finger blaster

This is my own Bendy/Cuphead fusion and i hope u all like him:

>Name: Inkcupen (Ink-kyu-pin)

>Design: Sharp cup design with horns, tail with fluffy tip, black eyes with red pupils, black ink hair, red and white straw, black nose, 2 sets of arms, beige coat, white shirt, black tights, brown boots, etc.

>Abilites: Dual Blasters (2 finger blasters, shown in picture above), Quad Blasters (4 finger blasters), Ray Beam (putting all blasters together), quick speed, excellent dodging

>Weaknesses: Reckless actions, destructive powers, demon vision (can cause them to lose their mind and distract them), sensitive horns and tail, rage mode (blind by anger)

>Personalty: Flirty, Cocky, Courageous, Depressed, Hot-headed, Reckless, Kind (to certain people), Overprotective (to certain people)

>Condition: Due to Bendy being fused with Cuphead, it nullifies the pain from the Ink Illness though it will still cause ink to leak from their mouth, cup, and eyes. Mostly the eyes which is why his eyes are black and can cause him to miss his shots.

>Extra Info: He tends to have trouble with entering some buildings due to his tall height, not to mention all the kids who play around him because of how curious they are of him. Boris and Mugs tend to call him “The Ultra Bro” and eventually grew attachment to the title, even though people find him weird and odd because of his looks.



Rebelcaptain fic: Take me out tonight (6)

Chapter 1 
Chapter 2 
Chapter 3 
Chapter 4 
Chapter 5 

Read on AO3 

Chapter 6: die 

    She woke with a dead arm and a scratchy blanket over her.

    Jyn Erso was used to waking up quickly. From the moment her eyes were open, she would be alert and wary. Being on the run from the Empire didn’t leave many opportunities to relax, so she was always ready at a moment’s notice to run, fight or face whatever else the day might have been throwing at her. But opening her eyes now, she felt warm and groggy. For a second, she couldn’t figure out where she was as she stared at the hard lines of the ship cabin around her.

    Then Cassian’s arm around her tightened.

    He must have taken her jacket off for her and gotten them a blanket at some point, because it was his body she could feel pressed up against her back. His arm looked like it was just casually tossed over her waist, but running a hand down it told Jyn immediately that he was as tense as anything. Even in sleep, they couldn’t completely relax. They would always be on guard, or running from something, never truly free of stress or worry …

    But he was there.

    And she was there.

    Normally they never got more than a day with each other and here they were, still together.

Keep reading

what choice?

For @rebelcaptainprompts - “Temptation” 

Word Count: 720

Jyn never had any options, until she did. Now she doesn’t know what to do with them.

The word choice feels foreign in her mouth. What choices had life given her? Not many. Not any, on second thought. 

She always did whatever guaranteed her survival. Even as a wide-eyed, innocent child, she chose to run for her life. She hadn’t been given any options after that. Do this or die, learn this or die, become this or die. She only had one option and it was survival. Each and every time.

(Running off to Scarif was the first choice she’d been given in a long time. But even then, her path was clear. Die hoping or die of guilt, if the Empire didn’t kill her before then. It turned out life had a different idea.)

With that, options started blooming in every corner. Sometimes they were easy. (Would she stay with the Rebellion? The answer was a resounding “Yes ma’am.”) Other times, she didn’t know what to do with herself. (Rebels who had known better lives lamented the lack of variety of food. She had never seen so many options in her entire life. That first day in line left her gawking in wonder as other rebels pushed and shoved past her.)

In the end, her choices were always clear, a sense of what was right (or a rumbling stomach) pushing her to her decision.

That is, until Cassian came along.

She hadn’t realized the choice Cassian carried with him in their shared smiles, and in their shared arguments. She didn’t realize it until after a particularly rough mission - all the lives she could’ve saved, she manages to choke out - Cassian failing to soothe her with his words and pulling her into a hug instead.

Instead of calming her, he flipped her world upside down. Her head on his shoulder, his arms around her, it was Scarif all over again but death wasn’t looming directly above their heads.

Oh, she thought, fingers curling into Cassian’s jacket, his breath warm on her neck, his existence so close to hers. Oh

This wasn’t a choice. It was a temptation. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How would SF and US bros react to walking in on their S/Os being lick and nuzzle attack by a bunch of the skelies gaster blasters and is giggling their head off and asking for help.

AWW. ;_;


– Plum’s blasters are very energetic, much like their owner, so when he finds you with them he’s a little worried. Sometimes they can be.. a little over-enthusiastic.

– Once he realizes you’re laughing and having fun though, he chuckles and moves in to help you. But he’s probably noticed by some of his blasters and they start going after him, nuzzling and licking him as well. 

– Both of you end up in the middle of a circle of blasters that are showing no MERCY, and no signs of stopping their assault any time soon. You and Sans are gonna have to work together through your giggles if you want to escape!


– Cherry heard the laughter from the living room and came by to investigate. His grin widens and he just leans against the doorway, watching as you’re tickled and licked. 

