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ricciardosheart · 1 year ago

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A Night in Italy - Toto Wolff.

warning - fluff fluff nothing much, I don't think so, I mean it's a toto wolff fanfic

summary - just a beautiful exchange between a girl name hannah and Toto, how he becomes from a stranger to a familiar stranger, it beautiful

P.S - guys I want to make this a series, please let me know if I can make it better, not proofread

In the heart of Florence, where ancient wonders and modern delights coexisted harmoniously, two souls found themselves drawn together by fate. Toto, a charismatic and adventurous man with a deep passion for cars and motorsports, had always been fascinated by the bustling cafés of Italy. One summer evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets, he found himself wandering into a charming café.

As Toto entered the cozy establishment, he couldn't help but notice a captivating figure sitting alone at a corner table. Her name was Hannah, an accomplished orthopedic surgeon, her presence exuding intelligence and grace. She was engrossed in a book, seemingly unaware of the world around her.

Something inside Toto stirred as he watched her, and he knew he couldn't resist the urge to speak to her. With a deep breath, he approached her table, feeling both nervous and excited. "Excuse me," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with warmth, "I hope I'm not intruding, but I couldn't help but notice you from across the café. Would you mind if I join you for a moment?"

Hannah looked up, her eyes meeting Toto's with a hint of surprise. She hesitated for a brief moment, but the sincerity in his eyes made her feel strangely at ease. "Sure," she replied with a smile, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Toto took the seat gratefully, introducing himself to Hannah. The conversation between them flowed effortlessly, as if they were old friends catching up after a long time apart. They spoke about their shared passion for cars and motorsports, exchanging stories about their favorite racing events and drivers. Toto, with his vast knowledge of automotive engineering, fascinated Hannah, and she, in turn, captivated him with her dedication to her profession and her insights into the world of medicine.

As the evening progressed, the café slowly filled with the soft glow of sunset, bathing the surroundings in a warm, romantic light. Hannah checked the time on her watch, realizing that she had spent several hours talking to this friendly stranger named Toto. "I should be heading home," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "It's getting late, and I have an early start at the hospital tomorrow."

Toto understood the practicality of her decision, but he couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye just yet. "I completely understand, Hannah," he said softly, "but what if we continued this delightful evening with dinner? There's a wonderful trattoria nearby, and I promise it'll be worth your time."

Hannah was taken aback by the invitation. Normally, she would be cautious about such spontaneity, but something about Toto's presence made her want to step out of her comfort zone. "Alright," she agreed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "one more adventure for the night."

They made their way through the charming streets of Florence, the city's history and romance surrounding them as they walked side by side. The trattoria Toto had recommended was a quaint and intimate place, perfect for an unforgettable evening.

Over a delicious dinner, they continued their conversation, delving deeper into their lives, hopes, and dreams. As the night wore on, they laughed freely and shared stories that left them feeling like kindred spirits. Each moment spent together seemed to strengthen the connection between them, weaving an unbreakable bond that neither of them could fully comprehend.

Bottles of wine were brought to their table, and as the hours slipped away unnoticed, they lost track of time. The wine served as a catalyst for their candid conversations, allowing them to reveal their vulnerabilities and aspirations without hesitation.

Hannah couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of comfort in Toto's company. He was a stranger just hours ago, yet now, she felt as if she had known him for a lifetime. The walls she had built around her heart, hardened by the demands of her profession, began to crumble under the weight of this inexplicable connection.

As the clock approached 3 am, the realization that they had been lost in each other's presence all night hit them. Hannah's heart was filled with a mix of emotions she couldn't fully comprehend. She had fallen for this familiar stranger, and it scared and excited her in equal measure.

Toto, too, was smitten by Hannah's intellect, compassion, and adventurous spirit. The ease with which they connected and the way they understood each other felt like a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

With the night coming to a close, Toto walked Hannah back to her car, the silence between them filled with the unspoken emotions that lay heavy in the air. As they stood under the moonlight, a soft breeze carrying the scent of flowers, they found themselves embracing, their hearts racing in sync.

"Hannah," Toto began, his voice gentle and earnest, "from the moment I saw you at that café, I knew there was something extraordinary about you. I've never felt such an instant connection with anyone before. I know we just met, but I can't ignore what I feel."

Hannah looked into Toto's eyes, her heart fluttering as she realized she felt the same way. "Toto, this is all so unexpected, but I can't deny that there's something between us. I've never met someone who understands me so completely. It's like we've known each other for ages."

Toto smiled, his eyes shining with affection. "I don't want this night to be the end of our story, Hannah. Can I see you again?"

Hannah's heart swelled with happiness as she replied, "Yes, I'd like that very much. Let's exchange numbers and find a way to meet again."

And so, they exchanged contact information, each feeling a sense of excitement and hope for what the future held. As they parted ways that night, their hearts felt lighter, knowing that something magical had unfolded between them.

In the days that followed, Toto and Hannah continued their conversations, growing closer with each passing moment. They found themselves making time for each other despite their demanding schedules, eager to explore the depths of their connection.

They shared countless adventures in the picturesque streets of Italy, embarking on road trips to the countryside and wandering through historical landmarks hand in hand. The bond between them deepened, and their love blossomed amidst the timeless beauty of Italy.

As summer turned to autumn and autumn to winter, their love story thrived, with each season marking a new chapter in their lives. Hannah found herself opening up to love in ways she never thought possible, and Toto discovered a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

On a crisp winter's evening, Toto took Hannah to a secluded spot overlooking the city of Florence, where the lights twinkled like stars in the night sky. Under the shimmering moonlight, he got down on one knee, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Hannah," Toto said, his voice filled with emotion, "you've brought so much joy and meaning into my life. With you, I've found a love I never knew was possible. You've become the light of my world, and I can't imagine my life without you. Will you do me the great honor of being my partner in this beautiful journey called life?"

Tears glistened in Hannah's eyes as she looked into Toto's earnest gaze. Her heart felt full, and she knew that this love was unlike anything she had ever known. "Yes, Toto," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "I love you, and I would be honored to share my life with you."

Their love story continued to unfold, a tale of two hearts finding solace and joy in each other's love. Together, they faced life's challenges with unwavering support, cherishing every moment they spent in each other's arms.

In the heart of Italy, amidst the ancient wonders and the modern delights, Toto and Hannah had found a love that transcended time and place. Their love story became a testament to the magic of destiny and the power of connection, proving that sometimes, the most extraordinary love stories begin with a chance encounter in a café on a summer evening in Italy.

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omgsuperstarg · 7 months ago

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Market Day- Toto Wolff x Black! Caribbean Reader

Author's Note: This one shot is based on another function of Caribbean Life. Going to the Market or Farmer's Market to get fresh food for the household is a normal occurrence and Toto decides to tag along with you and assist.

Saturday mornings are usually a staple of your household. That's the day when you head down to the local farmer's market and pick up the much-needed fruits, produce (ground provisions), & seasoning herbs for the meats and fish. Today, you wake at the crack of dawn to get ready. Toto was fast asleep during the summer shutdown taking the much-needed rest from flying for weeks at a time. This is usually a solo trip, so going out and returning in record times is an art form for you.

All that you needed was in your car, you proceed to leave a note so that he knew your whereabouts and with that, you're off for another fruitful Saturday morning.

Mini time skip..........

You're already halfway through your list when your phone begins ringing.

Hello

"Good Morning darling, I see you've left me all alone", your love speaks playfully.

"Morning to you as well Toto. I decided to let you sleep in because GOD KNOWS you need it and market trips have always been a solo task for me. Plus, I'm getting all the ingredients for SOUP SATURDAY!!", you state matter of factly.

"So where are you?", you inquire.

Turn around.

What!?!?", your voice

In doing what's instructed, you observe your boyfriend in some dry-fit shorts, a t-shirt with silver arrow logos, and some aviator shades with sneakers completing his relaxed outfit. Knowing Toto he always wore the love for his team on his sleeve in both figurative and literal senses. He jogs up to you with a bright smile on his face, one that you've come to love in your three years together.

"Im surprised to see you here, I thought you would be sleeping in since Saturdays' are usually my day", you profess as you hand him one of your market bags.

"Well, I couldn't let my darling do her shopping unaccompanied. Not only that it's a perfect way to catch up and spoil yourself with the florals you admire soo much", the statuesque man states with his accented speech seeping into your bones.

"Well, there's still a few more things that need to be purchased and since I already have meat seasoned for cooking, I say when we arrive home I can make us some soup. Judging the clouds it's going to be a heavy rain shower." you speak observing the bleak sky.

"Ahhh yes, soup is always comforting on a rainy day," he says smiling.

A fruitful trip was completed, you both were now home and cutting up vegetables for a hearty lunch. Dancehall and Soca music is blasting throughout the kitchen which is typical of a Saturday Morning. Toto observes you dancing along to the music and even finds himself nodding along to its infectious beat.

"So its always this noisy when you're back home?", he inquires as he sits near the granite countertop.

"Yes, this is a pretty normal vibe for a Caribbean household. Sometimes I would do my Saturday chores on a Friday so I wouldn't have to and the second Saturday or whenever the funds arrive would be market day. After coming home, I would assist my grandma in making soup, my favorite is Chicken foot and I would add ramen noodles to it as well. Early afternoon we would either bake homemade bread or coconut bake'', you profess wistfully as you think of your island home.

"I think that's quite sweet and I'm glad that you're able to share this part of your life with me,'' he confessed.

"I hope I can drag your butt for Trinidad & Tobago Carnival, get some seasoning in you as well as a little more colour, the fangirls I know would appreciate it, me being a major one," you say as you shut the stove off and begin to distribute the food.

The rain finally came down as you both began to eat, the warmness of the soup filling your soul, and the man sharing his love making you feel even more cozy.

#toto wolff #mercedes amg petronas #f1 #toto wolff x black!reader #Caribbean Life #f1 x black!reader #SoundCloud

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 8 months ago

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Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 2) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Scheming brothers. Brief miscommunications. Mutual pining? 👀 Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 6,743

It did not take little Mir long to find several samples of art and poetry to share with the cluster of curious on-lookers that have grown around her sister while she prepares bundles of incense and dried flowers. Petals and dried leaves are taken in clusters of twenty-seven before being tied tightly with twine, and carefully passed over the fire to the individual by name. Among the first bundles she gives, one is offered to Plo Koon, who has joined you since Mir had to ask for Solladara’s help in finding a particular piece of poetry and it interrupted their discussion.

“This is for you, Plo Koon.”

“That is kind of you. Thank you, young Gi.” the Jedi professes his thanks once he’s able to extract one of his occupied hands, more of the Chossi children than before sitting around him or in his lap, now. He has nowhere to put it, for the time being, so while you’re busy reading some of the poetry Mir found, Commander Wolffe takes his general’s bundle of incense and finds a place for it in one of the many compartments in his utility belt.

The Basic that’s carved into thin sheets of bark may be slightly broken and disjointed, but the verbal painting performed here is no less incredible. So… is it really the doing of the Dinocaeruleus anthos that everyone’s been so… inspired? The mere pollen in the air, where that pleasant and faintly familiar smell has followed you all day long, is responsible for all this?

All the sketches, the thoughtful conversations you’ve had today, even the thoughts you’ve been having about the commander, that could all be the influence of the pollen? You’re not sure how you feel about that. Stars above, you live in such a strange galaxy…

“It will only be effective for those who reach maturity.” Mir’s older sister explains to her curious onlookers and those fielding questions, like Tack, preparing a new incense bundle that will be given to you to take back to the Jedi cruiser. “To those who have not reached maturity, like Mir, the pollen and petal incense will only smell sweet.”

Beside you, you hear Tack now quietly mourning that it will only ever smell nice for poor Orchid under his breath. Orchid snarls back at him to shut up, saying that that was a cheap shot. He can be plenty mature! He is so fuckin' mature, thank you!

“If you're talking about your language and your choice of reading material, sure… Now pipe down, both of you. Don't be rude to Gi!” Suds mutters, wagging his head disapprovingly of both brothers’ behaviors. “Sorry about them…”

Gi offers only an impish smile, finding humor in the brothers’ bickering. “It won't work for Mir. But, it would work for you, Arcadia, and Wolffe.” she adds with a nod, offering him his own bundle of anthos incense. “I will make some for your brothers, too. If they are interested.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gi.” Wolffe answers as he pockets his own bundle beside General Plo’s, nodding to show his gratitude for the generosity of your hosts here. The members of their community that were once cold and standoffish before to the battalion have since thawed out some more, making further offers to show elements of their culture, their homeland here with you as off-worlders.

We’re all just the universe trying to make sense of itself. Shouldn’t that be enough to unify us? Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took?

No. Unfortunately the galaxy was just far too vast for that optimism, that sweet naivete. It would never be enough to settle the differences in Republic or Separatist opinion.

It would never be enough to bring back Wolffe’s lost brothers, either.

