#anyway have some silly Wolffe faces :)

[theartgremlin]

Nawt me having ten wildly different styles depending on what I’m making!

😩

[dragonrider9905]

No One Outranks the Medic

Hey @imabeautifulbutterfly! I know this fic is short and hastily written, so it may not be the best, but I wanted to do something to put a smile back on your face. I hope you feel better soon! Just a small gift. I hope you enjoy it. (I'll put the link to Ao3 tomorrow, it's getting really late where I am so I need to head to bed for work tomorrow. Just wanted to get this to you though!!!!) 🤗

Warning: medics getting pushy

Summery: Wolffe, Rex, and Fox get injured and come down with a nasty flu. Their respective medics decide to have a field day with it, using whatever means necessary to treat their uncooperative patients.

“Rex, your medic is the worst.” Fox grumbled with a slur, sloppily pulling the sheets over his head. He thought he could disappear from view that way. That Kix wouldn’t find him again. Silly him.

“Don’t I know it.” Rex rubbed his forehead. “But I can’t say he’s worse than yours. Blaze is a kriffing nightmare.” 

“If you two don’t be quiet, they’ll come in and check on us again. I don’t fancy seeing any of our medics anytime soon.”

“That’s because you’re so grumpy your medic has to out-grumpy you Woofe.” Rex sniffed and wiped his nose. “I can’t ah ah *ahchew!* imagine why they have to be so mean. We’re stellar patients.”

“Riiiiiiight, Captain, that’s why we caught you getting out of bed twice?” Blackeye tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed and signature look of annoyance on his face.

Whoops. When did he come in?!?!?

“Hey, Torrent Company is a ‘and fu-ll. -Ou shuld ty i-it som time. I need a Copany to go ba’ to.” Rex’s stuffy nose grew more annoying by the minute, he rubbed it furiously till it was bright red. “Fives set fire to the barracks last time trying to barbecue after hours…I sound worse than it is. I’m fine really, Blackeye. I’m perfectly fine. If you could sign off on my release papers…”

Kix walked in.

“Shoot.” Rex mumbled and moved to hide like Fox was. “Go away and le’ me die in peace.”

“No way, Cap. Let me see that shoulder of yours.”

Rex burrowed further. 

“Ooooor do I have to sedate you again?”

Rex flipped a flap down to let his angry displeased glare of displeasure and disappointment show.

“You wouldn’t.” The words came out low and gravelly.

“Oh I would.”

With a roll of his eyes, Rex presented his arm. With a smirk, Kix got to work changing the bandage.

“Why are we getting picked on and not Fox? No fair.”

“Oh he is next.” Blaze cut in, making his entrance. “Sorry, Commander, no caff. It’s not good to mix that with your flu medicine. It’ll make your stomach upset. Again. And I’m not cleaning up your sick for the second time after you retrieve some from your secret stash. So I swiped it! No more secret runs. You’ll get some sleep for once.”

“I’ll take my chances.” The mound under the sheets spoke. “Give me caff or give me death.”

“Neither is an option, Sir.”

Fox groaned. “That’s an order. You can’t do that.”

Blackeye grinned. “Oh yes he can. Wanna know why?” 

“No.” Wolffe growled, crossing his arms over his chest so his medic couldn’t get to his chest wound.

“We’ll, you’re going to hear it anyway.” Blaze chuckled.

“No one, I mean absolutely no one, outranks the medic!” Kix clearly was enjoying his moment of glory and vindication too much. 

Blaze ripped the blanket off Fox. “Let me see your side, Sir….why are you lying on it? You’ll make it worse.” 

“Not having caff makes it worse.”

“I’ll cut off your supply for however long I want, even after you recover, if you don’t cooperate.”

Fox whined in complete despair, face down in his pillow. “Nooooooooooo.”

He rolled over but brought the pillow with him, to keep his face covered. “No one is allowed to see a grown Commander cry. Because we don’t cry. We’re fine. Right fellas? I’m not crying. Crying is for cadets.” Fox muffled.

“Right, tears are unbeknownst to us—ow!” 

“Oh dear I think you’re already going through caff withdrawal. Not cool.” Blaze shook his head.

Meanwhile, Wolffe glared down his medic, trying to get at his chest.

“Do you want me to tell Plo’buir you’re being uncooperative? You’ll make him sad and disappointed and worried. Do you want to do that to Plo’buir?”

“That’s low.” 

“I can go lower.” 

Wolffe lowered his arms right away.

“Wimp.”

“Shut up, Rex. You’ve never experienced General Koon’s look of disappointment. I don’t think General Skywalker was dissatisfied with you ever so you don’t have that look to compare it to either, not that it’s anything close.” 

“General Koon is never displeased with you, only when you don’t take care of yourself, and that’s fair.” Blackeye shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Okay, you all need some rest.” Kix stretched his muscles. “We’ll be back later, so behave. Relax. Don’t worry about anything other than getting better.”

“No, we need to get back to work. A Captain’s and Commanders’ work is never done.” 

“You need to go nighty night.” 

“No.”

“Do we really need to pound you and blackmail you into self care? Why must you make our lives so—“ Blaze was cut off by Fox.

“Entertaining?”

“I was going to use a different word. You bunch are a—“

“Delight?”

“Again, not the word I was going to use.” 

“Now that your bandages are changed, your medicine taken and general checkup complete …” Blackeye started.

The three patients simultaneously threw their blankets over their heads, while the medics sighed and gave each other looks. More specifically, the ‘why us’ look.

“We’ll get you hot chocolate.” 

“We promise.”

“We won’t forget our favorite patients.” 

“Aww we’re the favorites?” Fox sniffed and grinned under the sheets.

Rex peaked out suspiciously, “Tank you, Kix.”

“I take back all those nasty things I said about you. And all the things I didn’t say, just thought. You’re the best.” Wolffe reappeared with a grin. 

“We know.”

“But, how will you get your hands on some? That’s top stuff….no one is allowed to access the stuff.” Rex said despondently.

“It’ll make you feel better so we’ll take the shot.”

“No one normal, maybe, but…”

“Remember, no one outranks the medic. Now go to sleep and get some rest!”

The general groan was translated to ‘yes sir’.

The medics nodded satisfactorily. Another job well done. Their testy but lovably leaders would live to fight another day.

[freesia-writes]

Ok here you go. I love these drunken headcannons about the Batch. (would insert a link if I could) But I would love to hear some more black out drunk headcannons of our beloved Commanders and Captains. (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Howzer, Gregor, Bly, Rex... I don't know are there more? You can choose ;))

Love ya!

Hmmmmmmmm I will do my best. <3 But I feel wildly unqualified because I really don't know Cody/Wolffe/Bly/Fox yet. Need to re-watch and read more stuff here. So I'll take a shot in the dark. I've read some of the others but I can't remember any specifics, hahaha! So forgive me if I repeat any ideas already shared -- we do have a collective consciousness about these guys anyway, don't we? :D Slightly NSFW below the cut!

Cody - starts texting Obi-Wan with increasingly hilarious (and inappropriate) suggestions of how to be more efficient on missions. Sits in the corner of the bar, typing like a madman and giggling uncontrollably to himself. Someone approaches to ask how he's doing and he stifles it real quick, shoving the comm in his pocket and looking way too stern all of a sudden, pretending like he's totally normal (or trying).

Wolffe - hmmm. I'm thinking about Rebels Wolffe here. I think he'd start telling jokes that go from cringey cheesy to hilariously dirty, and the glint in his eye would be accentuated by his scar and cybernetic eye. He'd get Gregor-level eyebrow waggles. And girls would start hitting on him and he'd be like, "Oh, what's this? My bad! Yes, come on ladies, there's room for all of you." XD

Fox - dang, I don't know this guy at all, so I'm gonna be boringly cliche and say he'd start shit-talking Palpatine like no other, from silly things to stuff that has the clones with him looking around nervously and telling him to be quiet. He would probably piss on something of Palpatine's on his way home for the night, too. Or teabag his desk or somethin.

Howzer - mmmm. My sweet boy. Shiny Howzer would be VERY different, but grown Howzer… if he got that drunk… hm. I can see him doing karaoke. Singing stuff like the "I would walk 500 miles" song (I'm Gonna Be is the real name) and getting the whole bar to join in, and then the next morning his squadmates are teasing him about what a charismatic entertainer he was and he's absolutely refuses to believe them (but is secretly pleased inside, LOL). He's completely oblivious to the [HORDES] of women (and men and non-human sentients and every other identification) hitting on him all night and is just focused on having a damn blast. He'd wake up with lipstick marks on his face FOR SURE.

Gregor - (sorry, this is gonna have some language). I would love to be here for this one. ;) You thought he giggled and smiled a lot when he was sober? BUCKLE UP BITCHES. He's gonna be telling stories that he can only remember HALF of and can actually verbalize even LESS of because he's laughing himself to tears and gasping for air between the words so much that you can't discern what the FUCK he was talking about anymore, but you find yourself giggling too because he's just having such a good time and you can't help but be carried along. He would find the most random people at the bar and instantly become their best friend, buying them a drink and proclaiming them to be the greatest person in the galaxy. Him and Howzer at the same bar would be… oh my gosh… the bar would spontaneously combust. I NEED TO WRITE THIS.

Bly - dang, I don't know this chap much either, so again gonna play it safe and say he'd be texting Aayla about how much he wants to motorboat her securas and shroom tat his own face with her lekku. Every time it happens he gets another ridiculously lewd and hilarious tattoo in a place that only she will see… I absolutely can't think of ONE but you know what I'm talkin about. ;)

Rex - precious man. He'd be pretty subtle at first -- feeling super buzzed but able to hide it really well -- and would start commanding his boys in increasingly ridiculous ways, or calling them out on stuff they thought he didn't know about, and they'd be getting increasingly nervous and panicked and sweaty until he goes too far and they realize he's trashed and totally joking. But then they turn it on him and start telling random girls "Hey that guy's been staring at you all night" and laughing their asses off as girls approach him and he has his awkward panic. I don't see Rex as a one night stand kind of guy. And not a word of any of this is shared the day after.

and MAYDAY - mwahahaha. You just KNOW this guy is the most subtle drunk at the bar. His humor is so dry that it goes over half the people's heads, and his pickup lines to girls either have them wrinkling their nose (most of the time) or laughing and leaning in because they're just as snarky as he is (rarely). I think he's all about business on duty, with a thick layer of sarcasm on top of it all, but when he's a free man and under the influence he's making out with girls in the refresher and telling them to pull his hair. ;) Probably arm wrestling occasionally, and is totally understated about it (not a lot of bravado) but wins almost all the time.

Sorry it wasn't too terribly NSFW. ;)

[unknownjpegs]

sixty minimum

Ina doesn’t know the hosts. She doesn’t know any of the guests either. She doesn’t know the building, the block, the neighborhood. She shows up anyway, because if there’s one thing Ina does know, it’s how to look like she belongs. At a party, Ina blends only because she does not blend at all. There’s always one of those, isn’t there? Someone who can be loud without opening their mouth, call soundless attention.

On an otherwise quiet spring day, Ina slips through a fence into a rowdy backyard. Through eavesdropping, she pieces together the celebration is for the first game of some sports season. And through observation, she realizes she isn’t the only person who draws attention.

“I thought you said this was going to be fun.” 

Two tall redheads angle together in a corner. The shorter of the two, a willowy girl with delicate features and hair is an unnatural crimson, shoves a shot glass into the whining one’s big hand.

“It’ll be fun if you split this fucking tab with me.” She hisses, shiny hazel-brown eyes darting around in paranoid circles. Ina thinks that’s silly — the bathroom has two lines going at all times, and only one of them is for waiting to use it. “I’m not doing this country club shit sober.”

“You are the country club shit.”

Her companion is the boy-pretty sort that usually Ina doesn’t find particularly attractive. But as he tips his shot glass back, his eyes find hers. He grins, throat bobbing as a line of alcohol spills down it. Ina makes an exception. 

“Lacrosse is stupid.” Her declaration is matter-of-face as she sidles close to the pair. The girl is wary at first, but her friend is more giving. He points at her with eyebrows raised in excitement, solidarity. “Probably one of the stupider sports.” 

“Right? Jesus, it’s just another way for rich people to get their fuckin’ kids into schools they couldn’t get in otherwise.” Several pairs of eyes turn the trios’ direction. His big, friendly energy goes out like a candle flame, shoulders pulling in. “Shit.”

“Loud,” the girl accuses. “Ugh. Have fun getting kicked out. I’m gonna go find Lark.” She points at Ina. “Do not kill him or rob him or leave him naked in a park somewhere, okay? Okay. Thanks.” 

With a demure salute, she’s gone. And on cue a pair of cargo-short wearing boys in pastel polo shirts part the crowd, headed towards Ina and the remaining redhead. She turns to him fully, shrugging her fur coat up her bare shoulders.

“I will not rob you or leave you in a park.” She angles her head towards the door, eyes narrowed at the approaching honor guard. “Want to buy me food?”

He grins. “What about the first one?” 

“First one?”

“I’m not trying to get killed right now.” His smile grows wider. “Lots on my plate.” 

Ina’s mouth twitches. “Tell me about it. If it’s annoying enough —”

He holds up his fingers, criss-crossed for luck. Ina decides she likes him then and there.

*

She likes drugs, too, but she doesn’t join in on the festivities when he offers. Instead, she orders for them at the walk-up diner and they set off with their greasy haul, on what will surely be the first of many drunk walks home together that spring. 

“This is kinda,” Xavier (“Wolffe! Like, bark, growl.”) says, kicking his feet to the words as he chews at the burger. “Try-hard nineties romantic comedy of you. Really quirky.” 

Ina stares up at him, outlined by the centered midnight moon. His hair looks pretty that way. Enough that she doesn’t snap at him when he nudges the end of her braid where it’s hung over the swing’s seat. She wants to. The tip of his boot, some beat-up brown work shoe, scuffs at the woodchips.

“Yeah, exactly. And you’re blushing, because you liked that I brought you here.” Ina points out, watching it go darker. “If you had talked to me about anime, I would have told you I cosplay. Classical music: walk in the park. Lacrosse, field with sprinklers.” She waves her hand around, pushing herself back and forth with bent knees. Xavier blinks at her. 

“Am I that obvious?” 

Ina pinches her fingers together, smiling. 

They’ve ended up here at a cracked-pavement playground. It’s old, or abandoned, or there Arne’t any children in the neighborhood: wildflower weeds slowly beginning to trellis the pole of the swingset. She’s not sure how the city hasn’t yet scrapped this block for another bougie, trophy wife-owned organic coffee shop, but she’s glad it’s still here. It’s peaceful, especially this late in the night. A wonderful liminal space for her to bring boys who look like they enjoy double cheeseburgers and don’t know when to stop giving head.

Ina won’t let him do that — not tonight, anyway. Not right now, especially how he is. Because they’d met, and she’s wearing a fur coat but he has nothing warming him from the slight chill other than ecstasy-wide pupils and whatever clear liquid had been in that shot. 

Ina lays parallel to the ground, the back of her head resting on the swing’s seat. The pins in her elaborate, glitter-sprayed hair dig into her scalp, but the bite is ignorable. She reaches into her pocket for her vape. Studies it a moment, then studies Xavier, then tosses it to the ground. 

“Oops.” She says. “Pick that up for me, will you?”

Xavier doesn’t even pause in his story about some rude client (he’s a mechanic, or HVAC guy, she can’t remember). He nods, wipes the back of his mouth free of mustard and ketchup, and then reaches for the bit of plastic. He even brushes the mouthpiece with a napkin before handing it back.

Ina’s responding smile is something much sharper than gratitude.

*

The universe works funny. Ina has come to respect that, about it. Used to be that she fought when things just happened. It felt personal, like everything had been stacked up to make her miserable. Took awhile for her to realize the reality was that shit happened, for the most part. Was happening all around her, to other people, all of the time. And on the occasion that something felt deliberate, rather than felt happened, it was for a reason. 

Xavier, as it turns out, is a mechanic. And more than that, he works at the dumpy place across from her job. That feels deliberate. That doesn’t feel happened. So she sticks him in her back pocket because it kind of seems as thought the universe wants her to place him there.

She doesn’t find out that they’re work neighbors until a week after that night on the swingset, when she had bought him a sober-up burger and helped him home. It hadn’t been a great part of the city for him to wander alone, be visibly high. Just like it’s not great that she works night shifts and has to walk to her car alone. 

Ina has never had a problem though. Mostly because at night when she closes up, Ina walks to her car with her teeth bared like an animal. I’ve been waiting for a moment like this, that not-grin says to any men who try and approach a sleight thing who works alone at a sex shop. I’ve been waiting for a moment like this my whole life. I have so much within me, and I have been waiting to let it spill out. Let’s find out what it is together.

But the universe puts Xavier in her path, so she starts using him and his bared teeth instead. Their schedules overlap just the slightest bit, right at dusk. Sometimes, Ina leaves home early enough that she can bother him before her shift, at the end of his. And Xavier will come back, long after his over, and walk her back. Or give her a ride in his loud, shitty truck.

She likes to perch somewhere in the noisy shop, listen to music, ask him endless questions about this and that just for the fun of it. She’s doing that one particular afternoon, contemplating how he’s been dropped into her lap deliberately. Ina decides to be deliberate back.

“Xavier.” She waits for him to grunt, the clang of metal on metal to quiet enough for her to speak and him to hear properly. When she has his full attention, she asks: “Do you have sex?” 