– If you ask him to help you he’s just gonna unwrap another lollipop. “nah, looks like you’ve got it handled, babe.”

– He takes out his phone to record you too, the dork. It’s hilarious and he’s gonna show it to Undyne later, probably.

– He’ll give in after a while and step in to break up the group. “alright, kids. Shoo, shoo.” He takes off his sneaker and chucks it out the door. Surprisingly, all of the blasters race out to fetch it. He turns to you with a shit-eating grin as he helps you up, “works every time.”


– Hunter’s blasters are usually obedient, and very well trained. So whenever their owner isn’t in the room they take advantage of the freedom and tend to buzz with a playful energy. They’ve got you cornered and are nuzzling the heck out of you.

– When Sans walks in and sees you surrounded by them, he frowns. He snaps his fingers and all the blasters instantly leave you to go and line up in front of him. He scolds them loudly for such unprofessional behaviour, and they all wilt in disappointment.

– If you insist to him that it was okay, that it was all just some harmless fun, he’ll raise a browbone at you. “ARE YOU SURE, HUMAN?” If you nod, he regards you for a moment and then smirks. “ALRIGHT THEN.”

– Before you can react, he snaps his fingers again and turns to his blasters, “YOU HEARD ALL HEARD THAT, DIDN’T YOU? HAVE SOME FUN, THEN.”

– Aaaand now, you’re right back where you started. Only now Hunter’s watching you with a sly grin on his face. He’s not gonna help you a second time.


– Out of all the skells, Hound probably summons blasters out of combat the most often. They keep him company if he’s home alone or if he’s out on patrol, so you see them a lot already. 

– It’s no surprise when he finds you in your state. He just comes into the room to do what he was going to do, which was probably lay down on the bed. He ignores your laughs and cries for help like he doesn’t notice you’re there.

Papyrus!” You cry, half shrieking when a blaster licks a long stripe up your face. Some of your hair is standing up vertically now with the help of blaster slobber. “Help me!”

“hm? oh, sorry sugar. didn’t see you there.” He’ll say, glancing over at you from the bed. There’s an amused twinkle in his eye and he doesn’t move an inch. “sorry, i can’t. i’m a bit bedridden at the moment.” 

“You’re not even sick!”

– He doesn’t help you for a while, and when he does it’s just him walking over and picking you up and out of the gaggle of gaster blasters. He goes back to the bed with you in his arms, and you end up in a lazy cuddle pile surrounded by sleepy blasters.

Leia stares, brown, shadow-ringed glare boring into Han’s back, and then she drops the tray on top of his head. The stew splatters everywhere, and a small cup of pudding goes flying.

“Oh no, I’m too weak to do anything, since I’m a princess.” With that, she turns on her heel and storms out. Luke’s stare is reproachful.

“It’s the anniversary, Han,” he says before he disappears after Leia, and Han knows he deserved that. Teach him to open his big mouth.

Thumping the book against a thigh, Luke slumps further into his seat in the Falcon’s rec area. The dim lighting helps, and there’s barely any red irritation on his wrists from the mag cuffs left, now. Heavy footsteps come closer, then stops. Chewie stands silent above him before he sits down.

Luke’s silent for several minutes, before he slowly slids sideways, head meeting the thick fur covering Chewbacca’s upper arm.

“… Can you still count yourself ‘freeborn’ if you end up enslaved? Even if it was just for three days?” Luke’s voice is rough and barely a whisper; Chewie doesn’t respond, but wraps his arm around Luke and pulls him closer.

“You okay, miss?”

Ahsoka squints up into a triple-sun— no, that’s just two suns and the sun-lit blond head of a ten-year old boy, eyes blue and bright with concern. He looks familiar for some reason she can’t place, but maybe that’s just the crash addling her brain, who knows. The boy turns around and waves to someone she can’t see.

“Uncle Owen! Aunt Beru! The pilot’s alive!”

All she knows is that as soon as the Imperial ship that was chasing her lands, these people’s lives are going to change very, very quickly, and she’s sorry for that.

Luke closes his eyes, and tries to breathe.

In. Out. All he can smell is smoke, ashes, burning oil and electronics and the lingering trace of cooked flesh.

He feels like throwing up.

Darth Vader lands in front of him with rattling force and the suddenness of a striking krayt dragon. Luke stumbles back, patting for his lightsaber with one hand and pulling his blaster up with his other. Three seconds later his fingers are numb, the blaster is on the grating on the floor, his (his father’s) lightsaber is at Vader’s hip, and he…

“LET GO OF ME! How did you even— there was no one else in this part of the ship!” The armour digging into his stomach is very uncomfortable, and Vader seems unbothered by his struggles.

“I am not restricted to using shuttles or suits for a space walk, Skywalker.”

The liquid inside the tank is nearly milky, and Luke can feel his heartbeat behind his eyes as he stares at the even paler body held within.

There are no limbs. Not a single one. It would be so very easy

Yellow eyes snap open, and Luke feels like he can’t breathe.