Brothers he forever carries in his heart no matter if he knew them in maroon or gray. Five hundred seventy-four brothers were lost in the Battle of Abregado. As was the original Triumphant: the new flagship is unofficially filed as the Triumphant II, for the time being. If only you had the appropriate leverage to do it (or maybe you talked to enough of his brothers to rally them around the idea) you would propose Resiliency for the Star Destroyer’s new name to honor Commander Wolffe’s inspiring refusal to be deterred from his service, his duty, his creed of brotherhood and loyalty.

It’s a lovely thought anyway.

One for another time. There’s still so much to do tonight. Gi’s still making bundles of incense for members of the Wolfpack, but there’s been offerings from the Chossi to show more of their homeland, and what they accomplish under the light of the moon as a nocturnal culture. Children Mir’s age are willing to share star stories, naming various constellations you can see when you look in the gaps of the leafy canopy of their community homes. (They’re calling it star-sowing, which sounds adorable.) Children Gi’s age have simple chores to do, and several of Wolffe’s men offer their hands in aid.

Already, a few have assembled themselves in groups, rather like the squads they’re familiar with, and are ready to “report” to the youth of the Chossi. One rookie admits he doesn’t know what ground-squash looks like, but he’s willing to help with harvesting the ripe ones. They’ve spent all day relaxing. And though they spend more days than not getting their hands dirty, it’s from things like droid oil, and soot, oftentimes blood. Getting a bit of dirt on their hands while digging through a communal vegetable patch? Yes, that’s technically work on a day their General took them here to relax, but it’s relaxing compared to what they normally do.

“Might be the only time we get to dig holes we don’t have to fill back up.” another soldier says with a shrug, deciding he’ll join in after taking anthos incense from Gi. “Wait up, guys!”

“What did he mean by that?” you ask, half turning to Wolffe after noticing his eyes becoming half-lidded in thought.

“Graves, most likely.” A stiff shrug is offered, showing he’s not sure himself. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Tack, having eaten his hash-sah fruit while you’d been distracted, butts into the conversation between you and the commander before it grows any more grim. “You really got to try the fruit, Commander; it’s delicious. Arcadia’s should be big enough to share.” He can show you how to eat it, too, since it’s best to hold it by the soft rind, otherwise you’ll end up a bit of a mess like Orchid.

“Ah shit, got my gloves and damn vambraces all fuckin’ sticky.”

Soapsuds hisses for him to be better. “Cool it, fresher-mouth!” he’s displeased that his brother’s not minding his tongue with so many little ones around. The little girl from earlier he’s given his chocolate to still hasn’t let go, for the most part; he’d rather not have one of his brothers prove a bad influence in her galactic vocabulary.

You agree to get the large hash-sah fruit from amongst the things in your bag, gingerly extracting it when the flint-gray commander takes note of the time and suggests you need something to eat. If you’d returned to the Jedi cruiser with the rest of the crew, you’d probably have gotten dinner long before now. “Can’t have you going hungry, Arcadia.” Wolffe says, another instance of it being more than a suggestion.

It’s a veiled request.

Afterwards, perhaps together, you can find something more to do. This time it is a suggestion.

You figure anything will work, so long as it means he’s not about to start patrolling the perimeter of this community like he had in the clearing. You’ll count it as relaxing if you could get him to at least sit while he frets about his brothers. Especially if the brother within his sight is a shiny, thinking back to how he had asked if you could tell who among them were freshest out of the tube while working on his own sketch.

Teeth and claws.

You really have to apply a firm grip on the soft rind of the hash-sah fruit in order to keep it from slipping out of your fingers once Tack’s gotten it divided equally between you and the commander, nails biting into the outer shell and leaving deep ruts as the juice runs between your fingers.

“Stars above, scarcely started and I’m already wet…” you say as it drips into the lap of your uniform, catching the lewd innuendo far too late. “Orchid, don’t even.”

He gives you a smile, but nothing more.

“I mean it.” you warn him.

Laughing, Orchid now holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Can I at least ask if you think the fruit’s good?”

The commander's opinion of the local produce comes quietly before you answer his brother. ”It’s not rations.” Neither negative or positive, merely neutral. If he finds it bitter, or sweet, or savory, he doesn’t share. It’s simply not rations.

“‘Anything’s better than rations’, I know. But is it good, Commander?”

Wolffe gives it a moment of thought. “It’s… like eating sweetened rainwater.”

It doesn’t make much sense, but no one can figure out a way to argue against his description either. The matter gets chalked up to sitting near the fire for too long where Gi had been hard at work wrapping clusters of twenty-seven petals and leaves of a plant responsible for encouraging a person’s creativity and inspiration.

It’s the pollen talking, you all reason amongst yourselves.

You and Commander Wolffe part ways for a short time, Plo Koon begging for your forgiveness as he explained (a little vaguely) that Wolffe was needed for something Dara had remembered, something they had forgotten to do around the ceremonial welcoming fire. After you had finished your portion of the hash-sah and cleaned your hands best you’d been able of the juices, someone had been by with more trinkets for the battalion to take with them if they wished. Leather bracelets of sorts with three beads of hammered copper, meant to be worn on the dominant arm.

That’s when Dara remembered there was something special that was meant to be offered. It’s nothing Wolffe or the Jedi have to take, but as a culture that values their generosity, she and the rest of the elders feel it’s important to at least show it. Best guess anyone has is it’s likely some kind of clothing unique to the planet. Maybe art.

“It would be impolite to refuse without seeing it first, General.” Wolffe agrees with the Kel Dor after briefly conferring with Kwill for the best course of action. He promises to come find you later. If it’s permitted by the elders, he’ll have Kwill take images of the offering in the event it’s something they feel they can’t (or won’t) take, so you can see it.

“Don’t worry about me.” you promise, feeling safe between his DeeCee in your belt, and the familiarity in the company of his brothers. Though you are a lamb among so many wolves as a civilian, you couldn’t be safer. “I’ll find something to pass the time, General.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Arcadia.” Plo Koon replies kindly, dipping his head into a respectful bow of thanks.

You’re not sure if it’s a Jedi thing, or a him thing, but you find yourself mirroring the motion this time. Respect earned, respect returned.

He and Commander Wolffe shouldn’t be gone terribly long with the elders, so you decide to stay relatively close to where he’d departed from you just for now. Your head feels a little clearer than before, distanced from the incense where those stirring feelings had distracted you before.

Twilight troubles, named for the harm they can do, could be simultaneously helpful. Funny how there’s so many things like that in this galaxy: good things, even good people, with intimidating names.

You’ve met a few troopers with hard, edgy names, their hearts softer than tooka fur. There’d been no bristle or frigid shoulders from men named Bane or Dukes or even a Bonesaw like your co-workers had warned you to steer clear of, what feels very long ago now, when you were very new to the job. They’d been the ones to help you navigate the durasteel halls while you learned where to go, what your duties were, your first few days. There’d been a Scuffle, too, who helped you, even at great inconvenience to himself. (Curiously, his armor bore some paint in sap green. Had he been transferred from a different unit?) Each had called you a rookie, but it was more of a casual, almost affectionate sort of thing, when they offered you their help.

Here, sir, helped your lost rookie find their way. Got a little turned around in the halls. (Hey. Don’t worry, Arcadia, you’ll learn your way around in no time.)

Clones look so similar at first glance, a sea of sameness and uniformity. But you know better. These brave men are not wholly made of justs and sameness - a Clone who’s been invited to try his hand at throwing at a foot-pedal pottery wheel may have the same fingerprints as a million other brothers, just another Clone made in the after-image of a dead warrior, but his mark in this galaxy is unique because he is the one who put it there as the iron-rich clay squishes between his fingers in his first attempt. He laughs it off as the Chossi woman showing him how to throw encourages him to try again.

“Well that’s certainly one way to get a feel for the clay!”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” she chuckles while she helps him start again.

Trying again, he makes a concentrated effort not to immediately squish and squelch the red earth-matter, experimentally scooping into the mound she’s made to try pulling it outwards, like she showed him. Clones are remarkably fast learners, no matter if the result is a bit messy. Specks of clay plip against his stark white armor after he adds a bit too much water, distracted by Sergeant Boost joining the crowd of on-lookers.

“Waiting here for the Commander, Arcadia?”

Answering somewhat to the affirmative, you tell him you’re mostly just looking around. “Just watching Lasher at the wheel for now, really.” Lasher’s having a good time, and watching the veteran ceramics at work is kinda mesmerizing.

While you’re distracted, Sinker sweeps up Orchid, Tack and Soapsuds behind you, urging them to be silent. You’re none the wiser.

“Thinking you might add pottery to your list of talents?” Boost asks, teasing lightly.

You roll your eyes, a sarcastic lilt in your voice. “Yeah sure, if I can find somewhere to squeeze it in between all the poetry and painting and woodworking and a thousand other things I’ve ever wanted to try my hands at with my precious free time since I’m just swimming in credits.”

“Hah,” Boost laughs, bobbing his head both knowingly and sympathetically, “Probably a good thing Clones don’t exactly come by much in the way of credits. There’d be too many half-used hobby kits lying around the cruiser.”

While you’re asking him where Clones do get the credits for things like the popular Clone bar on Coruscant, Sinker is trying to persuade one of his brothers to do something for him to little success. “Please? It can’t be me or Boost.” It needs to be one of the younger brothers of the battalion who does this. He’ll sweeten the pot if need be, if it convinces them. “A dirty holomag. Round of drinks at 79’s. We won’t make you clean the gunships. Something.”

“You had me at dirty holomag.” Orchid answers, grinning as he gleefully rubs his hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

Sithspit he didn’t actually have one on hand back at the cruiser, but he knows how to get one. That's a problem for later. “Listen carefully, when the Commander gets back-” Sinker begins, casting a careful look over his shoulder to make sure Boost still had you properly distracted. The two of you are making idle chatter, still. Sounds like Boost has you talking about potentially going back to the gathering fire with him later, where the inviting blaze would keep you warm in spite of the night’s chill. Just in case Commander Wolffe ends up being a while.

You’re hemming and hawing about it, admitting you’re not sure just yet, but it’s kind of him to offer in the spirit of the oft-shared sentiment from the inhabitants of Little Archossi the Jedi, Clones and you are the humble guests of tonight.

More friends the merrier. All are welcome under our shared skies.

“Sure, no problem Arcadia,” Sergeant Boost says agreeably, “Night looks promising to have a lot of excitement still, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to - oh, I dunno - step back for a bit and find somewhere quiet. It is pretty late.”

Or, early, rather. It had been well past 1:00 when last you looked at a chronometer, putting you an hour into a new day. It’s probably 2 or even 3:00 am by now. It could be another three hours before dawn, give or take. You’re definitely not getting any sleep tonight, but you may at least need to rest. (You may need a lot of caf to get through the day when you get back to the cruiser.)

There’s a tree not far from here that seems a little more isolated at the edge of the settlement, Boost pointing it out to you when you say you think it might be a good idea, so it may be a good place to rest and work on another of your sketches if you want.

“Thanks Boost. I think I might.”

From here, the activity and chatter of the settlement has fallen away into a comfortable lull of background noise, punctuated with hearty laughter and dramatic sound effects used by the troopers to spice up their storytelling. In the cold glow of the moon, you could once more study the artwork Wolffe had made of you while you twirled one of the coloring pencils in your hand absentmindedly.

Color it however you like.

Trouble is, you keep changing your mind, or run into complications. First you thought about choosing your favorite color, but the end of the pencil was too dull and you couldn’t find a sharpener among your things to remedy that. (How did you not have a sharpener?) Then you thought about coloring yourself in maroon too, the end still plenty sharp, but putting yourself in such a significant color to the history of the battalion felt… strange. Like maybe you felt you weren’t worthy of it. You’ve gone through a few more colors in your bag, putting away one and pulling out another, but you can never seem to bring yourself to put the pencil to paper.

A rhythmic sound coming from the community, like the beating of a heart, pauses your skylane of thought for a moment. Growing louder, closer, you realize its two sets of boots tromping down the path, one heavy and deliberate to combat the other’s backpedaling.

“Orchid, what is the meaning of this?!” Commander Wolffe demands at last, realizing his brother isn’t going to stop for anything, not even the threat of refresher and gunship duty. His brother only marches him further and further through the dark pathway where the crowns of the trees keep all the light for themselves. A datapad clipped to his hip rapidly knocks against the plastoid at the pace they’re going. “Let me go, or tell me what’s going on!”

“Respectfully, Commander,” Orchid begins in a voice that leaves no room for interruption, “it’s time for you to stop circling the gunships and get to the hangar already!” He gives Commander Wolffe a firm shove from behind, sending the man a half-step forward into your small circle of light with a mischievous cackle. “Don’t worry about the rest of the battalion for the night, we’ve got it covered with the General!”

