Holy shit guys, I had expected you guys to reach it by tomorrow, not 400 stones in just one day T_T
I won't go back on the promise but give me a bit of time to write the next chapters. I will post one chapter tomorrow(advance one) and the scheduled chapter on Sunday.
In the meantime, have a omake chapter here. You guys might have remembered it from past, but recently as I had been polishing chapters for Royal road, I had rewritten it. The first part might be the same, but after that it's different.
The official premise of this omake is:
What if Alex transmigrated into the
Republic Era as Ezra Bridger and dedicated ten whole years to mastering
the Force's most critical, highly-classified application: unhinged
erotic maneuvers?
In today's omake chapter, we look at one such parallel universe.
Note: Ezra in this timeline is smth like 17-18 year old.
Warning: This chapter has a lot of R18 fuckery. (Funnily this is how we are getting r18 instead of in actual timeline 😭)
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[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
SUBJECT: THE BRIDGER INCIDENT
LOCATION: Jedi Temple, High Council Chambers
The atmosphere inside the High Council Chambers was usually solemn, filled with centuries of peace, wisdom, and quiet contemplation.
Today, it felt like a poorly managed startup pitch meeting.
The infamous Padawan Ezra Bridger stood dead-center on the ancient floor emblem. He was holding a presentation pointer and projecting a completely unearned aura of smug, tech-bro confidence.
His temporary master, Aayla Secura, was already aggressively massaging the bridge of her nose. You could practically hear the remaining years of her lifespan leaving her body.
Ezra: (Bows deeply, executing a perfect dramatic flourish) "Honored Masters of the High Council. Today, I don't just bring you a progress report. I bring you... the absolute sauce."
Yoda: (Ears flattening immediately, eyes narrowing) "Hmm. The sauce, you say? Familiar with this terminology, I am not. Cooked something, have you?"
Ezra: (Flashing a salesman grin) "Oh, I have absolutely cooked, Master Yoda. Through my groundbreaking empirical research into psychometry, local thermal variances, and basic Twi'lek anatomy—don't look at me like that, Master Secura, it's peer-reviewed—I have developed a revolutionary new application of the Force. One that will permanently cure the Order's celibacy-induced crankiness."
Mace Windu: (Leaning all the way back in his chair, eyes closed) "If what you've told us is true, you will have gained my trust.."
Ki-Adi-Mundi: (Tilting his massive head forward) "This sounds... highly irregular. What about the Droid Attack on the Wookiees?"
Kit Fisto: (Already smiling his massive, terrifyingly wide smile) "Let the boy speak. I fail to see the downside here."
Aayla Secura: (Whispering through violently clenched teeth) "Ezra, I swear to the Force, if you say the next sentence out loud, I am throwing you off the spire myself."
Ezra: (Completely ignoring her, tapping his temple) "Masters, behold! I present to you: The Bridger Method of Target-Lock Erotic Force Amplification! Patent pending!"
Obi-Wan Kenobi: (Quietly pulling a flask from deep within his robes and unscrewing the cap) "Why. Why is it always my lineage that brings this chaos? What did I do in a past life?"
Shaak Ti: (Slapping both hands over her montrals in absolute horror) "This is a sacred chamber of peace!"
Ezra: (Pacing the room, waving his hands to demonstrate) "No, listen, imagine it! You have a highly stressed Jedi Knight. Overworked. Edging closer to the Dark Side because he hasn't been allowed to have physical contact in a decade. One gentle, targeted nudge through the force, and—BAM! Instant, mind-shattering, toe-curling release! No awkward hookups. No catching feelings. Just unadulterated post-nut clarity applied directly to the prefrontal cortex!"
Yoda: (Gripping his gimer stick tightly, deeply horrified) "Down tremendous, this Padawan is! Degenerate, his methods are!"
Mace Windu: (Standing up so fast his chair clatters) "He is too dangerous to be left alive!"
Ezra: (Pleading his case, undeterred by the mounting death threats) "Think of the military applications, Master Windu! Interrogation! Why beat the secrets out of a separatist spy when you can just crank their pleasure dials until they confess everything just to take a nap?! Peace negotiations?! Hit the whole room with a five-minute wave! Everyone signs the treaty because they are too sleepy to argue! We can stop the Sith right now!"
Plo Koon: (Adjusting his breathing mask, leaning deeply into his seat) "...Hypothetically speaking. Does this technique penetrate Kel Dor respiration suits? I am asking strictly for tactical reasons."
