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ricciardosheart · 2 years 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 · 1 year 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 · 1 year 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

Deep Night, Part 2

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

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staycalmandhugaclone · 2 years 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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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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pastlivesxpastlie · 6 months 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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ladyzirkonia · 2 years 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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youeverjustmarryabountyhunter · 2 years 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 · 8 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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omgsuperstarg · 2 years ago

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#K-popaddock- Toto Wolff x reader

You know I love nothing more than K-pop! So what better than dance challenges with some of the drivers and even the boss man himself for some good fun in between races.

As a driver, you knew it had been stressful having to push the pedal to the metal every weekend but you loved it and wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone knew how much of a K-pop fan you were by the edits and dance covers you uploaded and they loved when you got the chance to show off your skills.

The Mercedes admin gave you the honour of creating some content for the Team Socials and the fans knew that in your spare time, you loved to dance especially to K-pop songs. So you started the #kpopaddock in which each race weekend you tried to do at least some challenges personal and fan-voted. So for the newest edition, it was time to see the other drivers on Grid show their moves and the poison was EXO Kai's Rover since it was the easiest and you knew most of the guys could pick it up well.

And so it began, it was enjoyable seeing the guys try their hand at the choreography. Charles and Carlos put their own flavour and comedy into the dance as you knew the C² would. Max and Daniel did the dance well and Lewis put his own style and improvised a dance to the song.

Now this was the moment that the fans would go ballistic over. It's a proven fact that Toto is a staple to the F1 internet and what better way to get the fangirls screaming than their fave principal dancing. The admin had him agree to do some content but he doesn't know what kind so it was time to break the news and document it.

"Hey boss man, I hope you're ready for your special challenge", you say smiling hiding your evil intentions on what your boss has to do.

'"I hope nothing too difficult and embarrassing.", the Austrian principal speaks with a hint of amusement.

"As we all know, you can party hard and dance so I want to challenge you to bust a move utilizing some k-pop choreo and the whole garage is going to be your personal cheerleader", the garage erupts into cheers and whistles with some taking out their phones ready to capture the moment.

Toto's face resembles a cherry with blood rushing to his cheeks but knowing Toto he's not one to refuse but I did have a stipulation if he did forfeit.

"Just so you know sir, if you fail to accept you must wear wolf ears for the remainder of today's proceedings. So choose wisely!", you say in giddy excitement.

You could hear him mutter in German at the mess he's about to enter.

"Don't worry boss, your dance will be cool and simple to complete and that song is 2PMs My house. Get your popcorn yall cuz this is finna be a show you'll never forget", you profess like an announcer at a circus saving the best act for last.

You begin to teach Toto the moves and he's a surprisingly quick study, its always nice to see the man you look up to have a little breather since race days always have him stressed and the cherry on the cake is that it gives the team a morale boost.

"You think you're ready Mr. Wolff?", you inquire to your commander.

"Yes, I hope I don't embarrass myself too much. I'm marvelled at you. Not only you're a great driver yet here you displaying another facet of your talent. Im quite proud of you.", he confesses after which he gives you a huge wolff hug.

NOW ITS SHOWTIME!!! With all cameras at the ready and baited breath, this was his debut and you placed the cat headband on him for good measure and then the music started.

youtube

It was such a huge moment that even some of the other garages came to sneak a peak at the powerful Wolff getting his dance on and in the end, he did pretty great and the crowd loved it. Some cameramen even documented it live. It was truly an ICONIC Toto moment! You didn't think Toto was able to move his hips like that but he proved you wrong.

You even sent the video to Mrs Susie so she could see her beloved husband in action and she LIVED FOR IT AS WELL as well as little Jack laughing at seeing his dad dance😊😂👌

"AHHHHHHHHH, yep!!!!! This is millions-worthy right here. THE FANS ARE GOING TO EAT THIS UP!!!!!", you say as you observe the footage.

"You did really good Toto, im proud of you. The ears stay on", you said running to prep for the day's races before he can rebuttal.

Bonus Clip

At the end of the day, you placed P4 and to celebrate you had one more challenge to do and it was a compilation of Lee Chaeyeon's Knock. You've been practising for all four levels of the dance and now it's time to bare the fruits of the labour. Dressed in your outfit, you proceeded to leave it all on the track for everyone to see!