Have some flash bits. Nothing in particular, just some tiny bites of writing.

across time and space

summary: Across time and space, Anakin and Vader switch places. Confusion ensues. (mostly anidala and vaderdala in this part, but eventually some vadaphra in later parts) part 1 / ?

Awakened by the thud of footsteps coming towards him, Anakin opened his eyes and groaned as he found himself laying on a hard, cold floor. Where am I? His whole body hurt, but what was worst of all was the searing pain he felt in his brain, as if someone had run a lightsaber through his skull. Anakin raised his left arm and cautiously felt for any for lacerations or bruises around the top of his head but didn’t feel anything. Not even a bump? Whatever it was that knocked him out without a scratch on his skull, he figured, it was bad enough to make his vision blurry so that all he could see was dark shapes offset by darker shadows. 

The footsteps stopped and Anakin saw a figure of brown and red colors was now standing by his head. Anakin looked up and though he couldn’t make out a face, he could tell that the figure was short and small. A female voice curiously asked, “Who are you?”

Despite still feeling like a whole building was dropped on his body, Anakin mustered the strength to lift himself off the floor as quickly as he could. He stood up to his full height so that he was now towering over the figure. I should be asking you the same question! Using the force, he called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited it, causing the figure to step back in alarm. The voice yelled out in surprise, “Do you know that Skywalker kid?”

“Huh…” Anakin answered, suddenly feeling more even confused than before. Just then, his vision regained clarity and he could finally see who was speaking to him. It was a short, petite woman with medium-length brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing brown pants and a red jacket with short sleeves that showed off the circuit pattern tattoo sprawling down her right arm. And though he didn’t even understand why himself, his eyes were drawn to a small smudge of motor oil on her cheek. 

He knew better than to assume someone small wasn’t always a threat, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bad that he pulled out his lightsaber on such a tiny woman, even if she was carrying a blaster in her holster. With a push of a button, his lightsaber was no longer ignited, but he still held it next to his side cautiously just in case. “I’m Skywalker, though I don’t know who you are calling a kid,” he replied as he raised his right eyebrow and the scar across it. The woman looked liked she was in her late twenties. Still older than me, but not enough to be calling me a kid, he thought to himself with indignation.

 “Huh…,” she responded just like him, and Anakin could tell that she equally shared his confusion about this whole situation. She crossed her arms, frowning. “How did you get in here? What have you done with Vader? Whatever it was he said about me, it isn’t true!”

“Hey!” Anakin growled, frustrated that there were more questions than answers. “I don’t know how I got here and who you are! I didn’t do anything with Vader, I don’t even know who that is! All I know is that I wasn’t here before I woke up!” As soon he said that, Anakin suddenly remembered that before he laying on the floor here, he was laying next to Padme in bed and falling asleep with her in his arms. The thought that they were both kidnapped and she was in danger caused his fury to rise again. “Where is Padme?” he howled, his voice sound like it belonged to an enraged animal and not to a man that just celebrated his twenty second birthday secretly with his wife on Naboo.

Aphra’s eyes widened and her arms fell limply to her side, as if a terrible realization dawned on her. “No no no no no,” she muttered as she walked past Anakin, barely paying attention to how he was now glaring at her. He called out still furious, “Did you hear me? Where is Padme? What have you done to her?” Like before, Aphra didn’t answer. Instead, she bent down to an amulet that was on the floor next to where Anakin was laying moments before. Aphra stood up and  spun around to look at him, her jaw hanging open.

After several long moments of horrified silence, she finally whispered, “If you are here, then he must be…”

The sound of a loud crack made Padme’s mind jolt awake. What?! Before she could even lift her head off the pillow to see what happened, her body was rolling over to the opposite side of the bed that was now a foot shorter than the side she was sleeping on. Suddenly, Padme felt her body collide into something hard. Pulling off the sheets that tangled around her body, she angrily yelled, “Anakin! What did you do?”

 There was no response but the resonating sound of a deep, strained rasp followed by another and another in mechanical intervals. Padme felt her heart momentarily stop beating as she looked up to see that it was not Anakin laying beside her. Goddess, what is that thing? Where is Anakin? Without another thought, Padme flung herself away back to her side of the mattress and reached down to grab the blaster she kept in a hidden compartment in the headboard.

Pointing the blaster at it, Padme could see the figure sitting up as best as it could on the lopsided bed. Judging by the shape of it, the thing looked humanoid enough, except its head which resembled something like the skull of a terrifying predator. It turned to face her and Padme saw miniature twin images of herself reflected in its red tinted lens. Like clones floating in orbs of blood. It was an ominous sight, but Padme found herself no longer afraid. If it wanted to kill me, it would have done so already. All she felt was her burning resolve to find out what happened to Anakin.

With a quiet but stern voice, she asked, “Where is Anakin?” The figure clad in all black leather and armor got out of the bed and rose to a dreadful height in front of her. The whole room seemed to shrink as if his large built was a pitch black vortex that bent light and space. Its glove reached out to touch her face, but it stopped short and instead gently wrapped a ringlet of her hair around its finger. She gripped the blaster tighter.