Ina rocks the red plastic creeper with her boot, bringing him back and forth on the concrete. He gapes up at her for a long moment, his pretty face going pink.

“Uh. Yeah,” he says. “I mean. Yeah, if someone wants to.”

“And if you do. And I want to…” She crouches down next to the creeper, chin in her hands as she studies him. A piece of her feather boa tickles his nose. “What are you, about six-one?” 

“Um. Three,” he says. When he makes to push all the way out from under the car, Ina stops him with a hand to the top of his head. She slips her fingers in his messy red hair and grips it. Not hard, but definitely not ignorable. Definitely not a mistake. Deliberate.

Xavier does not ignore it.

His mouth drops open, lips cutely parted, his big green eyes even wider as they scan her face. Except there’s nothing under the surface. Ina’s not someone who gets cracked open and read. Not an open book, not like Xavier, but similarly authentic. Ina’s the book cover. The entire text of her is there for anyone to read. It’s just printed in really small text, font inconsistent, single-spaced, crammed in thousands of lines. 

“Hm. Interesting.” She pulls his head to the side, noting the bob of his throat. “I’m going to drink the rest of your Red Bull, tuta. Then we’re going back to mine. I’ll skip work.” 

“Okay,” Xavier breathes, and watches as she stands to cross over to his bench, take the can, and polish it off as promised.

*

Later, Xavier sits at the end of her bed. He’s flush down to his chest and lower, visible because he’s naked. Ina had made him undress —  commanded it, really. He is, as she’s discovered, quick and enthusiastic about those. 

“Huh.” Ina says, hands on her hips. “Proportionate.”

Xavier huffs, not looking at her face. She’s not looking at his either, so that’s fine. He’s slouched a little, shoulders curled while his hands tucked between his knees. Shy. He looks lovely, all that pale skin tossed against the electric-green fabric of her sheets.

“We’re probably going to do this pretty often,” Ina says, appreciating the aesthetic as she pushes his shoulders, gets his back flat to the mattress. “As long as you want to.” 

Xavier nods sluggishly, his eagerly shining eyes going a bit dazed as she crawls up his long legs, settles into his lap. 

“You should say it.” 

“It.” He teases. There’s a long, dragging breath that expands his chest, and when she narrows humored eye he laughs. Laughs and laughs — right up until the point she sinks down on him. Then, it’s a high whimper caught in his throat. “Oh, fuck.”

“Sure. That’ll do,” Ina teases back, and starts moving.

*

They go to parties together, often. Social settings too. Occasionally someone will ask, or even assume, if they’re dating. 

“Are we?” Xavier asks her one evening. His face is guarded, cheeks colored pink by a few drinks. She’s perched in his lap on a knee, arm slung around his shoulders. It’s cowboy night at a local dive bar — Ina’s gotten them several free rounds with her denim vest and sparkly silver halter bra. 

“Dating?” Ina watches the retreating gentleman’s back, the rigid line of anger and rejection. “I didn’t tell him no because we’re dating. I told him no because he was ugly.” 

Xavier snorts, shaking her with the movement. “Damn.”

She shrugs and assesses the slight dip to his mouth. Xavier is readable, not like her book cover. He lays out belly-up and exposes the pages. 

“I think you’re one of the best people I know. And I like having sex with you.”

His flush deepens but the expression doesn’t fade. “Me too.”

“But I don’t want to date.”

Xavier’s mouth twists, his focus darting off to the side. He looks like he’s trying not to get emotional about something. Ina isn’t good about in the moment sadness, so she tries to prevent it as best she knows how. With cold palms she cups his cheeks, turns him to face her more directly. It’s an intimate gesture, an intense eye contact that she doesn’t even use when they’re in bed. But in this moment, she finds it incredibly important to say the right thing. To bring that grin back. 

“If I wanted to date, I would date you.” Ina assures him. “But I don’t want to date, so we’re not. And even though we’re not, that doesn’t mean you lose the qualities that are date-able. Does that help?” 

Xavier blinks at her then takes a long swig from his beer. “Yeah. Kinda?”

When he goes for another pull, Ina wrinkles her nose and catches it by the neck. She glances at the label, picks at it wither thumbnail, and lets the silence linger. Long enough that Xavier starts to fidget — she knows that means he wants in on her thoughts. 

“This is disgusting. If you do the math, it’s barely thirty cents per ounce.” She finally says, holding up the bottle. She shakes it and then dumps it upside-down. The splatter of beer on the floor, into a slowly growing puddle, draws attention. Ina watches the amber liquid pour out, then leans back and tosses the bottle into the trashcan behind the bar. Its bartender glares at her. Ina decides to tip him extra and sleight-of-hand the tip jar into her purse on their way out.

“It gets the job done.”

Ina scowls and takes his face again. “Exactly. It might get the job done, but enough of anything shitty enough will. Why not do it with something better.” She pokes him repeatedly in the chest, gesturing around them. “You deserve, like, sixty dollars per ounce. Minimum! Don’t settle for just the job getting done.” 

He stares at her for a long, long moment. The hands on her hips brush up and down thoughtfully, and then his brow furrows. “Are we still talking about alcohol?”

*

“Do these all follow the same plot? We’ve watched two now with no substance.” Ina huffs. “Well, I guess the fight scenes are more the point. They’re well done. Do you know who —”

Xavier whines. “Can we —maybe, uh, revisit —”

She pauses, eyes flitting from the television to his, over her shoulder. “Oh, sorry. Yes!” And with that, she settles back into the seat of his thighs. With hands braced on them, either side of hers, she arches backward and rocks harder. Rhythmic, slow tugging movements that she knows are good for both of them. Ina presses them closer, tight together, her slick back to his slicker chest. 

“Braid my hair after this?” She gasps, putting the crown of its tangled mess to his shoulder. She hates how it sticks to her skin, pulls and gets caught between their bodies. Her pace grows faster, circles of her hips and then readjusting to bounce fluidly.  “It keeps getting in the way and I —”

“Ina,” Xavier groans. 

“Sorry.” She laughs again. The breathy, stuttering vibrations pulling another wild noise out of him. She slips an arm back, slithers it around his neck. Uses it as leverage to move. 

“It’s good, by the way. Go harder.”

“Jesus.”

*

“Jesus.” He glances down, licking his lips before looking at her. “Is it weird if I want to —” Xavier clears his throat, eyes slipping off to the side. Nervous. Quieter, he whispers: “If I want to suck it?”

Ina puts her thumb over his furrowed brow, frowning herself. Her immediate answer, weird is relative, gets nothing more than a huff and an eye roll. 

“C’mon.” He wants something that she isn’t entirely certain she can give, so she doesn’t make the attempt. Instead, Ina goes for best-she-knows-how again.

 “It’s true,” she insists. “This isn’t even weird, anyway.” Ina shakes her hips. “It’s like, one of the few reasons these things are useful.” 

Xavier stares flatly at her, but it looks like he’s fighting a smile at the silly movements of the dildo. 

“I meant cock,” Ina clarifies as he tucks long fingers between her thighs and the harness, pulling her closer. “Not—” she taps his lips. “Mouths. Although I guess, if you think about it —”

“Ina.”

Beckoned, she refocuses from a spot on the wall and blinks down at him. A moment passes, then a little smile touches her face. She leans and cups his cheeks. “Tuta. No, okay? It is not weird. And you should only fuck people who want to do the weird-not-weird stuff with you.” 

Xavier blinks back at her, but the depth and sheen to his stare has returned in place of shyness. Instead of that tiny, tiny wrinkle of shame wavering the whole of him. He smiles as well, clearly settled back into himself. “I’m gonna do it now.”

“Okay.” She pets a hand over his hair, gives it a little tug how he likes. “Do you want me to move or stay still?”

Mouth open, tongue out, and halfway leaned forward, Xavier pauses. He internalizes and works it over in his head. Ina gives him a gentler coaxing pet for that as he stares up at her. The deliberation lasts maybe a few seconds, but Ina goes far-off thinking about something else in the meantime. She jumps a little when he laughs: “You can move.”

After they’re done, which is mostly one-sided fun on Xavier’s part for the sake of having it, Ina puts a show on.

“I saw this one with Benji last week.” He says, hair messing in a staticky tumble as he pulls his head through his shirt. It clings to the sweat drying in the valley of his spine, dotted on either side with red teeth marks. Ina had gone a bit rough, but it’d been on request. Xavier was working on requesting. Being deliberate. 

“It’s fucking hilarious.”

“Benji?” 

“Yeah.” Xavier breathes, then glances over at her with wide eyes like he hadn’t meant to say it that way. “Uh. N-no, not him — I mean, not…no, the show. The ending of this is hilarious.”

Ina reaches for the remote and turns it off, tucking her knees and facing him on the couch. She takes his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks slightly. “Tell me. Right now. All of that.” 

Xavier goes pink.

*

The following weekend, Ina watches from the kitchen as he’s cornered in the living room by a man with long brown hair. The house party isn’t so crowded that he couldn’t find another target. Xavier was a deliberate choice, and Ina understands why. Not too long ago she had been in that position.

But this guy — well, Xavier would be going for thirty cents, not sixty dollars.

She waves her hands in the air to catch his attention above the man’s shoulder. Once green eyes land on her, she shakes her head violently. The bangles on her wrist rattle as she holds both hands up above the crowd. 

Six, she flashes with her fingers, then brings them together to make a giant ‘O’ above her head. 

Xavier blinks at her, gaze red and lidded and bleary from the smoke lingering. Then he looks back at the man chattering in his face. Ina watches as that massive, beaming grin stretches his face as he excuses himself from the spider’s web.

Good boy, Xavier, she thinks proudly. Sixty minimum.

[amorfista]

I'm so glad I waited to read this💕 Because it's so precious Duch. This is the kind of relationship you guys deserve. It's silly, and it's playful, and sexy, and full of love. I'm happy for you and proud that you wrote this ♥ "It was him who always waited past their scheduled meditation hours just so he could tell you he found a hive of bees that he thought you’d like" Right here sir, this is where the melting started 🫠

“I mean just look at that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby face!!!! And those cute wittle (little), itty, bitty, tusks on that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby cheeks!!!— Eeeek!!! “ I'm with you Duch. Right there with you 🥴

The day that I do not melt at this face is the day you should shoot me in the face. Because jesus christ. If that smile isn't the most precious thing I've ever seen. Every time I see it all I can feel is joy and an inexplicable need TO GRAB THOSE CHUBBY CHEEKS. Anyway.

"A very dignified ‘heh’ that sends a jolt of current through your veins as if to remind you how truly electrifying it is to be this close to this Kel Dor god of a man who should have his hands preoccupied all over you rather than some stupid datapad." How powerful is this man??😩😩 ❤️‍🔥

"After all, Plo had frequently insisted you be at the utmost comfort and to feel at home even at the temple or the Wolve’s Den." Whoops Plo, your words being used slightly against you? too bad hihiihi😌

"...if he would just start making those exuberantly hot Kel Dor noises from the other night when he was busy with himse—"

UHMMM YES????!!!!! PLEASE ELABORATE!!??

"Not that having a glimpse of a very slickened tip and a few ridges brought your soul to ascend to the heavens, but his ever-so-impassive response was truly astounding." His fault. Honestly if he asked calmly (not Dumbledore "calmly") given such a situation, IS HE REALLY BOTHERED TO BE CAUGHT? No sir.

"the metallic contraption that obscured not only his eyes but the lower chambers of his face brushes along your skin. You could hear the antiox mask churn and sustain life as he hovers intimately close over your neck that the protrusions from his facial anatomy grazing your skin feels divine. " MURDERED. OBLITERATED. I need Plo to do this to me thankkksssss😇🥰

Oh. OH. Of course. He's purring now🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠​🫠 alright i need some air, i don't think this can get any be- "That or the fact that you knew, he was packing a solid 13-inches."

BESTIE WHAT

"while both Comet and his ashen-haired comrade, pelted each other with what appears to be washable paint bombs inside GAR-approved “rubbers”." Innocent clone fun, nothing to see here.

"With a tap on the darkened screen, the device lights up to show a very creatively made collage of middle fingers forming a shape of a heart, with your face at the center and poorly scribbled lines that were ambigrams of the words bestie and bitchie." HAHAHAHAH WOLFFE MATCHING DUCH'S ENERGY PERFECTLY ❤️‍🔥 I LOVE IT SO MUCH

"Unsatisfactory as your answer was, you did no better than ‘Mmm..’ seeing as you’ve become no more than a babbling, groaning, gasp-stifling, mess with every feel of Plo’s hips gyrating wantonly upon yours that he could trace the clothed folds of your lingerie with the strained tent between his own." Okay alright I am a hot mess rn. no words just. 🥴😳🥴😳 <3!

“Your father thinks we’re married because you drunkenly said we were when Sha was born. You went on about having clutches upon clutches to strengthen the Koon bloodline and for a moment that day, I thought I was seeing two Ziars.” Plo sweetheart, stop denying yourself the pleasure to call Duch your waffly wedded wife. You want to, she knows you want to, Daddy Z knows.

"“Assertively? My dearest, it was invasively saccharine even for my taste.” " Alright, Plo is just flexing words at this point 🤓

"Plo groaned and sat up, giving your rear a very uncharacteristic squeeze and pat before rising to his feet." 👀 NICE!??? I WANT MORE OF THOSE.

"“One of these days, dear husband, I’m gonna have to kiss those lips of yours and there’s nothing that could stop me from doing so.”" Okay I want to cry and i need to know more I need this to happen alright? Nothing personal, actually yes, very personal. Please let this happen in the future 🥺? tyy<3

"Part of you swore he was grinning behind that mask of his at the thought.

He was."

OF COURSE HE WAS. BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE THIS SO MUCH TOO​🥺​​🥺​​🥺​​💓💓💓

[ρℓσ∂υ¢н] єℓє¢тяι¢ ℓσνє:

¢нαρтєя ι: тнє ιиνιтє

Summary: Ziar Koon, Plo Koon's father, is hosting a celebratory gathering to commemorate the newly established hatchery as part of rebuilding Mother Dorin after a separatist attack a year ago. That said, Plo Koon is expected to be at the event and with you being the known closest to Plo, he is expected to have you by his hand during the ceremony.

Pairing: Plo Koon / OC/Reader (pre-established relations)

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: Smutty if you squint. Rated D for Duch(ess) whatever that means.

Notes: This is supposed to be a second installment of Somewhere Over We Know but I don't really know what happened and I wanted to play with my OC so, pretend you're my OC, maybe? Dedicated to @saengak and @amorfista for helping me build my character and indulging the sanity of my constant thirst for Plo Koon and all fuckable Kel Dors out there. Contains so much inside joke, it's disgusting. Glossary || Additional details: Alright Aphrodite - The equivalent of inviting the other for some steamy, unbridled lovemaking session in a more inconspicuous manner. Egg Economy of Dorin - Population. Babies. You get it. Ziar Koon - Plo Koon's father and known tycoon of the Egg Economy in Dorin. rubbers - Condoms. Yes, they were playing with GAR-issued condoms.

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Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/OC/Reader Blue: Memory Purple: Me, because I have no self-control to self-insert myself whenever Plo and Kel Dors are mentioned. I'm sorry >:

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

“Why are you so darn cute, Plo? Cutest little Kel Dor baby I have ever seen in my entire kriffin life.”

It wasn’t as if you’d only recently  been acquainted with the highly revered and cherished Master Jedi of the 104th Battalion, but never a day is there that existed in which you simply could not resist the charm of your beloved childhood friend, confidant, and husband — only if there was an official event to accompany that claim and he was actually there in your makeshift wedding that resided in your head since the day you met, then yes; husband. 

But he doesn’t need to know about that now; what matters is that you’ve become such an invasive presence in Plo Koon’s life at an early stage, that you’re practically married at the hip — distance be damned. Then again, it was him who always waited past their scheduled meditation hours just so he could tell you he found a hive of bees that he thought you’d like; or that he’d finish up his tasks and ask Master Tyvvoka if he could show you scriptures intended only for young Padawans, reasoning that you are in ‘dire need’ of teachings and that you were really interested — in him, not really the Order, but it’s basically the same thing, right?

And so here you are yet again, trailing behind your most favorite sentient in the galaxy like a moth to a flame — an always incandescent beacon in the darkest hours of need. And by the stars in the skies, you needed no one else but him and him alone. Well, him and now little versions of him because Papa Ziar, Plo’s father, had graciously bestowed upon you an old photo of his young boy. Your presence at the newly established hatchery seems to have brought upon a planet-wide desire to re-populate Dorin after a separatist attack a year ago that had impaled the Egg Economy in which Papa Koon happens to be completely perfervid of. 

“I mean just look at that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby face!!!! And those cute wittle (little), itty, bitty, tusks on that cute wittle (little) baby’s chubby-chubby cheeks!!!— Eeeek!!! “

[ Art / Concept by @justalittletomato ♥ ]

A non-threatening screech but a screech nonetheless, you’ve once more merited an indignant turn of the head from Plo; whether it was due to the fact that you’ve pried his attention from a pertinent matter on the datapad clutched between his talons, or that you’ve simply been diverting his thoughts elsewhere and had resulted in accomplishing nothing.

[ Art / Concept by @justalittletomato ♥ ]

“I could just gobble you right up, babylove!”

Your voice softens and it is that look that would always have you biting your lip and grinning all frilly and smitten. So you whisper, just enough for him to hear and for the creases of his brow to relax and merit an exasperated yet amused sigh in response. 

“Nomnomnomnomnom!!!” 

