshua meets his friend’s eyes only to glare briefly. He wanted to tell him that he had no fucking idea what he was dealing with at the moment but there was no way he was going to tell him. There was no way he could tell him or Seungcheol about the conversation with his father or the Hyong merger right now. He had to figure his shit out. 

“I’m not in the mood, I was hoping you’d be here with some good news. My new contract?” 

Extending his hand, Joshua expects to be offered a signed, sealed, and delivered contract but instead, Jeonghan hands him something he had never seen in all of his years of rotating contracts. Turning the pages with obvious frustration, Joshua scoffs loudly before glancing around the contract to look at Jeonghan incredulously. 

“She can’t be serious?” 

“Oh, that’s fun. That’s what she said too when I first gave her the contract to look over.” 

Joshua wasn’t finding the same amusement that his best friend was. He was looking at all of your changes as if they were slaps to his face. 

“I won’t accept some of these. She’s just trying to see how far she can push me.” 

Sucking on his teeth, Joshua leans to pick up a pen with blue ink leaning over his desk to start making his own changes to yours. 

“She marked through cockiness? That isn’t something she thinks I can punish for? God, what a fucking brat. Fine, Y/N…have it your way.” 

Jeonghan shakes his head, a sigh on his lips as he watches Joshua mutter to himself. The pen in the man’s hand moves over the papers making small but distinct changes before Joshua pushes it back across the desk to his friend. 

Picking up the contract, Jeonghan crosses his leg over his knee reading under his breath before smirking and raising his brow at Joshua. 

“You replaced cockiness with bratty behavior?” 

Joshua only nods, lifting his hand to run his fingers through his hair clearly flustered by the morning. 

“Finish it today. Pull her from whatever she’s doing and see if it fits her high standards. She makes my palm itch.” 

Jeonghan laughs, moving to his feet as he folds the contract back up, slipping it into his bag as he speaks. 

“Well luckily for you, spanking wasn’t one of the punishments that she crossed out.”

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

#joshua smut #seventeen smut #svthub #svt smut #joshua angst #seventeen angst #svt angst #the kings gambit contracts #the kings gambit #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #svt x reader

[vintagerpg]

Ah, here we go now. This is Dungeoneer (1989) by Marc Gascoigne and Pete Tamlyn, with lovely art by the legendary John Sibbick on the cover and throughout the interior. Dungeoneer is the cornerstone of Advanced Fighting Fantasy which, despite the name (which really serves to distinguish from yesterday’s post and the Fighting Fantasy gamebooks rather than the game’s inherent complexity), is an excellent introductory RPG. It also provides the basic mechanical framework for the highly weird modern RPG, Troika.

So you get the standard three FF attributes: skill, stamina and luck. You get special skills, specializations basically, that augment regular skill rolls. You get a magic skill that runs on stamina (health) to cast spells with (love that) (I could swear there was an arcane misfire table in here too, but if there is, I can’t currently find it). You get opposed rolls for combat (combat against multiple foes is…tedious). The broad category of other stuff, like jumping and poison, that was sort of handwaved in the previous FF RPG are here, accompanied with robust situational modifier charts that…are probably a slight over correction. Oh, dwarves and elves are playable too. There is guidance for experience and advancement, character downtime and a nice general primer on how to run and play these sorts of games. It is pretty robust!

Oh, and two adventures, the first a pretty good if actually physically linear dungeon crawl and the second a more open-ended city scenario set in Port Blacksand. I like the city stuff in that one, but its dungeon bit is a little rough around the edges.

What is not at all rough is the treasure trove of John Sibbick art. A feast for your eyes!

#RPG #TTRPG #Tabletop RPG #roleplaying game #D&D #Dungeons & Dragons #Fighting Fantasy #john sibbick #Dungeoneer #Advanced Fighting Fantasy

[the-little-moment]

Part Seven

Words: 2,500

Warnings: None

Summary: Senna thinks she and Crosshair should spend some recreational time together. He is not a man of varied interests.

The rest of this fic can be found in my Masterlist here, or on Ao3 here.

Through the Heart

There were three firing ranges within the massive training complex on the Imperial Army Base on Coruscant. Two were for standard training with blasters such as the ubiquitous DC-17 pistol and the DC-15 carbine. The other range was used only by specialists like Crosshair. The sniper had brought Senna today to “his” range, equipped with distant moving targets and various other accessories for the type of grueling practice the most skilled snipers in the galaxy required. Clone troopers were fully trained before they ever set foot off Kamino, and Senna doubted the other men in this room, with its high grey ceilings and long row of partitioned lanes, would ever be able to lose their skills if they tried, but practice was still a part of daily life for almost every clone and natborn soldier on base. Many were here now, filling the air with the ringing echoes of blasterfire.

The doctor took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the world shrink to the center of the target. She squeezed the trigger. Another bullseye. 

Senna turned to Crosshair, cocking her ear-muffed head as the sniper lifted an eyebrow. “You were saying, Commander?”

The toothpick between his lips lifted as he smirked back at her. “You still need the practice. Show me with the other hand.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a perfect, ambidextrous specimen like you. We’ll just have to hope I don’t lose this one.” She actually wasn’t bad with her left hand, but not good enough to make an ass of herself in front of him. Senna shuddered at the thought. Everyone thought Crosshair’s greatest skill was marksmanship, but she knew it was actually his ability to save up little things like that to needle you with at unexpected times for the rest of your life. 

He hadn’t been the one to teach her to shoot. Senna had learned from an instructor on Kamino when Crosshair had still been a cadet. Her steady, surgeon’s hands had given her an unexpected edge in an area she’d never had a reason to explore.

“Bet you couldn’t make it with this.” Her attention was drawn back as the sniper lifted the Firepuncher rifle he’d been using since losing his modified one on Kamino.”

“Cross, when would I ever need to use that?”

“You said you wanted to spend time together.”

“Pretty sure I also said you needed to expand your interests.” She eyed the rifle. “It’s almost as tall as I am!”

“Scared?”

Senna favored Crosshair with her most unimpressed glare. “Next time, I get to pick the activity.” She sighed resignedly, waving her hand towards him. “Alright, show me.”

Life had been…a lot lately, for both of them. Senna had thought a break might help, so they’d scheduled to meet on her free afternoon to try to blow off some steam. Strangely, the new, restrictive regime still allowed the clone troopers shore leave and other small “luxuries” that seemed far too humane considering most of its policies, but Senna wasn’t going to bring that up in any staff meetings. No one had commented on her continued association with the commando, despite their unrelated positions. She knew her previous relationship with his batch was part of her record, so there didn’t seem any point in hiding it, although their meetings now were always colored by the tension of mistrust in their surroundings.

Senna knew herself and she knew Crosshair, and she also knew that if something didn’t give soon, someone was going to snap. So she’d let him decide what they would do today. I really should have seen this coming. 

Crosshair didn’t need the extra practice, especially not at the level Senna could perform at, and part of her wondered if he wasn’t enjoying showing off for her a bit. As if she hadn’t seen him do far more impressive things during the few training sessions she’d been able to watch when he and his brothers were younger. Senna had been there the day they had graduated, up in the observation deck as the Batch took their final test. They’d done incredible things that day. It was almost beautiful, the way the four brothers anticipated each other's every move, like some intricate dance, or it would have been if Senna hadn’t been all too aware that they would be leaving her, out to face real enemies that would kill them without a second thought. They had passed, of course, and she had tried not to cry because they were all so happy that she had been there to watch them do it. 

Today, she and Crosshair had already gone through stationary targets, then the movers that the clones used for practice. Nothing she could do with a blaster measured up to the skill of a trooper, and none of these targets shot back, but Senna didn’t think she was half bad for a non combatant. On the other hand, the only blaster she’d been trained to use was a DC-17 pistol.

The tall clone took her deece and placed the rifle in her hands. It was lighter than she’d expected, but still awkwardly long. Senna smirked a little as she hefted it. “I know you’re only letting me touch this one because it’s not your baby.”

Crosshair scoffed, but didn’t disagree. “It gets the job done.” He settled into a stance behind her, arms around her shoulders as he covered her hands with his. He corrected her grip, then her feet with careful nudges, his chestplate lightly pressed against her back. 

Senna felt like she was in a cheesy holo flick. Had he ever watched any of those? “Cross,” she breathed in warning, glancing around the other lanes through the transparisteel partitions. The closest trooper was only a few lanes away, but he was on his stomach, training with the same rifle that Senna now held. His laser sharp focus on his target made it unlikely that he was paying any attention at all to them. 

“We’re fine,” Crosshair said. 

The doctor sighed for what felt like the dozenth time in the past hour. 

Crosshair guided her through the shot, perfect as always, and Senna was begrudgingly grateful for the support of his body as the recoil knocked her back with a grunt, while also overly aware of his heart beating faintly against her shoulder blade, right over the tattoo he’d placed there a lifetime ago. Kriff, Senna. Concentrate. 

“Try it by yourself now.”

Senna couldn’t get the balance right, shot after shot going wide. She growled in frustration. “I’m not exactly built for this.”

“You’re not exactly built at all.” Crosshair leaned out of the way as she pretended to whack him with the Puncher. “They’re not going to let you back in here if you don’t follow safety regs,” he smirked.

The doctor rolled her eyes. “Oh no.”

“Here.” Crosshair stepped back to her side, extending his arm, fist clenched, and gestured for her to use it as a rest. 

Senna laid the barrel of the rifle against his armor, squinting down the scope to line up with the target. This time she was dead center. “Ha!” She lowered her shoulder and smiled up at the sniper, triumphant. 

The look on his usually sarcastic face caught her by surprise. “Cross?” 

Crosshair finally lowered his arm, taking the rifle back from her. “You look—”

“Ridiculous, I know,” the doctor grumbled. The large earmuffs that fit just in front of her braids probably weren’t helping. 

“That’s…not what I was going to say.”

“Oh.” 

He was looking at her so strangely that, for an excruciating second, Senna thought she saw something in his eyes that spoke of more than what they’d always had. Something that edged too far from the safety of their already dangerous love. And, even more painful, she realized she might want it too. 

Crosshair rolled over in his bed for the dozenth time with a quiet groan. He felt like he was going insane. All that time he’d spent alone on that platform on Kamino, with the rain pouring down until he was surprised it hadn’t washed the black from his armor. Then a few short weeks of relief in the medbay with Senna, and now back to this empty room. There was someone on the other side of the wall, another officer, but he didn’t know them, didn’t want to. 

He didn’t really know anyone here except Senna, and technically Bern, more than in passing. She was all the way on the other side of the base with the rest of the natborn staff. He thought about the doctor for a minute, remembering the way she’d looked holding his rifle and the way he’d felt when she’d hit the target dead on. She would understand. Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.

He could go see her. That was a terrible idea. Crosshair sighed deeply and rolled onto his back in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep, you miserable bastard. He pulled his pillow out from under his head and pushed it down on his face, contemplating smothering himself into unconsciousness. Fucking pathetic.

Before he could second guess himself again, Crosshair threw the pillow aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on his boots. Troopers weren’t supposed to be out at this time of night, but he was a commander now. If someone did stop him, he’d think of some excuse. 

Crosshair had never expected to make commander, mostly because that would mean leaving his squad. It was a simple fact of life that, no matter how much they competed in every facet of their relationship, Hunter was the squad leader. Crosshair had never had a problem with that, never questioned his brother in any real way until his chip had been activated. He knew the only reason he was an officer now was because the others were gone. 

At the time, he’d been proud of the fact that he’d been chosen to lead a squad of natborns, useless as they may have been. That was certainly never something he’d expected. It hadn’t been as satisfying as he was sure ordering four regs around would have been but, still, they hadn’t been grown in tubes and, for once, he knew that was what made him superior. How could any naturally born human measure up to the years of training he’d been through? To them, his enhancements were something impressive, not the shame the regs had always made them out to be. 

Oh-One had thought he was better than Crosshair, but he had been wrong. Even now, Crosshair wasn’t sorry for killing the man. Mutiny was mutiny and he hadn’t known many people he’d wanted to shoot more than the cocky recruit. But then…

The natborn had known that executing the “insurgents” was wrong. Because he hadn’t had a karking chip in his head telling him what to do. And Crosshair had killed him for it. Not just for that but, had he really deserved to die? Protocol dictated that the trooper should have been brought back to Coruscant for a court-martial, but even then Crosshair had felt his grip over his squad was tenuous. There was no guarantee the new Empire would side with a clone over a natborn. He’d needed to make an example of the man in order to maintain control. It wasn’t what Hunter would have done. No, Hunter inspired respect in a way Crosshair couldn’t imitate, even if he’d wanted to. And Senna, well, that didn’t bear thinking about. Senna could never find out that he’d watched while those people had burned alive. When he closed his eyes at night, he could still hear them screaming, could hear her screaming as she begged him to stop. 