#Youtube #toto wolff x reader #f1 x reader #kpop #dance fever

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rockislandadultreads · 1 year ago

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Native American History Month: Fiction Recommendations

And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott

On the surface, Alice is exactly where she thinks she should be: She’s just given birth to a beautiful baby girl, Dawn; her charming husband, Steve - a white academic whose area of study is conveniently her own Mohawk culture - is nothing but supportive; and they’ve moved into a new home in a posh Toronto neighborhood. But Alice could not feel like more of an impostor. She isn’t connecting with her daughter, a struggle made even more difficult by the recent loss of her own mother, and every waking moment is spent hiding her despair from Steve and their ever-watchful neighbors, among whom she’s the sole Indigenous resident. Even when she does have a minute to herself, her perpetual self-doubt hinders the one vestige of her old life she has left: her goal of writing a modern retelling of the Haudenosaunee creation story.

Then, as if all that wasn’t enough, strange things start to happen. She finds herself losing bits of time and hearing voices she can’t explain, all while her neighbors’ passive-aggressive behavior begins to morph into something far more threatening. Though Steve assures her this is all in her head, Alice cannot fight the feeling that something is very, very wrong, and that in her creation story lies the key to her and Dawn’s survival.... She just has to finish it before it’s too late.

Bad Cree by Jessica Johns

When Mackenzie wakes up with a severed crow's head in her hands, she panics. Only moments earlier she had been fending off masses of birds in a snow-covered forest. In bed, when she blinks, the head disappears.

Night after night, Mackenzie’s dreams return her to a memory from before her sister Sabrina’s untimely death: a weekend at the family’s lakefront campsite, long obscured by a fog of guilt. But when the waking world starts closing in, too - a murder of crows stalks her every move around the city, she wakes up from a dream of drowning throwing up water, and gets threatening text messages from someone claiming to be Sabrina - Mackenzie knows this is more than she can handle alone.

Traveling north to her rural hometown in Alberta, she finds her family still steeped in the same grief that she ran away to Vancouver to escape. They welcome her back, but their shaky reunion only seems to intensify her dreams - and make them more dangerous. What really happened that night at the lake, and what did it have to do with Sabrina’s death? Only a bad Cree would put their family at risk, but what if whatever has been calling Mackenzie home was already inside?

Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline

Joan has been searching for her missing husband, Victor, for nearly a year - ever since that terrible night they'd had their first serious argument hours before he mysteriously vanished. Her Métis family has lived in their tightly knit rural community for generations, but no one keeps the old ways... until they have to. That moment has arrived for Joan.

One morning, grieving and severely hungover, Joan hears a shocking sound coming from inside a revival tent in a gritty Walmart parking lot. It is the unmistakable voice of Victor. Drawn inside, she sees him. He has the same face, the same eyes, the same hands, though his hair is much shorter and he's wearing a suit. But he doesn't seem to recognize Joan at all. He insists his name is Eugene Wolff, and that he is a reverend whose mission is to spread the word of Jesus and grow His flock. Yet Joan suspects there is something dark and terrifying within this charismatic preacher who professes to be a man of God... something old and very dangerous.

The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson

Rosalie Iron Wing has grown up in the woods with her father, Ray, a former science teacher who tells her stories of plants, of the stars, of the origins of the Dakhóta people. Until, one morning, Ray doesn't return from checking his traps. Told she has no family, Rosalie is sent to live with a foster family in nearby Mankato - where the reserved, bookish teenager meets rebellious Gaby Makespeace, in a friendship that transcends the damaged legacies they've inherited.

On a winter's day many years later, Rosalie returns to her childhood home. A widow and mother, she has spent the previous two decades on her white husband's farm, finding solace in her garden even as the farm is threatened first by drought and then by a predatory chemical company. Now, grieving, Rosalie begins to confront the past, on a search for family, identity, and a community where she can finally belong. In the process, she learns what it means to be descended from women with souls of iron - women who have protected their families, their traditions, and a precious cache of seeds through generations of hardship and loss, through war and the insidious trauma of boarding schools.