It’s now coming together for Wolffe, piece by piece. “... Boost and Sinker put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“Not quite, Commander. But they know I’ve got just enough younger brother privileges to still get away with this.” Orchid replies with a shit-eating grin, pleased with himself.

“I’m putting all three of you-”

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered Commander! Have fun!” Orchid calls back over his shoulder as he retreats into the boundaries of the Chossi community. “Elder Row says don’t go any farther than the fifth cairn stack!”

Have fun? Fifth cairn stack?

Gulping back some nervousness, you apologize to the commander. “I’m so sorry that they’re… Well, I don’t even know what. I’m just as much in the dark as you, actually.” You’re not sure what Sinker or Boost had planned, or how exactly Orchid got involved in it, but you’re positive it’s giving Wolffe a headache. “I… might have a theory though.”

“... what?” Wolffe dares to ask, hesitant.

“Sergeant Sinker told me earlier that I… s-seem to be having better luck than them when it comes to encouraging you to relax, so it’s… part of the reason I keep offering to keep you company.”

He stares at you in silence, contemplating perhaps, but it’s more likely that he’s working up something to say.

Instead he sighs. “Hmm.”

Putting your things to the side, you climb to your feet and dust off the seat of your pants, unsure if you should approach him when he’s currently clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. It doesn’t seem to be a completely conscious action as he finally drops his gaze and sighs once more.

“Damn him.” comes the bitter grumble, a regretful expression cracking the commander’s stoic shell. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have started to lose my temper with-” Swallowing back the rest of the sentence with some difficulty, Wolffe looks at his feet instead, registering just how far he is from the settlement now, too. Sometimes, he finds himself forgetting just how strong the youngest troopers are.

He’s been in this war for so long now, it feels, that trying to remember his own days fresh off Kamino proves a struggle. He used to be one of the four marshal commanders of the Grand Army, but the man you’ve gotten to know today is just a commander now.

Wolffe notices something below his left boot just as you find your voice.

“Wolffe? Are you okay?”

Your concern is touching. “I’m fine now, Arcadia.” he promises, pulling back his foot as he stoops to see what it is. Ah. Must have stepped on one of the Dinocaeruleus anthos after Orchid pushed him. (Anger and annoyance has been replaced with pride for that little pain in the ass.) He plucks the terrible blue flower with smashed petals from its home in the soil, looking regretful. Sorry little thing. He hadn't meant to trod over it.

“What did Gi say these were called again?” he asks you, thinking to tuck the ruined blossom in his utility belt until he can find Tack. (Maybe even a ruined specimen can serve the researcher, in some way, he hopes.)

“Twilight troubles.” you answer, your voice softer than the gentle breeze.

His head dips with a thoughtful nod as he plucks the neighboring, uncrushed flower too, “... come here.” Commander Wolffe requests in that golden tone that sends shivers down your spine. Close enough for his liking, Wolffe finds some buttonhole in your uniform to thread the stem through, adorning you with further tokens. “A little more color to catch the moonlight.”

The stitched, gray wolf head with thread in your favorite color for the eyes was the only addition that graced your uniform just this morning. Now, there was the long leather cord of three copper beads wrapped around your wrist, and the Dinocaeruleus anthos - a delicate and beautiful galaxy when kissed by the rays of the moon - in the buttonhole to your breast pocket.

“There,” Wolffe says decidedly, “think suits you rather well, Arcadia.” There’s a glimmer of moonlight reflected in the surface of his cybernetic eye, the cold and delicate beauty of it serves for a lure. You’re staring, and he can tell.

He turns his face from you, eyes growing half-lidded. “Looks strange in the moonlight, doesn’t it?” The murmur is bashful, or perhaps more accurately, more self-conscious. Funny, you’ve never believed Commander Wolffe to be in any way conscious of his appearance like this in all the time you’ve been aboard the Triumphant. Never for a moment would you have pegged him to harbor insecurities, until today and all the many opportunities he has left himself vulnerable under your sight.

Been permitted to know him better.

He’s allowed himself to be pulled apart, scrutinized and examined all so you can continually paint him with your praises, making your promises that you see him for the whole of the man he is. Beyond the flint. Beyond the designation number. Beyond his status as a commander, or simply just yet another rain-soaked son of Kamino. To you he is not Kaminoan or even Republic property, a mere product ten years in the making, a culmination of what a good, dutiful soldier was imagined to be and nothing further. No. You’ve witnessed too much today to pretend otherwise.

He’s so much more.

“No. Strange isn’t the word I’d use.” you reply with a somber edge in your voice, “It’s… brighter in the moonlight. Like… like it becomes a beacon of light. Or a moon of its own.”

Instance after instance, you continue to impress Wolffe. Stump him repeatedly. Just when he thinks you can’t possibly offer yet more worshiping words, you conjure more. You’ve never seen him painted in the aching pains of rage that come in the heat of battle, but your tongue lifts only in reverence when you speak of his once-maroon paint and the phase one helmet. You’ve witnessed the hands that comforted and guided his brothers today, the very same hands that show a readiness in drawing his weapon today or any other day; never once did you shy away from such displays. You looked on in awe, instead. Or fear, not for yourself, but for him.

He hums low in his throat. “Sounds like pollen-talk.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s not. But would you believe me no less if it was, Wolffe?”

“‘Sounds like’ is not the same thing as ‘that is’, Arcadia.” the commander informs you, clarifying his meaning with a soft voice like hissing cinders. “But I never meant to imply I did not believe you…” Of course he believes you. You’ve proven your respect for him today, instance after repeated instance.

It’s time he showed you more of the same respect in kind. You’ve been… so selfless, and kind, in giving him your time today. You could have told him to fuck off when he got in the way of the tree you’d been drawing, and you didn’t. You didn’t have to keep him company when Plo Koon had gone scouting, but you had. And you chose to remain behind when the rest of the crew left. How better can he repay all of that than to be honest with you?

Hoping he comes across in earnest, he meets your eye. “I would still believe you, even if it was from the flowers, because it’s you talking.” Wolffe promises.

Now alone, fully isolated from his brothers rather than surrounded on all sides like so much of today, both you and the commander grow bolder, speaking freer than when you find yourself in the midst of the wolves. “Earlier: what was it that Waves said?” you ask, setting your things down now that you’re out of visual range of the battalion.

Steeling himself with a long draught of his canteen first, Wolffe does not immediately meet your eye. He had taken you a little further away from the edge of the settlement, fearing his brothers would repeatedly come to gawk at the pair of you. What he says next, paired with the location, should be cautious. He’s aware of what it looks like.

“Orchid seemed - seems…? - to think you'll have my privates standing at attention before morning, as a way to get me to relax, the next time we were alone.”

It's exactly as you suspected, a sexual innuendo.

Both you and the commander break eye contact with the other at the same time. Yeah. You know exactly what the 104th will think when they learn that you two snuck off alone, staying within the boundaries of the third and fourth cairns - rock formations a whole head taller than Wolffe - in order to get a little alone time.

“Permission to turn him into flower food, sir?” you request half-sarcastically with a deep groan, face in your hands. Did Orchid get that idea from his choice of reading material? Was the clever if crude play on words involving military rank and one's genitalia something he found on the Holonet? You and the commander… you barely know each other, let alone-! “Fucking hell… I think I’m gonna kill him.”

“He’ll wish you had after a week of fresher duty,” Wolffe says with a mild laugh, now offering you the canteen. “But I’m afraid the general and I need that little pain in the ass in one piece.”

You chuckle. “Spoil-sport…” With not much in the canteen, you take a small drink with the intention of conserving some for later. The rest of the water was for you, he had said. You thank him after setting the canteen beside your bag, where you once more pull out your sketchbook as well as the second datapad you had offered to carry. When Orchid had shoved the flint-gray commander, the force combined with the weight of the datapad had compromised the clip holding it to Wolffe’s belt. At least that was going to be an easy part to replace.

“So before I forget… what did Solladara want to show you and General Plo?”

Finding the pictures, Wolffe shows you the items, “Artwork of the clearing, where they found us. And… this.” It looks like it’s supposed to be some kind of shirt, but the material is surprisingly transparent. “You can understand why we accepted only the artwork, I’m sure.” Wolffe adds, shaking his head with a soft laugh as your eyes roam the image, trying to picture him in it while he mentions he’s going to try to get a small fire going to stave off the chill of the night. There’s a shallow pit, kindling and firewood that you can use here already, to your good fortune.

“I’m almost tempted to draw you again, wearing that Chossi attire that was offered to you this time.” you admit with a splitting smile, twirling the 2-besh pencil in your hand teasingly as you continue to study the image.

You’re not really going to draw him in it, knowing that it’d leave very little to the imagination with a body type like the commander’s. He’s not slender in the same way the peoples of Little Archossi are, certainly much broader, and with well-defined muscle… Well.

There was no way such a thing would be appropriate to wear anywhere other than the privacy of his own quarters. You’ll end up making the man look like a pin-up model in a state of semi-undress.

Wolffe clears his throat meaningfully. “You really should rest your wrist. I think you’ve drawn enough for the night, Arcadia.” Stretching out his hand, he silently beckons for the sketchbook to be turned over to him once he’s gotten the fire going.

“Seriously?” You’re less than impressed with him for the moment, and it shows. You want to be touched that he’s concerned about your comfort, but him acting like a parent or other figure of guardianship in your life taking something away because you’ll misbehave with it in your possession is not the way to go about it. “I think I’m capable of showing some restraint on my own, thanks.”

Wolffe gives an unpleasant twitch when he realizes how this looks. How he believes he’s offended you. “I didn’t mean to imply that- Yes of course you are, Arcadia, you’ve proven that. I only wanted to ask to see it for a moment. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Oh Maker. Talk about a total overreaction when you don’t have all the facts.

You hand him the spiral bound, eyes turned away. “I’m sorry. For assuming, and overreacting like that. I shouldn’t have.” The apology comes out in a strained voice, far more choked than you’d like. There are a million half-formed thoughts racing over your tongue right now that will never make it past your lips. You do not trust any single one will be coherent when it’s clarity you feel he deserves. “I think… I think after being around all this creativity-boosting pollen today it kind of just left me… wondering where all the thoughts begin and end.”

“Do you think you need a minute?”

“Yes…” you admit slowly. Wolffe starts to climb to his feet and panic begins to bubble up in your chest. “B-but I’d like you to stay! I’m not asking you to leave.” You don’t want him to leave, because you don’t know when he’ll come back, or if you feel this is worth potentially troubling a medic over.

He listens, and he stays. The distance between you however, has changed. Wolffe’s put himself much closer to you now. Previously at arm’s length, he’s now close enough to lean against. He has the sketchbook in his hands, flipped open to that page of you in uncolored armor, but it’s you that he studies. In his quiet observance, Wolffe’s expression changes several times in the fluttering firelight, each change gradual and small. Softening brow. Pursing lips. Eyes full and fixed.

“You’re a hard man to read sometimes, Commander Wolffe.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it, or how he’ll take it after what just happened, but maybe he’ll appreciate knowing what’s on your mind. “I think it makes me nervous. Sometimes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to. But you can’t help the way you feel either.

“I don’t doubt that, Arcadia.”

He’s sorry that he makes you nervous, as well, Wolffe adds. Of course it isn’t his intention. Of course he understands that feeling this way can’t be helped sometimes either. He’s familiar with that feeling and its cousins. Nervousness and dread. You’ve seen enough proof of it today. The pacing. Safety drills. Lecturing Suds. Arguing with his sergeants. Throwing himself over you to keep you safe.

Without hesitation. Like you were one of his own brothers…

“Hey, um-” you start, glancing over at your sketchbook, “H-how’d you draw me so quickly? Can’t just have been ‘inspiration’.” It’s not the question you want to ask first when you disturb the curtain of silence, but it’ll serve as a good starting block.

Commander Wolffe gives you a small, guarded smile. “The idea is to be quick when you’re drawing outdoors, is it not? That’s what you said to me this morning.”

Oh the utter cheek in that reply - whether it was intended or coincidental - could drive someone wild were there not so many questions on your mind. And there’s just so much.

“Force, I… I almost forgot I’d said that, in all honesty.” you admit a bit numbly, staring ahead into the dark sea of foliage. “You- Well no, you remembering that would make sense. I guess I should be more surprised by how much detail you captured in so short a time.”

Muttering something to himself in thought, he repeats the word detail several times before coming to an important decision.

Commander Wolffe's hand darts into the low fire pit, snatching out a charred hunk of wood. As you're wondering what the hell's gotten into him, if he's burned his hand through the gloves, he takes the art book in his opposite hand and flips it to his sketch of you. Sort of tickling the page with one end of the charred wood, Wolffe is carefully smearing the appropriate areas of the armor with ashes, blowing away the excess once he's done.

“That takes care of gray missing from all of the coloring pencils.” He nods once, stiffly, satisfied with his ingenuity. “Now you truly look the part.”

Look the part? But you're just drawn in Clone armor and colored in gray, just like the 104th battalion. What's so special about-?