The closer he’d gotten to the doctor’s quarters, the less certain he’d felt. Crosshair stood in front of Senna’s door, willing himself to ring the chime. Nothing happened. He waited another few seconds before laughing to himself under his breath. What had he expected? Maybe he should walk down another hall to knock on Rampart’s door while he was at it. I’m sorry, Vice Admiral, but I can’t sleep. Maybe he’d get lucky and the shock would kill the son of a bitch. 

He’d taken three steps down the hall when the door opened and he turned to see Senna blinking sleep from her eyes. She was wearing a loose, blue shirt, so large that it almost covered the grey shorts underneath, her hair hanging down in a long braid. "Cross?” She squinted at him, voice soft. “It's so late. Are you okay?"

This had been a bad idea. “Yes, I—it’s not important. Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s not important, but you knocked on my door at thirteen hundred? Come in and tell me what’s wrong.”

When the door had closed behind him, Senna looked up in concern. The only light came from the dim, orange glow of the door panel, but he could see her perfectly. She seemed very small dressed like that, barefoot. Crosshair drew a deep breath. “I just…haven’t been able to sleep. For a while.” 

“I can give you some medication?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go. I shouldn’t have—”

“Cross. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Crosshair didn’t want to tell her about the nightmares or how his guilt and the emptiness of the room haunted him every night. He didn’t want to tell her how badly he wanted to be near another person, how he felt less real in that room by himself. 

“It’s too quiet.”

Senna looked down at her feet, shoulders slumping. “I know.” She did. The lack of his brothers was like an awful hole in her life. Every little thing brought them to her mind, but none of it made sense anymore without them. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, having spent every day of his life with them, every night listening to them breathe in the dark. “I’d have you stay here tonight, but…” It wasn’t safe, and they both knew it.

“I know. I need to get back.”

Senna nodded and they looked at each other for a moment before he turned to go. 

“Cross.”

Her arms came up around him as he turned back and Crosshair fought the urge to bury his face in Senna’s shoulder like he might have as a kid. Like he had in those awful dreams on Kamino that had nevertheless been his only source of peace. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he returned her hug. 

“Sorry, Sen.” 

She shook her head against his chest. “Come by the bay tomorrow and I’ll give you something to help you sleep.” The doctor released him and squeezed his hand. 

Walking back down the halls to his quarters, Crosshair felt like he was leaving behind a warm light to climb back down into darkness. Back in his bunk, he sighed, frustrated by his weakness as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to feel her again. 

Taglist: @freesia-writes @just-here-with-my-thoughts @clonethirstingisreal @bad-batch-lurker @kybercrystals94 @lightwise

#star wars the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars oc #tbb crosshair #dr divehdi #the little moment writes #the bad batch #only what burns you back

[azurdlywisterious]

More Atompunk Ancap Trio headcanons! This time on handwriting:

Mr. House strikes me as the type to struggle with handwriting. Unless he’s actively thinking about making it look pretty (and taking the time to do so); it’s usually an illegible, ugly mess that gets worse the longer it goes on. Uses a modified pencil grip (rather than the standard one he was taught) because it’s comfier. Adores typing things out and text to speech in comparison. Has at least one notebook full of signature practice so that he could at least have a pretty signature on a moments notice.

Cave Johnson writes with his writing utensil in an enclosed fist. He’ll say it’s because it shows power or manliness but in actuality that’s how he learned to write as a child and now it is far too late to correct it. He writes very bold and confident lines and is a big fan of print over cursive. His signature is mostly scribbles. Caroline has to make sure he signs documents in black or blue ink because he really wants to sign things in orange (his favorite color). Goes through so many bottles of whiteout.

Andrew Ryan learned how to write in cursive at a nice private school and lords his beautiful cursive handwriting over everyone. Has expensive fountain pen sets and treats his pens very well. He gets annoyed anytime he has to write in print and some of the habits of cursive bleed through anyways. His signature is literally calligraphy and would hate signing for things on the electronic card readers they have in stores because he wouldn’t be able to flex his calligraphy skills in the middle of the dang walgreens

#atompunk ancap trio #mr house #fallout new vegas #cave johnson #portal 2 #andrew ryan #bioshock

[paperanddice]

Archdevil: Arbeyach

The archdevils in the Tome of Beasts have a similar issue as the demon lords did. Translating these powerful beings across systems reaches the breaking points of the different rule sets, as the power scales are strange. In Pathfinder, typical archdevils should be on the deity scale and thus beyond anything the system can support, so most of them won't get any creature stat blocks, instead just being statted out as gods. For 13th Age though, the scene is much stranger than the demon lords. All the arch-devils should be above the power of the regular devils, but the 13th Age pit fiend is a huge level 14 foe, the top of the standard power scale for the system. Even a weakening arch-devil like Arbeyach should be stronger than the greatest standard devil, so to stat them out requires going beyond the system's usual cap, which is a huge deal and a lot of effort. And stronger arch-devils would go further beyond it, so I think that even in 13th Age many of the archdevils are too powerful for proper stat blocks. Overall, the arch-devils may get much smaller treatment than the demon lords did.

But Arbeyach, as a weakened archdevil, will get a full creature stat block in both. He's the weakest of the archdevils, but still an exceptionally dangerous threat, and so only pretty high level parties can be expected to face off against the Swarm Prince and survive.

Pathfinder 2e

Arbeyach is the lord of decay, taking the form of insect hives. Locusts and worms are his imagery, but he has a deeply rigid and ordered mind and imposes that onto his followers and the world around him. He is exceptionally inflexible, even among arch-devils, and builds his realm in the model of a great hive, every single creature within it obeying a specific function and built to best follow it.

He is truly ancient, having come into being from a great swarm of vermin created by Baalzebub to devour some of the first mortal souls to reach Hell. These vermin fused to the soul energy, becoming something greater. Arbeyach was a vassal of Baalzebub for eons, before rising up and becoming a proper Duke of Hell through his victories and power. Over the eons however, his ambitions shifted and his views became more rigid and unyielding, unable to respond to changes in the universe around him, and eventually he weakened and was stripped of his title. Now barely stronger than a pit fiend, he must either grow or surely face destruction at the hands of a rival.

Arbeyach Creature 21 Unique, Large, Devil, Fiend, Unholy Perception +38; greater darkvision, true seeing Languages Celestial, Common, Draconic, Infernal, scent communication 120 feet, telepathy 100 feet Skills Athletics +37, Deception +40, Diplomacy +38, Intimidation +38, Nature +38, Religion +36, Society +35, Stealth +36 Str +6, Dex +5, Con +7, Int +4, Wis +5, Cha +7 Scent Communication (olfactory) Arbeyach can communicate through pheromones with spawns of Arbeyach and arthropods (insects, spiders, scorpions, and similar invertebrates) within 120 feet. Mindless arthropods and spawn of Arbeyach cannot attack Arbeyach while within this range unless magically controlled. He can attempt to counteract any effect controlling an arthropod or spawn within this range as an action with the concentration and olfactory traits (counteract rank 10, counteract modifier +36). AC 46; Fort +38, Ref +34, Will +36; +1 status to all saves vs. magic HP 465; Immunities fire, poison; Resistances physical 20 (except silver); Weaknesses holy 20 Aura of Virulence (aura, divine) 120 feet. Creatures in this aura lose all resistance and immunity to poison. Any creature not resistant or immune to poison inside the aura instead gains vulnerable 20 poison and has a -2 status penalty to all saves against poison. Frightful Presence (aura, divine, emotion, fear, mental) 20 feet, DC 44 Speed 35 feet, burrow 20 feet, climb 35 feet, fly 80 feet Melee jaws +37 (magical, poison, sanctified), Damage 4d8+16 piercing plus 2d6 poison and 2d6 spirit and Arbeyach Rot Melee claw +37 (agile, magical, poison sanctified), Damage 4d6+16 slashing plus 2d6 poison and 2d6 spirit Divine Innate Spells DC 44, attack +36 ; 10th gate, massacre; 9th dispel magic (at will), divine decree (at will), toxic cloud (at will); 5th translocate (at will); Constant true seeing Divine Ritual Spells DC 44 , 10th infernal pact, wish (1/year); Arbeyach Rot (curse, poison, virulent) Mindless arthropods (insects, spiders, scorpions, and similar invertebrate) are hostile to a creature, and it can't recover from drained until Arbeyach Rot is cured. Saving Throw DC 44 Fortitude, Stage 1 Drained 1 and can't regain hit points except by magic (1 day); Stage 2 Drained 2 and can't regain hit points except by magic (1 day); Stage 3 Drained 3 and can't regain hit points except by magic (1 day); Stage 4 Drained 4 and can't regain hit points except by magic; Stage 5 Dead, and the creature's body transforms into a hellwasp swarm. Vermin Breath [2 actions] (divine, poison) Arbeyach exhales vermin that deals 17d8 poison damage in a 120-foot line (DC 44 basic Fortitude save). A creature that fails this save is also exposed to Arbeyach Rot. Arbeyach can't use Vermin Breath again for 1d4 rounds.

He still has some power from his time as a proper archdevil however, and is something of a god. While his followers are few and far between, as the Prince of Swarms cares little for mortals and their individual minds, some few can still find the power this former archdevil granted.

Areas of Concern decay, vermin Edicts bring order and structure to existence in every way, eliminate disorder Anathema undermine the hive, promote individuality Divine Attribute Constitution (Arbeyach is inflexible, you do not have a choice)

Devotee Benefits Cleric Spells 1st: ant haul, 3rd: insect form, 5th: subconscious suggestion Divine Font heal Divine Sanctification must choose unholy Divine Skill Society Domains cities, family, toil, tyranny Favored Weapon spiked gauntlet

13th Age

Arbeyach is an exile from wherever the devils originated from. Apparently formerly some great power within the devil's structure, he now builds a great hive on the outer edge of the Dragon Empire, creating himself a new basin of power. He hates the disorder and chaos of the world, rigid and unyielding in his vision, and all he sees must conform to the structure and order of his ideal world. Few devils support him, lending more evidence to his lack of authority within their system, but some number seem to have been exiled with him and find a spot within his hive. His true goal is to turn the whole world into a single hive under his control, removing all individuality and conflict, but without the full structure of the devil hierarchy aiding him he must do it himself. Of course, with how powerful he is still, few could hope to stop him anyway.

Arbeyach Large 15th level spoiler [devil] Initiative: +21 Creature of Legend Arbeyach can take two standard actions on each of his turns. He can’t use the same action twice on the same turn. Curse Bite +20 vs. AC – 75 damage plus 50 ongoing poison damage. Natural Even Hit: The target is also weakened as long as it’s taking the ongoing damage. A creature that dies while weakened this way bursts into an apocalypse swarm (see below). Miss: 50 poison damage. Diseased Claws +20 vs. AC (2 attacks) – 50 damage plus 20 poison damage. Natural 14+: The target also takes 20 ongoing poison damage. Contagion +20 vs. PD – Ongoing 75 poison damage and one of the following effects (determined at random): confused, stunned, vulnerable to all damage, weakened (save ends both). C: Vermin Breath +20 vs. PD (1d4 nearby or far away enemies) – 85 poison damage and the target is hampered (save ends). Natural Even Hit or Miss: An apocalypse swarm forms next to the target (see below). Miss: 40 poison damage. Limited Use: 3/battle, never two turns in a row. C: Cloudkill +20 vs. PD (1d4+1 nearby enemies) – 50 poison damage. Cloud: The cloud persists until the end of Arbeyach’s next turn. Any creature targeted by this attack takes 50 damage if it ends its turn without moving out of the cloud. At the start of each of Arbeyach’s turns, he can roll a normal save; on a success the cloud remains until the end of his next turn. If Arbeyach uses this attack while he has a cloud remaining from a previous casting, the previous cloud disappears. Apocalypse Swarm: An apocalypse swarm spawns where indicated by the power that creates it, obeys Arbeyach’s orders, and enters initiative 10 points after Arbeyach. See apocalypse swarm stat blocks at the end of this entry. Aura of Virulence: All attacks that deal poison damage made against nearby enemies are treated as if their natural attack roll was 5 points higher for the purpose of overcoming poison resistance. If the target doesn’t have poison resistance, the attack instead gains a +2 bonus to hit. Burrower, Flyer, and Wall Crawler. Devil’s Due (Grow Within): When you choose to add the escalation die to an attack against Arbeyach, he makes the following attack against you at the end of your turn as a free action. If you use the escalation die against him multiple times on the same turn, he does get to use this attack that many times. [Special Trigger] They Grow Within +20 vs. PD – 80 damage and an apocalypse swarm bursts out of the target. Miss: 20 damage. Fear Aura: While engaged with Arbeyach, enemies that have 216 hp or fewer are dazed and do not add the escalation die to their attacks. Resist Fire and Poison 18+. AC 30 PD 30 MD 27 HP 1330 Level 14 Apocalypse Swarm Swarm +19 vs. PD (1d3 nearby enemies) – 40 poison damage, and after the attack the swarm engages one of the targets. Natural Even Hit: The target also takes 20 ongoing poison damage. If the target dies while taking this damage, another apocalypse swarm bursts from its corpse. Flyer. AC 30 PD 30 MD 23 HP 130

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

#pathfinder 2e #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #devil #fiend #pathfinder level 21 #13th age level 15 #long post #tome of beasts

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Miles C. Peyote and Howie Thetaxi

(I’ve already made an information post like this, but said post is pretty long; in fact, it’ll just get longer and more expansive as I develop new characters and stories for [The Future Mob Project]. And I’m worried that the sheer length will make readers lose interest when they click on a link to look for a specific character. So, I’ll be making separate information pages for each character while still maintaining the all-inclusive post. Got it? Good.)