#indigenous heritage #fiction books #fiction #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #library books #tbr #tbr pile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog #readers advisory

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sims-and-noodles · 1 year ago

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THE EVERMORE LEPACY

So I've been casually posting some screenshots from my personal lepacy, and although i don't plan to do any crazy official posting (or at least not with the fun editing i was doing with the white borders), i do think it might be nice to have some kind of explanation to who my sims are. Let's start from the beginning with Clarissa Evermore.

Unfortunately, I don't have almost any screenshots of Clarissa when she was a young adult (this one is pretty much it), and since this save started before everything started falling apart, it's hard to find anything that clarifies what was going on in her life before this point, but I remember the important bits.

But anyways!

Clarissa Evermore

Traits: Dislikes Children, Hopeless Romantic, Virtuoso, Artistic, Snob LTW: Master of the Arts

From my memories, Clarissa was a VERY exciting base game sim because of some of the rules I personally set in place for her.

1. Once you reach level six of a career, you HAVE to quit and find a new job. No commitments. 2. Must get divorced at least once. 3. Have an affair and gain the cheater reputation

These were pretty basic rules, but they made my game really fun since I had grown so used to the typically family gameplay.

So Clarissa joined the Law Enforcement career to start and very quickly fell in love with (taken man) Hank Goddard. She convinced him to break up with his fiance, and when she got pregnant, the two married! They had a son named Levi Evermore. He's that little red-head firefighter in my screenshots.

After a promotion to level six of her career, she quit and joined the Business career.

Flash forward just a smidge and Clarissa rolled a want to go the graveyard at night, so I let her. There, she bumped into the ghost of Victor Goth , and the two began having a ~ghostly~ affair, where Clarissa found herself pregnant once again, now with her daughter: Lucy Evermore. When Clarissa gave birth to a ghost baby though, Hank realized something was up and the two began fighting a lot. Things got much worse when Hank was ALSO caught cheating on Clarissa with Jamie Jolina. The two divorced and Hank moved out. Lucy was then changed into a human, just since it's Base Game and I don't wanna play with a ghost yet. Thankfully, Clarissa was also having a different affair that wasn't a ghost, and that was with none other than Thornton Wolff. The two were very in love and had a lot in common, and eventually Thornton divorced his wife and married Clarissa.

Neither of them have cheated on the other, and they're very in love. They did end up having their own daughter: Claire Evermore. They weren't exactly excited though. Clarissa has now completed her LTW, and has just now quit the Business career and is onto the Journalism career. Thornton has also completed his LTW!

Levi Evermore

Traits: Brave, Adventurous, Athletic, Handy, Mooch LTW: Firefighter Superhero

For generation two, I combined both World Adventures and Ambitions for my own enjoyment reasons, so Levi became a firefighter! And, if he goes on vacations, he is typically my tomb explorer (and maybe he'll go on the full tomb journey when he's older?)

Levi graduated class valedictorian, and married his first love and high school sweetheart: Khaliah France.

Although Khaliah, being mean-spirited and an art hater, doesn't get along with ANYONE in the house, she does love Levi. The two get along really nicely. I take it as a sign that Levi doesn't want the life that his parents had <3

Since I've never played it before, I decided to make Khaliah my Ghost Hunter, but she doesn't exactly work a lot with all the maternity leave she gets. The two now have a son (Flynn Evermore) and a daughter (Harper Evermore). Khaliah is also currently pregnant with their third child.

So far, Levi is about level 7 in the Firefighter profession, and he has mastered the Athletic and Handiness skills!

Lucy Evermore

Traits: Disciplined, Perfectionist, Photographer's Eye, Clumsy, Savvy Sculptor LTW: World Class Gallery Other: Half-Ghost

And then there's Lucy, who I mainly focus on World Adventures with! She hasn't been doing anything crazy in terms of building a family or anything, but she does frequently travel, and she's mastered the Photography skill. I think after I complete her LTW (since I think it'll be soon), I'm going to give her another one (possibly Descendent of De Vinci).

She did meet a guy in Egypt that she really liked, but nothing is set in stone quite yet. Who says she can't have several lovers in several countries?

And yeah! That's about it! Meet the Evermore family! It's a lot of fun, and I hope I stay in an area where I'm posting more for once.