Yoda: (Violently bonks Plo Koon's kneecap with his stick) "ENCOURAGE HIM, YOU MUST NOT."
Aayla Secura: (Grabbing Ezra tightly by the collar of his tunic) "We are leaving! I apologize, Masters! I'm assigning him entirely to sewage maintenance for the next ten years!"
Ezra: (Being physically dragged out the doors, heels scraping against the marble) "WAIT! I HAVEN'T EXPLAINED THE TANDEM GROUP MEDITATION SPREADSHEETS! I HAVE GRAPHICS! MASTER FISTO, CALL MY COMMLINK—"
The massive Council doors slammed shut.
The remaining Masters sat in heavy, traumatized silence.
Obi-Wan: (Taking a very long, very sad swig from his flask) "I am retiring. Perhaps to a desert planet."
Ki-Adi-Mundi: (Stroking his beard in profound, solemn thought) "Though... if we examine it from an entirely diplomatic perspective..."
Mace Windu: "Do not finish that sentence, Mundi, or I will ignite my lightsaber right here."
[TIME SKIP: FIVE MINUTES LATER]
The Council doors suddenly exploded open. Anakin Skywalker practically slid into the room, breathless, his hair a mess, pointing a shaking cybernetic finger at the space where Ezra used to be.
Anakin: "WHY WASN'T I GIVEN THIS DATAPAD?!"
Mace Windu: (Deadpan, zero hesitation) "Skywalker. You are on this Council, but we do not grant you the rank of Master. And this technique? This is strictly Master-level tier."
Anakin: (Voice violently cracking with absolute desperation) "I COULD HAVE SAVED MY MARRIAGE, OBI-WAN! RUSH CLOVIS HAS BANKING CLAN MONEY, BUT I HAVE THIS! YOU CAN'T GATEKEEP THE GOOD KRIFF FROM ME!"
Obi-Wan: (Massaging his temples, not looking up) "Anakin, no. Please. Just for one day. Be normal."
Anakin: "ANAKIN YES! WHERE IS THE BOY?!"
Ezra poked his head back out from behind a decorative pillar, grinning like an absolute gremlin.
Ezra: "You don't need to pay, Skywalker. Your wife already di—did I say wife? Weird. First lesson's free!"
Yoda: (Stretching out a single, furiously trembling claw) "YEET!"
A massive, invisible wave of telekinetic force slammed directly into Ezra. The Padawan shrieked as he was violently launched straight through the high-security transparisteel window. He tumbled outward into the endless, multi-leveled Coruscant traffic with a faint, fading yell of "...worth iiiiiiiiiit!"
Mace Windu: (Walking to the broken window, watching Ezra plummet toward a hover-bus) "...Actually. Maybe we should have heard out his pitch."
Kit Fisto: (Still smiling cheerfully) "I recorded it on my datapad if you want the cliff notes later."
[HOLONET LIVE STREAM REACTION BOARD - SECTOR 7]
🔥 @SigmaSithLord: Palpatine could never. This kid is playing 4D Dejarik.
💀 @WindusLeftEye: executing order nut-crusher in 3...2...
👀 @SecuraSimp_99: Plz Ezra, drop the instruction holocron I'm starving.
✨ @C3POfficial: I compute a 98.4% chance this would have stopped the Clone Wars.
🚀 @JediHoeOrder66: THE COUNCIL ARE HATERS. FREE Ezra!
___
[Later that night]
[SCENE: THE ROYAL APARTMENTS OF SENATOR PADMÉ AMIDALA, CORUSCANT. NIGHT.]
The room smelled like expensive candles, broken vows, and pure, uncut delusion.
Ezra was currently buried balls-deep in the Queen of Naboo, who was riding him with the kind of desperate intensity usually reserved for escaping a collapsing star destroyer. Her elaborate senatorial robes were crumpled in a corner, looking like they'd lost a fight with a shredder. She was wearing less fabric than a Twi'lek dancer on payday, and her hair had devolved from that iconic "diplomatic bun" into what could only be described as "just got fucked by a hurricane."
"Oh—oh Force yes—right there—" Padmé gasped, her nails digging trenches into Ezra's shoulders hard enough to draw blood. "This is—nngh—this is fiscal responsibility, Ezra! Do you understand? I'm—ungh—I'm stimulating the economy!"