Who They’re Based Off Of: Lewis Dawkins (Dawko) and Ryan (8-BitRyan), respectively.

Their Methods of Work: When your reputation precedes you from all the way across the pond, you’ve definitely done something right! (Unless that was never your intent, in which case you’ve done something horribly, horribly wrong.) Remember the board game Mouse Trap? Well, Miles probably played it a few too many times in his youth, if the booby traps he sets up nowadays are anything to go by. Whether the goal is to kill or simply capture someone, his designs never fail to be. . .elaborate. Howie, meanwhile, doubles as a mechanic and driver. From ditching cops to running enemies off the road, he has more than enough skill to make professional racers envious. Never, NEVER forget the importance of seatbelts if you’re getting into a car with him. (Also, never put your feet on the dash. It’s rude.)

Red Attire: For Miles, a pair of leather boots (Oxblood). For Howie, a pair of gauge earrings (Carnelian)

Notes:

These two got their start in The Marble Hummingbirds, a different mob based in the UK that has had a strong alliance with The Pentas Family for years now. As part of standard underground affairs, Miles and Howie volunteered to relocate to the United States and work more closely with Murdock and the others. The adjustment was a bit difficult (especially for Howie), but they both understand that it makes several aspects of business more efficient. They both retain a good balance of loyalty between their original crew and their new one.

Miles is selective when it comes to speaking. He’ll talk freely when he’s among people he trusts or is in a place that he’s deemed safe/comfortable, but when he’s out in public, he’s just. . .very quiet. He’ll still talk a little for the sake of politeness or formality, but only a little. If an area is open or unfamiliar, he’ll usually prefer to use body language and the like. (This does absolutely NOT stop him from cackling like a maniac over his traps, but again, that usually takes place in more secluded, secretive areas.)

Howie has no qualms about reckless driving. Swerving, speeding, staging accidents; he can do it all without batting an eye. Whatever it takes to get himself and his buddies (plus their cargo) from Point A to Point B without getting stopped or caught. Keep in mind, this mindset only applies to his personal driving. When he’s casually out and about, he can’t stand other drivers who tailgate, block lanes, cut others off, etc. If you act rude toward him in traffic, he can and will make a side-quest out of finding a way to get back at you. And yes, this extends to when he’s on the job. It’s not at all uncommon for him to go back and forth between chatting with his passengers and yelling at idiots on the road in the middle of a high-stakes-chase.

Miles has a habit of collecting plushies; especially odd-looking ones. (For example: the creepy-yet-cute stuff you might find on Etsy.) But his plushies aren’t just for aesthetic or decoration—they serve the purpose of secretism. He’s modified each and every one of them to be soft little storage units. Some have well-hidden zippers in their backs, while others have their heads function as the lids to jars stuffed inside their stomachs. Miles uses this strategy to hide valuables, such as varying sums of money or the odd piece of jewelry taken from a target.

Howie is miraculously conscious of animals on the road. That’s one of few exceptions to his typical stance on get-away-driving. He'll always make sure to avoid hitting cats, dogs, raccoons, deer. . .or squirrels. As a matter of fact, one squirrel that he managed to spare back in the day seems to have pledged a life-debt to him. Seriously, he met this squirrel while he was still working in the UK, and by now it’s followed him to the US. Wherever Howie is, the squirrel always seems to be somewhere in the background, just watching and waiting. Howie doesn’t see this squirrel as a pet, but he doesn’t have a problem with its presence (even though he’s somewhat unnerved by it).

Along with all the get-away driving stuff, Howie has helped The Pentas Family to form its very own chop-shop. Whenever cars are stolen from targets or enemies, Howie will be there to dismantle or sabotage said cars. Legitimate parts are sold, and certain jobs involve filling a vehicle with counterfeit parts in order to frame its owner. 

Ever since relocating, both Miles and Howie live out of The Five Seasons, a hotel near the Cove Port Inlet’s city entrance. The building is connected to the abandoned subway tunnels, and the duo rotates between sharing the hidden den; Miles will use it to build/test his traps, and Howie will use it simply to store/tamper with various car parts. The hotel just so happens to be right across the street from the car repair garage (Oh, For God’s Brake!) that Howie uses for his day-job.

Current Stories: [TBA]

@sammys-magical-au

#my writing #miles c. peyote #lewis dawkins #dawko #dawko egos #howie thetaxi #8-bitryan #8-bit egos #my fan egos #fanmade egos #the pentas family #[the future mob project]

[random-iz-stuff]

Sizz-Lorr and Foodcourtia headcanons (and a bunch of other stuff) because this man has an implied past with that scar and unique armour and I am HERE for the implications:

Sizz-Lorr is one of the oldest irkens we’ve seen in the show. Irkens live for up to 800 years. Sizz-Lorr is in his mid 600s. He’s old, but not very old by irken standards, as they start showing signs of old age around the age of 750 or so.

Just for comparison, Zim, Skoodge, Tak and Tenn are all 15, Red and Purple are 16, and Tallest Miyuki was in her 400s at the time of her death.

Sizz-Lorr also very obviously has a military background of some sort. He instructs the soldiers that deliver Zim to him with the authority of a military commander and has that unique armour and gigantic scar across his face, which must have been quite the injury in order for it to still be visible nowadays since irkens heal very quickly.

Sizz-Lorr was a very high ranking soldier that served the Tallest before Miyuki, and was allowed to retire and become the Frylord of Foodcourtia because of his long and excellent service. The scar is from an injury he got when he was on the front line.

As for what he did as a soldier, I would like to present his armour that he wears to collect Zim.

Sizz-Lorr’s armour has the invader insignia on it, but it obviously isn’t invader armour. Invaders just don’t get that kind of tech. It wouldn’t help their mission and would probably cause more harm than good because of how obvious it is, when invading is a stealth focused job.

It’s armour given to a class equal in rank to invaders, who do something other than invade.

It’s Special Forces armour. A class equal in rank to invaders, but focused towards fighting on the front lines instead of stealthily invading planets beforehand. More specifically, it’s Frontline Division Special Forces armour, which is pretty much the default division of special forces.

[click on the image for better quality]

Members of Special Forces are given special powered armour that’s designed for combat in all environments, boasting heavy armour covering every square inch of the wearer’s body, retractable weapons all across the suit, most notably in the shoulder pads, which contain one plasma canon rivalling the power of a small ship each, even more weapons built into the gauntlets of the armour, a mask allowing the wearer to breathe in space and most notably of all, a jetpack.

Now the presence of a jetpack and space equipment shouldn’t be that important considering that irkens have both of those things built into their PAKs, with a spacesuit function and a built in jetpack.

But the thing about the built in jetpack is, it doesn’t work when on the surface of a planet. It’s not powerful enough to lift an irken off the ground because it’s an EVA pack. It’s meant to be used only in very low to zero gravity environments, which is why Zim only uses it in Planet Jackers when he’s in space, where there’s no gravity.

The Special Forces jetpack on the other hand is more than powerful enough to be used in situations where gravity is too strong for the PAK thrusters.

But there’s one more thing that’s extremely important about the Special Forces jetpack, along with the armour itself:

It’s all a part of the irken’s PAK.

When irkens officially complete Special Forces training and receive their armour, their PAKs are modified to contain the jetpack part of the armour. The rest of the armour is connected to the outside of the PAK as well, folding up to become a metal shell that surrounds the PAK whenever it’s not in use or needs to be removed for whatever reason. We don’t see this metal shell form on Sizz-Lorr because he always has his armour (mostly) deployed.

The jetpack also has a set of mechanical wings that are used for gliding when in an atmosphere, visually resembling something like dragonfly wings. These wings are actually modified PAK legs. The PAK legs extend from the PAK and the wings extend from the PAK legs.

These modified PAK legs can still be used as regular PAK legs, they just have the bonus ability of becoming wings capable of gliding. They have all the same tools that regular PAK legs have, but stronger. They even have a more powerful version of the mining laser that all irken PAKs have.

The mining laser is a square shaped laser fired using all four PAK legs simultaneously. We’ve seen Zim use it several times throughout the series and Tak use it once. It’s the most powerful weapon in the entire PAK.

^ This is the unmodified irken mining laser in action, so you can probably imagine just how powerful the upgraded version given to Special Forces soldiers is.

The irken’s spinal implants (a large set of metal plates that takes up most of the irken’s back and helps the PAK connect without damaging the irken’s insides) are also modified to accommodate the extra weight of the armour whenever it’s in its undeployed shell-covering-the-PAK form

The wearer can also choose how much of their body the armour covers at any given time. We already see Sizz-Lorr retract his jetpack when he doesn’t need it, but he also actively chooses to leave his arms uncovered by his armour, as the heavy duty designed-for-combat gauntlets that the armour has would get in the way of his job as a Frylord. Instead, Sizz-Lorr makes his armour stop just after the shoulders and wears proper cooking gloves. He also retracts the mask when he’s doing his job, as the space-proof mask also gets in the way of his job as a Frylord.

There are also multiple divisions of Special Forces, all designed for different things. There’s the Frontline Division, which is the largest division and is what Sizz-Lorr used to be a part of, but there’s also the Incendiary Corps, the Cryonics Division, the Royal Forces (the Tallest’s personal set of Special Forces soldiers), and many more.

The different divisions have slightly different armours, as they’re all meant to do different things. The Frontline Division is the default division however, and has completely unmodified armour as a result of that. The other armours are all essentially just modified Frontline Division armour.

Just for comparison, the Incendiary Corps Armour has better heat resistance than the Frontline Armour, a wrist mounted flamethrower unique to the corps and ditches the shoulder mounted plasma canon for a shoulder mounted napalm launcher, also unique to the Incendiary Corps, just to name a few differences. Armour is also coloured differently depending on the division.

Speaking of the Incendiary Corps, Invader Tenn is a former member. As for why they didn’t get to keep their armour while Sizz-Lorr did, there’s a very simple explanation for that: The differences between their current jobs.

Sizz-Lorr is a Frylord. That’s a civilian job that definitely doesn’t need the Special Forces armour, but at the same time, it doesn’t hamper his ability to work. Plus his PAK and spinal implants have already been modified and it would be a massive hassle to undo that, and after all his hard work in the military, Sizz-Lorr definitely earned that armour.

In comparison, Tenn is an invader. That’s a military job, but it requires stealth and keeping a low profile. A suit of powered armour capable of going toe to toe with a small army with the irken armada insignia on both shoulders definitely doesn’t fit the description of stealthy and inconspicuous, especially when you’re alone on an enemy planet. The armour can protect you from a lot, but it can’t go up against an entire planet’s worth of soldiers, which is what you’ll be going up against if your identity is discovered. Tenn still has the modified spinal implants and PAK and she can still deploy the Special Forces jetpack, but it’s very much not recommended to do so without the stability and protection that the armour provides, as the armour protects the wearer from both the extreme force of the jetpack and the extremely hot exhaust. She also still has the modified PAK legs that can fold outwards to become wings and the improved mining laser that comes with them, but without being able to use the jetpack, the wings can only be used for gliding. If Tenn ever manages to conquer Meekrob, her armour will be given back to her.