You take a step closer, ducking under his arm and taking a mouthful of his robes into a bite as you lovingly gazed and basked in the rare display of Plo’s very tamed chuckle. A very dignified ‘heh’ that sends a jolt of current through your veins as if to remind you how truly electrifying it is to be this close to this Kel Dor god of a man who should have his hands preoccupied all over you rather than some stupid datapad.

But alas, we can never have it all. At least not yet.

“Quite fortunate that I have a thick hide, then.” Plo replies, tucking an arm over the small of his back, careful not to drop the device. “Well, go on then. Pray tell what it is that you obviously have the need to share, my little love.” 

You took a deep breath latched yourself onto his side, arms seeking his free hand and wrapping it over your waist to get all comfy. After all, Plo had frequently insisted you be at the utmost comfort and to feel at home even at the temple or the Wolve’s Den.

And so you did.

Seeing as Plo Koon is your ‘home’, comfort entails being as tepid as you can with the warmth of centuries-long friendship and maybe some other kind of heat if he would just start making those exuberantly hot Kel Dor noises from the other night when he was busy with himse—.

“Duchess.” 

Oh good lord, have mercy. The equivalent of an eyebrow raise from a Kel Dor is more than enough to make these knees so damn weak. 

“Right. Business as usual.” 

You titter, beguiled by the magnetic imagery of how Plo, in all his baronial manner of handling delicate situations, covered himself in such a dignified and unshaken fashion that the gallance in which he had calmly asked you why you were once more sneaking into his chambers left you breathless. Not that having a glimpse of a very slickened tip and a few ridges brought your soul to ascend to the heavens, but his ever-so-impassive response was truly astounding.

Like his dick.

“So.” You pause, ushering the two of you to walk; your arm slithered over his waist and your free hand in motion to emphasize the exigent need of his attendance. “Papa Ziar will be launching yet again a new hatchery. Him and your brothers at the Baran Do requests that you join us in celebration of our continuous rebuild of Mother Dorin.”  

It would have been difficult for anyone to procure thought from Plo’s masked visage, but you know him enough to know not only whether it was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, but whether he was amicable to attend. The problem was how oppressive his silence can be, — oppressive enough to make you feel so small and foolish for even asking.

Panicked with a soft whine of worry, you slouched in disappointment and dislodged yourself to a respectful distance from him. Your tone betrays your anxiety into a disheartened response. “I mean you don’t really have to and … Well, Papa Z sort of said it was a long shot since you’re… you know.. Busy all the time.”

“And…?” Came the throaty, richness of his voice; talon-clad hand beckoning you back to his side by a firm grip on your pelvis. 

“Aaaaaaand… I said I will tryyyyyyyyy…. to at least ask if you’re free…?” You reply with so much incertitude, your eyes squinted as if it would provide some form of clarity.

“Mhm. And?” Replied Plo, leaning more towards the direction of your cheek; the metallic contraption that obscured not only his eyes but the lower chambers of his face brushes along your skin. You could hear the antiox mask churn and sustain life as he hovers intimately close over your neck that the protrusions from his facial anatomy grazing your skin feels divine. 

And though that alone was enough to make your skin crawl with so much delight and your knees buckle at an instant, it’s the sound that always got you into a trance of complete surrender. 

The first time you heard Plo purr in his prime had you blushing so hard, he thought you were ill. You were such at a loss for words that you swore on Mother Dorin and Mother Celestia (your homeworld) that you were possessed by some sort of primal god, disposing you to unleash upon all things carnal onto your beloved Kel Dor friend with unabashed shame and dire need to appease through debauchery. That part of you pondered the soothing reverberation to that of a playful or a cordial greet akin to a warm embrace, but no — perhaps it didn’t help that you’ve had this inclination towards Kel Dors or maybe, just maybe, it had always been that love you have for Plo that borders friendship to something more?

That or the fact that you knew, he was packing a solid 13-inches. Tomatoe- tomato. 

Oh, the things you would do to have him take you right here, right now —

“And….?” Plo’s talons had now dug little love burrows onto your skin and by the gods, did that made you moan a soft whimper. A little more of that and you’d be pining for Plo and you weren’t about that life to get easily swayed by your charming someday-somewhen-future husband, in the guise of him not being able to attend your someday-somewhen-future father-in-law's party. No, sir — No, ma’am.

You took a deep breath and willed all you could muster against the enchanting dalliance of Plo being a certified, flirtatious dick instead of just saying ‘No’ because he knows you could always make up for his absence in alleviating Ziar’s sorrowful dramatics. 

You can’t really blame him. Having your father muse about grandkids fully knowing that it was a unanimous decision between the Koons and the Baran do Sages to send their precious son to become a Jedi was an admittance to celibacy and grandchildless-future. Ziar was fortunate enough that the chances had tipped the scale upon hearing that you and Plo are in a non-marital-marital betrothal; yes, in whatever context that would make sense, the answer is simply ‘yes’.

You moaned again, over the cold weight of the rebreather onto the side of your neck and the fact that your weight was completely on him. To which he responded with a much firmer grip on your waist, a lean of his head and an impatient look from the usually calm and collected Jedi. 

“You do realize that it is I who is in need of convincing to attend to my father’s call, yes?” 

“For a Jedi, you’ve always been so impatient with me, Plo.” You reply, placing your palm over his face and pushing yourself off the adhesive bond that is you and Plo Koon. Parting, finally, you adjusted your clothing and reached out to iron the ruffled robes on his person. “Daddy Z might have made a certain announcement on behalf of us, babylove.” Your face scrunches, clearly apologizing on behalf of Ziar’s overzealous impulses.

“Let me guess, another faux pregnancy?” Plo replies abruptly, sighing exasperatedly as dragged his hand over his mask briefly as if to reconsider not showing up. “Sending you off to some clinic for a miscarriage claim at the proper cycle to be less inconspicuous?” Frustration now evident as Plo held his arm in a motion for you to follow, turning to the next corner as you both entered the Den. 

“I simply cannot comprehend why you spoil him at every whim.” 

Plo marched on ahead of you towards his chambers while you offered a short wave at Warthog who was helping himself at the caf dispenser while holding a leash knotted around Comet’s waist. Boost rubbed the back of his neck anxiously with a smile as if to apologize on behalf of the chaos that is within the Den. Sinker, who also has a leash knotted around his waist tied to Boost’s wrist while both Comet and his ashen-haired comrade, pelted each other with what appears to be washable paint bombs inside GAR-approved “rubbers”.

“You’re not some pet he could parade with, little love. You’re welcome to say ‘No’.” 

In comes Wolffe perched at the sofa with his own datapad illuminating that delicious, silver-cybernetic eye of his that would, should they heed your warning, fall upon your merciless grasp as your new plaything. Your fascination towards Commander Wolffe’s eye replacement grows exponentially strong with each visit.

His gaze follows suit, studying the chase of a displeased Kel Dor Master Jedi ‘kindly’ storming ahead of you and his, to Wolffe’s own affectionate coin of endearment for you, unhinged-little-bitch-wife strutting along.

You trotted to bridge the distance between you and the agitated Plo Koon, pausing only to motion for a fist to roll alongside the other (fist) facing upward. And as you turn the imaginary knob that is your upright fist, your middle finger slowly ascends to full attention to match a very spirited and gratified smile.

All of which Wolffe, dignified Commander of the 104th Battalion known as the Wolfpack, slowly replied by holding his datapad over his chest and slowly turning it in your direction. With a tap on the darkened screen, the device lights up to show a very creatively made collage of middle fingers forming a shape of a heart, with your face at the center and poorly scribbled lines that were ambigrams of the words bestie and bitchie.

The both of you shared a silent chuckle before you ran off after Plo.

***

“Darling… This is a serious matter.” 

So he says, leaning further onto the armchair and pushing his hips forward to meet your touch, palms falling onto each arm of the single-seat sofa. You hear him chunter as the tip of your boot press lightly upon the affirmation of want and consent — you’ve ‘fooled’ around more than enough that you know Plo rarely instigates these ‘things’. He would never be so bold as to ask for a bit of respite from a disconcerting situation, but would never one to decline an offer either. Makes you wonder if these repressed Jedis indulge in nights of estranged passion in the underworld —  you say ‘repressed Jedis’, but your focus leans to whether Plo has been pandering to the needs of the flesh through other sentients; unfavorable, but… oh how, sinfully kinky. 

“Mhm.. Very serious indeed.” You reply, unable to contain a simper of sorts. “Very, very, serious indeed.” You add — both to your response and pressure upon his the emergent, true Blade of Dorin.

[ This one's for you bestie, may the Blade of Dorin smite you ♥ ]

You lean back with your weight supported by a palm firm on the bed, while the other had begun daintily traversing the now exposed sternum as fingers unclipped the buttons of your blouse. “Truly a para… mount of a conundrum, my hot, sexy, grumpy, old Kel Dor of a god — Ooof!”

Perhaps now would be the time to thank the Force and his Jedi training in spite of their No-Attachment rule because clearly, training has done well in keeping the vigor of Plo Koon’s inner-mischief in check only for the opportune moment. So yes, thank the Force and the Jedi training that this often reserved and proper Jedi sees  the situation fit for mischief.

“Claws, Plo! Claws! Cla— unf~!”

Stars, bless those claws of his that found your neck in such a swift motion, you were already drenched the moment those spurs of his burrowed a little too deep onto your skin and your breath cut for hot fucking minute. Flustered and gasping under touch as he dragged you to the center of the bed, mounting your hips before pinning your wrists over that beautiful crown of yours.

“Quite a consequential predicament indeed.” Plo replies, keeling to press the cold, stannic mask onto the side of your neck and once more peppering your senses with the susurrating tone of his voice and that dark musk of tea, cum, and war.

“Mm…” Came your weak, pathetic reply that no one should ever fault you for as you squirmed under the weight of this Master Jedi who has inculcated a most promising attempt to extract your truest intention as to why, of the many events hosted by Ziar Koon, you were quite insistent on having him attend.

Unsatisfactory as your answer was, you did no better than ‘Mmm..’ seeing as you’ve become no more than a babbling, groaning, gasp-stifling, mess with every feel of Plo’s hips gyrating wantonly upon yours that he could trace the clothed folds of your lingerie with the strained tent between his own.

He knew what he was doing. You also knew that he knew that you knew what he was doing. In fact, there’s so much knowing between the two of you, you were starting to doubt the knowledge of knowing that he knew that you knew that he knew what he was doing and whether it was going to work or not was up to him — his dick, yet again, but essentially him.

The power he has over you is beyond comprehension that there would be banter about Plo being low-key sith with the shameful number of times he would use himself as an advantage over you. That this manipulative tactician of a Kel Dor man under the guise of a Jedi would have no qualms touching you in places that would have your resolve crumble to an irreparable state and still have the audacity, the gull, the heaven-blessed balls, to ask you if you were ‘alright’. 

Another moan as the grip on your neck tightens and his motions were deliberately slow and sensual. His breath now heavy and devoid of the purpose of extrapolating ‘whatever’ it was that pertained to his father’s upcoming launch. His focus solely on you as you hear him asseverate a licentious need with an audible series of clicks, aka Kel Dor Sex Noises.

“A…Al… Alright Ap..hrodite…?”

You’ve never hated yourself with such fervor until now for denying the both of you what would have been a day of existentially altering, grand-dicking of your life because as much as you want every inch and ridge of Plo Koon, the fate of Dorin’s Egg Economy hangs in the balance. Simply because like any Baran Do Sage in Dorin, Papa Ziar is as equally dramatic and happens to have a wild tendency of being sour even at his own hosted gatherings. And knowing fully that you might have exaggerated saying ‘yes’ to Ziar the other day, the success of the launch and the face of Koons hangs in the balance.

“I’m sorry, baby… No ‘Alright Aphrodite’ today.” Came your morose return, meriting a counter of a sigh from Plo. You feel his weight shift heavier atop your smaller frame, lax and untensed as he keeps his face buried onto the side of your neck. Retracting his talon-clad hand and sliding then underneath your back in an engulfing embrace of a pre-repose Plo Koon, sensing the tranquil pattern of his breathing.

“If you come then maybe Yes ‘Alright Aphrodite’ ~”. Pitching the idea of sex — no, lovemaking, with Plo when you’re obviously the one constantly starved for him remains a refreshing thought. Though this would not have been the first of many instances of having to deny Plo, you were reaching the same count of him denying you pleasure because duty beckons him like the whore to a harem as much as you are to Ziar’s whims.

“Very well.” Plo replies and before you could put a word in, he adds. “But please refrain from indulging my father with the promise of grandchildren. I am yet to provide a compelling stand as to why I remain unmarried — not due to the Order’s denunciation over attachment as implications of marriage and childbearing, but simply because it is untimely.” He takes a deep breath before disentangling himself to lie beside you. “My father is stubborn… As I am, it seems.” A short yet warm chuckle escapes his masked visage at the memory of home.

“All the more reasons to come, babylove.” You muse, propping on your elbow to turn at him sideways. “Your father thinks we’re married because you drunkenly said we were when Sha was born. You went on about having clutches upon clutches to strengthen the Koon bloodline and for a moment that day, I thought I was seeing two Ziars.” With an assuring half smile, you roll onto your stomach pouting, turning his head with a delicate, pale finger over his jaw. “And you say I’m unhinged, hmm?” 

“You are, little love.” Plo snorted. “Because I recall after making such claims, you and my father were overzealously discussing measurements and term cycles of Kel Dor gestation and whether if you had taken me to bed that night or the morning after, you asked how soon you could start birthing the new sons and daughters of Dorin.” 

“Oh, right, right, right.” You nodded with brows furrowed, recollecting Sha’s Hatchling Party. “Well, I never got the answer because your father started making appointments to have me ‘checked’ for Kel Dor birthing compatibility and frankly…. It was assertively… sweet.”

“Assertively? My dearest, it was invasively saccharine even for my taste.” 

“Does that mean you won’t leave high and dry with Papa Ziar and come as my husband?”

“My love, we are not married.”

“Rude — ouch.” You glared at him, shaking your head and rolling your eyes while he chuckled knowing it was a jab and a jest in one; a true display of a Kel Dor’s morbid humor of sorts. “Obviously, we’re not married and we won’t seem as such if you say it like that.”

“Ah — my apologies, little love. And what words should befall my person?”

“You’re supposed to say; Duchess, ethereal goddess of my abysmal need of carnal release and unearthly pleasure that only your supple temple of a body can satiate, we are not married… YET.”

“‘Carnal release and unearthly pleasure that only your supple temple of a body can satiate’ is the response you wish for me to tell my father?” Plo chuckles, rubbing his forehead.

“Kinky, but no. I wouldn’t want to fall into Ziar’s 1000 questions of how I pleasure his son whenever I visit. Then again, I might ask for a couple of tips since he’s got Mama Koon give him a proper clutch of five.”

Plo groaned and sat up, giving your rear a very uncharacteristic squeeze and pat before rising to his feet. He takes heel and opens the door to a massive cabinet, inspecting the well-organized contents before pulling an acceptable size of luggage bag onto the bed.

“And what color would your dress be for the ball, my dearest wife?” Plo asks, folding a set of Jedi robes, Dorin tunics, and coats into the carry-on. 

“I love you so much, Plo. Thank you.” Came your melted reply, reaching to cup his cheek as he placed the items in the bag. “Papa Ziar would be so happy.” You add, pulling him close to plant a kiss on his cheek before you whisper tauntingly at him. “One of these days, dear husband, I’m gonna have to kiss those lips of yours and there’s nothing that could stop me from doing so.”

Your hand slides off to arrange the clothing for Plo to have more space. Refolding them in your fashion because Plo needs to fold the clothes ‘properly’ for reasons you’re sharing luggage with the full intention of treating yourself to a new formal wear.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Came his dismissive reply — and yet, part of you swore he was grinning behind that mask of his at the thought.

He was.

Special thanks to those who were genuinely interested and gave so much love for my OC, Duchess. I love you all and the madness that come with it ♥

@saengak @amorfista @starrrgazingbunny @eloquentmoon And @justalittletomato for the fab Kel Dor baby art!!! @sinisterexaggerator for really helping me with that one line that was weird for me earlier and @eyecandyeoz ♥♥♥

[mwolf0epsilon]

The itsy bitsy spider was not a spider at all

Summary: Cody isn't familiar with Tatooine's local fauna, but he soon discovers that the critter crawling around on his arm is relatively harmless. And very chatty.

[The missing scene in The Big Friendly Clone in between Luke managing to overcome the obstacle keeping him from his goal, and Obi-wan returning to his hut after a successful search for appropriately sized shelter.]

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

---

There's something crawling on his arm.

Cody is laying outside right next to Obi-wan's little sandstone hut. He is once again stuck at an outrageous height, due to having suffered a particularly difficult night, where his constant nightmares that have plague him since his escape, have left him unable to manage his (not quite so) little problem.

He had been asleep for at least an hour. Napping the morning away since his humble host had left in pursuit of somewhere that could house his now oftentimes gigantic frame. Soaking up the forenoon rays like some kind of oversized tooka, now that he could peacefully catch up on some much deserved rest without Silas nipping at his ears in an attempt to get him to leave.

And then his eyes snapped open at the feeling of something crawling on his arm, like an inquisitive ant or (heavens above please don't be it) a particularly bold spider.

Now Cody knows one thing (he knows many actually but none apply here), and it is that he's currently the size of a building. Relative to his current stature the unknown critter is pretty small. But, were he his regular height, logic dictates that this thing would be karking massive in comparison. Or at the very least reach his midrift.