Twentieth time, Ezra thought, staring blankly at the ceiling fresco depicting the Peaceful Era of Naboo. This is the twentieth time this month she's called me in for "emergency diplomatic consultations."
"Whatever you say, Your Highness," he grunted, reaching up to grope her breasts, giving her nipples a sharp pinch that made her shriek loud enough to alert the Senate Guard three floors down.
"YES! OH, THE DEMOCRACY! THE DEMOCRACY IS BUILDING!" Padmé wailed, arching her back like she was having a religious experience. She started bouncing harder, her ass slapping against his thighs with the rhythmic precision of a malfunctioning hyperdrive. "Anakin's been so—oh god—so stressed about the war! If I—fuck—if I take this pounding, I'm absorbing his stress! It's—nngh—it's marital osmosis!"
Ezra internally checked out, watching her face contort with that special blend of ecstasy and complete psychotic break from reality. She's actually believing this, he thought, watching her eyes roll back. Last week it was "testing his combat endurance for the Republic." Before that it was "practicing bipartisan cooperation." She's unhinged. She's actually fucking unhinged.
But the credits were good. The credits were very good. And Padmé Amidala might have the political stability of a supernova, but she had the body of a goddess who did pilates in zero gravity.
"Pinch them again!" she demanded, grabbing his hands and forcing them back to her chest. "Harder! Think of it as—oh yes—as trade sanctions! Aggressive negotiations!"
"Yes ma'am," Ezra mumbled, complying, watching her melt into a puddle of incoherent Nabooian gibberish.
"This is saving my marriage!" she screamed, her hips moving in a figure-eight pattern that defied physics and good taste. "If I fuck you—ungh—then Anakin won't have to worry about me wanting sex! I'll be—oh Force—I'll be pre-satisfied! It's efficiency! It's the Jedi way!"
"The Jedi way is definitely not this," Ezra muttered, but he was too busy trying not to blow his load early because she was clenching like she was trying to crush a durasteel pipe.
"IT'S FOR THE GREATER GOOD!" Padmé shrieked, her hands now braced on his chest, using him like a piece of exercise equipment. "THE GREATER GOOD! TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND, EZRA!"
"I understand, I understand," he lied, watching her tits bounce with the kind of hypnotic rhythm that could bring peace to the Outer Rim. I understand I need to skedaddle before Skywalker Force-crushes my spine.
And then, as if summoned by the sheer cuckoldry in the air, the bedroom door whooshed open.
"Padmé! My angel! My beloved! I brought you flowers and—" Anakin Skywalker froze in the doorway, holding a bouquet of Corellian roses that immediately began to wilt from the sheer sexual radiation in the room. His face went from "loving husband" to "witnessing a B1 Battle Daggering his mom" in 0.2 seconds.
"SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS!" Anakin screamed, dropping the flowers. "PADMÉ! HOW COULD YOU?!"
Padmé didn't stop. If anything, she started grinding harder, turning her head to look at her husband with eyes that were completely glazed over, like she'd mainlined a gallon of death sticks.
"Anakin! Perfect—oh god yes right there—perfect timing, my love!" she panted, not even breaking rhythm. She was still impaling herself on Ezra with mechanical, terrifying efficiency. "I was just—nngh—just conducting a... a spiritual cleansing!"
"A WHAT?!" Anakin's voice cracked so high it could have shattered glass.
"For our marriage!" Padmé wailed, grabbing Ezra's hands and putting them back on her hips to use as handlebars. "Don't you see, Ani? If I—fuck—if I sleep with him, I'm removing the sexual tension from our relationship! It's like... like taking out the trash! I'm—oh Force—I'm absorbing the Dark Side through his penis!"
Ezra stared at Anakin, ready to die. This is it, he thought. This is how I go. Force-choked to death while inside a Senator. What a headline.
But Anakin didn't move. He just stood there, his eye twitching, his hand hovering near where his lightsaber would be, but not reaching for it.
"I... I don't understand," Anakin whimpered, his lower lip trembling. "He's... he's inside you, Padmé. That's... that's not what marriage counseling looks like."
"It's strategic!" Padmé insisted, now bouncing so hard the bed was slamming against the wall with the force of a battering ram. "If I—ungh—if I get all my needs met elsewhere, then when I'm with you, Ani, it's just—oh yes pinch my nipples again, Ezra—it's just pure love! No lust! Just wholesome, Jedi-Code-approved hand-holding!"