Anyways, back to Sizz-Lorr. Not only was he a member of Special Forces, but he was a Special Forces COMMANDER. He commanded a squad of 9-10 irken soldiers in power armour for a living, and he was GOOD at it, having completed tens of dozens of successful missions and participated in hundreds of battles.

There’s also Sizz-Lorr’s shock spear, or shock spatula in his case.

This is an irken shock spear:

It’s a staple of irken culture. An electrified halberd that can either focus energy through the blades for better melee damage or fire energy from the tip for use as a ranged weapon.

It’s irken tradition to make your own shock spear once you leave the smeet academy, and you won’t find a single irken that doesn’t partake in this tradition. Even Zim has his own spear that he built by himself.

But shock spears don’t have a strict design that they must follow when being made. Many irkens go for the popular two-bladed design, which is why we see it the most, but you don’t have to follow those rules. Sizz-Lorr making his shock spear resemble a giant spatula is a perfect example of that.

Sizz-Lorr’s giant spatula actually predates his title of Frylord, as he used it back when he was in Special Forces. He built it to replace his previous shock spear that broke during a mission, and he’s used it ever since.

Also worth noting Sizz-Lorr’s armour in that picture with the spiked shoulder pads, front that resembles an apron and cape-like thing that actually is an apron. That’s Sizz-Lorr’s “Foodening gear”. He built it when he was stuck in the Foodening after Zim escaped for the first time. It’s designed to work as armour protecting him from the never ending stream of customers that show up during the Foodening. It also contains equipment designed to make cooking large amounts of food easier, including two built in automatic fryers in the shoulder pads, so he can cook as much food as possible in a short amount of time.

As for why he dons it to chase Zim, it’s less because it gives him an advantage (quite the opposite in fact, as his Foodening gear gets in the way of his jetpack and Special Forces armour), and more because if he goes after Zim, win or lose, he’s going to be facing the Foodening. The most he can do is take Zim down with him and have both of them go through the Foodening together.

Speaking of the Foodening, let’s talk about Sizz-Lorr’s current job.

Sizz-Lorr is the Frylord of Foodcourtia. That means that he owns the entire planet, but he doesn’t own all the restaurants on Foodcourtia. Sizz-Lorr has his very own restaurant in the form of Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster, which is his restaurant that he owns and runs, but every other store on Foodcourtia is owned by other people, of all sorts of races, not just irkens.

If someone wants to open a restaurant or another business (like a Snacky Cab) on Foodcourtia, they go to Sizz-Lorr, who gives them an area to put the store and gives them permission to advertise. In exchange, Sizz-Lorr gets a tiny chunk of the store’s profit. That tiny chunk of the profit is small enough to not really affect the individual store financially, but when combined with all the other restaurants and stores on the entire planet, which all also give Sizz-Lorr a tiny amount of their profits, it adds up to quite a lot of money in Sizz-Lorr’s pockets.

Meanwhile, despite already having a steady stream of income from his main job as a Frylord, Sizz-Lorr also owns and runs his own business, Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster, although it’s less of an income thing and more of a personal thing. Sizz-Lorr’s main job of leasing Foodcourtia gets him more money in a week then Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster does in a full year, but Sizz-Lorr doesn’t care. Shloogorgh's is a personal project of his and apart from dealing with the Foodening, he enjoys spending his retirement running the place.

Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster is also one of most popular restaurants on Foodcourtia, partially because it’s run by the living legend and owner of Foodcourtia that is Sizz-Lorr. So Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster is a bit like the unofficial capital of Foodcourtia. Sizz-Lorr also lives in his restaurant, with a house being located on the top floor.

Now there’s just one problem with Foodcourtia, and I’ve mentioned it before. The Foodening.

Before explaining how the Foodening works, there’s something very important that should be said about irkens; They don’t experience time like us. Their brains automatically translate local time into irk time, and they perceive time differently depending on that.

I’m bad at explaining this through words, so here’s a graph that should hopefully explain what I’m talking about.

If the irken is on a planet where one day is less than 28 hours, the irken’s brain will start perceiving time faster than normal so one day seems like 28 hours.

If the irken is on a planet where one day is more than 28 hours, the irken’s brain will start perceiving time slower than normal so one day seems like 28 hours.

The irken doesn’t age faster or need to eat and sleep more. They just perceive time differently, not directly experience time differently.

Their PAKs have systems that stop this from happening beyond a certain amount, as it can be disastrous if an irken goes to a planet where the rotation is extremely slow (one day being a month or more) or extremely fast (one day being a few minutes) and their brain starts making them perceive time according to the planet they’re on.

Drone class irkens and irkens undergoing punishment will often have these systems shut off or removed, either to make the punishment worse or to make their sentences seem longer or shorter than they actually are.

This is why Tak was apparently on Dirt for seventy years, despite the blackout that ruined her life somehow happening fifty years ago and only about three or four years actually passing between Zim causing the blackout and the present day. As a drone, Tak’s time perception adjuster was shut off while she was on Dirt and she experienced time according to Dirt’s rotation, so that three year span of time felt like seventy to her. And since she doesn’t know how to reenable her time perception adjuster (she’s not a PAK technician and doesn’t want to just remove her PAK and start trying things at random), her sense of time is still incredibly screwed up by the time she reaches Earth.

The same applies to Zim during his stay on Foodcourtia. He was there for three years, but experienced fourty. Luckily for him, Zim actually knows how to reenable his time perception adjuster, having had a brief time working as a PAK Technician before becoming a scientist, and reenabled it once he escaped.

Now that that’s out of the way, Foodcourtia. Time works weirdly there.

99% of the time, time flows normally on Foodcourtia. But on rare occasions, time starts behaving weirdly for a very short time. These events are called “time warps” by tourists.

No one actually knew about these time warps that happen on Foodcourtia until the very first Foodening happened, and no one knows exactly why it happens. No one can really study it as well, as the only real way to study all this would be clearing everything off the surface of Foodcourtia and setting up thousands of research stations, along with possibly cutting open the entire planet. Due to just how many businesses and stores exist on Foodcourtia, this just isn’t possible. Dismantling Foodcourtia wouldn’t so much as put a dent in the irken economy as it would put a massive crater in the entire galactic economy, as there are so many different businesses there that Foodcourtia is a big part of several different economies.

Now most of the time, these time warps don’t do much. A Foodcourtia day might get three or four seconds longer, maybe a minute longer if you’re lucky, but nothing nearly as bad as the Foodening. However, rarely, with no real pattern, these time warps become extremely powerful, going from “barely noticeable” to the “twenty Foodcourtian years happening over the course of several months” that the Foodening is known for. These supermassive time warps also cause a gigantic aurora to form across the entire planet’s sky for the duration of that twenty foodcourtian years, considered to be one of the galaxy’s greatest sights.

No one knows what causes these time warps, and they happen at random, but people can still track and predict when particularly large ones are going to happen. So people will learn that a massive time warp is going to happen on Foodcourtia and bring that beautiful, must-see aurora with it, and they flock to Foodcourtia to see it, even if it means being stuck on Foodcourtia for the duration because the time warp prevents you from leaving the planet. It helps that the twenty years in question is twenty Foodcourtia years, which isn’t too long when compared to something like an Earth year.

But the people that have actual problems with the Foodening are irkens because the time warp overloads the irken’s time perception adjuster and shuts it off, forcing them to fully experience those twenty Foodcourtia years like they’re irk years, as their organic brains force them to perceive time like that.

So basically, during the Foodening:

People outside Foodcourtia experience time normally, and the Foodening is over after several months.

People on Foodcourtia experience time differently due to the time warp, and the Foodening is over after three or four years for them (which is twenty years in Foodcourtia time).

Irkens experience the full twenty years of Foodcourtia time like it’s twenty Irk years.

So that’s how the Foodening works.

In conclusion, Sizz-Lorr is easily one of the most powerful and dangerous people that Zim has made an enemy of. He’s an Ex-Special Forces Commander with a set of iron man armour and has hundreds of years of combat experience, compared to Zim’s 15 years of life experience, about 1 or 2 years of so is actual military experience. He’s one of the only people that Zim clearly fears, and that’s for very good reason. He’s also rich, powerful and very influential due to his current title of Frylord and gargantuan height.

Also Foodcourtia has a lot of weird time warping stuff going on that no one really understands, and irkens perceive time differently depending on what planet they’re on.

#invader zim #headcanons #Sizz-Lorr #Foodcourtia #irken culture #Sizz-Lorr is living in my brain rent free

[the-takosader]

I found the password to my account again!

Nah I'm just joking, I've been logged in all along. Anyway, welcome back to Takosader's ramblings. This is part 2 of the Cherry XII project detailing.

Last month, I outlined the madness that I'm doing with this kit, including:

The inspiration

The logic

The methods

...and other such inane phrases incomprehensible to people who don't trawl Wikipedia and TVTropes pages for fun.

So. Let's review - where am I up to with the build? What's happened in the 6 weeks and a day since I last posted?

When I wrote the post last month, I was as far as making a router template for expanding the neck pocket. I'd already made a centre line (what mathblr may call a datum line), and was getting ready to sort out that router template. By the end of the 9th Feb, I suddenly had a new set of 3 cuts on my right index finger. Ouch.

So yeah, that was not fun. 3 weeks off to let my finger heal up, and I was back up at the beginning of March to continue where I left off. In those 3 weeks, my aunt (who is so very kindly helping me build this and is teaching me how to do woodwork at the same time) had routed out the neck pocket of the semi-hollow Telecaster body I acquired for this madness to accommodate a neck heel of 59mm, expanded from the standard 56mm that it was routed for originally.

We worked our arses off on March 1st, and that's an understatement. In the 6 hours we worked on it, not only did we modify the body to support the bridge pickup, which requires modifying the rear pickup cavity, but we also designed a new scratchplate for it and we attached the neck too.

Most of last week was spent just making the scratchplate, ensuring that it actually fit on the guitar. By the end of it, well...

I'd say these photos prove more than anything that we came up with a pretty damn good design. Yeah, for my fellow guitar nerds out there, this is in fact a Telecaster Thinline body modded to fit '69 pickup styling. Why '69 specifically? Because according to Fender, the '70s thinlines were H-H, not S-S. Also '69 was the first year they even came out.

Of course, to be fair, the entire thing, aside from the scratchplate, is purely pre-built stock. I think I mentioned last time that this is a kit-build right? Please correct me if I'm wrong, I'm too lazy to check right now.

Next week's going to be fun, though. Might actually get to first assembly stage of putting the bridge and the string ferrules in, and then, who knows, maybe I'll get to start finishing the damn thing. Either way, it's been 3 months well spent, I'll tell you that. And that's not even accounting for making the brand new nut that's going to be required for this!

Maybe I can set up the pickups on the 6 string (which I'll make from the original kit's body) in such a way that combining them has the same effect as on a J-Bass, or the Red Special. Hell, maybe I could do that on the Sunset Fade. Options, options, options.

#takosader's ramblings part 4!!! #fender telecaster #telecaster thinline #guitar #guitar building #fender jazz bass #i'm not joking by the way #this has actually taken 3 months so far #i've gone through college exams while building this thing #and they went quicker than the period between trips up to my aunt's place to work on this thing #maybe i should dye the headstock red instead of spraying it in surf green #could work better than the madness of priming then waiting 20 mins then repeating that about 5 or 6 times

[insomniamamma]

Indulgence: Ezra x f!reader

A/N: initially written for @littleferal's writer's iron chef. I had to polish it up and expand it a little because I can't help myself. The prompt was "taking a bath together." I didn't quite have time to work the second prompt in, and I don't really know if it was something Artichoke would say. Also Cee is not really in this one. She is away at school in the Ephrate. Takes place after Fancy but before Christmas In The Ephrate. May run concurrent with parts of Seasonal. But it can stand alone.

Warnings: None. Really this is soft soft soft.

          Ezra is up early and moving around. This is nothing new. He's always been an earlier riser, awake and chipper no matter what local dawn is doing. Sounds and voices come through the bedroom wall. Nothing new, Ezra is friendly with the neighbors, someone comes along the road, gravel and rutted, and he'll call them over for coffee and a bit of gab. There are some other sounds that threaten to wake you further, thumps and bumps and the whine of some sort of power tool, but you find yourself slipping back under, the lure of more sleep stronger than your curiosity. Ez is probably puttering around, modifying the dropper.