Seeing as Cody doesn't know enough about Tatooine's local fauna to determine if whatever it is, is venomous or not, the obvious conclusion is that startling it with any sudden movements is very much out of the question.

It's not that he's afraid. No man that stands at a whopping 50 feet of height (and weighted in at Force only knew how many tons) shouldn't be scared of a massiff sized critter that probably couldn't even pierce his thick skin.

It's just that the mere idea of a spider (not that he knows if it actually is a spider) being anywhere on his person, makes him want to shudder violently with disgust. So if he holds his breath and very slowly lifts his other arm to uncover his face, he should actually be commended on his exemplary display of self-control.

Good thing too, because the thing on his arm is not a bug to be swatted at, but a child that's currently trying to break into Obi-wan's hut. Which in of itself is a very odd occurrence anyway...

Head tilted slightly forward so that he can observe the kid (pretty small boy, likely no older than 9 standard years old, unusually pale for someone living out in a desert planet, striking mop of blond hair, rather modest but well kept clothing), Cody can't help but to slightly quirk an eyebrow until it's arched upwards in quite noticeable fashion.

He's always had a good sabbacc face (or so Bly had told him many times during their cadet years), but sometimes the absurdity that life threw his way got him emoting more openly than one of Wolffe's silly holodramas. This was one of those times and he was sure the confusion was written all over his face as plain as the sandy planes of Tatooine itself.

Not that the little varmint had noticed. If anything Cody was impressed that such a small boy could be so bold as to approach a giant, without keeping a close eye on any possible indication that his presence might have been noticed. The kid was either very brave or had a bit of a death wish...

Whatever the case, Cody wasn't about to stand by and watch someone committing a felony. No matter how adorable the assailant. He is ready for the shrill shriek of terror when he reaches over and the boy finally realizes his mistake.

"EASY KID..." The clone commander tries not to wince when the frightened child only screams louder, squirming in his grasp while desperately trying to curl in on himself.

Cody can honestly understand the reaction, especially coming from such a small fry. Obi-wan had told him time and time again that his voice wasn't... Particularly nice to listen to when he was stuck in this gigantic size. Unnaturally deep, reverberating and capable of causing damage. More like the thunderous roar of a starship than a source of comfort.

He could try to speak as softly as possible and it still caused others a lot of discomfort. There was really nothing to be done about it, other than try to control his volume to the best of his abilities, and hope that it was enough.

"I'M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU..." Starting out with something reassuring might hopefully help diffuse the situation. He'd been around cadets before. He was somewhat confident that this tactic would work just as well on a natborn youngling as it did on the bright-eyed kih'vode.

"I don't wanna die!!!" Or not. The kid was giving it his all, wriggling around in Cody's hand like a caterpillar desperate to escape the deathly grasp of a bird that had caught it for breakfast.

Wrinkling his nose, the abnormally large clone hummed in thought. Of course that was what was on the little intruder's mind...

"WHERE DO PEOPLE KEEP GETTING THE IDEA THAT I'M OUT HERE HURTING OTHERS FOR THE HELL OF IT?" Rolling his eyes, Cody couldn't help but feel a little exasperated at the erroneous postulation. "SORRY KID, BUT I'D RATHER NOT BECOME SOME WANNABE LOW BUDGET SCI-FI HOLOFILM GRADE TYPE CHARACTER... OR ANY OTHER FORM OF KAIJU RELATED STEREOTYPE, ACTUALLY. I'VE GOT ENOUGH ON MY PLATE AS IT IS..."

Whether or not this child had actually ever seen any holofilms of the sort, Cody doesn't really know or care to find out. He's mostly banking on the boy noticing he's not, in fact, meeting his end anytime soon. He's also hopeful that if he keeps talking it'll become blatantly apparent that he isn't some kind of mindless monster eager to rampage to its heart's delight.

Not that he didn't at times envy the actual mindless creatures that roamed the Dune Sea. He doubted they had to put up with any of the kark he had to deal with.

Fortunately, lady luck seemed to be on his side today.

The boy's squirming lessens ever so slightly as he peers up at the giant with (still obviously fearful) curious eyes. It might be a little hard to properly discern the youngling's features, being so big that one of his own dark eye alone was larger than the boy's face, but the brightness of the blue of the kid's eyes is strikingly familiar somehow.

How they are familiar, he's not 100% sure (and it bothers him a little actually), but Cody doesn't dare near the skittish lad to his face in case the boy mistakes his inquisitiveness for something less savory.

"ARE YOU FINISHED TRYING TO SNAKE OUT OF MY HAND?" As acquainted as he was with being around cadets, Cody realizes he's still quite lacking in the proper etiquette of dealing with natborn children. He doubts the flat tone is the least bit flattering.

For what it's worth, the kid reacts not with fear but with some daring defiance. The narrowing of his teeny tiny eyes is the only warning the once proud clone commander gets, before the little ankle biter turns into a finger biter.

It doesn't hurt but the sudden pinch surprises him. It startles a chuckle out of him even.

"WELL AREN'T YOU SOMETHING?" The kid squints and turns his face away, the gust of hot morning breath sent his way likely unpleasant to his senses. "IT'S NOT EVERY DAY THAT A LITTLE WOMP RAT LIKE YOU, TRIES TO CLIMB OVER A SLEEPING GIANT TO ROB SOMEONE'S HOUSE..."

"I'm not a womp rat!" The kid barks back, clearly offended. "And I wasn't robbing Old Ben's house!"

"REALLY?" So this kid knew Obi-wan. That explained some things. Not a lot, but some things nonetheless. "THEN WHAT WERE YOU DOING TRYING TO GET INTO HIS HUT THROUGH A WINDOW?"

"Your big fat smelly butt was in the way, that's what!" The boy bared his teeth as he spat out the insult. He seemed just as caught aback by his own sharp tongue as Cody was to being insulted by a little kid.

Tatooine sure knew how to churn out the meanest sons of bitches, and this boy was no different. He went in straight for the kill on instinct alone. He might even be a little impressed actually.

".... OUCH." He tried not to think about the heat he could feel coloring his face and ears. It had to be the twin suns making him feel warm and not the embarrassment.

".... U-uh.... Sorry...?" At least the kid offered him a sheepish apology for his transgression. "What I meant was, you were kind of... Blocking the door and... Uuuuh... Uh.... Did you e-eat Old Ben and his eopie...?"

"DID I--" Cody made a disgusted face. "HELL NO, I DID NOT EAT KENOBI AND HIS VINDICTIVE DEMON CAMEL. HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHERE THEY'VE BEEN? I'D GET SICKER THAN A HUTT LOOKS!"

"You already smell like one..." The kid remarked dryly.

"YOU TRY SHOWERING WHEN YOU'RE AS BIG AS ME." The large clone grumbled, shifting positions so that instead of sitting in the lotus position he was relaxing with his knees up so that he could rest the arm currently holding the little blighter in his grasp. "TATOOINE ISN'T EXACTLY RICH IN EITHER WATER OR PUBLIC SONICS."

"Hey no I get it, not everyone gets to clean up every day..." The kid was definitely sassing him. From frightened fathier in the headlights to snippy kowakian monkey lizard. "Aunt Beru says I shouldn't judge."

"REMIND ME AGAIN WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE, BESIDES INSULTING MY PRESENCE AND BREAKING AND ENTERING?" This time he didn't shy away from leaning forward so he could get a better look at the kid. Now that he wasn't screaming his little head off at the sight of him that is...

"Well, why should I tell you?! For all I know you're lying and you did eat Old Ben and Silas!" The boy threw his arms up as he called out his absurd little theory "Like you did all those imperial jerkfaces at the outpost!"

"...." cody's frown deepened. "YOU THINK I ATE THOSE PEOPLE?"

"Well duh... That's what everyone in town was saying! That some big gray monster wrecked the outpost out in Tusken, and that it then ate up anyone that tried to run away!"

"I DON'T..." The exasperated giant pinched between his furrowed brows with his free hand. He took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. "THAT ISN'T TRUE IN THE SLIGHTEST KID... I DON'T EAT PEOPLE. AND I DEFINITELY DIDN'T EAT THE NUTJOBS AT THE OUTPOST..."

"Then how come no one got out alive?" The boy crossed his arms, looking at him as if ready to catch Cody in a lie.

"THAT'S BECAUSE MY BIG FAT BUTT, AS YOU PUT IT OH SO COLORFULLY, KIND OF... WELL... CRUSHED THEM..." Maybe that wasn't information he should give to this kid as a means to appease his curiosity and fear, but that was (in his opinion) better than the alternative. He wouldn't let the barbaric accusation slide any longer.

The youngling's wide eyes and sudden pallor made him second-guess the decision.

"IN MY DEFENSE, THAT WASN'T EVER MY INTENTION... EVEN IF THEY DESERVED IT." Cody quickly tried to rectify his mistake. "I WASN'T ALWAYS THIS BIG, AND THOSE PEOPLE WERE PLAYING WITH SOME... PRETTY DANGEROUS IDEAS. LONG STORY SHORT, THEY DIDN'T CONSIDER THE FACT TRYING TO MAKE A GIANT WOULD ACTUALLY RESULT IN A GIANT OUTGROWING THEIR LAB... AND ENTIRE FACILITY."

He wasn't sure why he was being this openly honest. Maybe it was the odd sense of familiarity, or maybe he just really didn't like to entertain the notion of being considered some kind of monster. Whatever the case he just wanted this kid to tell him why he was here, and being truthful felt like the better path to take.

It helped that the kid apparently knew Obi-wan, so maybe this could all be resolved peacefully.

"......I was right!!!" All of a sudden the boy's demeanor took a 180º turn that left Cody staring at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head.

"WHAT...?"

"I knew those creeps were trying to make a monster!" The kid's wide grin and twinkling eyes were almost as unbelievable as this entire situation. "Everyone else thought they just made something from scratch, but I knew none of those eggheads could have been that smart if karma came to beat them over the head with a stick!"

".... YOU'VE LOST ME KID..." the clone decided he might as well uncurl his fingers and let the boy sit on his palm. He didn't think the little blighter would try to jump off.

"You just won me a bet against Biggs." the kid did, in fact, sit on his open palm much to Cody's relief. "Everyone's going to be so jealous when I finish my errand and come back alive and right as rain!"

"THAT'S NOT HOW THAT PHRASE IS MEANT TO BE USED..." This was the issue now. "ALSO HATE TO BREAK IT TO YOU, BUT YOU CAN'T TELL ANYONE ABOUT ME."

Both he and Obi-wan had done their best to keep Cody's presence and situation a secret from the rest of Tatooine's inhabitants. They couldn't go back and force anyone to forget the brief sighting of his fleeing form or the chaos and destruction he left behind, but they could very well pretend that the unknown grey beast that had been briefly seen, had perished under the hostile conditions of the rather unwelcoming planet.

If this apparently easily exited youngling went back to town proclaiming he'd met the beast, Cody didn't doubt an angry mob would come to try to dispatch him. No amount of Force Osik courtesy of Kenobi could possibly dispel a terrified group of somewhat organized assailants. Nor would Cody want his friend to go to such lengths for his sake. He'd already been a big enough burden as it was.

The boy frowned as he looked up at him.

"Why not?"

"IT WOULDN'T END WELL." He responded without hesitation. "HOW DID YOU REACT WHEN YOU FIRST SAW ME, OR WHEN I WOKE UP?"

"Uh..."

"NOW IMAGINE THAT, BUT AN ENTIRE TOWN OF PEOPLE ARMED WITH BLASTERS."

"Well... When you put it like that..." He was catching on quickly. Good, the kid was sharper than he seemed. "But... But you didn't eat or try to hurt me. Just called me a womp rat and a thief. I'm not either of those things, but also I'm not dead and I'm ok, so I could tell people you're nice?"

"SORRY KID, BUT THE WORLD DOESN'T WORK LIKE THAT..." He shook his head slowly, so as to not jostle the boy. "OTHERWISE OB-- BEN WOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO HELP ME HIDE...."

"Oh! I nearly forgot!" The kid startled. "I came all the way to return something of Old Ben's... And if you're his friend and didn't hurt him, then maybe you could give it back for me?"

The little sassy blond pulled the little satchel he was wearing (that Cody hadn't actually noticed before) and pulled something out of it. It was a wrapped parcel that he could barely see, but the shape of it...

Cody squinted, pulling his hand closer to his face so that he could figure out if his mind wasn't playing some kind of a trick on him. It turned out it wasn't.

"YOU'RE JOKING... THAT'S WHY YOU WERE USING MY ARM TO GET IN THROUGH THE WINDOW...?"

"Uh-uh! Aunt Beru said he forgot this thing at our home when Old Ben came around for tea yesterday." The boy explained, not at all aware of what he was actually holding. "He doesn't stick around for long because uncle Owen doesn't like him too much, so I guess he forgot it when he ran off..."

"TYPICAL KENOBI... IF HE DIDN'T HAVE HIS HEAD SCREWED ON TIGHT HE'D LOSE IT..."

"That's what aunt Beru said!"

"YOUR AUNT IS A SMART LADY." Cody chuckled. "TELL YOU WHAT, WHY DON'T WE BOTH WAIT FOR HIM AND THEN YOU CAN GIVE THAT SILLY OLD THING BACK TO THE RIGHTFUL SILLY OWNER."

"Hmm.... Ok! My name's Luke by the way!" The boy introduced himself as he hopped back onto his feet and began to carefully traverse the expanses of Cody's palm, towards his wrist and then following the length of his arm. The giant made sure to use his free hand as a makeshift safety net in case the kid lost his balance and fell.

"A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU LUKE... MY NAME IS CODY."

Once Obi-wan got back from his excursion, he'd be giving him an earful about losing his damn saber again. Until then he might as well entertain Luke until he finally got to finish his errand.

Not a particularly difficult task, considering the boy was a ball of energy and not at all afraid to run around all over his arm like the itsy bitsy spider Cody had initially mistaken him for.

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Fives - Anchor

Pairing: Fives x reader

Word Count: 1450 words

CW/ TW: Angst; mourning/loss, death, letter, anniversary, pain, brooding, it’s very heavy and sensitive so please proceed with caution and let me know if I didn’t TW something you deemed necessary; also a bit more hopeful/ light toward the end because my heart couldn’t handle that much sadness tonight

Tags: @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad

@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023

Notes: I guess I missed him a lot tonight… Sorry for the pain

Some elements included in this fic are inspired from chats I had with @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s ; thank you little moon for being an inspiration to me 🌙

Iridescent - Linkin Park

.

0000.

Happy anniversary Fives.

Though I don’t see how it could be happy, when you’re everywhere but here. I never grew used to your absence, I never could; not when you’re haunting my every move, haunting this place and this world, finding your way back to me through faint memories and thousand of faces walking up to my office every day, asking me about my day and if I feel well.

I have to look at the ghost of you, every single time, and lie.

“I’m fine. What can I do for you?”

And I hear your voice again, and again. It tells me about the pain running through your back, the nightmares hitting harder than usual, and the fear eating you alive every time you get out of your hard, cold bed.

But it’s not you. It never is. I never could be.

I stopped buying your shampoo. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the bottle we had in the shower. It’s still there, hidden somewhere in the bathroom, waiting to be emptied and thrown away carelessly, in such a mundane way one could so easily forget about it. But I can’t throw it away; it’s not mundane anymore.

I hid the jewels too, except for the bracelet. I hate to wear it, but I hate even more to put it away. I just feel…I feel naked when I don’t have it, and empty when I do. I can’t help but see you – feel you – through the shades of blue and black. What was once the purest blessing turned into the worst curse, and I can’t break it. I almost did – breaking the bracelet. I almost did.

I could if I really wanted to; but then I would lose you again, and I just…

I gave your aprons to the boys. I couldn’t stand to see them, neatly hanging in the kitchen. They were silly anyway, and I had no use for them. I’m a doctor after all, not a cook.

I published my thesis on the clones’ rights, and it is being presented to the Senate by Senator Amidala as we speak. I told her I wouldn’t be able to be there for her discourse, and she simply hugged me. I wish she hadn’t.

0527.

It’s been a year, yet it feels like yesterday. Everyone moved on; everyone but me, and I can’t help but be mad. I am mad that they forgot so easily about you, that they brushed you off as “another collateral damage”, another…clone. It’s the way they say it when they try to comfort me.

You were more than a clone. More than a soldier, and more than a man.

You were Fives.

You were my anchor, and I was your ocean.

I miss the way you said it. Coming home to me, tired, features drained and eyes darkened by the horrors of your latest campaign; but always soft and caring through the hoarseness of your voice as you whispered it against my skin. You always found a way to be there for me; for everyone, even when you were losing yourself in your own prison.

I am mad at you because of that. Because you couldn’t stand back for once, be egoistic and think of yourself instead of trying to play the hero in the dark. They killed you because you didn’t wait, not even when I asked you – begged you to. I am so angry because I called you an idiot, and all you could answer me was “I love you too, my ocean. My anchor.”

You didn’t even let me say it back.

1134.

I am mad at myself. You trusted me enough to tell me everything, and you knew I would believe you. And when you tried to do something about it, I called you an idiot. I wasn’t even there with you; I should have been there with you. I could have saved you.

Fives…

I remember the first time you came home. At the time, it was still “my place”, but the moment you stepped in it stopped being mine only. I always told you to come by if you needed; and the one time you did, we ended up laughing so hard the neighbour had to knock at the door. But it felt good. I guess that day I gave you a part of myself, and you carried it with you ever since. I suppose it died with you, too.