#sims #the sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 #ts3 legacy #ts3 screenshots #ts3 gameplay #sims 3 screenshots #sims 3 gameplay #sims 3 lepacy challenge #Evermore Lepacy

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kaeda-the-wolf · 1 year ago

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Diego Jimenez x Lauren Wolffe (OFC)

Word Count; 1,522

Part 3: Burning Bridges

In which Lauren's anger reaches a boiling point and her questions get a bit better of an answer than she bargained for.

Warnings: Language, mentions of murder, slight physical altercation

Author's note: This chapter is brought to you by me wishing I was still on vacation in northern Michigan.

Also, here's an offering: A Delicate Balance - Playlist

Any gifs used in any posts for this story do not belong to me.

Lauren bursts through the front door out onto the sidewalk just as Muñoz and Nguyen are about to get into a cab, having taken the stairs down two at a time. The sky outside is still a dismal grey; the rain that had been threatening to fall since earlier had finally broken free. Ice cold needles pelt against her hair, her skin.

She's too angry to care.

Catching sight of Lauren, Brian quietly instructs his client to get in the vehicle. Muñoz wisely does as he's told, but not without a smug smirk that she wants to wipe right off his fucking face.

"Can I help you, Detective Wolffe?" Brian questions, deceptively pleasant.

Lauren doesn't even bother to attempt the same facade, choosing instead to get right to the point.

"He's one of Jimenez's guys, isn't he?"

Nguyen's face turns sour in an instant. It's not a particularly endearing expression, especially not for someone who's profession centered around keeping a cool and level head.

"Careful, Detective-"

"Well? Is he?" Lauren demands, cutting the lawyer off. She's completely indignant, not caring if she's toeing a dangerous line.

"Lauren," Brian says in a low voice, his tone sharp. It carries a warning. "Don’t go setting fires to bridges you don't need to."

His words are cryptic, or at least they are to everyone but her; she understands perfectly well what he means, but doesn't care.

A little boy is dead, and he is allowing the pathetic waste of life responsible for the boy's murder go free?

"Just answer the fucking question," she snarls.

It doesn't make sense. It doesn't fucking make sense. If this piece of shit was one of Jimenez's guys, then what was the angle of this? What purpose was there in paying the bail, cutting Muñoz loose? He was a murderer, had killed an innocent child in cold blood and it just makes no sense, especially when-

"Did you not hear what I just said," Brian bites back, cool composure slipping.

"I don't-"

"Let me rephrase, Wolffe- don't go burning bridges that you-" he pauses, dropping his voice to what is barely above a whisper under the downpour of rain, "and especially not your daughter can afford to burn."

She sees red at the mention of Ellie, and it takes all the willpower she has to contain her temper.

"Don't bring my daughter into this-"

"But that's exactly what this is about, isn't it?"

Of course it is.

"Fuck you."

Brian rolls his eyes, closing his umbrella, "How articulate, Detective."

"Answer my fucking question," Lauren nearly yells, stepping forward to grab the door of the still waiting cab as Nguyen opens it, preparing to get in. He is quicker though, barking out a quick 'good day, Detective' before wrenching the door out of her grip, slamming the door shut in her face. Impulse takes over and she slams her hand down on the top of it, cursing and sputtering. She staggers on the sidewalk for a moment, watching as the cab makes it's way further up the block only to get stuck at a light thanks to traffic.

Thinking on her feet, she hails down a cab. One pulls to a sharp stop in front of her, tires screeching on the wet pavement. Climbing in the back, she flashes her badge at the driver and instructs him to follow the cab up ahead of them. The driver does so, turning them down street after street, until they come into a warehouse district about thirty minutes later. Lauren has the driver of her cab stop just up the street away from Nguyen and Muñoz, just far enough away to not be suspicious. Grabbing a twenty dollar bill from her wallet, Lauren passes it to the driver with a quiet ‘thank you’, and then gets out. Lauren walks to the end of the sidewalk, watching as Nguyen and Muñoz step out onto the sidewalk.

Muñoz's body language is jerky; he's bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands braced together. He's smiling, happy to be out of her precinct’s holding cell.

The sight leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Muñoz is out, walking free, just because he's got connections?

But Lauren has connections, too.

She just had to-

“Interesting finding you here, Detective.”