          The house is slowly becoming a proper home. The three of you agreed on a standard colony dropper kit. Nothing too fancy. This is what we make of it, Ezra had said, it'll be hard work, but we're no strangers to that. No return boosters, just enough fuel in the tanks to guide the drop, to park her on your property. The dropper is built to be converted into a shelter. Empty fuel tanks converted become cisterns, cooling system pumps now draw water from the river. The RTG provides power to supplement the solar kit, and also warmth, heating for the winter, hot water in a near endless supply, it'll still be pissing out power when our grandkids are old and grey, said Ez.

         A prickly kiss to your temple wakes you. You stretch and slit your eyes open.

         "Hi," you say, a yawn drawing out the word.          "Hi yourself," says Ezra.          "Is it still morning?" You ask. Ezra smiles. You blink at the light coming through the window. It's taken some getting used to, the weather, the light, passage of time measured by the rising and setting of the local Sun and Moons,Greater and Lesser.          "Close to local noon," says Ezra, "You would sleep all day like a cat in a sunbeam if I let you."          "Hmph. It's not like we've got anywhere to be."          "No, but there is only so long I can be without your company," says Ezra, and taps the tip of your nose with his finger, knowing it will make you scrunch your face in frustration.          "Selfish."          "Perhaps," He takes your hand in his and gives you a little shake.          "Up you get, Prickle, I've got a surprise for you. Close your eyes." You reluctantly leave your blanket nest and let him lead you, his hand warm against the small of your back. You hear the creak of hinges, and then a warm wall of steam hits you, welcome on your chilled skin. Farhaven is colder than you're used to. Colder than the benches. But there is rain and snow and seasons, things you were starved for without even knowing.          "Open up those pretty peepers, Artichoke," he murmurs, nuzzled into your neck, his  lips brushing the tender skin below your ear.          "What the--I thought you sold the engine skirts for scrap!"          "An omission on my part," says Ezra, eyes crinkled and dancing with mirth. "The water's nice and hot. Hop in."

         A proper bathtub, fashioned from the cargo dropper's engine skirts, ugly welds but it holds water and you slip in with a groan that makes Ezra grin and close your eyes. Such indulgence was unimaginable on your home world and on the stations you've frequented. But here? There's a river outside your front door. Water clean and cool and good to drink. Your family back on Falnost would lose their collective minds at such waste.          "You like it?"          "Are you insane? You can practically swim in this fucking thing. I don't even wanna know what you traded for this."          "Jamie's oldest is apprenticed to a smith in town," says Ezra.          "We help with the Jessonroot harvest?"          "We help with the Jessonroot harvest."          "Worth it," you say and open your eyes, "You gonna get in or what?"          "Thought you'd never ask."

#ezra x f!reader #ezra x f!reader w/cee #prickle 'verse #prospect AU #lissie's iron chef #expanded on that submission

[garfield-mug]

So, okay. It's a bit complicated, but if you're talking standard DnD system mechanics (no modifications or homebrew), this is how dice rolling works (abridged version).

So when playing Dungeons and Dragons, the standard dice set is 7 pieces, each with its own function(s). We're only gonna stick to the d20, the twenty-sided die. A d20 is usually rolled for ability checks and saving throws, though there are instances where it can be up to the DM's discretion what it's used for (that depends on the DM, the campaign, what mechanics are being used, etc).

So, for example, your character really wants to get to a particular room in a castle (doing some snooping on the DL). They're in a part of the castle they're not supposed to be, they know this, and they want to move down a hallway to get to that room. The DM would then ask the player to roll a d20 for a stealth check.

The outcome of whatever the character is trying to accomplish is determined by whatever number is rolled by that die AND ALSO by the discretion of the DM.

Back to the example: Player rolls a 14. Not terrible, but not great. The DM decides what degree of success or failure they have.

A natural 20 is pretty much a definite success, especially when you add on ability modifiers. A natural 1 is pretty much a definite failure.

Now, while the dice rule a lot, ultimately, the DM rules all. They can make decisions that aren't necessarily in agreement with the dice if it'll keep gameplay fun or further the plot of the story arc the characters are in now. The dice aren't the end-all-be-all, they're more just to add flavor, a bit of spice, if you will.

So now we have that down, back to your original question.

I think having a character in a story roll a natural 20 CAN be cliche, but it's not always cliche. Sometimes a natural 20 is just how it shakes out, sometimes a natural 1 is how it goes, too.

Ultimately, much like the DM, the outcome of the story is up to the writer and what they're trying to convey (I do think more natural 1s could be used because they further the Drama™ but that's just my personal opinion). It's up to you, if you want your characters in your fic (and their characters) to end on a high or if you want to see them grapple with massive defeat.

I hope that makes sense and answers your question! @munsonology

[of-solitude-past-and-present]

I don’t think I’ve given a comprehensive description of him yet, and this has been sitting in a word document for a little bit, so I’m just gonna go ahead and let this out of the vault.

His hair is about the same hairstyle (and same color ofc), but messier and cut in a more choppy, uneven manner (because he has to do it himself). His eyes are the same, except he has slit pupils. His tail is a pale tan, the color of the sand. A pattern of slightly darker brown symmetrical splotches run down its length. The scales are keeled.

He has a pair of horns (which are actually are not horns at all! They’re more akin to modified scales) that stick out from his forehead, at about his hairline. They’re angled so they point almost directly upwards, so he’s not accidentally stabbing you with them or anything. (That would be hilarious, though.) They’re a bit like oni horns, except oni horns are usually more perfectly cylindrical AND have a slight curve, whereas his are… a little more complicated, and lack any curve at all. Here’s a picture of a desert horned viper (the snake he’s based on) for reference. He also has a forked tongue.

Oh! I almost forgot. Obviously, he has fangs. I considered giving him those hook-shaped fangs that actual venomous snakes have, but I figured it would be a dental nightmare considering all of the human teeth he’s got in there. Even if the fangs fold back (as actual viper fangs do, and his would have to as well in order for it to work at all) it would look (and be) kinda fucked up, anatomically speaking. So, his fangs are more like those of a standard vampire, but pretty thin, more like needles and less like a sabertooth tiger.

He has claws too! The nails are naturally dark, almost black. As you might recall from Hidden in the Sands, he tore out Sanad’s throat with those. Very sharp.

He’s much bigger than in canon because I said so. As I stated in a previous ask, his tail is about 15 feet long and as a whole, he’s about 17-18 feet long. Since he has to survive on his own out in the unforgiving desert, he’s also pretty muscular. Surviving in an environment as harsh as the desert comes with other consequences. He has a number of scars, mostly around his upper body (where he isn’t protected by his scales). He’s got one or two on his lower body, but his scales are hard enough that they were just relatively small, shallow wounds.

This isn't so much appearance as a little fun fact. A friend of mine (the same one I did the rp with that started the naga scara au) brought up piercings, and eventually we got to talking about snake bite piercings and Kunikuzushi. He might have had a set of snake bite piercings long ago. Now that he’s not a functioning member of any society, he’s lost them and the holes have sealed up so as to be unnoticeable. Just a thought.

#naga scara

[wild-karrde]

One Step at a Time - Part 3

Master List | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: We are OFF AND RUNNING WITH THIS ONE! As always, thank you to the truly outstanding @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this for me! :)

Chapter Rating: G

Warnings: none

Word Count: 6.8k words

“Arni, can you hand me the wrench with the ten mil head on it?”

Chuckles felt the cool metal of a tool press into his palm from where it was extended outside of the maintenance access panel he was wedged in. Bringing the wrench up to his face, he sighed. “This is the five millimeter, kid. I need the ten.”

“The ten is going to be too big.”

Chuckles wiggled so that he could peer between his feet where the Twi’lek was crouched, eyes locked on a datapad that was displaying the ship’s schematics.

“Ten mil is standard for these types of bolts,” he huffed. “Now can I get the wrench I need please?”

“Ten mil would be standard if this was a Republic freighter. Corellian ships tend to have smaller bolts.”

Chuckles narrowed his eyes at the Twi’lek, whose gaze was still diverted down to their datapad, clearly considering the matter resolved. Sighing, Chuck popped the penlight he was using back between his teeth to illuminate the small space, reaching up for the bolt he was trying to loosen. The head of the wrench slotted over it perfectly, and he gave it an experimental twist, feeling the bolt break its torque.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered around the penlight clamped between his teeth. He didn’t miss the small smile that pulled at the corner of Arni’s mouth from where they were crouched. They still didn’t look up at him though.

At least the kid’s not gonna rub it in my face, I guess.

Sweat dribbled down his temple, and he wiped his forehead as the panel he was finally working on came loose, showering him in dust. He spluttered, wiping at his face more. “Alright kid, you got the hook-ups I need?” Arni pressed a cable into his hand as he repositioned the penlight between his teeth.

“You’re looking for a port labeled ‘FLT CPU DATA C’,” Arni called out. “That should give me access to the board where the ship’s identifying information is stored.”

Chuckles easily found the port, plugging the cable’s connector into place. “You’re all set,” he said, laying the penlight down next to his head and folding his hands on his chest as he waited for Arni to find what they were looking for. “They teach you all this at the temple?” he asked.

Arni looked up from the datapad finally, their brows furrowed. “No.”

“Well, where’d you learn it?”

“The archives. Spent a lot of time reading in there. Then talked to the mechanics in the garage a lot or the pilots if I could find them. There was this one trooper that flew a modified Omicron-class attack shuttle, and he loved to talk to me about the ship, telling me all the mods he’d done. He originally showed me how to do this, and most ships are pretty similar when you get down to their guts, so we should be able to do the same for this freighter.”

“You like all that tech stuff?”

“I like seeing how things work, and then making them work better if I can,” Arni said quietly, punching away at the datapad. “Even invented a few things during the war.”

“Like what?”

“A mega-popper. Could take out any clankers within a quarter-klick radius. Just had to make sure troopers were shielded when it went off.”

Chuckles’s eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “I’m almost sad I never saw you around my hangar. I would have let you go to work on my fighter.”

“What did you fly?”

“A Z-95.”

Arni wrinkled their nose, and Chuckles furrowed his brow. “What’s that look about?”

“Nothing.”

Chuckles propped himself up on his elbows, making sure to not smack his head on the strut in front of him. “No, you made a face about my ship.”

Arni’s eyes flicked up to meet his before they shrugged, focusing back down on the datapad. “They’re just a little…dated is all.”

“Hey, that ship saved my ass multiple times and is an outstanding piece of engineering.”

“So outstanding they didn’t even put a spot for an astromech in,” Arni muttered under their breath.

“OI! I heard that.”

“It’s true though.”

“Listen kid, I don’t need a droid to help tell me how to fly my kriffin’ ship. And as a matter of fact-“

“All done,” Arni interrupted him. “You’re good to disconnect now.”

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Chuckles grumbled, lowering back onto his shoulder blades and replacing the penlight between his teeth as he disconnected Arni’s cable and replaced the panel that covered the access to the ship’s flight computer. As he wriggled back out, Nita looked up from where she was seated, munching on some more of her fried snacks, giggling at Chuckles. “Your face is a mess,” she teased.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Chuckles snarked back before lifting the hem of his shirt and wiping his face on it.

“What’s your tattoo of?” Arni asked from behind him, staring at the skin where Chuck’s shirt had ridden up as he’d wiped his face.

The clone pilot sighed. “If I tell you, you’re not allowed to make fun of it.”

“I won’t.”

Chuckles cast a skeptical look over his shoulder at the Twi’lek, who stared back at him innocently. Sighing, he pulled his shirt up and over his shoulders, exposing his entire back. “It’s the circuit board layout of the flight computer of my Z-95.”

Arni leaned forward, studying the black markings that wove across the left side of his back, tracking over his shoulder blade and tracing his spine. The tattoo only took up one half of his back, but it had been a real pain to sit for. He’d been a stupid cadet, half drunk at the time and certain this was a good idea, which had only been fueled by some of his batchmates’ enthusiastic insistence. He’d clamped his teeth together so hard he thought he’d crack them as the needle had buzzed across each rib, but he was no quitter. A few hours later, he’d made it, hustling back to the barracks before he violently vomited, although he couldn’t be sure whether it was due to the booze in his system or sitting for the tattoo. Over time, he’d come to appreciate it more, and he felt a certain protectiveness over its significance as Nita walked around behind him to scrutinize it with Arni.