Ezra, caught between fight, flight, and finishing, just kept mechanically pinching her nipples while staring at Anakin with the expression of a man who had given up on understanding the universe. What the fuck is even happening? his brain screeched. Why isn't he killing me? Why is he considering this?
Anakin took a step forward, his face a battlefield of confusion, hurt, and desperate, pathetic hope. "So... so you're doing this... for us?"
"YES!" Padmé screamed, throwing her head back, her body starting to convulse. "I'm—oh god I'm gonna—I'm taking one for the team, Ani! It's—ungh—it's gaslighting the Sith! If Palpatine thinks I'm distracted by this young, virile, surprisingly well-endowed boy, then—FUCK—then he won't suspect we're married! It's perfect! It's 4D chess, Anakin!"
"4D chess," Anakin repeated, his eyes glazing over. He took another step into the room. "For... for the Republic?"
"FOR THE REPUBLIC!" Padmé howled, her body locking up as she started to come, her internal muscles clamping down on Ezra so hard he saw actual stars. "OH FORCE, THE CLONE ARMY IS DEPLOYING! THE CLONE ARMY IS DEPLOYING!"
Ezra couldn't hold it anymore. He grabbed her hips, thrust upward, and let go with a groan that sounded like a dying Bantha, emptying himself into her while she shrieked about legislative procedures.
Anakin watched the whole thing, his mouth open, tears streaming down his face, but nodding slowly. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. If it's... if it's for the Republic. If it's to save our marriage."
Padmé collapsed forward onto Ezra's chest, panting like she'd run a marathon, her hair a wild mess, her makeup smeared like a Rorschach test for psychosis. She turned her head to look at her husband with a sweaty, satisfied smile. "See, Ani? Don't I look... relaxed? Don't I look like a Senator who can focus on her work now?"
"You look beautiful," Anakin sobbed, but he was smiling. He was actually smiling. "You're so... so selfless. Taking all that... that stress. From him. For us."
"Yes," Padmé cooed, still not getting off Ezra, who was currently trying to figure out if he could burrow through the mattress and into the planet's core. "And Ani... sweetie... he needs to keep going. For... for the data. I'm gathering data on... on male stamina for the War Effort."
"The War Effort," Anakin repeated, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Of course. We need... we need that data."
"So come here," Padmé purred, holding out her hand. "Hold my hand, Ani. Give me strength while he finishes the job."
Anakin shuffled forward like a zombie, sat on the edge of the bed, and took Padmé's hand. He looked down at Ezra with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes that held absolutely no malice, only a desperate, broken love.
"You're doing great, Ezra," Anakin sniffled, giving him a teary thumbs up. "Really... really giving it to her. For democracy. Can you... can you go harder? She looks like she needs it. For the greater good."
Ezra lay there, still inside the Senator, holding her boobs, while her Jedi Knight husband held her hand and coached him like it was a Podrace.
I don't know what the fuck is wrong with these people
This is worse than the Council. This is worse than Yoda yeeting me. But... he looked down at Padmé's ass, then at the cred-chip reader on the nightstand where she'd already deposited his "research grant." Well. I am getting paid. And I am getting pussy. And these people are clearly insane.
He started thrusting again, because what else was he going to do? Get Force-pushed through a window? No thank you.
"That's it!" Anakin encouraged, squeezing Padmé's hand as she started moaning again. "Really... really pound that democracy! Show her what the Outer Rim is made of!"
"YES! THE SEPARATISTS ARE SURRENDERING!" Padmé screamed, her free hand reaching back to grab her own ass cheek and spread it wider. "ANAKIN, TELL ME I AM A GOOD GIRL! TELL ME I AM SAVING THE REPUBLIC!"
"You're a good girl!" Anakin sob-laughed, stroking her hair. "You're doing such a good job! I'm so proud of you! I'm not even mad! This is healthy! This is communication!"
Ezra closed his eyes, dissociating hard, planning his exit strategy. Okay. As soon as I nut again, I'm grabbing my pants and I'm jumping out of that balcony. I'm finding Palpatine. He'll fund my research. He seems like a reasonable guy who definitely won't try to electrocute me. At least he probably doesn't make his Sith apprentices hold his hand while they fuck.
"Harder!" Padmé and Anakin shouted in unison.
Ezra sighed and went to work, wondering if he could trade his soul for a one-way ticket to the Unknown Regions.
[END TRANSMISSION]