I know I shouldn’t be so broody; I can almost hear you, your chuckles filling the room, your hands pressing down my shoulders as you tell me “it’s a celebration, smile for me!”; and the smell of that shampoo tickling my nose as you come close to lay a kiss on my cheek…

But now the only thing I can feel are the tears, and that twisting ache in my chest, burning my skin and ripping my lungs apart. I can’t even breathe correctly anymore, I…

1745.

I’m sorry I had you waiting.

I fell asleep on the table, and woke up because of the cold. It’s always cold in here now. I borrowed one of your old sweatshirt - I hope you don’t mind. I kept them. I almost gave them to the boys, along with the aprons; but then I thought they could always come in handy.

They do. When days like today happens; days where I feel too lonely, where I miss you too much and it just feels too cold, I slip into one and hold it so close to me it almost feels like you’re here. My arms become yours, your faint perfume comes back to me fresh and soft, and I sometimes swear I can feel your warmth against my skin. I close my eyes when I do that, and it stops being a dream for a second.

For just a second, you’re back. You never truly left.

And when I open my eyes again; when I realise what it is all about, I still feel you. I see the bracelet, smell the black tissue, watch one of these B movie we used to laugh at and somehow I feel the best and worst I’ve felt in a long time.

I wish you were here. I wish I could tell you how much I missed you and how beautiful you are; if I could hold you tight, one last time... I didn’t even get to hug you one last time. I didn’t know it would be it; else I wouldn’t have let you go.

Echo is supposed to come around today. He told me he would. He didn’t forget about you either, you know. Neither did Rex, or Jesse, or Kix. Your vode didn’t forget about you. They always make sure to keep you alive, tell everyone about you and remember them of who you were.

Echo always says you’re his best friend. He never uses the past tense. I can’t blame him; I still say you’re the love of my life whenever people ask me. I guess we know deep down these things will never change. We don’t want it to change.

Wait, someone knocked.

2226.

When was the last time we laughed like that? For once, we turned the tears into something better; lighter. I’m sure you would be proud of us.

Of course, you would be proud of us.

It almost feels good to see you through Echo; to find glimpses of you in his smile, the faint spark in his eyes when he retells your best pranks, and the way he chuckles...I almost feel at home right now. With you. Not quite, but close enough.

Enough to make me smile, for the first time today.

Echo says hi. He’s watching me writing to you. He asked me to tell you that Rex lit a candle for you this morning, and the boys had a little something for you; but I can’t know what; apparently I “wouldn’t understand anyway”. So I hope – we hope – that you liked it.  We’re probably going to watch a bad movie and mock the poor acting until we fall asleep, and tomorrow we will…We’ll probably think of you again, but hopefully there won’t be as much tears as today.

I guess it’s a battle worth fighting. Not for the Republic or the Greater Good; not for the Senate or the Chancellor. Not for the Jedis or the Galaxy.

No, it’s a battle we fight for you, Fives. Let us be your anchor, for once, and rest easy now, because more than anything or anyone else out there… you deserve it.

2359.

Happy anniversary Fives.

I love you too, my Anchor.

 - Your Ocean.

[loth-wolffe]

WOLFFE I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, CONGRATS ON 400, YOU DESERVE IT, ABSOLUTELY AMAZING

ILYSM, YOU ARE INCREDIBLE WOLFFE :)))

*clears throat*

mkay so now that i have gotten the image limit maxed out on this ask thingy, here’s the next thing:

i know i already sent in one of these (but i really like what you have to say about them because it’s always so soft and sweet 🥺), and i’ve been in the feels for mr. dark and broody, or better known as bandana…

so…

hunter + cuddling???

i really just-

i need hunter cuddles :) 🥰

aNYWAYS, ONCE AGAIN, ilysm, you are so sweet and kind, and i have no idea where i would be without you my dear wolffe :)

oh, one more thing!

mar is sending you some algae pies!!! they are quite delicious, and we hope you enjoy them!!

lots of love & spells,

moony & mar

celebrate with me ✨

AKSKAJS LUNITA MI VIDAA THANK YOU SOSOSOSOSO MUCH 🥺♥️ bestie you're the best of the best I swear. i love you so much my sweets. I have no idea what I would do without you<3 sending u (and mar my darling) all the love.

SO HUNTER + CUDDLING.

i think cuddling with hunter is mostly like. the normal cuddling? like. i mean. he likes it more when you're resting your head on his chest, lazily stroking your back or playing with your hair, he likes to kiss your head, the smell of your shampoo always grounds him.

sometimes you two have pillow talks, hushed words spoken and little laughs leave your lips.

it's in the dead of the night, in the silence filled with the hyperdrive, when he feels the most comfortable with you, where he spills a few secrets and things he never thought saying out loud.

even when he sleeps, his hold on you is tight, afraid you might slip away.

sometimes he closes his eyes, in a fruitless attempt of falling asleep because he can feel your eyes on him. he doesn't open them when he says,

"staring is considered impolite." it's a whisper, voice sounding rough and sending a shiver down your spine.

you smile, tracing the outline of his tattoo.

"I just happen to like my view." you murmur, the gentlest of smiles appearing in his face and you move just enough to kiss the spot where his tattoo ends in his jaw.

he hums.

"your view is trying to sleep." you laugh, a little sound you try to hush because you don't want to wake anyone. you know how light everyone's sleep is.

"be my guest, then." it is then, when he opens his eyes, finding yours a second after and even in the darkness, you can see how they shine with emotion.

"can't do if you're looking at me like that." you frown, a smile betraying your serious confusion. he kisses your forehead.

"you can't even see me."

"but I can feel you."

"how am I looking at you then, bandana?" your voice is a tease, and if it were any other moment he'd tell you to please, stop spending so much time with cid.

his response is delayed, as he tries to commit to memory how you look right then, in the faint light of the ship, and even then you look like glowing, he searches for something else too, something that might tell him he shouldn't say the next words, but then again, you're looking at him like that.

"like you love me."

you take a moment to process his words, cinnamon eyes anticipating your answer and when you give him a smile, he mimics the expression.

"it's because I do, silly."

[galacticgraffiti]

hello gala my wonderful little friend. i would LOVE to hear any director's commentary you have about this sweet wolffe drabble, especially wolffe's pov. is anyone surprised that i requested this? they shouldn't be. xx

Send me an ask to hear some director's commentary on any of my fics

Bee my sweet little honeycake! Your Wolffe is unparalleled, so I am beyond happy that you want to hear my silly little thoughts behind this ficlet. That request made me so happy, I remember that.

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An excerpt from the fic:

When he gets inside, your back is turned to him, head tilted back and a tiny little bottle in your hand with liquid dripping onto your face. What in kriff’s name- “What are you doing?” Wolffe’s voice sounds so confused that you whip around, almost dropping the bottle to the ground in the process, fluid running down your cheeks. Wolffe is over by your side in two long steps, one hand settling on your shoulder. “Oh- me'senbaar'ur, why are you crying? Did someone say something?” His voice gets deeper and even though he does not actually stand up straighter he somehow seems to get taller. “If any of my men mistreated you, I swear to-” “What?” you interrupt him, your eyebrows raising in confusion. “What are you- No one was mean to me. Your men are lovely companions.” His lip twitches slightly when he stares at you. “Was it something I did, then? I- I noticed the way you were staring at me today, did I say or do anything to make you uncomfortable? Tell me why you are crying.” You chuckle lightly, “I’m not crying, Commander. Sorry, should probably have cleared that up first. Also- I haven’t been staring at you, what do you… oh.” You blush when you realise what the situation must have seemed like to him. Stepping closer, you put one hand on his chestplate to calm him. Wolffe does not flinch away from your touch, but knits his brows. “Of course you have been staring at me, fucking squinting like you are trying to figure out the next way I’m gonna break a starship for you to fix.” “I’m sorry, Commander,” you grin. “It wasn’t intentional. I just- I was working on something earlier where I needed my magnifier anyways so I didn’t put in my contacts this morning. And then I kinda didn’t have time, so I squinted my way through this day and only just remembered I should probably go put them in now before I forget and get drunk and die in a ditch on my way home because I couldn’t find my kriffing tent.” Wolffe stares down at you, mouth slightly agape and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “Your… contacts.” “Uh-huh,” you confirm. “I didn’t know your eyes were cybernetically enhanced,” he tilts his head questioningly and you have to laugh.

My sappy thoughts while writing this:

Tbh this one just poured out of me without much thought at all. Sometimes I get a request and it feels like that person reached into my mind and tugged on a string I did not know existed up until that moment. This was one of them.

Because Wolffe is not particularly sweet or kind - he is polite, sure. But to go out of his way to help someone he vaguely knows? I could not imagine that. He helps people because it is his duty. So I knew I needed to set up some sort of situation where he would not randomly offer his help, I knew I had to write a scene where he was bothered by the fact that she had lost her contacts (or in this case, not put them in). And then the rest kind of just developed from there.

He can't stand feeling watched, as much as he likes to watch people, and he cannot stand feeling judged, as much as he likes to judge people. So, in his eyes, the mechanic doing both to him all day would have driven him up the fucking wall. And then walking in on this whole situation and not understanding what is going on developed a mind of its own. I don't think he would have been mad because someone made her cry (or so he thought), but specifically because he thought it was one of his men. And his men should know better, they should know to behave and treat the ones they work with with respect. And to think that it could have been one of his own actions that made her cry would be unbearable to him, especially if he did not even notice.

And then not knowing what contacts are, the situation is just all around weird. I don't like infantalising the clones, I don't like making them seem stupid, because they are never stupid. But I felt like contacts are such a strange and specific thing that it could totally happen that he just... had never seen anyone putting in contacts before. And since the next best thing he does know would be his own cybernetic eye, I felt like that would be a valid conclusion for him to jump to. I also just wanted a light little moment, something they could bond over so he would not seem quite so imposing and scary anymore, and I thought this was quite endearing and he seemed a bit more approachable.

Those were my thoughts basically, and now that I am finally getting around to answering these, I keep thinking: All those times people back in school complained about 'There is no way the author thought that much about this stupid book' - let me tell you. Yes, there is way. My brain while writing is FULL to the brim (or at least it is when I proofread and edit. Sometimes while writing, my mind is indeed completely empty).

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Gently tagging some Wolffe folk who enjoyed the fic: @megafrost4 @boomtowngirl @ulchabhangorm (who wrote a fucking LOVELY comment that I completely missed, tysm my love, that was a director's commentary all on its own) @corrabell @thefact0rygirl @fivesarctrooper @foxincoruscant @gotomarvelgal @book-of-baba-fett @cyarbika

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 27

The fact that the extraction team was in orbit didn't mean we would be getting out of Felucia right away. The separatist forces had blockaded the system and the fighters would have to punch a hole in it first. I would have worried about it if it hadn't been the 104th that had been sent. The pack had incredibly talented pilots, most of them reassigned to him after their former squadrons had been destroyed.

Very early on, Master Plo had decided he would take in any troopers who had lost their entire squads and needed to be reassigned. According to Ahsoka, some Masters thought it silly. Why want a battalion made up of whichever troops death hadn't claimed? None of them had worked together before, they didn't know each other's dynamics and would probably be an inefficient group of traumatized misfits.

Turns out they weren't. Scarred and burdened with survivor's guilt, the members of the Pack got very close, very fast because they had a lot in common: they all yearned for comfort, a place to belong to. That is what the Pack was. In addition to that, Master Plo's caring yet imposing nature made for an incredible leader to rally behind. That, and soldiers who survive the loss of an entire squadron are either lucky or skilled, either way they were both good things to have in battle.

So you could see why I wasn't concerned, the best pilots in the GAR were coming to break the blockade, and break the blockade they would. There were brothers to save, Generals to aid and their very own Commander to get back. I will not lie and say I thought myself unimportant to the Pack, no, I knew I could count on them to have my back whenever I needed them because they knew I would give my life to protect them too.

Still, with the two droid battalions approaching fast from the northeast, and the possibility of the divided forces in front of us overwhelming Ahsoka, I had no time to waste keeping my eye on the sky. I had the 212th to protect too. I put all my worries aside and focused on the battle at hand. It was amazing how fast I could force my mind to compartmentalize things in the heat of battle. I realized it all came crashing down on me once the adrenaline abbed away and I found myself in a safe environment once again. It made sense, in my mind, to be able to do it, I had been Plo Koon's padawan for a few years before the start of the war and most of that time I'd been training in Dorin. The only real action I ever saw was as a member of the GAR and I'd been surrounded by soldiers the entire time. It was only natural for me to learn from and adapt to my environment.

"Commander!" it took me a second to realize it was T.H. over the comm who was trying to reach me. "Commander, do you read me?"

"Yes, T.H."

"Commander, the enemy to the northeast is five minutes out. We'll be outflanked any minute." There was distress in his voice, urgency, but not fear. He believed we would get out of there no matter the cost. but it would cost.

I turned to my master and started to back away and towards T.H's position before I yelled, "Master! I'm off to reinforce the northeast, the enemy is almost here."

He nodded, never taking his gaze away from the droids marching towards us.

"Make sure the men are ready to leave at a moment's notice."

I crossed the clearing as fast as I could, jumping over ammo crates and sprinting full speed to where I could feel T.H. As I approached the like of firing troopers, I switched my saber ona and took my stance right at the front. This was going to get ugly.

"Alright, boys, the 104th is trying to break through, we better stay alive until they arrive!" I said in as light a tone as I could manage. "Whoever kills more tinnies gets free drinks!"

"You heard the Commander, Fellas" chuckled Waxer over the comms. "She's buying my drinks tonight!"

"Yeah right, you have the aim of a geonosian bug, Waxer. I'm getting those drinks!" answered another clone.

Suddenly the commlink was alive with light hearted banter and renewed morale born of healthy competition.

"If I win though, you boys are buying for me, and I'm planning on hitting Coruscant clubs hard once we head back." I chuckled, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. We were all trying not to lose our cool as we waited for the next wave of droids to arrive and it showed.

"I never thought you were the type, Commander." Teased Boil.

"I'm not, but one's 18th solar return happens only once, trooper. And I didn't have my Age of Responsibility celebration last year, the war kinda got in the way." I laughed.

The commlink went wild, and all of a sudden I had half a platoon making arrangements for when we went back to Coruscant. The battle started, but no one seemed to notice, they were all too excited planning a bar hopping route and picking who was in charge of what for each of them. Was it unprofessional? Very much so, yes. The entire situation seemed almost fictional: troopers staring death in the face while excitedly planning a celebration. But I hadn't been aiming for professionalism, I had wanted to give them something to look forward to. I wanted them to have something to fight for other than their lives, as trivial as a solar return celebration seemed at the moment.

We had little time left on the battlefield anyway. The Pack had managed to create an opening in the enemy's blockade of Felucia and now the gunships were landing all over us to get every single soldier, Jedi and Padawan off the Force forsaken planet. I almost didn't realize the clone that came up behind me and started to lay cover fire had his armour painted gray. It was only when I felt Art through the Force that I realized we were going home.

The entire force that had been guarding the north east boarded the gunships without a second's hesitation.

"Double time, Boys. We still have to make it up to the cruiser!" I encouraged them as they all moved.

Once every last man was on board I ordered the pilot to take off. After getting clear of the foliage, I made a head count and found every trooper was present and accounted for. I reported to Master Kenobi of our situation and took the liberty of asking about Ahsoka.

"Your friend is following her Master's teachings," Said Obi-Wan with what sounded like a frustrated sigh in my ear. "I hope her habit of disobeying orders isn't contagious. I'd hate to have to go through this again with you, Kriari."

I chuckled, thinking of all those stories he had told me about Anakin as a Padwan.

"Don't worry, Master, I think Master Skywalker's made your hair go gray enough."

"Careful, young one, Anakin might be offended." He retorted with a light tone. I assumed Master Skywalker was somewhere around him and listening to every word we said.

I cut the link and focused on the rising tension around me. The gunship was swerving violently from side to side as the pilots attempted to keep us all airborne and alive. I felt the need to reassure them, tell them everything was going to be okay. But I didn't want to lie. My connection to the Force was strong, but not strong enough to see the future.

"So, who's paying for drinks tonight?"

...

"And then there was this huge argument -mid flight- about who had had the most kills and who hadn't because apparently the Commander thought alcohol was the best encouragement for the 212th. And now we need to coordinate this big ass Solar Return celebration because both battalions got excited and wanted in." Explained Headfirst trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the situation had been. "I mean the pilot was trying not to get shot down and still he went 'If I get us all on board the cruiser, do I get free drinks too?'"

The entire table burst out in laughter as we had our first meal post battle. I had left both Master Kenobi and Skywalker to deal with Ahsoka and what I assumed was a major fuck up judging by how serious they all were being about it. AfterI finished my meal, I left the men to their own devices so I could get cleaned up.

It took the Pack no time to welcome me back. I got salutes, pats on the shoulder, on the back and even a few "good to have you back, Commander" as I walked down the corridors and to my quarters to shower.

Scrubbing the dirt and grime of the battlefield felt better than I had anticipated. I was sore from the explosion and the rough landing that followed, but nothing seemed to be broken. I waited for my clothes to dry after washing them with an old robe wrapped around me. I had missed my quarters aboard the ship so much. The walls had been decorated by a few of Art's creations, a mirror and a few pictures of the Pack and I after missions. The sheets had been changed from their original grey and white to more earthy tones -I had been missing the Temple quite a lot at the time- and the closet had most of my clothes in it, if not all of them. The lingering smell of incense I'd burned the last time I had been on board still stuck to the walls and sheets. This had become my home after the Temple had been flooded by force sensitive children escaping the war. And the cozyness and familiarity of it all put me more at ease than I had been in a very long time. Not that I didn't like the 212th or my quarters there, but it was definitely not the same, even if I wore their colors on the armour for my left arm.