Oh, Force. Oh galaxy and all her stars…

Commander Wolffe means you look like the rest of the one-oh-fourth, that you fit in.

“Are you saying that…?”

Osk-nern-esk

The eyebrow above his cybernetic eye lifts just so, nearly missed in the flickering firelight. “Use your words, Arcadia.” he teases.

Osk-forn

“A-are you saying that I’m… b-but I'm just part of the crew!” you insist, certain that he's not serious about this. He can't truly mean what he's been writing, word by word beneath the first mantra.

Trill-hesh-esk

“But you are, Arcadia. You're one of us.” Wolffe promises, voice low and reverent. “The 104th would not be the same without you. Not after what I've seen… felt today.”

Wesk-osk-leth-vev-esk-senth

ONE OF THE WOLVES.

Whether they were still the magnificent maroons of the past, or the grizzled grays of today, you have been added among the names - the number perhaps thousands or more - of his brothers that he will forever carry in his beating heart, forevermore his wolves. This is a silent oath that when he fights for the glory of the Republic and the downfall of the Separatists, he’s doing so for his general, for his brothers, and for you.

For good measure, Wolffe scribbles down his rank and name, bringing the end to the work on his magnum opus with a signature. It's only fitting. Here, at this private fireside, he lays his heart and intentions bare to you. “I’m probably about as poetic as a gargled mouthful of Aurebesh soup, but Arcadia… while I know you well enough to consider you one of the Wolfpack, I'd… I'd like to ask if you'd be opposed to getting to know you better. As new friends do, first, perhaps, or…”

You blink once, maybe five times before finding your voice. Friends. In his own way, he confirmed you were friends. “I wouldn't be opposed at all… I-I’d be happy to, even.”

You're nearly breathless, heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour, just short of warp speed.

Does the slight stress to “or” mean he's grappling with other feelings about you on his mind, like you do for him? The love versus limerence?

“As friends is a… good place to start.” you offer additionally, matching that tender, relieved smile he shows you.

“Have to start somewhere, Arcadia,” the Commander replies plainly, trying to appeal to his and your own sense of logic perhaps. “Just to make certain of any… feelings.”

Taking you under his arm, against his side, Wolffe is content with waiting out the remainder of the night under the curtain of stars for the sky to lighten and give way to another glorious, golden dawn. The 104th will depart for the Triumphant at daybreak, and the war efforts will resume as normal. You just hope Plo Koon cooks up a satisfactory excuse in the event someone asks him what happened today. (Or, technically yesterday. (What time is it?)) For all you know, nobody will ever ask or care to know, or it'll be decided what happened on Little Archossi is by-and-large an unspoken secret.

Which would kind of be a shame.

It'd be terrible to keep the day you became friends with the flint-gray Commander under wraps, never get to explain the truth behind him coated in maroon while you're in gray in the pages of your sketchbook. Never be able to explain the full context of meeting the Chossi, or what they've taught everyone.

Or how, murmured under his breath into the shell of your ear after the stars begin melting into the backdrop at long last, Commander Wolffe admits that perhaps for once, he's never been more relaxed since the start of the war.

That's a wrap! Thank you so much to everyone who read this series; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this.🩷If you would like to be join my taglist for future fics, the form can be found here.

Tag list: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night]

[Golden Dawn part 1] [Finished!]

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking Point

We've reached the point where I would definitively recommend reading the entirety of Doc's Misadventures before continuing beginning, of course with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Vague, cryptic warnings, moral dilemma over assassination, mild tension

WC: 4,385

“Squeeze it.”

“I am.”

“As hard as you can.”

“I am.” I didn’t try to hide the impatience from my voice nor the glare from my eyes as I stared down the medic before me, annoyance flaring at the way his lips twitched with disappointment. My arm trembled beneath my efforts, fingers clenched around the sensor measuring my grip strength, but I still barely managed half what my other hand could do.

“Let’s increase reps for your mobility exercises. The more you use that arm, the faster the”

“I know.” I stated flatly. The cybernetic implant reconnecting the severed nerves needed to be trained, which involved the limb floundering weakly for those first few days to relearn how to move, all the while struggling with the odd near-numbness robbing sensation from the back of my hand and stretching up toward my elbow.

I didn’t need them to tell me that, while it may get better, it was unlikely at this stage for numbness to fully recover. I didn’t need them to tell me that it was normal to feel frustration during the healing process, to try to celebrate each bit of progress made. I didn’t need them teaching me motions I’d taught countless others before fleeing my home world with Wolffe and General Plo. Despite my reminding them that I happened to not only share their profession, but that I specialized in rehabilitation, still they felt the need to walk me through every tedious step.

“Any change with your knee?” He asked after visibly preventing himself from rolling his eyes.

“Still stiff. Still aches. No signs of infection.” I answered dryly. I’d been through this every day for nearly two weeks, almost never seeing the same medic twice and growing more restless and impatient with each one. A short sigh escaped him before managing to restrain himself.

“Alright, you can get out of here.” He yielded, setting his datapad down, and I didn’t wait for him to change his mind before pushing myself to my feet, weight still primarily supported by my uninjured leg, and started quickly toward the door, barely pausing even as he called after me. “Same time tomorrow – no skipping out!” I brought my left hand up to give a mockery of a salute without bothering to look at him as I left.

“I hear you’ve been causing trouble with your medics.” The door had barely closed when General Plo appeared around the far corner of the hall, and my face instantly brightened.

“And here I thought you’d forgotten about me.” I teased, quickening my step.

“Never, little one.” The innate fondness in his soothing voice was a balm to even the bitter aftertaste of disappointment from my daily check-in, and I eagerly greeted him with a firm embrace, smile growing at the way his torso shook with that nearly silent laughter.

“You’ve been through quite the ordeal since leaving us.” He murmured, holding me for just a moment longer before, with a deep breath, stepping back, arms automatically returning to rest against his stomach, hands tucking in the long sleeves of his robes.

“It’s… been an adventure,” I admitted with a weary chuckle, “but worth every second.” The grin that pulled at my lips was tired and worn but free of even a whisper of hesitation. “Did you come here to visit or was this just a happy accident?”

“I thought I might accompany you for a time.” He turned to begin a leisurely pace through the too-sterile corridor. “I’ve received word that your squad is being sent to Devaron.” My stride faltered a moment as I moved to follow him, heart sinking at the very thought of them going on a mission without me…

“So quick to worry.” He hummed, and I could hear the smirk in his words. “My understanding is that this isn’t to be a typical mission.” He explained before I could respond. “It has been approved as a medical leave. While I am not directly involved, so know little more about it, I believe it would be a safe assumption that you are to be included.” My relief was palpable, and I didn’t need to see his eyes to feel the knowing look he shot me as I fell in step beside him.

“You’ve grown quite close to them.” He remarked.

“Being thrown from one near-death to another will do that do a person.” I retorted, earning a quiet chuckle. “We don’t have a fancy space wizard to save us if things go wrong, but… those men are amazing, Plo… Reckless… and cocky, but amazing.”

“That explains how you’ve fit in so well with them.” He teased, and I couldn’t still my laughter despite the heatless glare I sent him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.”

“Of course, med’ika.” He relented with mock chagrin. Just as we neared the barracks door, he paused. The way he called my name sent a chill down my spine, and I found myself holding my breath as he spoke.

“You must take care on Devaron.” The way he said it, the deep worry tinting every word sent my heart racing. “I sense a great heartbreak… and I fear for you, little one.” For a short eternity, I couldn’t respond, frozen in the sudden terror of his cryptic warning. He let out a deep breath, sympathy and sorrow and affection coiling into that simple gesture.

The door opened before us. Hunter took a mere handful of steps into the hall before snapping into a salute.

“General.” He greeted, and Plo’s entire stature seemed to change without moving at all, instantly losing the overture of dread in favor of the gentleness I treasured him for.

“At ease, Sergeant. I was simply escorting a dear friend back to you.” When he turned to face me once more, I tried to offer him a smile in farewell, but I couldn’t shake the weight of his warning from my shoulders.

“May the force be with you.” I’d heard him speak those words countless times, but at that moment it felt like he was willing them into me, almost pleading for the ancient prayer to grant me some bit of luck or protection, and I couldn’t bring myself to even offer him the same in kind as he turned to walk away.

“Everything alright?” Hunter asked softly, attention shifting from me to the robed form retreating into the maze of halls.

“Um,” The sound caught in my throat as I finally turned to face him. “Just… wants us to be careful.” A tense quiet lingered for a few long seconds before he drew a sharp breath, arms crossing his chest as he looked at me with a disapproval that would have been concerning were it not for the humor lighting those eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to finish for another ten minutes.” He chided. “I was just coming to meet you. Something I should know?” Forcing my gaze to the man beside me, I let myself be infected by the simple glee in seeing the hint of a smirk on those plush lips.

“Yeah: I’m a medic.” I stated bluntly. “I can manage my own physical therapy.” He let out a sigh, vying for a reproachful glare but unable to rid that fond warmth from his eyes. Grinning, I walked the few steps past him into our room.

“You’re back early!” Wrecker greeted happily from where he lounged in a chair.

“Think they got tired of me correcting them.” I replied with a grin.

“That is unfortunate; their specialization in particular deeply relies on continuously furthering their knowledge.” Tech commented, not bothering to glance up from the datapad in his hand as he sat hunched over on his bunk.

“Were you correcting them or berating them?” I purposefully turned away from Echo’s skeptical gaze but couldn’t refrain from smiling at his chuckle.

Our barracks was already packed: wrappers from a half-dozen ration bars lay scattered amongst wrinkled sheets atop Wrecker’s bed, a collection of wires and circuits covered nearly every inch of the center table, and several of the storage crates seemed knocked askew from some recent bout of roughhousing, but each of their footlockers lay stacked beside the door. Stepping over a thick braid of cords crossing the center of the room, I tread to the thinly padded couch and sat heavily against the corner, instinctively stretching my leg out over the cushion beside me to straighten the stiff joint.

Crosshair’s absence was nothing new. It took only a glance to confirm the heavy case he kept his rifle in was missing, and I safely assumed he’d gone to the range for the meticulous pre-mission ritual of fine-tuning the deadly weapon.

“When do we leave?” I asked instead, though even that was relatively easy to guess, and I wasn’t surprised at Hunter’s answer.

“First thing tomorrow.”

There was a tenseness in the recycled air of the Marauder. Everyone seemed to speak just a breath softer, footsteps falling almost silently about the metalloid floors, and Crosshair seemed nowhere to be found. By the end of the second day, I found Hunter alone in the cockpit and slipped quietly into the chair beside him.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked, a subtle plea in the almost murmured words. He didn’t look at me for a long moment, those gold-streaked eyes staring blindly at the dance of blue and black beyond the viewport. His jaw tensed, teeth grinding slightly before letting out a slow breath.

“Officially, we’re en route to Devaron for your med leave… Unofficially, we’re being tasked to protect a visiting senator.” His lips parted, but he paused, stalling for even a few seconds more before turning to me. “We’re really going there… because intel discovered a Separatist agent – some new face trying to start a coup… They want Cross to take him out.”

I didn’t know how to react. Crosshair was a sniper, so such a task seemed obviously suited for him… but… this wasn’t a battle. There would be no driving threat of ‘us or them’ as both sides fought for their lives… This was an assassination. And, from the unease that had plagued the others since the moment we left, it was painfully clear that Crosshair was just as conflicted about the distinction.

“That’s why I haven’t seen him lately?” It was nearly rhetorical, but Hunter nodded regardless.

“He… gets quiet… withdrawn before… and after.” He barely breathed the words, and I could hear the guilt in them, the regret; the frustrating knowledge that this wasn’t the first time and wasn’t likely to be the last.

“Where is he?” I asked in that same fleeting whisper. His brows pulled together, just forming the beginning of a crease as he glared at some distant point past my hip. “Hunter… where is he?” I pressed, leaning toward him enough to rest my hand atop his forearm.

“Kitchen.” He finally answered, resigned. My fingers squeezed the taut muscles gently in gratitude before I pushed myself to my feet. It didn’t matter how I felt about it… Crosshair was given no choice in this, and my heart twisted at the turmoil it clearly brought him.

As Hunter had said, the lithe man was seated at the small table, rag in hand as he finished wiping the remnants of cleaner from the sleek barrel of his rifle. He didn’t look at me as I slid onto the seat nearest him, letting my own gaze wander aimlessly over the immaculate weapon. Without a word, I set my hand lightly upon the worn surface, palm raised, fingers slightly flared in quiet invitation. Still, he feigned ignorance for just a moment longer before reluctantly setting the rag down.