“Padme,” it said in a low, synthesized voice. Though it sounded like a machine had said her name, Padme was certain only a man could have such pain and longing in his voice.

Lowering the blaster, Padme finally asked, “Who are you?”  

The wedding

[My May the Fourth story for the lovely @hanorganaas]

[The prompt was “Jyn and Cassian’s wedding night”; I got a bit carried away with it and did the whole wedding]

“On Perralt they drink salt water at a wedding,” Bodhi says.  Cassian looks up from his data pad and wrinkles his brow in distaste.

“Drinking salt water causes insanity and hallucinations in humans.”  K-2 sounds intrigued. “Perhaps it’s symbolic.”

“It says here it’s supposed to make the bride and groom thirst for one another forevermore.”  

Cassian turns to look across the cabin at Jyn as she moves about in the aft section, bending and stretching as she checks on the stowed shipment.  As if cued by his silence, Jyn glances round and meets his gaze.  

Her eyes go dream-swept for a moment and her lips curve. “That’s hardly a problem we need worry about.”

Keep reading

//Sulfur and Cobalt with their tiny blasters. Cobalt was born with metal fingers, his blaster has metal fangs and Xenon’s eye. 

Sulfur has Xenon’s eye, but his blaster has normal eyes. His also has long curled, gold horns. Xenon totally didn’t shrink Jonah’s shirt to put on Cobalt. He did. 

Xenon would be awwing and taking a video like, “Jonah! Jonah! Get in here they made blasters!” 


Some day this POV section will be done and I can put this on Ao3 but until then I’m just going to keep sending snippets in, probably.

Everyone froze. Complete silence descended on the room. Padmé pulled her head up from her datapad. Eirtaé placed herself between Sabé and the hair extensions, glaring, as though the other girl had any talent for working with them at all. Saché, cradling the vase in her arms, stopped cooing. Yané, balanced precariously on the edge of Padmé’s bed, finger-blasters still waving in the air, whispered “pew pew”, before tipping off her perch and sprawling across the floor.

“Thank you, Yané.” Sabé placed her hands on her hips. “That explained less than nothing.”

Padmé took a deep breath. She had been elected for her natural sense of leadership. She couldn’t abandon her core qualities now, when the situation was trivial and awkward. “Well, Yané is pretending to be a starship, Eirtaé is – ”

“ – crushing my hopes and dreams.” Yané called from behind the bed.

“Well if your hopes and dreams involve becoming a starship,” Eirtae snapped as she put the extensions away, “you should at least try to sound like one.”

“Saché is adopting the ugly vase.” Padmé soldiered on as if there had been no interruption.

“Shh,” Saché whispered to the vase, “she doesn’t mean it.”

“And I,” Padmé raised her voice meaningfully, “am talking to Anakin.”

“Oh, Anakin?” Sabé brightened. “How is he?”

Padmé scowled and handed over the datapad. A small part of her was gratified to watch Sabé’s eyes widen in horror as she scanned the message. Sabé shook her head and returned the datapad to Padmé. “Please don’t fight the Jedi Council. They’re powerful political enemies and they have lightsabers.”

“I’m not going to fight them.” Padmé narrowed her eyes at Sabé’s scoff. “I’m not! I’m only the leader of a small, Mid-Rim planet. Fighting them would be stupid unless I was in Vancil or Palpatine’s position. I’m just going to help a member of the Order break a few rules.”

“If you say so.” Sabé brushed by her to collect Yané off of the floor. Padmé opened her mouth to protest further, then thought better of it. Instead, she typed, “Well, to hell with that. You’re my friend too and I don’t want to stop talking to you either. How are you with encryptions?”

Anakin didn’t respond at once, which Padmé was beginning to expect from him, so she ate her dinner and read a few select passages from Ballad of the Starkiller out loud to everyone but Saché’s chagrin.

“My mother used to hide it from me because she didn’t want me to read the sexy parts and then get let down by actual sex.” Saché giggled, lying on her back on the floor. Padmé frowned, trying to recall a single passage that made sex seem even remotely appealing and coming up blank.

“Is your mother turned on by misplaced commas?” Eirtaé asked, arms crossed over her chest, valiantly pretending that she was not having fun.

“You know,” Saché said after a long pause, “it would explain a lot, actually. My dad – ”

Padmé clicked her datapad off. “And I’m going to bed now before I start hearing things that can’t be unheard.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything gross!” Saché protested. “I was just going to say – ”

Padmé covered her ears. “I can’t hear you.”

“And here on the right, we have the Queen of Naboo, elected for her precocious wisdom, widely praised for her maturity and poise.” Sabé gestured grandly at Padmé, then ducked her head shyly when Rabé burst into giggles.

Padmé sighed and dropped her hands from her ears. “Goodnight, everyone.” No one moved. She rolled her eyes and added. “Go to bed.”

“You’re not my mother. You can’t tell me what to do.” Saché pulled herself up off of the floor anyway.