I got re-dressed and dried and styled my hair in its usual side part before re-braiding the longer strand on the back of my neck. I -of course- put my armour back on, but not without polishing it first. A Jedi must always look their best, they are a symbol and a representation of the Republic in the war. If we were roughed up, disheveled and dirty then it didn't do any good for morale.

As I finished smoothing away my robes, someone knocked on my door, which was odd in itself. I had already given my report and spoken to the hologram of the Council before heading for the mess hall. I hadn't had the chance to speak with either Master Plo or Wolffe because they were both engaged in post-battle protocol and I hadn't wanted to disturb them. I would get to see them later anyway now that my tour with Master Kenobi had come to an end.

I opened the door to a stone faced Wolffe. His posture and demeanor only seemed to have gotten colder and rougher during the time we'd been apart, but I still could feel how uneasy and unsure he was as he stood there, proud and strong as someone of his rank and experience.

"Commander, I wasn't expecting visits, I was on my way to the bridge to greet you and Master Plo." I said with a smile and just a smidge of confusion in my tone.

Wolffe only grew more uncomfortable with each second which was very unusual of him. I knew we had been on almost friendly terms when we last saw each other so this sudden change puzzled me greatly.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked finally, a little lost on what to do at his lack of an answer.

This seemed to startle him because he rejected my offer right away, like the idea was preposterous -which it might have been but I had a mute soldier in front of my quarters so what was I to do?

"I was-" he started before clearing his throat, his cheeks tinting slightly. "I was here to deliver something to you on behalf of the 104th." he said, pulling out a sheath from behind him.

It wasn't longer than my forearm and the sheath was the exact same grey color as my utility belt and lightsaber. Unable to say anything I took the weapon and unsheathed it. It was a beautifully crafted vibroblade. I looked up at Wolffe, grateful, confused, and a little giddy. He didn't return my gaze, in fact he was purposefully avoiding it. I didn't mind, he wasn't the type to show he cared, this was very new to him.

"Thank you, Wolffe. It's beautiful," I said, securing it horizontally on my belt at the small of my back. "But to what do I owe this amazing gift?"

Wolffe's face colored even further as he steeled his resolve and turned to look me in the eyes.

"Your armour has too much orange in it. We felt a little more gray was necessary."

[katierosefun]

ever in our favor

Summary: Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn't afraid of anything.Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think he was too smart to be afraid.[or: the Hunger Games/TCW AU. Three different tributes from three different districts. A tech-whiz, a thief, and the son of a Victor who was cast into the Games on purpose. Happy Hunger Games, everyone.]

read on ao3 | read on ff 

wc: 5509

Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn’t afraid of anything.

He wasn’t afraid of Peacekeepers, for one thing, not when he could easily outrun any of them. Not that he had had to, not in a long time. He had once had to outrun them when he was little, back when it was easier for his mom to defend him against his stupid little tricks with the electricity or the radio system. He hadn’t meant to mess around with the radios, but he had, and he was pretty sure he somehow transmitted some music from District 11. He had thought it was rather nice, but then Peacekeepers had started looking for him, and his mother had insisted that Anakin was just a “silly little boy” who played with the dials because he had nothing better to do so please, punish me instead—

His mom had been punished that day, in the end. Tied to a post and whipped, and Anakin had screamed himself hoarse, and one of the other women had tugged Anakin aside, forced him to not watch, but Anakin could still hear the whip fall, and he could still hear his mom’s just barely restrained screams. No one had been allowed to touch her even long after the Peacekeeper had finished. Anakin remembered that it was summer, and it was hot, and he remembered being scared only then, even after his mom healed with the help of some of the other men and women in the district.

“Don’t be afraid, Ani,” his mom had said to him later that night, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that makes them happy.”

So he decided not to be afraid.

He wouldn’t be afraid—he won’t be afraid, not even if his name had been cast into the lottery more times this year than ever before.

Just twelve times, he thought. Things could be worse. He could have his name put in there nearly forty times, fifty times, which he knew some unlucky folks did for their families. But Anakin just had his mom and himself—no siblings, no dad. Just the two of them. Shmi and Anakin Skywalker.

Just twelve times.

And there weren’t even going to be as many tributes this year—there was only going to be one chosen per district this year for the Third Quarter Quell. Unusual, Anakin knew, but the president had promised that fewer tributes would mean an even more exciting game. Deadlier traps, higher stakes. Draw out the game longer than they had in previous years. Make people more desperate.

“You should eat something,” Shmi said now, pushing bread Anakin’s way.

Anakin looked down and found that it wasn’t the brown, hard stuff that his mom and he had to have most of the time. He found a round, soft roll instead, one without burn marks or mold or anything. Anakin looked back up, surprised.

Shmi smiled. “A gift,” she said. “Our neighbors wish us well.” She pushed the roll a little closer to Anakin. “Now go on, eat.”

He wasn’t really hungry—he wasn’t sure anyone was, not on Reaping Day, but—

Anakin tore the roll in half and pressed one half into his mom’s reluctant hand. “We’ll both need it,” he said, flashing his mom a quick smile. He stood up, forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence.

The bread seemed to clog itself in Anakin’s throat, and for a moment, he wondered if he wouldn’t be able to swallow—but he eventually did, and then he heard the bells sound across the district.

A quiet gasp—not from himself, but from his mother, who reached over and grabbed his hand in sudden desperation.

“It’s okay,” Anakin said. He squeezed back his mom’s hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He looked at his mom, smiled again. “What happened to not being afraid?”

A silence passed, and then Shmi gave Anakin a weak smile. “You’re right,” she said after a little while. She lifted a hand, brushed her thumb under his eye like he was a nine-year old again. “I’m not afraid at all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Anakin said. He tugged at his mom’s hands. “Come on,” he said. “After this, we can listen to that music again. The singing, remember?”

Shmi’s face faltered for a moment. “You really should stop…”

“They haven’t caught me yet,” Anakin said with forced lightness. Not since he was nine years old, at least. Seven more years of getting familiar with the technology and goings-on of his district had taught him to be nimbler and smarter with what he did when he did them.

“No,” Shmi said. “I suppose they haven’t.” She squeezed Anakin’s hand again.

And they headed out to greet the rest of District 3.

--

Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.

She used that to her advantage—she always had, ever since she was a little girl. She was smaller than most of the girls and boys her age, both in height and frame. So that made her forgettable. Peacekeepers were less likely to be suspicious of a small girl, and the others were less likely to point fingers at someone as seemingly innocent as herself. But Ahsoka knew the truth about her own self: she’d known enough about herself to use that appearance to her advantage, starting from when she was old enough to work in the fields. Her baggy clothes made for useful ways to pocket more food and sneak back to her dad and her friends.

And she hadn’t been caught once—the Peacekeepers hadn’t ever noticed, and Ahsoka had always been careful to swipe only enough in haphazard places. The closest she ever got to getting caught was the time she stole a whole loaf of bread from a Peacekeeper, but by the time he had discovered the thieving, Ahsoka and the other field workers had already been long gone, and luckily, the Peacekeeper’s dog had been close enough to be the suspected thief instead.

She got away with those little things easily, and no one ever suspected her. So Ahsoka told herself that if she got chosen, then—

Ahsoka curled her hands over her lap.

But she didn’t want to be chosen—

She couldn’t be chosen. This was only her second year. She only had her name in three times. Her three older brothers—Wolffe, Boost, Sinker, and Comet—all had their names in more times than her, Wolffe with the highest: forty-two pieces of paper with his name would be in the lottery today. Eighteen years old and covering for all five members of their family. And Ahsoka knew that next year, Boost would be the one covering for all of the, and then the year after that, Sinker, and then Comet.

A part of Ahsoka wondered if her dad ever regretted having as many children as he did—they weren’t even technically related, not by blood anyways. But Plo Koon had always been a man with more heart than he probably needed, and there were many starving babies left on porches a decade or so ago, when District 11 got hit with an unexpected frost overnight.

The only real blood relations might be amongst Ahsoka’s brothers—they had been a whole set, Wolffe being the oldest and drifting along with his younger brothers when Plo Koon found them hovering near the market.

As for Ahsoka, she was told that she had just been dropped at Plo Koon’s doorstep in the middle of the night, and that had been that. Ahsoka didn’t try to figure out who her birth parents were—as far as she was considered, Plo Koon was her dad, and that was all that mattered.

Ahsoka curled her hands over her knees. She glanced around her room—really, the whole family’s room, separated only by curtains, but she liked her little space. She fingered the hem of her skirt: a pretty red thing that fell right above her knees. She had only worn it once before, on her birthday. She thought it was fitting that she should wear it on Reaping Day.

The slight brush of a hand against the curtain behind her was what brought Ahsoka’s head up.

“There you are,” Plo Koon said, sitting down next to Ahsoka on her bed. “I figured you might be here.”

Ahsoka smiled. Tried to smile. “Do we need to go?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Plo Koon replied. He turned around, and Ahsoka smelled the flowers before seeing them first. She smiled for real this time as Plo Koon tucked a red-orange flower right into her hair. “Do you know what this is?”

Ahsoka concentrated for a moment, trying to remember, and then she said, “Marigolds. Tagetes patula, to be exact.”

“Correct,” Plo Koon said, his eyes wrinkling a little bit at the corners as he smiled. He leaned back, tilted his head, and suddenly that smile turned sad, and Ahsoka knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking and dreading the same exact thing too.

There was the sound of rushing feet and curtains being batted aside, and suddenly, Wolffe and the others were crowded around Ahsoka’s little space, breathing hard but eyes bright. Ahsoka knew that they had just spent the last few minutes running through the district—they always did, to work off the nerves and, as Sinker once put it, “to piss off the Peacekeepers one last time”—even though all the Peacekeepers were busy with the Reaping Day preparations. (“Don’t,” Wolffe would always groan.)

“Look at you,” Comet was saying, flashing Ahsoka a grin. “Nice flower.”

“Don’t laugh,” Ahsoka said, flicking Comet on the shoulder. She nodded at Plo Koon. “He got some for you guys, too.”

“That’s true,” Plo Koon said. “Come here, boys.”

“Dad—”

“Come on, I think we’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

Some grumbling and laughter later, and the whole family had flowers tucked behind their ears.

Boost and Sinker looked at each other, snickered, and then bowed their heads, nearly knocking their foreheads together. (“You look lovely, Sinker.” “No, you, I insist—”)

Ahsoka smiled at her family. They would be just fine, she told herself. She looked up at Wolffe last, who was watching their brothers with some restrained amusement. Wolffe caught her staring, and he smiled—rare, coming from him, but Ahsoka figured that they all needed it.

We’ll be fine, she thought again. She adjusted the flower in her hair and looked out the window, where people were already starting to trail out of their homes. They would be just fine.

--

Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think that he was too smart to be afraid.

Being afraid made people lose focus, made them do stupid things like run or jump without looking where they were heading. That was what he had learned from his time watching countless games, ever since he was a child. He would watch them even when his father wasn’t, because even though his father was one of the many famed Victors of their district, Obi-Wan liked to be prepared.

Which was why he had taken to learning and quietly training on his own when he was little—and then his father had caught him, and instead of reprimanding him, Qui-Gon Jinn had only adjusted Obi-Wan’s grip on the makeshift spear he had made for himself (really nothing more than a large stick that Obi-Wan had sharpened to a point).

And of course, the Peacekeepers, had they seen anything, didn’t argue. Secret training in preparation for the games was commonplace enough in District 1. If anything, it would have been strange if the Victors didn’t train their own children, blood-related or not.

Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the back door of the house—mansion, really, but Obi-Wan always referred to it as a house in his own mind. He stepped across the backyard, looked at the lemon trees that made a semi-circle around the perimeter of the yard. Obi-Wan reached out for one, scratched at the peel. Rolled it between his hands. Wondered if there would be any trees in the arena. One time the games had been a frozen wasteland, which hadn’t been fun—most of the tributes had just froze to death, with lips blue and eyes still open. There had been a desert before too, all dunes of orange and yellow sand, and that had gone poorly as well. Most tributes either went mad with thirst or simply laid down and refused to get back up due to the heat.

“Here again?”

Obi-Wan turned to find Qui-Gon standing at the back door.

Obi-Wan held up the lemon in his hand. “This was about to fall off anyways,” he said, tossing the fruit over to Qui-Gon.

His father caught it one-handed. “So it was,” he said. He looked up at Obi-Wan. “What do you see?”

“Seven lemon trees,” Obi-Wan said. “One of the trees is growing sick. We’ll have to take care of it soon.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “What else?”

Your shirt’s looser than it was last week, Obi-Wan thought. Dark circles under his father’s eyes, skin paler than normal.

Obi-Wan said as much.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Good observations,” he said.

Obi-Wan didn’t smile back. He took another lemon from the tree, found the grey rot on its underside. He frowned, tucked the lemon in his own pocket to dispose of it properly later. He looked back to his father, found that Qui-Gon’s smile had faded.

“When you go into the arena,” he said, “you’ll have to make sure you’re always observing. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, walking back to the back door. He started to walk past Qui-Gon, but his father caught him by the shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked back down at Obi-Wan intently. A moment passed before he said at last, “I’m sorry that it has to come down to this.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan said. He took out the rotting lemon in his pocket and stepped through the back door. He threw it in the bin, where it landed with a satisfying thunk. The bin had been meters and meters away, but Obi-Wan’s aim had been perfect.

He saw Qui-Gon nod—just the slightest tilt of his head to signal his approval.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. “When she calls my name,” he said, “am I supposed to react in any particular way?”

“Don’t look afraid,” Qui-Gon replied.

“I won’t.” Obi-Wan turned to the hall mirror, adjusted his clothes: a white shirt, dark trousers. They didn’t need any actual adjusting, not with the clothes tailored specifically to his size and shape, but still. Obi-Wan made eye-contact with Qui-Gon standing behind him.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what the other tributes will be like this year,” Obi-Wan said, moreso a statement than a question.

“They’ll be more desperate,” Qui-Gon said.

Everyone was going to be desperate.

Obi-Wan nodded anyways, straightened himself one last time. Then the bells were ringing over the district, signaling everyone to come for the Reaping. A part of Obi-Wan wished that they didn’t all have to gather in one place—really, there was no point, when he knew that he was going to get chosen anyways. Not that anyone else did.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon.

“I’ll see you on the train,” Qui-Gon said. “And remember: play the part.”

Play the part—be the triumphant, happy Career, son of the Victor that Panem expected. Proud to get a chance to prove to the rest of Panem that he was, in fact, just as much the talented and clever soon-to-be-victor that his own father was.

Obi-Wan nodded.

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t enough space.

Really, Anakin wished that the Peacekeepers could have chosen someplace else to hold the reaping, but the Hall of Justice had to do, even though the inside hall was too small to fit everyone inside. There were a few children in the roped-off sections outside. Anakin didn’t know why they couldn’t all be outside, with at least more room to breathe, but there was something about apparently the back mural of the Hall of Justice—a ridiculous piece commemorating the Capitol—that was perfectly perfect for the rest of the Capitol audience.

Anakin didn’t like the mural. There were too many bright colors, and the faces looked all wrong.

He turned to find his mom. She was standing at the other end of the hall, where all the other parents were. Shmi caught his eye and smiled weakly, fluttering her fingers over at him.

Anakin smiled back, but then the sound of someone clearing a throat drew everyone’s attention back to the front.

“Welcome!” a man in a ridiculously flashy, ridiculously golden suit smiled blandly at the crowd. Anakin couldn’t help himself: he laughed a little to himself. Everyone knew who Threepio was, the escort well-known for his silly little tirades about nothing in particular. “Ah, there are quite a lot of you, aren’t there—yes, more faces than last year…” An awkward little laugh to himself, which no one responded to.

“Well, yes,” Threepio said, blinking down at them all. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds—”

Be ever in your favor, Anakin finished for him.

“Today, we are joined by—ah, yes, Miss Amidala, hello, ma’am, so good to see you today!”

There was a sudden rustling in the crowd as everyone lifted their heads at the name.

Including Anakin’s, as he watched District 3’s sole victor walk across the makeshift stage.

She wasn’t that much older than him—Anakin remembered her own games five years ago, back when she was eighteen and he was thirteen. He couldn’t remember much then, except that he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The other tribute had been his age too. Another thirteen year old boy, who Anakin watched die with a spear in his chest.

“Thank you, Threepio,” Padmé Amidala said now, tilting her head at Threepio. She looked out to the crowd, and Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Now we can begin!” Threepio said in that blandly cheerful voice. He turned to the little crystal ball full of leaflets.

Anakin turned to his mother again.

But Shmi wasn’t looking at him—she was whispering something into a crying woman’s ear, probably reassuring her of whatever was to come.

And then someone jostled into Anakin, and for a moment, all he felt was himself being shoved to the ground—someone had fainted, he realized, and he looked down to shake the person next to him awake, come on, get up, don’t do this now—

The boy—because it had been a boy who had fainted right into Anakin, blinked up at him with glazed eyes. “I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Anakin whispered back. “Just get up, before you create a scene. Okay?”