“Hunter told you?” His voice was carefully even, robbed of even the impatience normally reserved for interrupting such a ritual. Still, I kept my gaze trained away from him as I nodded. He hesitated just a moment longer before slowly letting himself reach for me, fingers threading through mine.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” I didn’t look at him as I said it, almost expecting his coming silence. Hand tightening slightly around his, I couldn’t keep the subtle note of fear from my voice, Plo’s warning ringing with frightening clarity through my mind. “I don’t want you to do this alone... How am I supposed to keep you safe if I’m not with you?”

Still, he didn’t answer. I didn’t press again, savoring at least this brief moment of comfort while it lasted. Too soon, however, he pulled away from that touch, hand lingering near me for just a breath longer before pushing himself to his feet to return his rifle back into its case, and, in that same silence, made his way out of the room.

The undertone of that dreadful waiting, the unspoken worry and held breath seemed only to worsen in the final day before arriving at the stunning jade orb. Great peridot clouds swirled about its atmosphere above stretches of emerald seas. Unlike so many of the more populated worlds, the continents appeared remarkably unblemished by the hands of sentient creation; no sweeping metropolises tarnished the dance of greens and yellows of the unending rainforests below; no constellations of city lights or swarm of ships orbited the planet like gnats granting it an air of untouched wilds that sent a slight thrill through me as we began our descent.

Tech mentioned the proximity of where we’d be landing to the capitol city, but I could see nothing through the faint hues of gold resting about the web of massive roots just visible through a dense canopy of fluttering leaves. I was surprised to watch the lake gradually lighten to a gorgeous blue the nearer we got and found myself eager to explore what other secrets lay hidden within the delicate haze of eternal mist blanketing the planet’s surface.

“Alright, let’s set up a perimeter first, then we can relax.” Hunter reminded, gaze pointedly turning to Wrecker, but he couldn’t fully hide the smirk at his brother’s visible excitement as those mismatched eyes studied the crystalline surface of water before us. Even through the skintight blacks and heavy armor I could feel the thick humidity in the air as the ramp lowered, the gentle warmth in that first step toward the stunning forests.

The trees weren’t as tall as I expected, trunks barely the width of my shoulders even as they branched out into a massive umbrella of leaves overhead that sang as they danced in the soft breeze. Pristine ferns coveted the rich soil below, frons curling out in subtle pleas for what fleeting fingers of sunshine adorned them in a dappled light that painted the very air it passed through. Even the boulders stretching between seas of lush foliage nearly blended into the greenery beneath interplays of moss and lichen that garnished their surface.

Without needing to be told, Crosshair and Tech tracked north from the lake while Hunter and Echo headed south, leaving Wrecker with me to guard the ship. Despite his clear eagerness to indulge, Wrecker was surprisingly fastidious in his duty, maintaining a careful quiet as we waited, weapons held loosely in our grasp, for the others to return. At least, he was for a time.

“I hate it when they do this.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke, the almost grumbled words stark against the gentle hum of insects flitting about us as he seamlessly continued scanning the surrounding trees.

“Do what?” I asked, confused by the sudden statement.

“This. Sendin’ us places pretendin’ it’s for one thing, then sendin’ Cross off on his own like we don’ know what’s really happening…” His shoulders fell, head dropping slightly toward his chest. “Makin’ him…” He didn’t finish the thought, but I watched the tension coil through his powerful form, and my chest tightened from the mere sight of it. “I don’ like us not stayin’ together.”

I wished so desperately for some idea on what I might say to ease his worry, but there was no comfort to be found for this. Holstering one of my pistols, I crossed the few meters between us and let my hand reach out to settle gently atop his forearm.

“I don’t like it either.” I murmured softly.

Hunter and Echo were the first to return, their dark armor granting them the illusion of shadows until a speck of sunlight hit a strip of red or gleamed against the thin transparasteel of their visors.

“Clear.” Hunter called as they approached, mimicked barely a beat later by Tech as he and Crosshair appeared along the opposite bank, and some façade of calm settled over the small clearing.

The golden sun burned brightly overhead as we finished the unspoken routine of setting camp: the beginnings of a fire crackled at the center of a ring of storage crates placed about it in some semblance of chairs, proximity sensors had been placed strategically within several nearby trees, and already Wrecker was beginning to free himself of the heavy plastoid armor, eyes turned happily toward a towering boulder creating an small overhang along the northern bank.

“Wrecker, be sure to check for” Before Tech could finish the warning, his brother wrenched the top half of his blacks off mid-run as he raced up to the ledge, nearly tripping in his attempt to slip out of the bottoms as well before throwing himself into the water. Echo’s slow sigh was rich with silent laughter at the loud whoop that preceded a massive splash. “Rocks.” Tech finished dryly, and I shot him a wide grin, already walking forward to retrieve the abandoned garments.

As I bent down to grab his shirt, a flash of crimson caught my attention amongst the shadows shifting over the wealth of brush stretching between distant tree trunks. Hunter stood with his back toward me maybe a dozen meters away with Crosshair. The sniper was looking pointedly into the woods, brows lightly furrowed, arms locked over his chest. I couldn’t hear even the hum of voices, but noted how Crosshair’s expression grew harsh, could feel the way he ground his teeth even as he gave a subtle nod. Hunter’s shoulder’s suddenly relaxed, hand reaching out to settle over his brother’s arm for only a moment before shifting to clasp the back of his neck as he pulled the taller man toward him in a firm embrace.

In my distraction, I didn’t hear the plinks of water droplets nor the telltale crunch of gritty soil churning underfoot. When those powerful arms suddenly hoisted me into the air, I couldn’t begin to silence the loud gasp from catching in my throat, body flailing as I turned to see the devious grin stretching across Wrecker’s scarred face.

“Last I heard, we were here for you to get better,” he began, already taking tantalizingly slow stops toward that overhand.

“No-no-no-no, Wrecker!” I stammered, already squirming violently in a futile attempt to escape him.

“That means yuh gotta do your physical therapy.”

“Wrecker! Let me down!” I squealed, thrashing even as laughter tore from lips I couldn’t begin to force free of that beaming smile.

“Jus’ so happens, swimmin’s a great way to work out,” He continued as though I’d said nothing at all, “nice an’ gentle an’ such.” Abandoning the vain effort to loosen his hold, I instead locked my arms around his neck, intent on preventing him from throwing me as useless pleas continued to shriek amidst giggles that betrayed my feigned reluctance. In those final few feet, however, he shot forward in a sprint, and I could only scream in mixed delight and fear as he launched us both over the ledge.

In that brief moment of stillness, hidden beneath water shimmering with dancing flickers of light catching atop peaks of what tiny waves formed in our wake, breath held only in that last second, I found myself marveling at the quiet. For just those precious, fleeting seconds, I felt only the gentle touch of tepid water enveloping me, hiding me away – hiding us away as Wrecker’s arms tightened, locking me against the blistering heat of his bare chest.

In a rush, the world crashed back around us as we breached the surface, overwhelmed with the buzz of fleeing insects and lap of water striking stone, and I felt my chest jerk in a violent inhale before turning what mockery of a glare I could manage toward the man holding me.

“Wrecker!” I scolded, but any façade of anger was lost in the glee shining through my voice, and the brilliant smile stretching across his face freed me of even the memory of fear.

“Ah, I’m jus’ tryin’ to help.” He retorted, pretending to pout as he easily carried me back to shore.

“‘Help.’ Right…” His expression broke beneath a stifled chuckle, and I instantly retaliated by launching a small splash at him, which only fueled his mirth.

“Wrecker is correct; swimming is a particularly effective means of physical therapy.” Tech chimed as his brother carefully lowered me to stand before them on the damp soil. Hunter and Crosshair stood just past the folded wing of the Marauder and I felt that rush of warmth flood my chest at the easy smile on the Sergeant’s face. Even Cross’s expression was softened by the threat of a smirk.

“How about you let him throw you in next?” I glowered, looking up at Tech with an impassive glare.

“I am not the one in need of reestablishing a neural connection with my arm.” He shot back, and I had to fight to ignore the wordless signal Echo sent the towering man behind me.

“No, but you are in need to reestablishing a connection with nature.” I replied resolutely. Frowning, he glanced away from his datapad just in time for the arc trooper to snatch it from his grasp. Before the sharp retort could escape him, Wrecker charged forward to grab him. I was shaking in a fit of giggles well before the splash rang through the clearing, each shouted threat and demand only rekindling my glee until I was folded over, arms locked around my stomach. The quiet huffs of broken breath as Echo tried to force some silence over himself was a delight in itself, and when I heard the rich sound of Hunter’s laughter, my heart soared.

Wrecker hadn’t jumped in with him like he’d done with me; he’d simply stood over the ledge and flung his brother into the water. Face flushed, Tech quickly dragged himself to shore, lips twisted into a scowl, but, when I reached a hand out to help haul him to his feet, beaming at him with a joy that we were so rarely allotted in the nightmare of this war, some of his ire faded, hesitantly slipping his fingers around mine.

“I fear I fail to see much benefit in your idea of ‘reestablishing a connection with nature.’” He muttered, pulling at his goggles to let the water that managed to pool within drip down his cheeks.

“Really? No benefits at all?” I pressed, nudging my shoulder against his. I vaguely noted Hunter leaning over to whisper something to Crosshair, but the way the sniper’s shoulders shook left me smiling even wider. Tech’s cheeks flushed anew, gaze quickly fleeing mine.

“Maybe… a few.” He relented. “However, standing in wet armor is not among them.” His fingers tightened subtly around mine before releasing me as he tread toward the fire, already pulling at his gloves and vambraces.

“I see you two giggling over there! Are you coming willingly, or is this about to become a high stakes game of chase?” I called to the two still standing several meters back. Crosshair merely cocked his brow, arms looping over his chest, and the beginnings of some dismissive excuse settled on Hunter’s lips for just a moment before he paused, turning back to his brother with a final comment that briefly left the sniper stunned before walking towards us.

“Alright! Now it’s a vacation!” Wrecker boomed, trotting backwards into the lake for a few strides before merely letting himself tip over onto the water’s gleaming surface, and I couldn’t help but marvel at him; at the display of raw power no longer ruined by starvation. The stunning bronze of skin dappled with scars stretched easily over thick muscles now softened by a protective layer of fat. He looked happy; healthy… and, Maker, it was a task to tear my gaze from the way his briefs hugged his every curve.

When I turned back toward the others, however, Tech was already pulling his top over his head, seemingly oblivious to the heat revealing his deceptively toned form sent through me, and I found myself grateful that Hunter was distracted with stacking his own armor atop one of the crates. When I glanced back to find Echo walking up to join Crosshair, however, the knowing look the sniper sent me left my cheeks aflame, and I found myself biting my lips.

Forcing the thoughts from my mind, I finally began shedding my own armor, laying the pieces out to dry before reaching for the hem of my shirt.

“Oh.” The small sound of surprise threatened to draw another chuckle from me as I looked up to find Tech failing to keep himself from staring.

“What? You guys get to go flouncing about in your skivvies to swim, but I don’t?” I teased, spreading the soaked garment out over a crate before reaching for my pants.

“N… uh, of course.” He quickly stammered, pointedly turning his attention back to his own attire. The GAR issued undergarments matched their briefs, and my breastband offered little chance of mishaps, but, while they’d each found their way to my care in various stages of undress, this was the first time, save Echo, they’d seem me in such a state, and I couldn’t deny the thrill of feeling their eyes on me, of catching them watching me as I made my way back into the lake.

“I take back what I said,” Wrecker murmured when he finally noticed my approach, “Now it’s a vacation.” And I shot him a wide grin before diving underwater.

Next Chapter

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#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #star wars hunter #star wars tech #star wars wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb oc #my writings #star wars fanfic #first person reader #soft hunter #guilt #moral dilemma #assassination discussion #mild tension #beach episode

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365granitegirlx · 1 month ago

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Wolfieeee loveyyy my questions for you <333

13.

14.

16.

21.

25.

34.

35.

My list is getting long 🙈🙈🙈 I’ll leave some for anyone else that wants to ask! Hehe 😅😅 hope you’re having a lovely day 🌸💗

hehe it's ok!

13. Biggest turn ons

*giggles* having my faced held while making out, playful condescension, nipple stuff

14. Biggest turn offs

ooh lord ok. cigarette smoking, blatant bigotry (and everything therein), buzzcuts

16. I'll love you if...

you remember things I say (esp about me), you like to be silly or at least have a sense of humor

21. What do I love the most about myself

my eyeballs and eyebrows, my empathy, my creativity, and SOMETIMES my mind

25. My idea of a perfect date

EASY. first we're going to eat something really yummy (preferably outside where we can people watch, eavesdrop, and have nice drinks). then we'll do something like bowling or a museum or a stupid movie. then we'll say "hmmm we should get dessert. then we'll go home and JORK

34. What I find attractive in women

Fun fact: I was a professed lesbian until I 1) saw Saltburn last November, and 2) started listening to Sleep Token in January. big hair, pouty lips, a boyish sense of humor, love a curvy soft girlie, also love a husky voice, aquiline nose, bushy eyebrows. tattoos. oh god. RED HAIR. love a strong jaw too. when they smell good. and apparently when they're an earth sign. some examples include Lady Gaga, Charli xcx, Anya Taylor-Joy, Megan the Stallion, and beautiful niche comedian Honor Wolff.