He felt a thin finger poke along one trace. “This layout is much better than the original Z-95 flight computer boards. There’s a lot more redundancy built into the system’s circuits.” The finger poked between two ribs, and he jumped, pulling his shirt back down.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. Are we done critiquing the design of my ship?”

Arni shrugged. “I said this version was better.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I’ll take that.”

“Are you ticklish?” Nita asked, reaching up to poke him between the same two ribs Arni had. Chuckles leapt backwards instinctively, and the little Pantoran’s eyes glittered with mischief. “YOU ARE!”

“Am not! I just don’t like getting poked in my internal organs, like any other being,” Chuck fibbed, dancing out of reach of Nita’s tiny blue fingers. “Alright, that’s enough.” Tucking his shirt back in his pants, he scooped Nita up and dangled her out in front of him by her ankles as she swung back and forth squealing with laughter. “Arni, are we good with the ship’s signature now?”

The Twi’lek was working to suppress a smile as they watched their tiny counterpart dangle from Chuckles’s hands. “Should be. You can check it on the main display. I’ve got the original recorded to compare.”

Chuckles held Nita up so her face was even with his. “Alright, if I put you down, no more poking. Deal?”

She grinned at him, her silver hair hanging loosely towards the floor.

“Nita… “

“Ok fine. No more poking.”

Releasing one of her ankles, he extended a pinky with his free hand, which the little girl pouted at for a moment, crossing her arms. “You want down or not?” Chuckles asked. 

Nita huffed in defeat, accepting the terms of the pinky promise reluctantly.  Chuck nodded, righting her and settling her on one hip as he strode to the flight console. He pressed a few buttons to bring up the ship’s main status readout, eyes searching for the signature on the display. Arni held out the datapad with the original signature for comparison.

“That looks successfully scrambled to me,” Chuck said approvingly. “Well done, kid.” He held out a palm to Arni, who hesitantly slapped it after a few seconds.

“Now what?” the young Twi’lek asked.

Chuck slid into the pilot seat, balancing Nita on one knee as Arni hopped into the seat next to him. “Now, we find a place to restock.” He punched up the planetary coordinate system, bringing the display of nearby planets up. He had the sudden realization that he’d never really looked at where these coordinates were in relation to other worlds. He had always known that this place was somewhere in the mid-rim, but really nothing more than that. Punching a few buttons, he brought up a list of worlds within a rotation’s proximity with a hyperdrive.

Shouldn’t do a Republic world since those are definitely under the Empire's control now. Nothing Separatist either since I’m pretty sure a clone will stand out there. Somewhere off the beaten path where the Empire won’t be rushing to drop troops in…

His fingers flicked past world after world until they paused over NaJedha. Arni’s brows furrowed.

“Isn’t that just a crystalline world? I didn’t think it had much of a settlement.”

Chuckles grinned, bringing up a small holo of the planet and expanding it. “You’re right, it doesn’t. Its moon does though.” He tapped the small orbiting satellite, bringing it up. “Jedha’s got a few small settlements, but the best one is in Jedha City. That’s got a pretty nice market from what I hear. A few of the pilots from my wing would hit that place up on the way back to Coruscant because there’s supposedly a few shops there that sell fantastic jogan sticky buns. Always heard it wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis, and not a lot of its hyperspace lanes are in use anymore. That’s just what we need.”

“But we don’t have any credits.”

“We don’t. But I’m sure there’s a barter system. This freighter pilot had a few things worth trading that I dug up last night. He’s got some jewelry and spare parts that we could probably trade for food. And if not, I could always take a temp job as a pilot until we’ve got enough credits to stock up and get out of here.”

“What if they don’t need any pilots?” Arni pressed.

“There’s always someone that needs a pilot,” Chuckles joked with more confidence than he actually had. At least I hope so, because I’m not really good at much else. “We’ll figure it out, kid. No worries.”

Chuckles’s words did little to unfurl the wrinkle between Arni’s brow as they sat back in the co-pilot seat, but they didn’t say anything. Chuckles glanced between the two of them. “Alright, now we need to find you two something to wear that will help you blend in. Can either of you sew?”

They both stared at him blankly.

“Ponchos it is then.”

---

A few hours later, the freighter hopped out of hyperspace near Jedha’s gravity well. Chuckles and Arni immediately scanned the area, and Chuckles breathed a sigh of relief to see only a handful of freighters and transports in orbit around the planet rather than a full naval armada. Let’s hope our luck holds for now.

“Alright, you kids get dressed.”

Arni nodded, hopping out of their seat and heading towards the rear of the ship. Chuckles had been impressed with his own sewing, managing to fashion a rudimentary tunic for Arni to go under one of the ponchos he’d made and stitching a very ill-fitting shirt for Nita to wear under hers in place of her silver Jedi tunic. Arni helped Nita dress before changing themselves as Chuckles piloted the ship down to the outskirts of Jedha City. As they drifted over the desert, Chuck paused over what appeared to be a statue poking out of the dust.

Is that… a Jedi?

A cloaked figure wielding what was unmistakably a lightsaber lay on its side in the dust, half buried by the wind and sands over time. Chuckles’s brow furrowed. “Arni, is that a Jedi statue down there in the sand?”

Arni leaned over his shoulder, peering down. “Yeah. This is a holy place and is thought to be the spiritual home of the Jedi Order. Didn’t you know that?”

“Does it sound like I knew that, Arni?”

“The moon is literally called Jedha, and Jedha City is also known as the Holy City.”

Chuckles glowered at the Twi’lek, who was staring at him as if he had forgotten how to count to five without his fingers and toes. “Alright, oh Fount of Knowledge, go get Nita strapped in and then come up here and buckle up so you can keep telling me what an idiot I am while I land this bucket of bolts.”

Arni shrugged, heading back to strap Nita in before returning to the co-pilot seat and pulling the flight harness over their thin torso. The Twi’lek’s shoulders sagged slightly under the belts, their head drooping as they picked quietly at their fingernails. Chuckles felt a twinge of remorse.

“Hey,” he said quietly

Arni looked up at him.

“Here’s the thing. When they were training us to be soldiers, the long-necks weren’t really concerned with us knowing things other than how to kill stuff efficiently, and in my case fly. I know military tactics and how to maintain a blaster and how long it takes my internal organs to shut down if I get spaced, but not a lot else. So from now on, if there’s an important piece of information, just assume I don’t know it. Even if I do, I could use a reminder. So, you tell me everything you know, and I’ll get better at asking if you know stuff when I need information. Deal?”

Arni nodded wordlessly.

“Arni, look at me.”

 Brown eyes met his amber ones, still filled with an uncertainty that he couldn’t source.

“We’re figuring out how to work as a team still, so there are going to be bumps. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just got snippy. So from now on, I’ll ask questions, and you tell me things, and we’ll be better for it, yeah?”

“Yeah ok.”

He reached over, placing his large hand between Arni’s lekku and giving their head a gentle wiggle. “Alright. Good. Now let’s set her down over there by those buildings. They should shelter this thing from the sand and wind a bit.”

The ship set down with a loud thud that jolted the three of them, and the engines roared like a dying bantha as Arni and Chuckles powered everything down. Chuckles unstrapped himself before standing from his seat and going to the back to unbuckle Nita. She hopped out of her seat, pulling her hood up over the neat set of twin buns that sat on her head. Chuckles had struggled with her hair and the ribbons for about fifteen minutes before admitting defeat and handing them off to Arni to do. To the Twi’lek’s credit, the buns were neat and even, and the silver ribbons were tied firmly but beautifully, dangling down the side of Nita’s head and framing her face.

I’m gonna need to learn how to do that at some point. Can’t ask Arni to keep doing everything I can’t.

Chuckles slipped on the blue scarf and dark grey cloak he’d found, pulling up his hood before reaching down and taking Nita’s small hand. “Alright, we stick together. No running off or wandering away. Once we get commlinks for everyone, it’ll be a little bit less pressure, but for now, we stick close. If you see anything that seems off, you squeeze my hand.”

“What might be off?” Nita asked, looking up at him with wide golden eyes.

“Anyone that’s watching us too carefully or if we’re being followed.”

Nita’s eyes widened impossibly further, looking slightly alarmed.

“It’s unlikely to happen, “Arni reassured her. “But better safe than sorry.”

Nita nodded, appearing to accept the explanation. Chuckles gave Arni a grateful grin before reaching up and slapping the button to open the hatch. The chill of Jedha’s air immediately slammed into them, the wind whipping and tugging at their ponchos. Chuckles shuddered at the cold, pulling the scarf around his neck up and over his nose, covering the bottom half of his face. He slid the satchel of tradeable items he’d found in the freighter over his shoulder, taking a deep breath to release some of the tension he could feel accruing in his shoulders.

One step at a time.

The three of them made their way quickly inside the city’s outer walls, walking down quiet avenues that had a few people out and about but were mostly deserted as the evening approached. Chuckles wove his way towards the city’s center, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone carrying shopping bags or making their way home with parcels of purchases. After about ten minutes of walking, he started to hear voices and the bustle of a crowd. Got to be getting close. Soon, the twinkle of street lights began to warm the walkway and the smell of spices and fried food wafted towards them, and Chuck felt his mouth water at the smells. He’d hardly eaten that day, not even thinking to find time between scrambling the ship’s signature, piloting, and sewing, and now his stomach was doing an excellent job of reminding him of its neglect. Chuckles guided the two younglings towards the source of the smells, hoping he’d find what they needed.

He'd been in busy market places before, but what struck him the most about the one they found in the center of Jedha City was how quiet the place was. Sure, there was the normal bustle and echo of human voices bartering or exchanging information, but it was all muted. The cheeriness that he’d been accustomed to in the markets he’d visited had seemingly evaporated in this one, replaced by an apprehension, and as he turned his head, he immediately identified the reason. A patrol of clone troopers was walking the perimeter of the market, their helmets swiveling back and forth as they passed each stall gripping E-11 blasters in their hands.

Not clone troopers. Stormtroopers.

Chuck’s grip on Nita tightened, and he dipped his head, pulling his hood down a little lower as they passed, his mind racing.

We shouldn’t have come here. We should go.

He took a deep steadying breath before stooping and picking up Nita, who tucked her face against his cheek inside his hood. She was shaking against him.

“Shhhh…I’ve got you honey. Don’t cry. It’s alright,” he soothed, rubbing her back with his gloved hand. “Don’t cry. They haven’t seen us. We’re alright. Just need to blend in.”

“There’s only one patrol,” Arni whispered to him. “I think we can do it.”

He kept his head down but met the Twi’lek’s gaze. Arni’s jaw was set determinedly, but he could see some of the fear starting to creep back in.

We don’t have a choice. We don’t have enough food to make it to another planet. It has to be here. We can make it another rotation at most with the food we have, but that’s it.

“We can do this, Chuckles,” Arni repeated, and he glanced at the youngling again, who nodded. He reached out, taking Arni’s hand with his free one.

“Alright. Eyes peeled kid.”

Arni nodded again, and the two of them quickly made their way into the market, eyes scanning the stalls for supplies. Eventually, the Twi’lek pulled him towards a more secluded corner of the market with smaller stalls. The prices were a little steeper since the vendors were smaller, but they were out of the way of the stormtrooper patrol. It also got them closer to a loudspeaker that had been blaring. Until that point, Chuckles hadn’t been able to discern what it was saying, but now, the words were clear as the message repeated.

“Citizens of the New Galactic Empire. Ensure you stop by an Imperial security station to receive your chain codes and trade your Republic credits for Imperial ones.”

“Pain in my ass, that,” grumbled a female Weequay at the stall Chuckles was standing in front of.

“Yeah?” Chuckles asked, trying to keep any waver out of his voice. “What’s all that about?”

“Control. What else?” the Weequay muttered. “They want to be able to track us. Can’t scratch your ass without one. And frankly, this whole credit swap has made things more of a mess.”

“I’ll bet,” Chuckles agreed, trying to be amicable. “Would you be open to barter instead?”

The Weequay looked at him, narrowing her eyes for a moment before scoffing. “Didn’t you just hear? Everything’s in Imperial credits now. Unless you’ve got those, I can’t help you, pal.”

Chuckles sighed, shifting Nita on his hip. “Don’t have any credits, so we’re making do. Know anyone that might be open to trading?”

“You born yesterday? We all need money to survive.”

Nita turned her face to look at the woman, and the Weequay’s gnarled features softened slightly at the sight of the little girl. Her eyes darted down to Arni, who was standing quietly next to Chuckles, their eyes scanning the area before meeting the Weequay’s and giving her a small smile. The woman sighed.