“No,” Padmé agreed, “I’m not attracted to misused punctuation. I am the Queen, though, so I can tell you what to do.”

A few of the handmaidens gave her exaggerated bows, but, with the exception of Rabé, they all left shortly after that.

“I’m on watch-Padmé-sleep duty.” Rabé gave an apologetic shrug and settled into her post by the door.

“I figured.” Padmé replied as she settled into bed.


(Part 4 of the Pen Pal AU, written and submitted by queerladymacbeth. Previous installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

thy kingdom come

guess what y’all! I finally finished the The-Alliance-Retakes-Coruscant fic that’s been sitting on the backburner since April!! The Jacen fic is aaaalmost done (ish - going on over 10k now), but I suddenly was overcome and needed to finish this trash. It’s un-proofread and probably not my best work but eh, who cares, deliciously hurt/comfort-y and you all know how vital that dumpster material is. Enjoy!

They retake Coruscant on her birthday.

(Their birthday; and she has always found it an odd coincidence until it turned out to be no coincidence at all.)

It’s ironic in a triumphant, vengeful sense – standing atop the rubble of a collapsing Empire on the anniversary of its birth, the first major step to purging the galaxy of its corruption and oppression.

Leia sits on the blaster-charred steps of the Imperial Palace and tries not to think of everything that she has left behind. There is ash smudging her face and sweat drying on her neck and her braids are a tangled bunch at the base of her neck, her fingers clutching the blaster in her lap so tightly that her knuckles are white and her nails purple.

Comms went down after the first team successfully made its way into the central communication tower (that was the plan) and the first circle of defense had been eliminated, the sounds of screeching TIEs and alarm claxons and the whine of the X-Wings that made up Rogue Squadron playing background to their efforts. Comms went down and suddenly there was no contact with the ‘fleet in the atmosphere, no contact with the pilots taking out the ion canons and no contact with High Command and no contact with the Falcon or –

(That wasn’t the plan, and thinking back on it she doesn’t think that she has breathed properly once from the moment Luke tossed his communicator to the ground with a frustrated noise, four hours ago; to the crunching of his footsteps on the rubble lining the steps beside her, just now.)

(She still isn’t breathing.)

Keep reading

Undercover - Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso

Title: Undercover

Pairing: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 969

PROMPT REQUEST: An Anon requested something with Jealous!Cassian or Jealous!Jyn  +  An Anon also requested something undercover. I like these prompts <3

Originally posted by tfa

She’s thankful that the kriffing droid isn’t here. Maker, he’d have a field day with her emotions.

The cantina is the last place they wanted to end up, but according to their lead, it was where one of the defectors frequented. After they had taken the plans for the machine and sent them out into the galaxy, Jyn wasn’t surprised to hear that a lot of the empire’s soldiers started dropping like flies. A few appeared on Yavin begging to be part of the rebellion. Some disappeared into the galaxy, with most going for the Outer Rim planets for their distance away from the main fighting.

Keep reading

He hears the word when he’s thirteen years old. Nines and Zeroes are fighting— again. In the Stormtrooper ranks, all forms of touching or contact besides fighting are strictly forbidden.

They fight a lot.

“You give up?” Zeroes says, digging an elbow into Nines’ back as he presses the other cadet into the floor. “You give up yet?”

“Not on your life, motherkriffer,” Nines growls, flipping him over and pinning him to the floor. He holds him there for a good minute, Zeroes struggling with all his might but unable to get up. “Eight-Seven! Call it!”

FN-2187 glances up at the boys where they scuffle. “Oh,” he says distractedly— he’s been studying battle strategies on his datapad. “Ah, Nines wins.”

Nines laughs and then rolls off his opponent, not bothering to help him up. “You hear that motherkriffer?” he says. “I win.”

Eight-Seven frowns. “What does that word mean?”


“You said it twice.”

Zeroes laughs as he gets up. “Come on, Eight-Seven, you don’t know what a motherkriffer is?”

“I… do,” he says slowly, feeling embarrassment boiling in the pit of his stomach. “I just… the one part of it. What—”

“Kriffer?” Nines says, a cruel smile tugging at his mouth. “Get a load of this, Eight-Seven doesn’t know what a kriffin’ kriffer is.”

Yes I do,” Eight-Seven says, growing more annoyed than embarrassed now. “I… what’s a mother? You said motherkriffer and I do know what a kriffer is but what’s a mother?”

Nines blinks. “Um,” he shrugs. “Well, you know. It’s, um…”

He glances helplessly at Zeroes, who pipes up. “It’s like a rude word for a woman,” he says. “Like, ‘oh, she’s such a mother.’”

“Are you sure?”

Nines punches him. “Of course he’s sure, Eight-Seven,” he says. “What do you know?”

Not much, he realizes. He doesn’t know much.

Keep reading

(Some of the earlier snippets have been edited, so not everything makes complete sense, but I have more fic to share, so I might as well share it.)