35. What I find attractive in men

hazel or green eyes, when their pants show off their slutty ankles, when they aren't afraid to be silly or emotional, curly or floofy hair, neat facial hair, rat-like, happy trails. big noses. and again, apparently when they're an earth sign or British. some examples include that weird noodle man, Jack Whitehall, and Eddie Redmayne.

#ask wolfie #ask game #mrs iii

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masterjedilenawrites · 2 years ago

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I am curious as to your headcanons for the clones with a Grey Jedi S/O. Are they cautious, curious, impressed? And for that matter, how likely are they to pursue such a relationship since they're not bound by the Code like the Order is?

🐢 Sloooowly making my way through requests. Sorry for the wait on this!

Cody, Kix, and Dogma are intrigued. Their curiosity has definitely been piqued, especially regarding the open door to a relationship. They would've been doing all they could not to fall for this person (which is to say not very well), believing they were off-limits due to being a Jedi. But now, now they'll be very interested to learn more about what it means to be a "Grey Jedi" and will take special note of the fact that attachments aren't off the table. They'd be more willing to be with a Grey Jedi than another other Jedi.

Rex and Wolffe are conflicted. They have come to care for the Jedi, both their Jedi Generals and the Order as a whole. They admire what the Jedi stand for, how caring and hopeful they can be even amidst a war. But now they have a crush on this particular Jedi who walks a fine line between light and dark, and they don't know how they feel about that. They would need to be convinced the Jedi wasn't corrupted by the dark side, and better understand everything else they stand for, before being comfortable pursuing a relationship.

Fives, Jesse, and Tup are impressed. They think it's pretty cool their S/O has found a way to encompass different values outside of the traditional Jedi customs, while still maintaining a stance for all things good and fair. They appreciate the hard work and dedication it takes to dabble in unknown areas, just enough to draw strength to fight for what's right without being corrupted by it. They are amazed by what their S/O can do with their unconventional position, and grateful that it allows them to have a relationship without feeling guilty.

Fox and Hardcase are ambivalent on the matter. They don't mind too much what their S/O does or stands for, just so long as they aren't cruel or unethical about it. They believe people are more than their professions, even the clones as soldiers, though perhaps they wouldn't voice those opinions aloud for a while. They'll learn enough about this "greyness" their S/O embraces as a part of getting to know them, the whole them, along with everything else. And they'll be both encouraging and supportive, knowing this path is what makes them them.

#star wars #the clone wars #clones #clone x jedi #sw x so #grey jedi #commander cody #commander wolffe #commander fox #captain rex #kix #fives #tup #jesse #hardcase #dogma

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ladyzirkonia · 1 year ago

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Meet my OC Doc. 🚬💊🦾

Doc (Jurij Vega) , is a doctor (cybernetic specialist) working for the Grand Army of the Republic. She has blonde hair, freckles and wears googles, often seen adjusting them when she's nervous.

Character traits:

Intelligence: Possesses exceptional intellect and expertise in her field.

Determination: Displays unwavering determination to achieve her goals and push boundaries.

Technical Savvy: Proficient in technology, using her skills to invent, engineer, and innovate.

Complex Morality: Deals with moral conflicts and gray areas, grappling with the ethical implications of her actions.

Visionary: Possesses a visionary mindset, challenging the status quo and striving to reshape the world.

Ethical Exploration: Explores the boundaries of what is ethically acceptable and pushes the limits of her field.

A Clash of Idealism and Reality

Hailing from a humble background in the Outer Rim, Doc's decision to become a doctor was motivated by the loss of her big brother. Specializing in cybernetic implants and intricate surgical procedures for Clone troopers, she has performed surgeries on notable figures like Commander Wolffe, including the installation of his cybernetic eye. She also ensures the proper functioning of the implanted parts.

Having earned her doctorate in genetic mutations, particularly in enhanced senses and desirable mutations, Doc began her journey in the GAR with idealistic aspirations. However, she soon discovered the limitations of her role, realizing that she was just a cog in the machine and unable to save or even intervene in most lives.

Doc harbors a strong aversion to the regulations imposed by the GAR, especially the protocols that restrict her from intervening beyond a certain extent of damage inflicted on the clones. While she often hesitates to speak out, there have been a few exceptional cases where she defied GAR protocol to save lives.

The Fine Line: Doc's Unhealthy Obsession and Coping Mechanisms

Struggling with obsessive tendencies regarding her work, Doc's dedication can sometimes take on unhealthy dimensions. She turns to smoking and other coping mechanisms during high-stress situations, leveraging her access to various substances and medications.

A constant battle wages within Doc, questioning the ethical boundaries of her profession and the medical possibilities that exist. Often, her ego triumphs, pushing her to explore uncharted territories in the pursuit of pushing the limits and challenging established norms.

Obsession and guilt: Doc and Commander Ghoul

Doc, driven by a helper syndrome, becomes obsessed with healing Jenot and making him whole again. This obsession borders on unhealthy and toxic, as she invests all her energy into his well-being. Meanwhile, Jenot, burdened by survivor guilt, directs his frustration and anger towards Doc, blaming her for saving his life. Their dynamic is marked by a constant power struggle, with Doc shouldering the weight of his emotions.

Here and here more about Commander Ghoul (OC by @cloned-eyes) Here the thing everything started

Fanfiction Shattered Minds - Part 1 - Part 2

tagging @staycalmandhugaclone for the wonderful OC 400 Follower event you can join here.

Thanks for that, it finally made me put together some info from my head here. And hopefully gets me motivated to post the (almost three) existing parts. Doc is my baby, I love her, so be nice.

#oc doc #oc commander ghoul #the clone wars #this was the first thing I ever wrote and will be always in my heart #if you expecting some fluff here you better not enter #I love these damaged little idiots and it will be my pleasure to torment them #yes this will get dark and angsty #star wars fanfiction #oc x oc

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cthrnschumacher · 1 year ago

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I'm Yours - Ch. 2 Sparks

Y/N POV

Stunned and utterly speechless by Toto's comment, you stood still. You were indeed left with no words for someone who does a lot of talking and wants to go into a profession that consists of only talking and is people-facing. Toto pulls away to see your face bright like a cherry tomato; he bites his lip, almost necessary because he can't help but adore your facial expressions, being lost and flustered all from his doing. He takes this moment to walk off toward the lecture hall. You weren't sure how long you stood there, but when you turned your head to see that he was no longer there, and wondering what would happen next. Your mind was spinning with the number of possibilities that could occur: after this lecture, the fact he said he would be watching you, how are you going to focus, and this was only a 2-hour lecture, what about dinner and most of all the interaction on a never-ending loop. Not wanting to jump too far into the future of your thoughts, you take a second to compose yourself in the place where you and Toto stood.

Once feeling like you have regained some judgment, you head to the door, pulling the wooden rod to open the door; your assumption was correct - the lecture hall wasn't busy. You could say there were at most 50 people present. Putting you at ease a bit because Toto couldn't possibly direct his attention towards you with this many people in the room; it would be obvious. As you walk across the hall to the section that faces the podium, glancing across the room, you suddenly realize that he may put you on the spot because most of the audience members are male. You stick out like a sore thumb. Making your way up the stairs to sit near the back of the hall and in the first-row seat, dropping your bag on the seat next to yours, not wanting to be bothered by anyone else. You shake the thoughts away of your racing mind, with the only intention to focus on the lecture's content, so it will be over before you even know it. As you grab your laptop from your backpack, you see the professor enter the room with Toto trailing slightly behind him; they are both engrossed in a conversation, probably catching up and agreeing on last-minute points, until he looks up to you and gives you a wink. You can't help but bite your lip to stop your face from turning red and immediately set up your laptop to avoid eye contact with him.

The room falls into a dead silence, mainly instigated by Toto's presence. Something about him, the money, power, dominance, and demeanour, provoked people around him to fall hush. It wasn't an eerie silence, but it was shocking to some; no one expected the guest lecturer to be Toto Wolff, so the audience reacted as you did when initially bumping into him. Just as that moment fell upon everyone, it quickly vanished, and everyone resumed their conversation. Taking your phone out of your pocket is the perfect opportunity to text your parents that you will be home late. You didn't want to scare or keep them worried. Finishing informing them, you again glanced around the room; a little sigh of relief washed over you as you saw a few more females, but they sat closer to the front. You could tell they hoped to get his attention from how they sat close to the podium and their demeanour toward him. You had some relief that you weren't the only female in the lecture, but it brought on a slight smile to see their demeanour in hopes that Toto gave them the slightest bit of attention.

Your attention now turned to the podium; the professor gave a brief overview of today's topic and some of the concepts in the initial material - only lasting for roughly 15 minutes - until he started introducing the guest lecturer. You noticed Toto get up from his seat; his jacket was off, and you took a minute to eye him up and down without being shamefully exposed from your previous interaction in the coffee shop. He wore a pair of black loafers that showed just a bit of his pale ankles, a pair of well-fitted black chinos, and a crisp white button-up shirt that revealed he was in good shape for someone his age. As you made your way up to his face, he now had his notable circular framed glasses to read off some of the notes he prepared until you recognized that he was making eye contact with you for a split second before moving his attention to everyone. You smiled this time. After all, Toto couldn't keep eye contact with you for long because he was in a room full of people who also had their complete and undivided attention on him.

The professor concludes his portion and sits close to Toto's belongings. Toto then makes his way and gets himself situated with this material. Once he's done, his portion of the lecture begins. He reintroduces himself a little less formally. He goes into the brief history of his career and life choices and how he eventually ended up in F1, running the most successful team on the grid. You were taking in all that he has accomplished, even though that portion was brief; you know he is far more accomplished than he is letting on, but he is in front of students who will be the future leaders of tomorrow. He inspires them, us, to take every opportunity that presents itself. From this, he links the conversation to diversity within his field. He demonstrates that since our world is advancing with new technology, strategies, and efficient ways of completing tasks, this promotes the same discussion in making the work environment equitable. It was remarkable to hear the enthusiasm in his voice; he truly has a passion as he knows what it is like to miss opportunities that weren't handed to you. He knows that sometimes hard work and grit will do all the talking for you. He was speaking about all the improvements made in both facilities to embrace equitable leadership that is lacking in a sport/industry that is predominantly male and proceeded to use the lecture hall as an example, pointing out that there are only a handful of women in the crowd.

And to not much of your surprise, his lecturing was ending. Still, the professor allowed a question period. Too much of your amusement, Toto was able to answer the questions eloquently as if he were the professor of the course. Besides those questions, a few audience members asked about the current season and the management style between a seasoned driver and an upcoming driver. As if he was in a media pin, he gave a rendition of the answer reporters typically receive, but more toned down since he's lecturing to students. Deciding to be bold, you raised your hand on an inquiry and see if he would muse your interest. You could see the twinkle in his eyes when he saw your hand raised. But he went on to answer a few more questions before turning to you.

"Yes. Miss in the back, did you also have a question?" He called upon you, and your heart skipped a beat at how he addressed you. You exhaled to let some nervousness out; he warmly smiled and nodded to allow you a chance to speak. "Yes ….. first, thank you for the guest lecture. It was a pleasure and inspiring to hear you speak. Now… My inquiry pertains to your equitability in your facilities and your initiative to power the young leaders of tomorrow. Would it be possible to arrange for a shadowing opportunity?" He warmly smiled and raised his single eyebrow. He shifted slightly in his place and took hold of the glass of water at the podium. He was using this as a moment to think, not wanting to jump to an answer immediately. You knew that kind of opportunity is rare, let alone highly gutsy, to ask in front of an audience that most students would want. He set his water down and made eye contact with you again. "Might I ask for your name so I can address Miss…." "My name is Y/N. It's Y/N Y/LN." He was dragging this out purposefully, and he enjoyed every second, keeping everyone on the edge of their seat, but you could tell he was inadvertently teasing you. "Miss Y/N, how about you give me your contact, and I will discuss this with your professor and contact my assistant and team to arrange a shadowing opportunity to make it a research fellowship for a full academic term; how do you say a studying aboard course at Brackley?"

A wave of excitement washed over you. I couldn't help but smile now, having received the chance all because of being courageous. Everyone in the hall was looking at you. No one could believe what just happened. Seconds passed, and you could tell he was looking for a response. "Thank you. I am honoured to have the opportunity, and yes, yes, I will be more than happy to give you my contact information." "Great! See me after the lecture to exchange details." You hadn't realized you were on the edge of your seat until you started leaning back. You were pinching yourself because you couldn't believe that all just happened; mentally, you were freaking out; you didn't know where that confidence came from. You zoned out for the rest of the question period until you noticed everyone packing up their things, and you started to do the same. Once you finished and waited for the rest of the members to file, it was just you, the professor, and Toto. You made your way down the stairs to the podium. The professor addresses you briefly: "I must say that was daring, but congratulations. I look forward to talking with Toto and making this a fellowship from which you can learn and benefit. I must head home, but we will discuss this later. Have a good evening, Toto." "You too. Have a good evening, we'll talk later." He exits the hall, leaving you and Toto alone.