“If you head towards the east side of town, there are some religious folk there that might be able to help you, but I’m afraid you’ll have no luck here without credits. We’re all scrambling to make our way in this new world order.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

Chuckles bowed his head. “I understand, and I appreciate the direction. It’s better than nothing.” Nita tapped his shoulder, and he nodded, setting her down and taking her hand again. Nita waved goodbye at the woman before turning to go.

“Wait.”

Chuck paused, turning back to find the woman rummaging in a crate sitting next to her that contained miscellaneous items. After a few moments, she seemed to find what she was looking for, leaning over the counter and holding out a small doll to Nita. Chuck’s heart stuttered as he realized it was a clone trooper doll.

“Take this sweetie. One of the legs is a bit bent, so I can’t sell it.”

Nita shrank back at the sight of the doll, but the woman came around from behind her booth, crouching down to eye level with the little girl and leaning in to speak quietly to her. “I know they seem scary when you see them now, love. But I promise those men are heroes. They were different before the Empire. They fought to preserve the Republic, protecting towns like the one I lived in before coming here, and I’d like to think there’s still good in them, even now. One of my good friends during the war was a captain in the 28th Combat Wing, Crater. He’d stop through for jogan fruit sticky buns on his way back to base. He was a good soldier, and a better man.”

Nita reached out hesitantly, before finally taking the doll. Chuckles’s heart was slamming against his ribcage at the mention of his wing and his former commanding officer. She knew Crater? As the woman straightened, giving him a smile, he searched frantically for any hint of recognition in her eyes, fearful she’d realized what he was, but found none. Does she know he died? That he was a hero to the end? Or does she think he’s one of them now? 

Nita cradled the doll against her chest, oblivious to Chuckles’s internal turmoil. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“I hope you and your father and sibling are able to find what you need.” She leveled her piercing gaze at Chuckles again. “East end. You’ll see them.”

He nodded wordlessly, trying to keep himself steady as his mind raced, not even registering the parental title the woman had used. Crater knew her. I knew he’d come through here, but I’d never thought… I didn’t think I’d find someone that knew him, really knew him, not just his number, but by his name. His feet carried him forward automatically, his toes dragging in the dust as Nita and Arni kept pace with him. They managed to slip out of the market without bumping into the stormtroopers again, and Chuckles felt some of the tension in his chest ease with every step they put between themselves and the Imperials.

As they approached the east edge of town, foot traffic picked back up. Chuckles turned to whisper to Arni to keep their eyes open just as Nita slipped from his grasp.

“TOOKA!” she squealed, taking off towards where a striped tooka was staring at her from atop a crate. The creature saw her coming, and after issuing a hiss, darted off into the crowd with the tiny Pantoran hot on its heels.

“Nita! Hold up!” The little girl disappeared from view, and Chuckles felt his heart leap into his throat as he lost sight of her. “NITA!” Reaching down, he gripped Arni’s hand tightly as he wove his way through the crowd, desperately looking for a flash of silver hair or golden eyes. He heard a high pitched squeal and broke into a sprint, pulling Arni along behind him. The two of them tore around a corner, skidding to a halt. 

They’d entered a small square that was less crowded than the main street they’d just been on. To their right, a small group was gathering, and there, in front of them, sitting on her rear was Nita with the tooka nowhere in sight. A figure carrying a walking stick was crouching down to her level, reaching out towards her face. Chuckles’s heart stuttered. 

“NITA!” 

She turned to look at him, her expression panicked, and he tore over to her, reaching for the blaster at his hip. His scarf had fallen down, revealing his face, but he could hardly be bothered to care as he raced towards Nita. “Get away from her!” 

The figure stood, meeting his gaze, and Chuckles was immediately stilled at the sight of the man’s milky eyes. He’s blind. He paused, taking in the man’s black and red robes, clearly religious garb, although from what denomination, Chuckles couldn’t be certain. Must be the religious folk that vendor was talking about. The man gave him a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, my friend. I got in the little one’s way.”

“It’s my fault,” Nita said, her eyes casting downwards. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I’d argue I never look where I’m going,” the blind monk teased before leaning down and extending a thin hand out to Nita. “Come, young one. There’s no reason to be sad. It was an accident.” Nita was studying the monk, her head tilted at an angle, and Chuckles noted the monk mirrored her for a moment, before his smile widened. “Nita was it?” 

A tingle worked its way up Chuckles’s spine as Nita wrapped her small hand around the monk’s, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Gently, the monk pulled her doll from the dirt, brushing dust from it before placing it back in her arms.The man turned back to them, his unseeing gaze seeming to focus on Arni. “And who might you be?” 

“Arni,” the Twi’lek replied quietly. Chuckles felt their grip tighten on his hand, and he squeezed back reassuringly. 

“And I’m Chuckles,” he said, stepping in between the two of them, extending a hand out. The monk didn’t reach back, instead, slightly bowing his head in acknowledgement. “It’s nice to meet you, travelers. My name is Chirrut Îmwe. What brings you to our city?”

“Just passing through. Heard we might find some folks able to help us get some food and supplies. We don’t have any credits, but I have items to barter, or I’m a pilot if there’s one needed around,” Chuckles said quickly, and the monk tilted his head at him, appraising him despite not being able to see him. The tingle up his spine increased. 

“Well, I’m certain we can come up with something.” He paused, his gaze seeming to soften. “You certainly sound weary, Chuckles. Might I offer you some respite in our temple?” 

“We’re not religious,” Chuckles replied. “I wouldn’t want to…uh…intrude.”

Chirrut grinned. “Our temple is open to all, my friend.”

“And what sort of temple is this?”

“The Temple of the Kyber.” 

Chuckles heard Arni gasp next to him, and he tilted his head down to look at the youngling with a questioning look. Arni’s eyes darted from the monk to Chuckles before they spoke quietly. “Kyber crystals are what we-I-I mean…the Jedi use in their lightsabers.”  

“The young one is well studied,” Chirrut said gently, his smile widening. “We study the will of the Force and do our best to interpret it. It’s not an easy task.”

“Is that allowed still?” Chuckles asked. “Since the Jedi were traitors to the Republic?” he tried to keep his voice neutral, but just saying the words almost made his stomach revolt. 

The monk gave him a knowing look. “The Empire has not stopped our practice as of yet. They have barely even left forces to patrol, but we’re hardly causing as many problems for them as some of our neighboring worlds. We are not warriors or even Force sensitive, at least not in the same ways that the Jedi were, so I think they consider us less of a threat. For now.” He squatted down again, turning his head back and forth as if he could see the younglings. Chuckles slipped his hands protectively over their shoulders. “Not all of us are blessed to possess such gifts as the Jedi,” the monk said quietly, extending his hands out to Arni and Nita. In each palm, he held a small jogan candy that he had seemingly pulled out of thin air. The two kids looked up at Chuckles, asking wordlessly for permission. Chirrut’s eyes tilted up to meet his gaze. “I mean you and the younglings no harm, Chuckles. Only to ensure your safe passage and sanctuary should you require it.” 

Chuckles didn’t respond, instead nodding at the two children. They both stepped forward, taking the candy from Chirrut’s hands and mumbling their thanks. He smiled at both of them before standing. “Why don’t you come with me? Only for a little while so that you may rest while we see what we can do about getting you those supplies,” he said. Sensing Chuckles’s hesitation, he stepped forward so that no one else would hear his words. “You’ll be safe here tonight. You have my word.” 

Glancing down at the two younglings watching him intently, Chuckles could see the wear of the journey on their faces. He considered it for another few seconds, his eyes darting to the monk’s face one more time.

There are so few we can trust right now, but he seems to be one of them. And Maker knows, we need someone like that.

His fingers drifted away from the scarf around his neck, letting it rest below his chin and leaving his face exposed. “Alright.”

Chirrut grinned before reaching down and taking Nita’s hand. “Excellent. Come with me.” As they passed through the square, Arni paused, turning to look at the crowd that was gathering near a fountain at the far end. 

“What’s going on over there?” 

“Would you like to see?” Chirrut asked. Arni nodded, and somehow, the monk seemed to know, turning and leading them towards where the crowd had gathered. As they approached, Chuckles could see a soft, flickering light being reflected on the sandstone wall. The crowd was ebbing and flowing, some people arriving as others left. A rather large group departed at once, and Chuckles could see through the gap that they left that the fountain was lined with small candles that were flickering in the evening light. A human woman dressed in similar garb to Chirrut was handing out candles to people, lighting them for them, and speaking to them before guiding them towards the fountain. 

“What is this, Chirrut?” Chuckles asked quietly. 

“A memorial to honor those lost in the war.” 

“Isn’t this dangerous?” the clone pilot asked under his breath. 

“Those that come do not leave specific messages. The candle is the only evidence of their presence. We hope that remembering those that we lost will help ease their passing and our progression without them. It’s a humble memorial, but it’s better than nothing.” Looking down, the monk addressed the two younglings. “Would you like to light a candle?” Arni and Nita both nodded. Chirrut carefully took Nita’s hand, guiding her towards the other monk, who smiled down at her, handing her a candle and lighting it for her. “May you find what you seek and honor those you love as they take their place in the Force,” she said quietly. Nita nodded at her and waited patiently as Arni received a candle as well. Arni looked back at Chuckles, who gave them a reassuring smile. Taking that as permission, Arni led Nita to the fountain, and the two of them knelt down, placing their candles. Nita clutched her doll to her chest as Arni slipped their hand into her unoccupied one.

Remembrance by @ninjigma

Chirrut stood back with Chuckles watching them. “It saddens me that those so young have experienced such loss, but I sense they also have gained something in having you in their lives, Chuckles.” 

Chuckles huffed. “Hardly. I have no idea what I’m doing.” He lowered his voice. “And somehow, I think you know what they see every time they look at my face.” 

Chirrut hummed quietly. “There are many faces like yours Chuckles, and yet none at all. I doubt they see you in that way.” 

“I hope not.” 

They stood in silence for a few moments before Chuckles broke the silence. “So is this memorial for Republic soldiers that enlisted? I doubt anyone’s here mourning clones.” 

Chirrut shrugged, resting his hands on the butt of his walking stick. “We do not ask who they come to mourn or what side they were on.” 

“Some were on the wrong side though,” Chuckles muttered. “Killing innocents and terrorizing the galaxy.” He huffed. “I suppose none of it matters now anyway. It was all for nothing.”

Chirrut turned to him with a sad smile. “Everyone thinks they’re on the right side in a war, that their reasoning is the most righteous. Even if they’re wrong, their lives mean something to someone, and that’s why people come here. To mourn, to speak with their loved ones, to seek guidance in some cases. Which are you, Chuckles?” 

The question took Chuckles aback. “I suppose a little of everything,” he replied after a few moments. “I mourn my brothers that I lost throughout the war, the ones that were forced to turn against the ones they served with. And now, with the galaxy in the state it is, I’d love for someone to point me in the right direction.” He turned to look at the monk. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of that sort of advice, would you, Preacher?” 

Chirrut chuckled quietly. “I’m afraid there’s no advice I can give to set you on a specific path, my friend. You are correct that everything is shifting right now. It’s apparent in the Force to those that study it, but such is life, to always be in flux.”

“It feels more like a bomb went off and everyone’s ears are still ringing,” Chuckles muttered. 

“So we all get through it together,” Chirrut replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re a soldier. What would you do in such a scenario?” 

Chuckles thought for a moment. “Search for survivors. Take stock of the situation. Determine the best path forward for everyone, prioritizing those most vulnerable.” 

“I’d say that’s a widely applicable strategy.”

The clone pondered what he said, his eyes resting back on the two younglings kneeling before the fountain. “Maybe. But they’re so…I don’t know. Fragile? No, that’s not the right word.”

“You feel an obligation to them,” Chirrut offered. 

“I do. They weren’t meant to fight in the war, and yet it found its way to them. And now, they…they’re not safe. And I don’t know how to keep them from harm.”

“You’re already doing it. They’re here rather than among the dead on Coruscant.”

Chuckles looked at him again, but the monk was watching the two younglings, the candlelight reflecting off of his milky irises. 

“Would they be safe here?” Chuckles asked quietly. “If they were to stay in the temple? It’s not…it’s not the same, but it’d be a place where they’d be closer to their own people.”

Chirrut sighed heavily. “As much as I wish I could tell you they would be, I don’t think it’s true. The Empire hasn’t reached into our temple yet, but I have to believe it’s only a matter of time. Once the more resistant worlds are subjugated, I imagine we’ll have more stormtroopers on our streets. And we’re not their people.” He turned, poking a finger in the middle of Chuck’s chest. “You are.”