The boy only whimpered, curled in on himself. He couldn’t have been that much older than twelve. Anakin looked around, wondering if he had any siblings, anyone who could—

“Listen,” Anakin said, looking back down at the boy. “Don’t be afraid. Okay?” He tugged at the boy’s arm, forcing him upright. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that’s when you make them happy. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

The boy’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Can we?” Anakin repeated.

The boy shook his head.

“Great,” Anakin said. “Good.” He tugged the boy up to his feet. “So come on. Don’t be scared now—” But then he realized that there were other eyes on him, not just the boy beside him. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden turn of heads.

Anakin paused, and then he looked up.

“Anakin Skywalker?” Threepio’s voice called. He was craning his neck over the microphone, hand over his eyes. “Is that you over there, boy?”

Anakin stared.

Mom, where’s Mom—

Anakin looked to the side.

He found Shmi staring back at him, her eyes wide and fearful, hand clapped over her mouth because—

Oh, he realized. He hadn’t heard Threepio the first time, because he had been busy with the kid—

“Anakin Skywalker, if you can come up now please—”

Anakin slowly turned back around to the stage. He heard, rather than saw, the others shift around him. People slowly stepping out of his way, creating a straight path between himself and the stage.

Anakin took one step.

Two steps.

And then he was walking across the hall, to the stage.

He climbed up, hoping that his steps were steady. He wasn’t sure if they were.

“Ah, yes,” Threepio said from somewhere in front of him. “Here we are.”

Anakin lifted his eyes. He saw a blur of a face, realized then that there was a hand guiding his back so that he could turn to the crowd. “Our tribute from District 3!”

Anakin looked to the crowd. Mom, where’s Mom—

But he couldn’t see anyone’s faces. The lights were too bright, and there were suddenly so many cameras, and Anakin could only blink at them all. He felt a cold hand wrap around his wrist, hoist it into the air.

Our tribute from District 3—

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t even a breeze to keep off the heat.

Ahsoka swiped at the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She was glad that her clothes were relatively light, but still. She looked over at her brothers, who were all lined up together near the back. Ahsoka catches their eyes, and they all make a face at her. The joke is clear: bored already.

Ahsoka stifles a smile and turns to the front, surprised to find that there is a different escort than the one that usually greeted the tributes. Gone was the previous Capitol man with his strange assortment of clothing and wigs, but instead, there was a pale—remarkably pale—woman with long legs and a completely shaved head save for a few elaborate purple tattoos.

“Look alive,” the escort said, bored. There was a little bit of a rustling amongst the crowd at that—look alive hardly seemed like the appropriate greeting, but—

“Ah, yes, and welcome to the Hunger Games, Reaping, et cetera.” The woman’s sharp eyes surveyed the crowd for a full second before adding, “We might as well get started. Our dear victor isn’t able to make an appearance today, caught up with very important matters all relating to the games, of course, and et cetera.”

You already said that, Ahsoka thought.

“So let’s just get this show started, shall we?” The woman reached into the crystal ball faster than Ahsoka anticipated, and something in her lurched because she wasn’t ready for it to be done that quickly—

Ahsoka blindly turned to her brothers again, and they were already waiting for.

Wolffe mouthed something: it’s fine, and then—

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Ahsoka was still looking at her brothers, so she saw the horror on their faces before she felt her own.

And then Wolffe started moving forward, which was how Ahsoka knew that wait, this was happening, and wait, what was Wolffe doing—

“I volunteer,” Wolffe said quickly, stepping out onto the path between the boys and the girls. “In Ahsoka Tano’s place—I volunteer as tribute.”

Ahsoka’s ears rang. Wait, Wolffe, no—

A silence, and then the escort smiled. Ahsoka wasn’t sure how she could be smiling at a time like this, but the escort only lifted up the leaflet bearing Ahsoka’s name. “Sorry, sweetheart,” the woman said, “but president’s orders. No volunteers for this Quarter Quell.”

Another ripple through the crowd at that news.

“Wait—” Wolffe started. “But we didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t hear it yet,” the woman said, folding the leaflet in her hands with a few deft strokes. “News gets around the districts slow, doesn’t it? But rules are rules.” Her sharp eyes combed through the crowd. “Now, Ahsoka Tano, do come up—we’ve got a long day ahead of us, and the day’s rather hot.”

Ahsoka didn’t feel hot at all. She was cold all over.

Ahsoka looked at her brothers again. They were all staring at her, pained and wide-eyed, and she saw a sudden burst of movement—but then Wolffe was holding them back because the Peacekeepers were suddenly closer now.

It’s fine, Ahsoka thought. She looked at her brothers, gave them a tight nod. I’ll be fine.

She wondered where her dad was. She didn’t know where he went or where he was located here—probably with the other parents, but what was he doing now? She dully hoped that there was someone around to comfort him, because no one could move until she left with her escort.

Ahsoka made her way to the front, hearing only the whispers of some of the other girls as she weaved through them. For a moment, she thought they wouldn’t let her get past. It was almost as though all the other girls were desperately trying to keep her in, keep her from entering the games, and the thought almost made Ahsoka stop walking altogether.

Someone squeezed Ahsoka’s arm. She wasn’t sure who, but then someone else was touching her shoulder, another was brushing the hair from her face, another was readjusting the flower near her ear. And Ahsoka emerged from the crowd with the ghost of touches from the others in her district, and then she was at the front of the stage, looking up at the pale, long-legged woman.

“Well, come on up,” the woman said, jerking her head.

Ahsoka straightened her shoulders. Headed for the stairs. She looked to the back of the stage—thought she saw something moving in the background, but then she was being turned to look at the cameras gathered around her.

A pat on her shoulder from the woman. Her hand was cold.

“Our tribute from District 11,” the woman said flatly to the cameras. She looked down at Ahsoka, nodded her head to the cameras again. “Anything in particular you want to say while the cameras are still rolling, sweetheart? Give a good first impression for all of us?”

Ahsoka stared up at the woman. This wasn’t usually how most reapings went—she wasn’t sure if this new escort was making fun of her or not.

Ahsoka looked to the cameras.

People aren’t afraid of you, a voice whispered at the back of her head. Make them keep thinking that.

So Ahsoka only smiled—her sweetest, most naïve smile, the kind that she only ever gave when she was trying to wheedle her brothers into doing something for her. She twirled a strand of her dark hair around a finger and waved at the camera until her wrist hurt.

--

Obi-Wan didn’t care if there were too many people clustered around the area. He’d be separated from the rest soon enough.

He saw some boys and girls toss curious glances his way. Some sneers, but most just watched him with a wary eye. Obi-Wan already knew most of them were running statistics in their heads: trying to guess whether or not he would be able to get drawn. He was eighteen—his name would have technically only been cast seven times, and he didn’t have any need to cast his name any more than that.

Obi-Wan didn’t bother meeting the stares of those who looked at him. Let them stare, he decided. He would be under the attention of the entire country in just a few minutes anyways, and in just a few days, he would be under the attention of the entire country for hours on end. He might as well get some more practice now.

Not that he hadn’t had practice before. Being the Victor’s son always got him an extra glance or two in school, in the streets. He remembered a boy had once asked him if his father ever told him stories of the games, so Obi-Wan had made one up on the spot, just so the boy could leave him alone.

The truth was Qui-Gon didn’t tell Obi-Wan too much of his own experience in the games. There had been some clips played, of course, during each reaping—clips of his father emerging victorious out of a dense jungle with mud and blood splattered across his face, but he had been standing defiant until the very end.

Obi-Wan figured he wouldn’t get a jungle, not for his games. The game-makers didn’t like repeating themselves, and from what Obi-Wan had watched from the recordings of his own father’s time at the games, he was a little glad he wouldn’t be stuck in a jungle. There had been great bugs that sucked their victims dry of blood, suffocating mists that left their victims choking on their own vomit and spit, vines that came to life and tried strangling their victims to death whenever things got a little too slow. Obi-Wan had watched a clip of his own father use one of those vines to his own advantage, somehow manipulating them into choking one of his pursuers instead.

Qui-Gon had shut off the television after finding Obi-Wan watching that recording.

They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, and when Obi-Wan went to search for the recording of those games again, he found that they were deleted from the television. He was fairly sure the Capitol didn’t allow such behavior, but he didn’t ask questions, and his father didn’t give him any answers.

Obi-Wan watched some of the clips from the previous games play before him now: shots of his father, and then shots of the other victors from the past in their final moments. Most of the victors were from District 1, District 2, District 4. All of the more favored districts. But there was the occasional victor from the other districts—Mace Windu from District 7, Quinlan Vos from District 5, Luminara Unduli from District 8, and most recently, a young girl named Katooni from District 12. That had been a surprise to all—the girl was no more than twelve years old, and yet everyone had watched her confuse her opponent into falling off the edge of a cliff. There weren’t any other living victors from District 12—Obi-Wan tried to imagine this child now attempting to mentor and get sponsorships for someone who might potentially be older than herself.

And now, finally, the escort—a young, blonde woman who Obi-Wan knew as Satine Kryze, although he couldn’t be sure that was her real name—all the Capitol people made up their own names by the day, it seemed. He had only ever met her a few times, once in his own home. She couldn’t have been that much older than himself, and he remembered being confused why there was a random girl in the hallway, but then she had just given him a quick, appraising look before walking out.

Obi-Wan only found out that he was to be the new escort a few weeks ago, and now, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Qui-Gon had told him that the girl in their home was to be the escort, he wouldn’t have guessed looking at Satine now: she was dressed in a particularly voluminous blue dress, her hair piled atop her head in an elaborate headset.

“Welcome,” Satine said now, nodding at the crowd as though they were all good friends. “And welcome to the 75th Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor.” Her lips curled into a slight smile, as though she knew something that the rest of the district didn’t. For all Obi-Wan knew, she might already know what the game makers were planning. He didn’t put it past the escorts for his district to somehow already have some inside knowledge with the rest of the games.

And beside Satine, Obi-Wan saw his father. Still wearing the same loose shirt, loose pants that was only halfheartedly held up by a belt, but someone had applied enough makeup to reduce the dark circles under his eyes.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Satine repeated, and then she dipped her hand into the bowl.

And when she said his name—it didn’t matter if his name wasn’t actually on the leaflet she had pulled, she would say his name anyways, that was the deal, Obi-Wan knew, Obi-Wan pressed through the crowd without a second thought. It wasn’t difficult for him to keep his shoulders back, chin up.

Don’t look afraid, Qui-Gon had told him.

Only idiots get afraid, Obi-Wan thought. He kept his hands at his sides, mounted the stairs to the stage. Satine and Qui-Gon both looked at him, gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the front of the stage.

He looked at the cameras and smiled.

Let the games begin.

[valkyrieofthehighfae]

Chapter 2

Warnings: Language, canon typical violence, eventual smut Link to the High Fae language Sylvarus Join my taglist here Tagging: @miss-spixx​

I stood outside the room Wolffe was staying in here at the palace, staring at the brilliantly hand carved door like it was a rasfald waiting to strike at my hand the moment I’d reach for the door. I’d been so confident on the way here, but now that I was actually standing outside the room, my stomach felt as if it were dropping to the floor and my heart was beating so quickly in my chest.

“Come on, you can do this.” I took a deep breath and knocked with a trembling hand, waiting with baited breath. The door swung open, that now oh so familiar scowl softening immediately upon realizing who was standing here.

“Danica, I wasn’t expecting to see you again tonight.” He stepped aside, allowing me to enter.

“The talk with my mother went quicker than expected, so I thought I’d swing by to bring you something,” I set the basket down on the black cherrywood desk. “It’s not much, just some pastries and a couple different, ah, ciders and spiced wines.” I stumbled over my words, almost forgetting what cider and spiced wine was called for a brief moment. He strode over to the desk, taking up one of the starfruit and shimmer nectar cider bottles, inspecting it closely.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“Oh it’s no trouble at all. I wanted to do something to make you feel welcome considering my attitude this morning.” I gave him a quick grin as I fished one of my favorite treats out. “Here, try this. It’s a dark chocolate and salted caramel ma’assoa. These are my favorites.” I handed him the nicely wrapped pastry, eager to hear what he thought about it.

Calm yourself, my goddess you are acting like a lovesick teenager. I had to fight back the urge to groan out loud, irritated with how silly I was acting. Honestly, what was wrong with me? Meanwhile, Wolffe hadn’t moved, his jaw slightly dropped in surprise, pastry held limply in hand.

“You’re Commander Reid?” He practically spat the words out, jaw clenching tight enough that I could see a vein in his forehead protruding slightly.

“Yes, I am. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t figure it out in the garden earlier while we were talking. I truly do apologize for this morning. You must understand that with all the troubles we’ve had recently, it was only natural for me to be suspicious of your arrival in our territory unannounced.” I reached out, laying a hand on his forearm gently. “Please, accept my humblest of apologies.” My heart was racing again at our close proximity and I was acutely aware of just how closely he was staring at me.

“I had my suspicions, but your voice is far more… melodic without that bucket on.” Wolffe had finally found his voice again. “What’s a princess doing as a commander in the military?”

“It’s part of my duties as princess of the Court of Stars to help run our military. I’m a good strategist, I lead my own regiment, in fact the only person higher in rank than I am is my father. He runs the entire military, making sure that we’re doing our jobs properly. I have a mind for tactics and battle plans, so it only made sense to put me in charge of my own regiment.” I shrugged as I stepped away from him, pulling a couple of glasses out of the basket and popped open the bottle of cider he’d been inspecting mere moments ago, pouring the bright blue liquid into the glasses. “Under normal circumstances I would be a diplomat, but I don’t have a head for politics and that sort of nonsense, so that position went to my uncle. He’s far more skilled at the job really. In fact, usually the only time I handle “normal” princess duties is during our holidays, the major ones anyway.”

Wolffe accepted the glass with a muttered thank you, his irritation becoming interest quickly. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he mulled over this information, processing everything while taking a sip of the cider.

“You mentioned that you have a war going on with the Night Court. Have you engaged them in battle?” He dropped down into one of the cushy, overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, careful not to spill his drink.

“A couple of times yes. It’s how I received these,” I ran a fingertip across the scars that decorated the left side of my face. “The Fae of the Court of Bones are vicious warriors and are more feral than most Fae. They prefer to physically fight over using blasters or other weapons. We’ve always won though, so these were worth it. Plus it makes for interesting conversation since it’s not exactly common to see a princess with battle scars.” Well, it wasn’t common in the Celestial Court anyway since the other princes and princesses were diplomats besides the Winter Court prince. It was far more common to see scars among those in the Night Court from fighting us and fighting each other. It was honestly a wonder they could even hold a war against us with just how much infighting there was between their courts. Queen Helena had managed to hold onto the throne in the Blood Court far longer than past rulers; she was vicious and calculating, using manipulation and fear to keep her subjects in line. After she took over, that’s when the war really began, her need to take vengeance upon my father in particular fueling the fire.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss war and fights. I’m sure you see too much of that on a daily basis,” I set the glass down on the desk, glancing towards him with a faint smile. “I really just wanted to stop in and apologize. I won’t keep your attention much longer. You’d probably like the chance to rest and get some sleep and I still have last minute preparations for the first day of the harvest tomorrow. Good night, Commander Wolffe.” I took up the empty glass and made to leave when he gently grabbed my shoulder, stopping me.

“Don’t worry about this morning. You were only protecting your people from a perceived threat. Would have done the same thing in your shoes, princess,” His hand was warm and comforting where it rested on my shoulder. “Thank you for the food and drinks. I really do appreciate the gesture. Good night.” His hand lingered for a moment, the gesture sweet and a little surprising really, and I could feel my ears heating up at his intense gaze.

“Sleep well, Commander.” I swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry, and hurried out of his room, allowing the door to fall shut with a soft thud behind me. The minute I was out of his sight, I could breathe properly again, my chest less tight, and my heart slowed to a normal speed.

What is wrong with me? How can someone I barely know get under my skin so easily? I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a sharp huff of frustration. It was unbelievable that I was acting so irrational, not once had I ever been so emotionally charged over someone! Ever! I needed to distract myself, get my head on straight before I said or did something completely moronic. Losing my head over a man wasn’t like me at all; sure I’d had the occasional dalliance and I had some sort of… weird thing with Ragnar whenever his people would come here or we would go up there for Council meetings, but I was never invested in those past relationships and I certainly didn’t picture anything serious coming from the casual sex I would have with Ragnar. Just what made Wolffe so special?

“Ah there you are, my lady! We need you at the fairgrounds at once please! We need your keen eye to make sure we’ve done the proper set up!”

“Of course, let’s go.” Thank the goddess for distractions.

~*~*~

A crisp, cool breeze stirred the beautiful red and orange leaves of the various trees we passed, the sounds of children laughing, people talking animatedly, and lively music filling the air as I walked with Wolffe arm in arm down to where the festival was being held, smiling as a small group of young faelings went racing past us, screaming with laughter and pure joy. I loved the Harvest Celebration; three full days of being with friends and family, enjoying the fruits of our labors and giving thanks to the Gods for what we had was always so much fun. When we got closer to the fairgrounds, I could see some of the clones dressed in traditional Fae garments interacting with my people, talking and laughing as well, the sight of it bringing a slight smile to Wolffe’s face.

“This must be a nice change of pace,” I glanced up at him, smiling as well. “I truly hope you find some relaxation among us for the short time you’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Wolffe was still watching his men running around, getting the chance to actually goof off and have fun, the rest of his sentence trailing away into silence.