Just as the door shuts, he walks around to stand in front of the podium facing you, "I have to say, that was quite courageous of you. Never have I been asked that question while guest lecturing, and you are one lucky person." He smirks, leaning against the podium. "I …. uuuhhhh …. thank you again. But you don't have to offer the opportunity ……. I don't know what washed over me to ask such a thing." He could see you were rambling, but he let you go on, just adoring you in your moment of excitement, loving that he brought on such a drive for you to excel but could also make you fluster under his gaze. He decided it was enough, and for the first time now, standing up straight and moving slightly more toward you, interrupting you for once, "Do you mind if I get your contact then? I have to talk to my team and see how this could happen, as well as with your professor." In your still flustered state of mind, you didn't even realize the response you gave, "Yes, of course, anything you need," looking dead in the eyes as those words left your mouth.

His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes showed something different; he told you the information he needed, which you wrote down. "Can I also get your phone number? … it would be for when I need to contact you directly, just in case we need to speak and that I can relay information to you," "For sure, did you want me to write it down or …" You couldn't even finish your sentence because of his eagerness, "Can you put it in my phone?" You nodded as he reached over the podium to remove his phone and unlock the device. Your hands trembled as you took his phone and entered your contact information. Knowing you were distracted again, he got closer to you as you did this. Once you were done, you looked up and finally noticed how incredibly close he was to you; the only space between you was the length of his phone. He spoke softly, "Thank you. I'll text you right now." You just kept nodding, not knowing how to react; you couldn't think; he intoxicated your space, making you want to stay silent. He spoke again softly, "Why don't you head out first, and I'll meet you in the building so we can head to dinner, ya?" Still dazed being close to him, you just nodded, but then he tipped your chin with his finger, almost helping you bring yourself to reality and making you look directly into his eyes, "I need words, Y/N?" Shaking again, "Uhhhh yes …… I'll see you outside ya?" A grin plastered on his face, and then letting go of your chin, "See you soon."

He returns to his stuff on the seat, packing away his belongings as you make your way to the lecture hall door and pushing it open. You just wanted to get outside, but before that, you headed to the washroom to splash some cold water on your face. That helped cool you off, but you felt a little stuffy and quickly went outside to wait for Toto. The fresh air relieved your mental state; the sun was setting, and everything was a soft orange glow. It helps calm your rapidly racing mind from the live loop of interactions that previously happened. Toto was shamelessly flirting with you; you were a shy, nervous wreck. Somehow, you had the same confidence to flirt back with him. As many thoughts race in your head, you can't help but smile from all the happenings these past few hours, from how you initially met until now. You are head over heels for this man and don't know where to go.

Pulling you from your train of thought, you see Toto exit the building, his wicked smile still plastered. You couldn't help yourself but smile right back at him as he made his way towards you. "Ready to get dinner? You can put your things in the trunk of my car while I drive to the place?" Your cheeks turning a shade of rose, "Uhhhh….. sure …… l-lead the way!" The walk to his car was silent; this gave you a moment to reflect on your day and think of the things that would need to be done for tomorrow. You take out your phone and open the notes app to start your list of tasks. Toto must have taken a chance to glance at you, "You are such a busy person. Do you ever get a chance to just stop and relax?" Typing the last few thoughts on the point you were thinking, you saved the note and shoved the phone back into your vest pocket.

Giving him a truthful response since there weren't many people around, "Not really, but I like being busy. It fills a void, you know." That sounded ridiculous, but it was true; you felt worthless if you weren't busy or doing something. For someone who hasn't accomplished anything in their life yet, you take on these activities, extracurriculars, volunteering, and being a mentor to some because you dislike the idea of being stagnant and not being productive. "Y/N, when you start your fellowship, your first lesson is the art of boundaries because you clearly need to learn some." You look at him, and his lips curl up a bit into a smile; you know he is joking, but you still decide to comment, "Boundaries have been nonexistent in my life, and I'm always willing to learn new things, so why not." You say the last bit and turn your face to see his reaction, to which he meets your gaze as you walk. His smile is still there, but you can tell there is something deeper just from the intense look his eyes portray. You were being cheeky back to him. But there was some validity in what you uttered. You never really had boundaries when it came to work and your personal life; you made a point of learning from any situation that came your way. The walk only lasted another 10ish minutes until you got to another building. The building was another lecture hall but had a parking garage underground, and this building is the entrance to access it.

He quickly takes a few more steps forward to open the door for you like he did earlier, making you blush by this action. His actions were small, but they spoke volumes about the type of gentleman he was. If what he was doing was considered a date, he genuinely did all the right things. For someone like you, who has never been on a date, it was astonishing to experience the care a man took in treating their date right. You knew not all situations like this were the same, but you were glad Toto was making you comfortable in his presence. Then again, he is much older than you, more than twice yours. You were just 23 years old and still in your Master's program and wanted to attend law school. While he was 51, he worked odd jobs and went through many ups and downs. He is now thriving in his business ventures and as a team principal of an F1 team. Not to sound stacker-like, but you have researched Toto because you truly admired the quantity he has accomplished. It prompted you to want to be just as triumphant in your own path. This was the only thing running through your mind as you followed Toto to his car.

He was slowing his pace in walking, which meant you were very near his car; the rear lights flashed from one of the cars, indicating that it was his vehicle. Of course, since he is the Team Principal of the Mercedes team, his car is a Mercedes AMG E 53. You could tell it was definitely a sports car, but it was also classy in case of a formal occasion. You dreamed of owning a similar car or any car. You wanted to use your savings for your education and knew other expenses would have to wait. But you see, this car also suits Toto well. For someone who dabbled in rally racing a bit, this car was up Toto's alley, and after all, it was gorgeous, especially in a glossy black.

Popping the trunk open, he sets his bag down and then turns to help you take your backpack off your shoulders. He holds the bag, "How do you carry such a heavy thing on your back? This must hurt." You couldn't help but giggle at the comment. " It's not that heavy, plus it's a workout if you really think about it. It's the extra workout I get after I've gone to the gym." Toto mused your answer slightly, just shaking his head, disapproving of the bag's weight. But you can't help it. It's not like you want the bag to be that weight either; you spend long days on campus. Which requires you to have a water bottle, you needed your laptop and a notebook to write stuff with. Plus, all the devices you carried demand their cables to be lugged. And it is expensive to eat in the city, so your bag had to be that heavy. It is a small price to pay to the future you want to happen, so you do strength training to combat any of the heavy lifting, literally speaking, so you don't injure yourself. It was also an excellent excuse to get into shape.

The noise of closing the trunk startled you; you had a habit of zoning out just a bit, but you didn't expect Toto to back you up until your back hit the trunk of his car. You looked up at him, wondering what he was doing. Your face turns red because of his actions and close proximity, his face coming closer to yours. You instinctively bite your lower lip, unsure what to do, say, or even look for that matter. Your face lined up with this chest, but then you looked up. You couldn't help getting lost in his chocolate-brown eyes. He was giving you an intense star back. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek. His thumb brushed your cheek, making your head tilt into his touch, wanting more and not stopping. He slides his hand down slightly so his thumb brushes your bottom lip, pulling it from the confines of your teeth. He says softly, "Ohh… Liebling, you should bite your lip; we'll be eating soon. You don't want to waste your appetite." He keeps swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. He feels your lip quiver and tumble. He admires seeing you flustered, so when you look up at him, that famous smirk is plastered on his lips again, but you feel his eyes boring into you; he wants to give you more. But you sense his hesitancy because you just met a few hours ago. He was a true gentleman, even when intimate and testing the waters. You never had someone take the time of day to look in your direction, let alone act towards you this way. It was a first, and he pushed all the right buttons to make you flustered under his touch and around his presence.

He pulls away and silently leads you to the car's passenger side. He opens the car door to let you in and shuts it. We walk around the car's back end to get to his door. He settles himself in and ignites the vehicle. You feel the engine roar. How would you give to driving a car like this to test its speed? He starts to back out of the parking spot and toward the garage exit. You are on the main road, curiosity gets the best of you, and you decide to break the silence, "how far is the dinner place from here?" He glances towards you, acknowledging your questions, "It's not too far, just a 10-15 minute drive." "Ohh okay, so not too far," "No, not at all." He glances towards you again and gives you a warm smile.

Sometimes, you hate your awkwardness in instances like this. Toto speaks again; he senses how uneasy you feel and wants to lighten the mood, "Did you want to take my phone and put some music on? I know it's a short drive, and I'm not picky about the choice." You, being moronic and not catching the clues that he wants to make you comfortable and get to know you, "Uhhh… it's okay; the radio is fine." He was genuinely trying, and you must give him that, so you went along. "Is there a particular station you like?" "Do you mind if I search for it? I don't memorize the numbers; I'll just know when I see it!" He glances again at you since he doesn't want to take his eyes off the road, "Go right ahead, the center dial here turns, so seek through and find a station you like!" Finally, picking a station, mainly consisting of pop music, made the drive much more comfortable and not intimidating. You relaxed a little into the drive and could visibly see Toto relax as he drove. You can sense he wants to ensure you are enjoying yourself and at ease around him. It was hardly something you did around people, but Toto made it easy for you to do so. That was something you genuinely liked, having something to help take some of the pressure. It was something you couldn't always do since your mind was racing with the million things on your plate.

Not before long, he pulled up to the restaurant. It was a cute little Italian place. Your eyes lit up a bit, and a smile grew on your face. You loved Italian food. It was always your pick me up after a long day; it just is the number of carbs in the food, but you loved the spices and the cooking methods that made you generally adore the cuisine. He turns into the restaurant's parking lot of the restaurant and parks the car in the back. Once the vehicle is off, Toto instantly gets out, rushing to open your door. Thanking him, you both walk to the place's entrance, where Toto again opens a door for you, letting you in before him. Just as the outside was rustic, the inside of the restaurant was elegant but not too dressed up so that you didn't feel out of place with how you were dressed. Toto gives his name to the maitre de, and we sit at a table closest to the window, looking out at the setting sun falling over the city.

#f1 #formula 1 #toto wolff #class is over #flustered #blushing #bold #daddy toto #toto wolff smut #height difference #daddy #daddytoto

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youeverjustmarryabountyhunter · 1 year ago

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Figured I might as well start actually posting about this Au I made-

The au in question is a Star Wars modern au that I plan to one day turn into an actual fic, but as of now it's just one poorly put together chapter and a lot of brainstorming!

It's sort of a slice of life/everyone lives/happy ending story. It's centered around Boba Fett and started as a joke about his name and how in a modern setting when people first meet him they say 'Like the tea?' And he gets irrationally annoyed by it. Hence the name "No, Not The Tea" (but shortened to "Not The Tea" because removing 1 word suddenly makes it less of a mouthful)

But let's meet the characters, yeah?

The star of our show, Boba Fett, is 15 years old and the story starts with his first year of highschool. He's grumpy (your typically moody teen) and the youngest of his brothers unless you count Din (14) and he does because he's tired of being the baby. (It does have its perks, though) Din isn't actually his brother, but he and the rest of their little rag tag group might aswell be family. (Peli 17, Fennec 16, and Cobb 15)

Next up we have everyone's favorite dad, Jango Fett! (He's a very good father in this) Father of 3 boys(or so he thought) Kote "Cody" (23), Rex(19), and Boba, he has his hands full despite two of them being grown. He works as a bounty hunter (cause that's an actual profession) and his hobbies include annoying his family, and crushing on his kids history teacher. At the age of 18, he signed up to be a sperm donor unaware of just how much they would be using his DNA. Turns out? A lot. And the majority don't seem to have a good home life. He's sufficiently pissed, when he finds out.

Coming in as the eldest child of the Fett household we have Cody! (That was until 17 and Fox showed up at least) Any legal document you find will say "Kote" but people are stupid and difficult and can't pronounce it (it's exceedingly simple, really) so Cody was born. Cody is a caffeine addict (though what Fett isn't?) and will jump at any opportunity to bother his younger brothers. (He once got Obi-Wan to buy Boba a boba-tea..Obi-Wan thought it was sweet! Boba almost committed a murder. They do not speak of that incident)

The middle child that somehow became a father to twins before anybody else could even think of utter the words "grandchildren" would be Rex. It's not like it's his fault! He figured having his 8th period of his senior year would be fun. He didn't anticipate that helping his gym teacher out would involve talking a sophomore down from a panic attack. (Echo, 16 at the time. 17 when our story starts) It's absolutely not Rex's fault that he and his twin followed him around like little ducklings after that. (Fives called him dad as a joke, so Rex took it upon himself to tell Jango that he had grandkids and almost gave the man a heart attack.) It doesn't help the Echo and Fives look suspiciously like Boba- hey wait a minute! Yeah, you guessed it. Long lost kids^^

Alright speed round let's go,

Arla's kids are the Bad Batch boys(she adopted them, they have no relation to Jango. Hunter 21, Wrecker 20, Crosshair and Tech 19) Omega is 11 and her biological daughter. Her big brothers love her to death.