“I’m…I’m just a pilot.”

“You’re their pilot. I can feel the way they look to you for guidance and the way you care for them. Right now, those relationships should be treasured above everything, similarities be damned.” He smiled, turning back to the younglings. “No, I think they’ve found their people, Chuckles, and so have you. They’re your family, and you know what’s best for them, whether you believe that or not.” 

Chuckles sighed, his eyes drifting back to the kids. “I guess I’ll just have to figure it out then.”

“One step at a time,” the monk replied quietly. Chuckles’s head snapped up at the repeated phrase, but Chirrut didn’t meet his gaze. “Would you like to light a candle, my friend? I’m sure you have plenty to speak to.” 

Chuckles watched Arni and Nita rise together, bowing their heads as the candlelight illuminated their silhouettes. “No, I talk to those I’ve lost plenty. But I think the two of them needed this. So thank you.” 

The monk bowed his head as Nita and Arni returned to them. 

“Chirrut.”

Chuckles turned to find a man standing behind him. He was a few inches shorter than Chuckles, but the armor he wore over his black and red garments combined with how he carried himself made him seem larger and more imposing. Despite wearing garb similar to Chirrut and the other monks, it was clear that he was different in how he observed his beliefs. His face was scarred and his long, dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders with braids interspersed throughout. His beard was beginning to grey, but his dark eyes gave no hint of his age, piercing and sharp as they took in Chuckles. He brandished a massive weapon that was connected to a large canister on his back. Must be a repeater cannon of some sorts. Never seen one of those up close before.  

The man glanced at Chuckles before addressing the monk again. “A new ship of refugees just arrived on the outskirts of town. There’s a few dozen. They’re looking for shelter for the evening. Can we house them?”

Chirrut nodded. “We should be able to accommodate that many.”

“I thought you said you weren’t warriors,” Chuckles said, staring at the large man. Chirrut laughed. 

“Baze is a warrior so that the rest of us don’t have to be. Trust me, he only looks scary.” 

“Someone has to look scary enough to keep you out of trouble,” Baze replied gruffly. “Besides, the weapon is more for refugee escorts right now. You’d be surprised how many are looking to take advantage of those that have been displaced.” Looking down, he nodded at both children. Arni was staring at the gun he was brandishing, their fingers twitching at their side eagerly as their eyes practically glowed with interest. 

“What kind of gun is that?” the Twi’lek asked. 

Baze’s eyebrow rocketed up, and he stepped forward towards Arni, holding the weapon out for them to get a better look. “MWC-35c repeating cannon,” he replied. 

Arni leaned forward, inspecting the barrel. “I’ve never seen a weapon like this before.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” Baze said. “It’s not a thing that should be around children.” 

Chirrut gently placed a hand on Baze’s arm. “I suspect our friends here have seen more than they should in general.” 

Baze paused, his eyes finally focusing on Chuckles’s face. The tingle in Chuckles’s spine returned as the man studied his features, his eyes darting across Chuckles’s face before widening slightly in recognition. Chuck resisted the urge to turn away, instead jutting his chin out defiantly. 

“I suspect you’re right,” Baze agreed quietly after a few moments. “Far too much.” 

“Our friends are looking to re-supply after they rest a while. Once we get the refugees settled in and they’ve had time to rest, do you think you can escort them to the market district and ensure they get what they need?” Chirrut asked. 

Baze glanced at Chuckles again before nodding. “I will.”

The clone nodded gratefully. “I don’t suppose either of you know how refugees might get some of those chain codes that I keep hearing so much about. Seems that you need them to do anything right now.”

The larger monk looked at his blind counterpart, some sort of warning in his gaze that Chirrut, whether due to his lack of sight or just out of habit chose to disregard. “We can help with that. I suspect it might be hard for someone with your face to get one without having problems.” 

Chuckles rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head. “I don’t want to cause you any additional trouble. You and I know just speaking with us is dangerous right now.”

Chirrut leaned forward, a wide grin spreading across his features. “In my experience, sometimes, trouble is worth getting into.” He reached over, slapping Baze on his shoulder bell. “Plus, I have the muscle to back me up when I get in over my head.”

Baze huffed an exasperated sigh. “One day, I’m going to leave and then you’ll really be in trouble.”

Chirrut turned on his heel, reaching down for Arni’s hand. “Well then I’d better take advantage of having you around while I can. Come on, let’s head to the temple.” He glanced back at Chuckles. “You may want to cover your face again while you’re there. None of the monks would report you, but I cannot speak for all of the refugees that might be staying with us.” 

Chuckles nodded, pulling the scarf back up over the bottom of his face before leaning down to scoop up Nita. She wrapped her arms around his neck, still clutching her clone trooper doll tightly.

“You like that doll, huh?” Chuckles asked.

“Can we paint him pink and grey like your armor?” she whispered, and Chuckles huffed a laugh. 

“If we can find some paints, then yeah, I suppose we can.” Nita wriggled excitedly.

As they stepped past Baze, the little Pantoran smiled at the larger monk from her perch against Chuckles’s shoulder. “I like your braids.”

“And I like your buns.”

She smiled wider. “Thanks! Arni and Chuckles helped me do them!”

Baze raised an eyebrow skeptically at that, but said nothing as he fell into step next to the two of them.  

I really gotta get Arni to teach me how to do the buns, Chuckles thought as they followed the two monks.

Tag List: @seriowan @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond​ @moonstrider9904​ @partoftheeternalsoul​

#karrde writes #one step at a time #osaat #star wars #fanfiction #fan fic #the clone wars #tcw #post order 66 #order 66 #clone oc #chuckles #jedi oc #twilek oc #pantoran oc #arni #nita #OC Chuckles #OC Nita #OC Arni #ct 4311 #found family #fluff

[crystalelemental]

Alright, last Masters thing for the update.  We didn’t get the second half of the month, meaning we don’t know about the common grids.  But, we can take a pretty good guess.  Sinnoh VA introduced three Sinnoh pairs.  Johto VA covered three Johto pairs.  So it’s pretty safe to guess that Hoenn VA will cover three Hoenn pairs.

There are a few options: Norman, Liza, Tate, Drake, Lucy, and Noland.  That is...a lot of options.  I don’t think I’ll be right if I guess all three (though that won’t stop me), but I’ll say one with 100% confidence.

Norman will get a grid and EX.  They’ve been handing out EX to the story pairs, and with SS Brock, it seems to be standard that if they get a grid, they get the EX with it.  Norman is the only one I’m completely confident on, and truth be told, it’s kinda overdue.  That man has been so dead in the water for so long.  It’ll be nice to see what they can pull off with a full grid.  Really, we just need massive recoil damage reduction, or outright Recoil Removal.  His Trainer Move also really needs some help, but I can’t tell what would be ideal.  Norman’s a tough one.

I am willing to bet Liza will not be here.  Because Liza being here would make me happy.  I feel like she’s just...really set already, and MPR alone would really salvage her kinda like with Roxanne.  Which means there’s basically no chance of Crit Squad.  Seriously, she’d out-perform Falkner as a buff bot with that, there’s just no way.  What I can hope for is Pep Rally on trainer move for gauge control, and maybe built-in Vigilance to match Cheryl.  Endurance may also be helpful, since she doesn’t take hits too well.  Healing is of course appreciated but there’s no way.  She’ll get Roxanned for sure.

Tate is possible, but they can’t split up the twins, so either it’s the both of them or neither of them.  Tate’s pretty easy to solve for.  Just give him some method of buffing crit, and Haymaker.  Solved.  Aggravation is guaranteed, and I kinda expect a Trip Up 4 or so to pretend at playing like Grant.  My horror scenario for the poor boy is they hit him with the old Cakewalk.  That’d frankly be devastating.  At least SS May could help him in that scenario, but just imagine how depressing that would be.

Drake feels really likely.  I expect a support, and Drake, to me at least, feels like the less threatening pick.  Because honestly guys?  I don’t expect much.  BP Morty also buffs defenses, at the same time even!  But I just can’t see them giving Drake the potential of capping crit, and if he does support offense it will likely be regular attack.  The only thing he’s going to get for sure is Hostile Environment, which will be nice, but I’m really not confident on much else.  If anything...I almost feel like he’ll get some healing effects.  Healthy Healing, possible recovery on trainer move.  The real money, though, is Vigilance.  Drake actually has solid bulk, and the potential to make Vigilance really work for him.  Being able to shut down status would be tremendous.  In fact, now I can think of something else I’d like for him: let his trainer move buff accuracy.  We are really hurting for better accuracy buffers, and this would not only facilitate the goofy Double Salamence comp with BP Zinnia well, it would improve matchups against Cresselia and Latias’ evasion gimmicks.

Lucy...look, Hostile Environment Poison Fang or riot.  We have flat-out Toxic on a BP pair, there is no reason she can’t guaranteed Toxic with it.  I’d expect some level of Pokey Trap as well, and probably some modifiers on her sync as well, considering she gets some natural move damage modifiers for poison and trap as well.  Lucy feels probable.  I’d kinda like to see Lucy get in, even.  I’m a big fan of Toxic/Trap stall comps in this game as it is, and it’d be fun to see what they can provide for her.  She really doesn’t need much.

Then there’s Noland.  Oh Noland.  You know, with Bugsy getting a pretty strong grid performance, maybe there’s hope for him.  Pretty good attack stat on mega evolution, Impervious as an ability for some reason.  Sure the moves are bad, but...oh, he’s only got X Atk, and a trainer move that heals and provides +2 speed to himself.  Yeah.  Yeah, look, Bugsy’s got a better damage threshold.  Poison on Twineedle augments damage pretty well, and it’s already better damage, to say nothing of the fact that Bugsy got Crit Strike 2 as a default passive, and had a pretty easily identified series of needed tiles for success.  Noland is tougher.  He can’t realistically keep up on damage, not as a common.  The best I can think of is that they allow him to be more self-sufficient.  Some means of buffing crit, maybe Fury Cutter Eagle Eye, and Berserker on X Atk?  That way, he’s at least not as support reliant as Bugsy to eventually make his way to full damage.  The problem is, even if he’s self-sufficient, he’s still likely too slow to not want the support anyway, and even with all that, he won’t get the EX, so he’ll be as shafted as Bugsy.  It doesn’t look great for him.

At a guess: Norman is required for story unit purposes and EX, Drake will get in because Hoenn Champion Stadium happened, and Noland will get in to round things out.  Tate and Liza will happen together later on, and Lucy is being held off for the same reason as Janine: she technically performs her function just fine already.

#pokemon masters speculation

[homechefpectations]

Candied Bacon and Smoked Gouda Burger with fries closes out the round-the-world tour of Home Chef recipe card types and meal styles* this week. This burger meal got bumped up to the "Culinary Collection" level, likely because it had both bacon and ground beef. I don't know that for sure, but there is a trend with dual-protein recipes that they more often are found on the higher tier of options. The surcharge for "Culinary" options varies and this was either the cheapest or next cheapest increase in price above the $10/serving baseline. As is standard now, my alterations to the burger meals include a fried egg on top (no bonus shot this time, but it did flip nicely) and mixing in more seasoning to the ground beef. Since I was doing the burger in the skillet, I decided to make the candied bacon in a separate small frying pan instead of wiping clean and then starting the burgers. The small frying pan was then re-used, after wiping washing clean, to make the fried egg over-easy in. The fries went in without much change. Just some crushed red pepper in with the required salt and pepper seasoning. I've made a lot of oven fries this season and it is a pretty decent side for a lot of different meals. Other than spending a lot of time cutting the potatoes, the fries are mostly set and forget. Well, one must flip the spuds mid-way through but that's not overly onerous and often helps the meal components time-out to the same readiness. The Gouda slices we're modified slightly to allow for less patty spillage but as you can see they still draped over the entirety of the burger. Every bite was nice and cheesy! Fire roasted tomatoes and mayonnaise went together a lot better than I anticipated while the candied bacon was just a little too sweet against the fried egg. Pairing for this meal was a New Belgium Voodoo Ranger Juicy Haze IPA. The fruited nature of this IPA had its own internal struggle of sweet against not-sweet but when consumed with the flavors going on with the burger and fries was a nice refreshing match. This is one of those beers that has a bit of sediment precipitate out naturally so it's essential to use a glass so you can stir up the last third before finishing your pour. * This tour was neither globe-trotting nor exhaustive of the types of meals and recipe styles but it sure did sound good when I was typing.

#homechef