She turns slowly, looking over her shoulder, and meets the dark eyes of a lone figure. Diego Jimenez himself -boss of the Jimenez Cartel, one of the biggest players in the drug trade on the East Coast- grins at her like the Cheshire cat, smiling from ear to ear. Dressed like always in dark clothes that no doubt carry a price tag that would make her cringe, he is the picture of both excess and power, regal as she's ever seen him.

“This warehouse district is one of the places you do your dirty work; I figured I might find you here. You don't seem surprised to see me.”

“No, Nguyen called, said you-”

“What the fuck is this,” Lauren hisses out.

“Detective-”

“Do you have any idea what he fucking did?”

Lauren cuts him off, reaching into her coat pocket for the photo of the boy. She’s already spent hours looking at it -at all of the crime scene photos- and it still turns her stomach. She wants it to turn his stomach too, she wants to see rage burning in his eyes.

She wants to see the side of the man that she saw when she built those bridges that Nguyen had warned her not to go burning.

“This-” Lauren holds up the photo, practically shoving it in Jimenez's face. “This is what one of your guys did and you fucking bailed him out!”

He merely leans back, still smiling, and fixes his dark eyes right on her face. Lauren grits her teeth so hard she thinks they might shatter.

“As much as I admire your passion, Detective, it's misplaced.”

“Misplaced?” Lauren seethes, yanking the photo away from him. “He beat a seven year old boy to death and you think my anger is fucking misplaced?”

It doesn't make sense. He doesn't make sense.

Jimenez was a lot of things.

Businessman. Party animal. Deviant.

The list went on.

But one thing he was not, was someone who would condone the harming of a child.

Or at least, she didn't think he would.

“I'm well aware of what Muñoz did, Detective.”

“So then you condone it?”

Jimenez opens his mouth to respond, but Lauren doesn't let him.

“And you're a liar,” she snarls, and his expression shifts.

Jimenez strikes like a cat stalking prey; still and watching in one second, and then he pounces in the next. In an instant, he's got Lauren in his claws. Her back collides with the cold, wet brick wall of the alley and she bares her teeth. Throwing her arm up, she brings an elbow down hard, attempting to break his grip. It does her little good; he merely snatches her wrist, pinning it to the wall as his other hand comes up, grabbing her by the neck just hard enough to make a point. He knows she can’t overpower him, even if she tries; while they’re fairly even in height, he’s significantly stronger.

That doesn’t stop her from trying.

“All your fucking talk-” Lauren grabs the wrist of the hand he’s got crushed against her throat, digging her nails in hard enough that she knows it should hurt. If it does, he betrays no reaction. “-about how you don't harm children, how you don't allow your men to harm children. It was all just a line of bullshit.”

“Detective-”

She releases his hand, nails going for his face instead. With ease, he yanks her forward, slamming her back into the wall.

Lauren winces, and through a wheezing breath spits out, “will my daughter be a target, next?”

She's definitely burning the bridge, but she doesn’t care.

Their deal had been made for the benefit of Ellie, built on the one shred of moral standing that Jimenez claimed he had. If he’s going to allow someone who would murder a child in his ranks, then their deal is void, built on a lie, and she’ll take whatever retaliation he dishes out in return.

“When our arrangement no longer benefits you, are you going to go after her,” Lauren continues, her heart aching at the thought, because if he did, it’d be her fault.

Ellie had suffered since she was born because of her poor choices, and she was just trying to do the best she could-

“Of course not,” Jimenez responds, and Lauren finally lets him speak. “I have no reason to.”

“Then why pay the bail?”

Jimenez breathes in deeply through his nose and then huffs out a laugh, the grin on his face nothing short of maniacal.

“I paid the bail,” he says sharply, and Lauren’s breath catches. His dark eyes are glistening, full of rage, full of promise, and she’s entranced when his voice drops lower than she’s ever heard it as he growls out, “ I paid the bail because I'm going to eviscerate him.”

@1zashreena1

Masterlist ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 4

#maurice compte #diego jimenez #lauren wolffe #DETECTIVE!#things get interesting in the next chapter #starting to lay the foundation of Lauren and Diego's relationship #She refers to him as Jimenez because its impersonal #that will change #I really hope Lauren's moral compass is showing #she's a good cop but she will do ANYTHING for her kid #ANYTHING #Ellie Wolffe #This is not proof read because my brain is mush #this feels like mostly word vomit #feel free to hit me up if you wanna be added onto a tag list

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