Ahsoka is 19 and Rex's bff.

Luke and Leia are also 11, and they're their parents (and Uncle Obi's, and auntie soka's) pride and joy. Anakin and Padme have basically adopted Han (15. Was in Boba's grade but got held back) as their own at this point.

Wolffe is Cody's age, and the oldest of his brothers (Sinker, Boost, and Comet). They were put into the system (Yes, they came from Jango's DNA) and Plo Koon adopted them. When Jango and Plo first met they exchanged numbers and gushed about their children. (There is much more to that story but that's for a later post)

Ima-gun Di is an ex war general and currently married to Keeli. These two have absolutely NO role in the story whatsoever, I just love them. Jango has only met them once and it was because Ima-gun mistook Jango for Keeli at a grocery store once.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a tired, loving man who teaches history at a highschool and has a not so secret crush on one of his student's fathers. (He's actually taught all the Fett boy's, lord help him.)

Jaster Mereel just wants to know how his ad keeps ending up with kids. He was already confused where the first three came from but now there are 7??(Alpha-17. Oldest. Jango is more of a brother to him if anything. Fox, did not intend to be apart of this family in the slightest and that was fine up until he met Boba and they bonded. Now he's an Ori’vod?? Yeah that checks. Then of course Cody, Rex, Echo&Fives, and Boba.) Best grandfather ever.

Mando'a is a language, because I actually love it sm-

There is so much more lore to this au than I realized, and this isn't even all of it. I fully plan on posting more, and I have a lot of art that I've done for it if I would ever get around to finishing it/posting it. Feel free to ask questions, and I hope to post more!

(Fun fact, I accidentally deleted all of this the first time I type it. So this is the second time I've typed it- I'm not bitter.)

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lboogie1906 · 3 months ago

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Second Lieutenant Robert Prince Madison (born July 28, 1923) is an architect.

He was born in Cleveland to Robert James Madison and Nettie Brown Madison. His father trained as an engineer but was unable to find employment in that profession. He had three younger brothers, two of whom, Julian and Bernard, joined the family architecture firm.

He attended East Technical High School in Cleveland, graduating with honors in mathematics and science. He entered the School of Architecture at Howard University but interrupted his studies to serve as a second lieutenant in the Army during WWII. He was a member of the Army’s African American 92nd Infantry Division and served in Italy, receiving three combat ribbons and the Purple Heart. In 1946, he resumed his architecture studies at Case Western University, despite experiencing racial discrimination from the dean of architecture, graduating with a BS in architecture. He was the first African American to graduate from Case Western’s School of Architecture, as well as the first to gain a degree in architecture in Ohio. He entered Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design, studying under Walter Gropius, and received his MS in Architecture.

He taught architectural design and site planning at Howard University as an assistant professor, before being awarded a Fulbright Scholarship to study abroad. He was the first African American architect to be selected for this scholarship. He studied urban design at the École des Beaux-Arts, Paris (1952–53).

He married Leatrice Lucille Branch (1949-2012). His life is the subject of the 2019 documentary, Deeds Not Words: Conversations with Robert P. Madison by Derek E. Morton. He published his memoir, Designing Victory (co-authored with the journalist, Carlo Wolff) in April 2019. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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fursasaida · 6 months ago

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[Excerpts from this piece on the particular German psychosis and relationship to an imagined Jewish life that props up the German repression, islamophobia, and racism against Arabs and Palestinians we've seen explode from their previous levels in the last few months]

Since October 7, German politicians have proposed rescinding the nationality of German citizens, restricting the civil rights of non-EU foreign residents, and limiting the number of children with a migration background who can attend any given school, which have been promoted as means for preserving and supporting “Jewish life” in the country. A German politician credibly accused of harboring neo-Nazi sympathies in his youth blamed the country’s antisemitism on immigration. Germany’s largest newspaper published a fifty-point manifesto on what it means to be German; number forty-seven reads, “Germany has a heart for children. They are not beaten but promoted.” A prominent German journalist published an article with the title: “The Jews or Aggro-Arabs: we have to decide who we want to keep.” The Anti-Semitism Commissioner of Baden-Württemberg, who is not Jewish, wrote, “The Nazis were still hiding their mass murders, whereas Hamas celebrated them in the media, like Daesh before them.”

Not everything is as it seems in Germany. That tree? It used to be a Jew. That building was once a Jew. That streetlamp was a Jew. And the Jews? It seems they’re all Germans. [...]

In the eyes of many German critics, Wolff’s greatest sin was to argue, in the guise of a Jewish identity, that supporting a boycott of Israel is not necessarily antisemitic, even though he did not support such a boycott himself. Wolff was subsequently castigated as a costume Jew (Kostümjude) by Germany’s largest Jewish and gentile newspapers. He’s been called an aspiring Kronzeugejude (key witness Jew). Contra Wolff’s complaints about German, this is a language with an astonishingly nimble capacity for creating neologisms on the word Jew:

Alibijude: an alibi Jew, one who provides cover for antisemitic (or anti-Israel) rhetoric

Berufsjude: a professional Jew, a Jew by profession

Faschingsjude: a carnival Jew

Großvaterjude: someone who has one Jewish grandfather

Kostümjude: a costume Jew

Kronzeugejude: a key witness Jew, providing testimony for antisemitic (or anti-Israel) rhetoric

Meinungsjude: An opinion Jew? Or a Jew by opinion??

Modejude: A fashion Jew??? Or fashionably Jewish????

Schmusejude: a cuddly Jew, one who presumably cuddles up with Germans

Vaterjude: someone who has a Jewish father

Vorzeigejude: a model Jew

With the possible exception of Vaterjude, these constructions are pejoratives about giving the appearance of being Jewish or utilizing your Jewish identity for gain. Far from an aberration, the revelation of Wolff’s fabricated Jewish identity turns out to be something of a German tradition. Not a year seems to pass without a scandal involving the identity of a prominent German Jew. [...]

Not everyone assumes a Jewish identity; some are satisfied with appearances.

The television journalist Lea Rosh was the public face and most vocal proponent of the campaign to build Berlin’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. Rosh has cultivated a Jewish aura—a Scheinbarjüdin, perhaps. “I don’t look so Aryan,” she once enthused during an interview. Rosh changed her name from Edith to Lea, and unsuccessfully sued the (Jewish) author Ruth Gay for writing that she had done so to sound more Jewish. She once fiercely rejected a proposal to place the Holocaust memorial across from the Reichstag: “Did the ‘German people’ murder the Jews? Hardly.”

Then there are the literal costume Jews. I have twice witnessed large groups of Germans wearing kippot. Once at a rally against antisemitism and once marching with a large police escort down Sonnenallee, the hub of Arab life in Berlin, chanting pro-Israel slogans. To hold a sign that said “Stop Genocide” or “From the River to the Sea” on that same street today would invite certain arrest and potentially criminal prosecution. The police violently suppressed demonstrations and even basic symbols of Palestinian identity on Sonnenallee in the weeks following October 7; I had to extricate a friend, a prominent (Jewish) journalist, from one such demonstration after he was pepper-sprayed for filming the brutal arrest of a man whose crime was to hold a Palestinian flag. But few here are trying to co-opt a Palestinian identity.

Some years ago, a friend of mine was invited to a Shabbat dinner. The attendees all gave the appearance of being religiously observant. They knew the hymns, the men wore kippot, one even had payot. The hosts insisted that my friend recite the various blessings. Through a chance comment during dinner, he discovered he was the only Jew in attendance. They were Germans who enjoyed enacting Jewish rituals, and wanted a Jew to unwittingly give his blessing.

Many more Germans than Wolff, Hingst, and Seibert “feel Jewish.” Jewish community archives evidence that many Germans attempted to “discover” their Jewish heritage after the war. Everyone seems to have a Jewish aunt here. Or their grandparents were in the resistance. Or maybe it was their great-aunt. Others have simply converted. [Note from me: obvious parallel to Americans' "Cherokee princess" great-grandmothers here.]

[...] German television recently ran an award-winning talk show called Freitagnacht Jews (Friday Night Jews) that featured a roundtable of Jews talking about what it’s like growing up Jewish in Germany. Vogue Germany once ran a column called “Jewish Today”—subhed: “The everyday life of a German Jewess, who takes us on a journey through a world we hardly know”—where readers could learn about Jewish bodies, Jewish sex, Jewish doubt, Jewish decision-making and why Jewish men can’t come as quickly thanks to circumcision. Germans love the peculiarity of Semitic sorrows, the specificity of Jewish joys. They love klezmer music. They will solemnly nod their head when you tell them, “My grandfather is a tree.”

The great beneficiaries of this funereal interest, assuming they don’t criticize Israel too much, are Israelis. In common perception, Israeli is synonymous with Jewish. The reality is more complicated inside of Israel, but Israelis are nonetheless regarded as the summa of all things Jewish by a German public whose thinking is still fundamentally characterized by a nation-state framework. And the cultural predilections of Israeli society—an obsession with interrogating Israeli identity as a sort of special existential condition, an enormous capacity for self-aggrandizement and self-pity—conveniently align with German expectations of “Jewish culture,” and largely mirror those of German society. Germany is the largest market for translated Israeli literature in the world.

[...] To be German is to be a Täter, a perpetrator. But the crux of Germany’s national identity, its famed memory culture and the “overcoming of the past,” is, paradoxically, its relationships with Jews, the universal victims. Through empathizing with and supporting Jews, conveniently embodied in the state of Israel, Germans can expiate the evil inherent in being German, passed down from generation to generation as though it were in their blood. Jews become the bearers of an inherited virtue as victims.

Yet far from overcoming the past, this dynamic seems to demand its constant reenactment. Non-Germans can only become German by checking their own histories at the door. Minister of Culture Roth recently told the new Cameroonian-born director of a state cultural institution: “You have become part of the Täternation.” Cameroon was formerly a German colony.

These prevailing tendencies have become ever more apparent in the wake of the horrifying violence in Israel and Palestine over the past months. Germany’s political, media, and cultural elites have rushed to demonstrate who can stand closest to Israel. The identification has been so intense and Israel’s security so frequently invoked as a matter of Staatsräson that at times I have wondered if some Germans don’t believe Hamas’s attack wasn’t obliquely directed at Germany. Vice-Chancellor Robert Habeck gave a much-lauded speech in which he called on Muslims in Germany to “clearly distance themselves from antisemitism so as not to undermine their own right to tolerance.” No similar imperative was given to Germany’s good Christian citizens. Friedrich Merz, the leader of the CDU (Angela Merkel’s party) who is widely presumed to be the frontrunner to become the next chancellor, proposed mandating recognition of Israel’s right to exist as a condition of acquiring German citizenship. His proposal has become reality in the east German state of Saxony-Anhalt.

This formulation of German identity does not offer an inclusive vision for a diversifying country. A friend’s partner, the descendant of Kurdish “guest workers” who arrived after the war, was so impressed by her vociferous school lessons about the misdeeds of Germany’s prior generations that she briefly believed her own grandfather had likewise slaughtered Jews in Europe during the war. Germanness as such has no aspirational, positive content. It’s not hard to understand why some would want to escape this cycle of pathologized guilt, just as it’s not surprising that some would take identification with Jews a step further.

[...] The “I am Jew in Germany” essays articulate something like the opposite: a brittle, uncertain identity in a country that offers Jews many assurances and no certainty. They mark out “Jewish” and “German” as dichotomy of distinct, irreconcilable identities. These essays celebrate “Jewish humor” and are chronically unfunny. They nod to the profundity and factiousness of Jewish culture and hew to the schema of the local Weltanschauung. Profoundly awkward social mannerisms abound. It is almost as though they were . . . German.

The farce of this situation is readily apparent. But the tragedy has never lingered far from the surface, and that tragedy has come into clearer view since October 7, which occurred a few weeks after I initially turned in a draft of this essay to a different magazine. Since October 7, German politicians have authorized breaches in the country’s constitutional order on the basis of nebulous sensitivities, unwittingly setting a ruinous precedent for when the far-right Alternativ für Deutschland comes into power. Since October 7, German arms shipments to Israel have risen so substantially that the total for 2023 represented a ten-fold increase from the previous year, and now account for 30 percent of Israeli arms imports (another report puts it as high as 47 percent). And since October 7, those munitions have been used by Israeli forces to kill more than fourteen thousand children in Gaza. Germany has a heart for children.

#israel #germany #jewishness #gaza #commemoration #racism

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