Days passed without any word from Anakin and Padmé found herself pressing her fingers into the side of the throne to keep from tapping or making sure her collar was straight. Her anxiety wasn’t entirely Anakin’s fault; it wasn’t even mostly Anakin’s fault, but she couldn’t help but think that it would have been nice to have a spot of brightness in her day, if only to give her something to distract herself with whenever the small, shameful part of her that wanted to smash Nute Gunray’s head into a wall over and over again reared its ugly head.

Six days after sending her message to Anakin, Padmé returned to her chambers in a foul mood. Her day had started with an audience with a group of “concerned citizens” (“They are citizens, technically, and they are concerned.” Rabé reminded her whenever she started muttering about the dishonesty of a group of wealthy landowners who barely spent half the year on planet styling themselves the way a neighborhood association worried about plasma contaminating their drinking water might.) complaining about the repartitions to the Gungans, followed by a session with the advisory council about how to deal with the projected budget shortfall if the Republic did not agree to subsidize their rebuilding and rehabilitation efforts, which was interrupted by the unwelcome news that Nute Gunray intended to sue her for libel. Panaka and her handmaidens ganged up on her shortly after sunset and convinced her to stop scanning the tax code for loopholes that could be closed and get some rest before she ran herself into the ground.

After scrubbing her face, Padmé sat at her vanity so that Eirtaé could take down her hairstyle and sighed, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands. Her head pounded from long hours of staring at the indecipherable tax code and her jaw ached from grinding her teeth all day. She knew she ought to be tired – she’d spent the night tossing and turning before giving up on sleep around dawn – but she was too restless to close her eyes. Her legs twitched with the urge to pace, but Eirtaé would yell at her if she got too fidgety. She snatched her datapad off of the table, just to do something.

“That isn’t work, is it?” Eirtaé asked.

“No. I just thought that I’d find that Jedi action novel that Saché likes.” Padmé turned the datapad on.

Eirtaé hmmed. “The really terrible one?”

“Excuse you,” Saché called from the closet, where she was hanging Queen Amidala’s gown, “Ballad of the Starkiller is a literary masterpiece.”

Eirtaé huffed and carefully set a hair extension on the table. “Ballad of the Starkiller is a melodramatic, historically inaccurate blight upon the galaxy and the author is too in love with the narcissistic monster of a hero to give him, the other characters, or the story any complexity.”

“It isn’t Lysses’s fault that he’s just more beautiful and talented than everyone else and also that he’s right all the time!” Padmé caught a glimpse of Saché’s smirk in the mirror, quickly replace by a wide-eyed look of complete sincerity. “He can’t help it!”

Padmé shook her head, laughing quietly to herself. Eirtaé growled, although Padmé couldn’t tell if it was directed at her for moving her head or at Saché’s successful efforts at winding her up. She tuned out Eirtaé’s retort about how stories were deliberately constructed, not found whole and unchangeable in baskets in rivers. They had this argument, it seemed, at least twice a month and while it was usually undeniably entertaining, a notification had caught her attention. She had a new message, rerouted from her com.

She opened it, heart leaping when she saw the name beside the message before sinking again as her eyes scanned over the first few lines.

“Hi.” Anakin had written. “I’m fine, I guess, but the Council says I’m not supposed to talk to you because you’re an attachment, like my mom, and I have to let you go if I’m going to be a Jedi. But I want to keep talking to you. You’re my friend.”

Padmé scowled at the datapad. Didn’t the Council know that Anakin was only a nine year old boy making a huge adjustment? Why would they ever think it was fine to ask him to give up his mother and his friends when he was already under so much strain? Who was he supposed to get emotional support from, Kenobi? She liked Kenobi well enough, she supposed, for someone she didn’t know very well at all, but it seemed didn’t seem fair that Anakin had to rely on the grieving man for emotional support and stability.

Yané bustled into the room with a tray of food and almost set the it down on the vanity. Eirtaé squawked something outraged about not squashing the hair extensions. Yané rolled her eyes, but she turned to set it on the desk instead, before discovering that, as usual, it was papered in books and pieces of flimsy. She sighed. “Is there anywhere I can – ”

“Table by the bed should be clear.” Padmé muttered, not taking her eyes off of the datapad. “Just take the ugly vase off of it.”

“That vase,” Saché said in the same tone she used when defending Ballad of the Starkiller’s literary merits, “is a priceless treasure – ”

“ – of ancient Naboo art. We know. It’s also hideous and useless and Yané is carrying something not useless that needs to go on that table. Please take it out of here.” Padmé inhaled through her nose, trying to calm her anger enough to articulate a response.

Saché sighed as though she were much put-upon, but cleared the vase away. Yané slid the tray onto the table with an exhale of relief, then turned to face Padmé. “I thought you agreed that you weren’t going to work for the rest of the night.”

“I did.” Padmé typed “What the fuck is wrong with them?”.

“Then why are you working?” Yané rested her hands on her hips.

“I’m not.” Padmé erased the first draft of her message.

“It sure looks like you’re working.” Yané tried to snatch the datapad out of her hands. Padmé brought it to her chest.

“I’m not. I’m just talking to Anakin.” Padmé snapped.

Yané squinted at her. “Who?”

“You’ve met Anakin, he was on the ship with us from – ” Padmé cut herself off, abruptly remembering that Yané had stayed behind when they went to Corsucant. “Well,” she amended, “you definitely met him after the invasion ended. He was at the funeral – ”

“ – an excellent time to socialize if there ever was one.” Eirtaé muttered, combing her fingers through Padmé’s hair.

Padmé glared over her shoulder at her handmaiden. “ – and at the celebration.”

Yané’s brow furrowed, concentrating.

“He’s nine, about this tall – ” Padmé gestured and shut her mouth and realization dawned on Yané’s face.

“Ohhhhh.”  Yané nodded slowly. “Is he, you know, ‘zoom-zoom-pew-pew-pew’ boy?”

“Yes.” Padmé said as Eirtaé rolled her eyes and added, “That’s not what starships sound like. No starship in the history of the galaxy has ever gone ‘zoom.’”

Yané, who had been on watch-Padmé-sleep duty the night before, had apparently reached the stage of sleep deprivation where she thought that the appropriate response to this was to race around the room, using her fingers as blasters, shouting “pew pew.”


(written and submitted by queerladymacbeth. Part 3 of the Pen Pal AU. Part 1, Part 2.)

I love this so much! I really like your characterization of all the handmaidens, how you’re writing them each as characters in their own right. And Padme is just wonderful.

I also really like the fact that, while these are girls with a lot of responsibility and training, they’re also still clearly young, and it’s nice to see them being kids with each other.

mumblefox  asked:

okay um what about Finn holding anyone's hand whenever he is a bit nervous or scared even for dumb things he just. Reaches out and grabs hands. And most people are too stunned to react or they just don't care and then one time he does it to Leia and she's fine with it but she's also like do u know that u do this. basically the first time Finn grabs hands with all the main players. what are your thoughts on this important issue


Finn knew the touching thing was – weird. A lot of people didn’t just – well, they didn’t just hold hands because even if Poe tried to convince him otherwise. Finn knew, okay? He’d figured it out a while ago. When Rey had shied away from him when he’d tried to help back on Jakku; when the nurse gently pushed him away when he’d grabbed her after waking up in medbay; when the armour tech had stared down at their joined hands in complete confusion in the armoury. It was weird. He got it.

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anonymous asked:

I'm sorry im such a sucker for Lightside AU and jealous prompts in the right tone and I'm just picturing someone trying to hit on Ben at an event and he's used to shutting it down but once he starts dating Hux he tells them he's seeing someone and they don't stop. Hux is just past the point of kidding himself when he sees overly clingy would-be suitors who hit on ben, he's just like 'who the fuck? the fuck is this the fuck-' and proceeds to get them thrown out by security.

This is beautiful

(Sorry that this is literally such a mess and seems like it starts mid-fic)

“My, my, don’t you look beautiful this evening?”

Ben lifts his head and finds Hux coming to stand in front of him, giving a mock bow. “Senator Solo,” he taunts.

“None of that, General,” Ben scolds, lightly shoving Hux’s shoulders before leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “Enjoying the gala?”

Hux snorts, crossing his arms. “I hate these social events.”

With a laugh, Ben links his arm through Hux’s. “If you weren’t so emotionally constipated, maybe you’d enjoy it more.”

“Not likely.”

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More "Werewolf"Ren and Emperor Hux


A/N: Awwww, look at the murderous maniacs. Here, enjoy the blood and gore.

And also Kylo calling Hux, “Your Imperial Majesty,” or “My Imperial Majesty” a lot.


  • The scene marked with &&& has near-death by suffocation via Force Choke in it 
  • The scene marked with ^^^ has multiple decapitations and dismemberment and basically the blood and gore is here too (I’m bad at writing fight scenes; apologies)


It had been years ago, in one of the few times that Hux and Kylo had been truly alone before Snoke’s untimely demise (on Kylo’s lightsaber), when Hux had told Kylo of his vision. They had been lying there, staring up through a skylight at the distant stars, or Hux had, with Kylo stretched out over his torso, ear pressed against where Hux’s heart beat, and all long legs twisted around Hux’s.

He had shifted a little and looked up at Hux, face clear of the scar, and leaned up until his lips rested against Hux’s ear. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he whispered and Hux gave a shudder as he clutched to Kylo’s shoulder.

The Force-user had chuckled at that before he pulled back and went back to resting on Hux as he had before. “It suits you,” he murmured before he fell asleep to greet his nightmares.

Hux had thought, in that moment, the address sounded all the better dropping from Kylo’s lips with all the reverence he usually reserved for when he was talking about Darth Vader.


The wolf is large and black, the eyes a blood red, and the only reason Hux doesn’t shoot it is because of the scar that goes from left to right and over the nose.

“Kylo?” he questioned and the wolf lowered itself slightly before lifting it’s head up to press his nose against the underside of Hux’s jaw with a low whine.

Hux hesitated and then carefully wrapped an arm around his neck. “Kylo,” he murmured softly.

“Oh, that’s a disappointment,” Snoke stated and Hux’s eyes snapped over to the side, releasing Kylo as the wolf stepped back with a low growl.

“It seems you have weakness still within you, Ben,” Snoke taunted and Kylo bared his teeth in a low snarl, but did not move from where he stood between Snoke and Hux.

Hux let out a gasp when he suddenly couldn’t breathe, feeling like something was choking him and his eyes widened as Kylo yelped, turning toward Hux before he let out a loud snarl that morphed into a, “No!”

Hux felt his eyes roll back in his head and he couldn’t see and he couldn’t, he couldn’t….

He let out a gasp as he hit the ground, clawing at his throat, at the ground, and he could hear the buzzing of Kylo’s lightsaber as he coughed for air. Slowly, he looked up to the sight of Kylo standing over Snoke’s dead body, panting, lightsaber clutched in his hand.

“Kylo,” Hux rasped and Kylo turned to him.

“Hux,” he gasped as he strode over to him, the lightsaber being turned off as he walked, holstered without hesitation as he knelt down, reaching out carefully for Hux.

Hux grabbed onto his upper arms and his eyes widened slightly as Kylo’s eyes turned black, his hand coming up to Hux’s throat and it quickly became easier to breathe, the pain disappearing quickly and Kylo’s eyes slowly returned to normal.

Before Hux could ask, Kylo bowed his head and murmured, “Your Imperial Majesty.”


“I think it might be best if we keep the fact you can change at will a secret,” Hux murmured and Kylo frowned a little before he gave a nod.

“As you command, my Imperial Majesty,” he answered and Hux gave a low sound.


Hux had a rule, and one that had helped far more than it had hindered.

If he would not consider doing it himself, he would not order others to do it.

“It would be easier to kill them,” Kylo muttered almost petulantly at his side as the spy was lead off.

“They are a resource and one I will use till it is strip-mined. Then you may kill them,” Hux responded quietly.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo answered softly and Hux hid his smile behind a gloved hand.


Assassination attempts were not all that rare for Emperor Hux.

He was used to them from before he became Emperor, but they were more numerous now.

It was irritating.

“Couldn’t they at least send someone competent?” Hux complained.

“I prefer them this way, my Imperial Majesty,” Kylo responded as he finished shoving the last body into the incinerator.

Imperial Commander Phasma did not comment on the possessive address, and that was why she was Imperial Commander, not a Captain.

Hux sighed and just hooked two fingers in Kylo’s collar to drag him back to their quarters.


“Resistance scum!” Kylo snarled as he launched himself forward, Hux drawing his sidearm to begin firing as he made a slow retreat.

Each shot went straight through the throat, decapitating or near decapitating them depending on where exactly the bolt went as Kylo just cut through them like a vengeful spirit. Hux twisted when a bolt flew past him, slicing through his coat from behind and he began to return fire.

“Don’t touch him!” he heard Kylo snarl, though it turned more guttural toward the end and when a black wolf surged past him, he wasn’t as surprised as the Resistance soldier he caught in his jaws.

The scream from the man as he was ripped apart, limbs and blood scattering across the hallway as he turned to the next, the blaster fire just being knocked away to go into a wall.

Soon all that was left of the people who had come to kill Hux was blood and limbs scattered around and one panting Kylo still in wolf form.

“Kylo,” Hux called calmly and the wolf turned to him with a low snarl before he whined and his ears pinned back slightly.

“Kylo, I’m safe you stupid dog, get over here,” Hux stated and Kylo let out a snarl at that even as he walked over to Hux, a slight hitch in his steps.

“Oh, for…what did you do, you idiot?” Hux demanded as he walked forward to met him, removing a glove as he did so to run a hand down Kylo’s side, sighing when Kylo whimpered and whined, but did not snap when Kylo’s fingers found where a blaster caught him in the side.

“Oh, you stupid dog. You stupid, stupid,” Hux whispered as he carefully reached out to wrap an arm around the wolf’s neck, noticing when he slowly became human again.

“I’m not stupid and I’m not a dog,” Kylo groused and Hux ignored him as he scooped the man up, for once Kylo not protesting.

Despite being three inches taller than Hux, Kylo always felt lighter and, while not easy, it wasn’t difficult either to carry him to where Imperial Commander Phasma would have medical waiting.

“Fix him,” Hux ordered cooly as he put Kylo on the medical bed.

As the doctors began to work on Kylo, he paused next to Phasma. “When they are done, execute them,” he ordered quietly and Phasma gave the smallest nod.

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” she responded.


“My Imperial Majesty,” Kylo murmured and Hux buried his fingers in Kylo’s hair.

“My knight,” Hux responded and Kylo let out a soft hum as he settled on Hux, long legs tangling in Hux’s.

“Always,” Kylo promised softly before he fell asleep to greet, as he had done since Snoke’s death, his pleasant dreams.

(Submitted by CASA)