“Would you tell me about them?” I ventured after a moment of waiting to see if he’d pick back up on those now forgotten words. “Your squadmates, that is. You all seem to have such a close bond.”

“What? Really? You… want to hear about them?” He was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Yes, I do.” I was genuinely curious to know more about him, about his brothers. I could stand here for a century and just listen to him talk about something that made him happy. I listened to him tell stories about Plo Koon, about his brothers and their adventures as we walked through the fair, pausing every so often to greet my people or so he could converse with his brothers in between stories.

“Okay, so that’s Sinker and Boost then, right?” I pointed to two men who were being chased by a pack of small faelings who were little balls of pure joy. Little blurs over pearly gold all the way to the deepest midnight blue hues were flying past us to play with the two men who were having the utmost time of their lives tossing these faelings up into the air and catching them, squeals of excitement ringing out. Wolffe was full on grinning as we watched them get bombarded, laughing as Sinker and Boost were quickly outnumbered.

“Okay everyone, why don’t we give Sinker and Boost a moment of peace please! Go on, go play little ones.” I called out, stiffening when they turned to look at Wolffe and I. “Oh no. I’ve summoned their attention. Run!” I laughed, tugging him along as the faelings raced towards us with peals of laughter. “Oh no! You caught me!” I dropped to my knees, allowing them to pile on me, accepting the hugs with a laugh of my own.

“Princess!”

“Yay!”

“You’re so pretty!”

Multiple voices were talking over each other, the little ones all clamoring for attention, when various parents hurried over to gather them up, apologizing profusely for their children.

“Please, don’t apologize! I love this, you all have such delightful children. They’re welcome to come and go as they please.” I took Wolffe’s hand and got to my feet, brushing my dress off, beaming happily. The kids were herded off to do other activities while Sinker and Boost recovered from the excitement, the two of them grinning just as big as the kids had been.

“Sinker, Boost, this is Princess Danica.”

“Hi, it’s nice to put faces with the names. Wolffe’s told me quite a bit about you two. Thank you for your patience with the little ones, I know they can be a little overwhelming, especially with their magic still not completely under control.” I reached out to give the two a quick embrace.

“Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” Sinker returned my hug slowly, startled by  the affection.

“It’s just Danica. Don’t worry about formalities, please. Are you enjoying yourselves?” I beamed up at the two, realizing just how small I was compared to these men with how my neck ached a little from the constant need to look up so I could look them in the eyes.

“It’s great, you Fae know how to have a good time.” Boost replied with a pleased look on his face, Sinker agreeing with an eager nod. “Food’s great, alcohol is damn good, and everyone’s been really welcoming. It’s… kind of odd really. They treat us like we’re equals.”

“Because you are? You’re people, too. Why wouldn’t you be treated as such?” I frowned at his words, looking between the three with a furrowed brow. “Do… do Republic citizens not…?” I was horrified when they traded knowing looks, all but confirming where I was going with my question. “That’s terrible! Surely not everyone feels that way?”

“No, not everyone Princess. But a good majority do.” Sinker murmured. I was aghast hearing this, rage quickly taking over.

“That’s unacceptable. You are fighting a war to keep them safe from those Separatists, the least they could do is treat you with respect and dignity.” I spat, hands curling into fists, my nails breaking the skin on my palms with how hard I was clenching them closed. “Do you earn wages? Hazard pay? Any sort of compensation for your sacrifices?” My anger only grew when Wolffe slowly shook his head, his eyebrows raising slightly. I unclenched my fists, resting a hand on my chest as I studied these men, taking in just how battle worn they were. They suffered losses and were expected to move on, to keep up the relentless pace and I could feel my heart breaking for them.

“You all deserve so much better. Please, go enjoy yourselves, take in the sights, just… take time for yourselves. You’ve more than earned that right.” It was hard to keep the emotional tremor out of my voice when I found the ability to speak again, a sadness gripping my heart tightly in its clawed grasp when I embraced the two again, watching as they went to catch up with some of the others.

“Your bleeding, princess. Let me take a look.” Wolffe wrapped a hand around my left wrist gently, lifting it to inspect the marks in my palms.

“Oh, that’s not a big deal. Guess I need to file my nails down again, it’s nothing to worry about.” I inspected the long, almost talon like nails on my right hand, making a face at them. “You’re sweet to worry, though. Thank you.” I ran a finger over the marks, humming softly and lifted my palm to show him it was okay. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m positively starving right now. Shall we go get something to eat? There’s a woman here who makes the best moonflower ma’assos. Oh! Speaking of food, did you enjoy the treats I brought over last night? I hadn’t had a chance to ask and I nearly forgot.”

“Yes, they were delicious. You made them yourself?”

“Oh good! I’m so glad! I love to bake, it’s relaxing. There’s just something about being in the kitchen, covered in flour and spices, the smell of freshly baked treats in the air that’s just peaceful.” I looped my arm through his again, leaning on him as we strolled through the marketplace, chatting softly as we took in the wares being sold around us, stopping at every booth so I could speak with the shopkeepers, actively including Wolffe in my royal duties. There was nothing that could beat this moment; the peacefulness of the market and walking with Wolffe, getting to know him on a more personal level was just… perfect.

“Wolffe? Can I ask… how did you get your scar?” I reached up, softly running a finger over the raised and puckered flesh, gasping softly when he grasped my hand tightly in his with a dark look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

“You didn’t know. It’s… a sensitive subject, and not one I care to talk about,” He cut me off, looking away after dropping my hand.

“I apologize, I overstepped.” Silence grew between us and I extracted my arm from his with a quiet sigh. I hadn’t meant to push any buttons, this was still something that really seemed to be bothering him. He reached out and took my arm back, pulling me back over to him without looking down at me, his gaze focused ahead at the jousting arena.

“What’s going on over there? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He was staring intently at some of our guard members who were with their ronki, getting ready.

“It’s called jousting. The goal is to knock your opponent off of their ronki,” It was a fairly straightforward explanation really. “If you want to try it, you’re welcome to borrow Sleipnir and some armor.” We had gotten closer and watched as Sif unseated Loghain with ease, the light purple and silver Fae woman crowing triumphantly as Loghain landed on the ground with a curse.

“Better luck next time, Loghain!” Sif called over to him from the other end of the list, grinning from ear to ear. Loghain grumbled at her, but returned her smile despite having lost, whistling for his mare to come back.

“I highly doubt this srula would be interested in our customs.”

I turned to see Tyr walking towards us, helmet tucked under one arm and a smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes at him, annoyed that he was going to try and goad Wolffe into a match by acting like an ass about it.

“Captain, I would respectfully ask you to shut your mouth.”

“Why, my lady? Do you think he can’t do it?” Tyr had a wicked gleam in his eyes as he attempted to twist my words.

“I don’t have time for this, Tyr. Your goading isn’t going to -”

“You said I could borrow Sleipnir? Let’s do it. Since your captain here seems so confident that I won’t be able to win, why don’t we put it to the test?” Wolffe cut in with a smile that had me wincing.

“Okay… if you’re sure. Let’s go get you set up then.”

[simnovels-blog]

Descendants of the Sun - Into the Wolffs den

Week 1

Izanami had done her research of Sunset Valley very thoroughly. She knew the names and faces of everyone in town and already made a selection of men who were carrying nice genes with them. Izanami: “As you might have seen, there’s room for five babies in this house. I have chosen three breeding candidates who will provide me with these babies. Why three you may ask? Well, since I’m a triplet myself, I calculated the possibility of getting twins or triplets and considered them quite high in fact. So I decided that the subject that has the highest score gets to have twins or triplets with me. This, my dear Aiko, would be Thornton Wolff, our first target. Why him? Well, he’s the most handsome one and besides that he hates children so I figured he should have at least two of them!”

Aiko: “And how exactly do you plan to get this Tornton Wolff into your dungeon?” Aiko felt quite uneasy because she knew this was where her powers would come in handy. She was able to ensorcel and control people after all. This cursed power of hers was probably the only reason Izanami had brought her here in the first place. Ohh how much she wished to just be a normal human right now...

Izanami: “We need to do this in a clever way, of course. We could take the simple route, ensorcel the man and dump him in a dungeon, then throw a love potion at him to do the job and voila we’d be done. But what’s the fun in that? You see, Thornton Wolff is married to a woman named Morgana. This is the PERFECT opportunity to completely ruin a marriage! It’ll be so much fun!” Aiko: “F-fun? How would that be fun? And what makes you think we will be able to break them up? They might love each other very much...” Izanami: “That’s where you come in, Aiko. Such a pretty girl you are... you’d easily seduce any man out there. I want you to become friends with Thornton. Very good friends... you can be more than friends or you can fake something I don’t care, just make sure Morgana thinks Thornton is cheating on her with you!” Aiko: “What?! Why me?!! I’m no good at flirting! I have no sense of humor and I don’t even like to go outside! And aren’t YOU supposed to be making the babies here? I don’t get it at all!” Izanami: “Of course I’m going to be making the babies, don’t you worry about that. But I can’t have my reputation in town be that of a cheater. I still want to become president one day! So you get to break them up and I get to watch and it will be tons of fun! In the end we will fake Thornton moving to a new town while in reality we move him into one of the cells. That’s when I’ll start my work on him and you won’t have to worry about him anymore. It’s the perfect plan. And as a bonus we get to make Morgana Wolff miserable!” This woman is totally insane, Aiko thought to herself. Probably even more than her sister Kamikaze.

Izanami: “Let’s get to work, Aiko. We don’t have all day! I hacked into the City Hall security cam database and am able to see what’s happening all over town from here. I spotted Thornton in the local tavern. How about you go over there and introduce yourself as the cute purple haired girl that just moved into town?” Aiko: “But...” Izanami: “Oh and one more thing. Please don’t reveal that you are a genie. That might complicate things more than we would like.” Aiko: “Don’t I have any say in this? I don’t want to be known as a cheater. I don’t want to break up a marriage!” Izanami: “Well that’s too bad then Aiko because life is not about what YOU want. I’m the legacy heir so it’s about what I want and you have to listen to ME. Now move your ass out of here and get to work!” Aiko left the room, cursing The Reader in her mind for choosing Izanami as the next heir. What kind of sadistic being would pick her over all her other siblings?! She looked over her shoulder right before she left the office and watched Izanami smiling evil at her computer screen. Aiko wondered what she was going to do while she was in the Tavern chatting up Thornton Wolff. It probably wasn’t anything good...

Thornton was indeed in the tavern. Aiko figured that Izanami was probably watching her through the security camera in the corner, so she wouldn’t be able to warn Thornton about her evil plan. To be honest, Izanami was way too scary and intimidating to oppose anyways. I have a long lifespan... Aiko thought to herself. I can just bite through this and hope the next heir will be better. Izanami won’t live forever after all...

Aiko: “Hello? Mister Wolff?” He turned around to face her, examined her appearance and then decided he didn’t know this strange girl. Thornton: “I don’t think I know you? Who are you?” Aiko: “That’s correct, I just moved to town into that house up on Summer Hill Court with my niece. I came to the tavern to meet some of the people who live here and I instantly recognized you. They talk about you all the way in Moonlight Falls, mister Wolff. You’re quite an impressive businessman.” Watching Aiko make stuff up out of nowhere reminded me of the fact that she was Taki’s daughter after all. She definitely inherited his great imagination. Unfortunately she was using it for evil instead of writing novels...

Meanwhile back home, Izanami had left her computer to talk to herself in a very strange mirror. No wait, she wasn’t talking to herself... there was actually a face in that mirror! Izanami: “Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the most evil of them all?” Mirror: “Oh my most evil Izanami, your soul is so rotten it would scare even Satan. But within this town there is one woman most certainly capable of being your rival... and so I can not decide who is most evil of the two of you.”

Izanami: “Oh really now? And who may this pathetic woman be?” Mirror: “Her name is Vita Alto and she’s actually living right next door to you. She’s already established herself in politics and is well on her way to becoming the leader of this town.” Izanami smiled at the mirror, to its great surprise. It kind of expected her to get angry at them. Seeing her smile was in fact way more terrifying. Izanami: ”How cute, another evil person who tries to become president. Well, Mirror. Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of that hag. Once I’m done with her, she will be begging me for mercy!” Mirror: “Oh that would be most wonderful, my future Empress. I shall be looking forward to seeing Vita Alto crumble at your feet.” Izanami: “Me too, mirror. Me too... I should leave the house right away and get my own career started. Not in silly politics of course, a true evil genius won’t follow rules to rule the world.” Mirror: “There’s a warehouse down the road where I believe you can find your kind of career path, my Empress.” Izanami: “Great! I better get going then.”

Izanami made her way to the suspicious warehouse and found herself a job at the bottom of the criminal career. Of course, she preferred starting at the top, but even Izanami understood that making career was a long process. She was a genius, so she was perfectly capable of thinking on the long term. One day she’d be the Empress of Evil and that silly Vita Alto would be nothing more than a pile of ashes...

[kerreire]

I watched Death Note 2017 and thought it was... alright? (Spoilers)

So I watched the Death Note 2017 film expecting it to be as terrible as everyone said and it wasn’t, not really. I don’t think the film is secret gem or anything, it’s still not very good and to be honest I mostly watched it because of the director. Anyway, I have spoiler filled thoughts about the film and I wanna talk about it.

-Race. I should be upfront and say I’m a white Irish person living in Ireland, that’s inherently going to impact how I see things. But yeah, Light is white, the explanations they come up with for certain stuff *cough* Kira *cough* are pretty silly. They easily could have gone with a Japanese-American actor and I’d rather they did, for all the reasons people generally bring up in relation to this topic. I wish it weren’t the case, but it’s not a deal breaker for me. I recognize other people are going to feel more strongly about it. Also with Nat Wolff you never stop thinking of Peter Parker in Spider Man 3 watching the film, ever. And his reaction to meeting Ryuk is hilarious.

-I don’t actually have that much affection for the source material so the fact that it really isn’t a faithful adaptation didn’t bother me as much as it would fans. I watched the Anime when I was 16 and liked it, but I’m not really a big fan or anything. And yeah, it’s not faithful, nor is it trying to be. To the point where it’s entirely accurate to describe Mia as “a character with a name that sounds sort of like a character from the original.” It’s worse than the original but it didn’t ruin things for me, at least it isn’t just a worse version of the exact same events

-In the original Light is a villainous monster with a god complex from day one. Here he’s not, he comes loaded with feelings that the justice system has failed him in regards to his mother’s death and Mia and Ryuk act as far more corrupting influences. Mia herself doesn’t have much reason for her actions outside of I guess liking the power, without Rem and the second Death Note the story here has Light and Mia’s relationship with both being Kira and the conflict between them comes to a head when Mia kills FBI agents investigating them, Light refuses to kill his father causing L to suspect him and Mia plotting to take the Death Note for herself. Also, Willem Dafoe is great.

-I’m a sucker for mundane investigation into the supernatural, it’s why I love The X-Files and I thought the stuff with L was still pretty good. The methods L used seemed to make sense, they changed him a lot as a character but I did like him becoming far more emotionally involved when Light starts messing with Watari, although how he does that without knowing Watari’s full name is anyone’s guess. Lakeith Stanfield did a fine job in the role and I’m fine with it being less goofy than the original, no Light and L being handcuffed together here. Also, they don’t kill him half way through the film and replace him with a kid version of himself nobody likes, so that’s a plus.

-If you’re looking for interesting themes about the nature of justice there aren’t any. If you thought maybe given the American setting and that Light is white and L is black they might play into how people of color disproportionately face incarceration and police violence, they don’t, ever. They don’t even mention it.

-The ending is really good. Light throughout the whole film is missing all the masterful planning that his character had in the original but I loved the scheme he eventually sets up. The climax occurred as it did entirely as a result of Light setting it up like that and fate altering things so it would play out like in the Death Note. The scheme was 1) clever planning on his part and 2) shows that he actually is a bastard and a much darker person than Mia thought. Also I do like it being left ambiguous as to what L decides to do in the end, although it’s probably kill Light.

-I expect better from Adam Wingard as a director. I recognize he didn’t write the screenplay so I won’t pin that on him, this is the first film of his I’ve seen where he wasn’t collaborating with Simon Barrett as the writer. But camera work, transitions and soundtrack all felt subpar compared to his earlier work. There are elements that worked well in his earlier work (the amount of synth for example) which just feels out of place here. It never crosses over into terrible but it’s just okay.

So in conclusion, Death Note 2017 is exactly as good as Final Destination 5. Because that’s how I enjoyed the movie and in general it’s far more in line with it than the source material. It’s like a horror film that’s not particularly strong but is serviceable and does some interesting things storywise, the kind of film I have a weird affection for. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s an adaptation of a popular Manga/Anime series, that’s probably how it would have been received, almost instantly forgotten and somebody like me would watch it a few years later and be surprised to find that it’s alright. I know they had considered a sequel but given the reception, that’s not happening. Which is for the best really, the people involved can move on to hopefully better things.

[hellothere-generalangsty]

THE BAD BATCH THEORY

Some spoilers of ep1, ep2 and ep8

Also a TW later on (it's notified so don't worry)

I hate it, but I still think about what my bf told me a few days ago about Crosshair

Basically he told me "I'm sure he doesn't have a chip and he's willingly following the Empire"

And I was like "no because he reacted to Order 66, said the infamous 'good soldiers follow orders' and they showed a scene where he was tortured as they enhanced his chip so it could totally take control of him"

But then yesterday I think I read this post on Tumblr where OP said smth like "what if he gets the chip removed but remains loyal to the Empire"

And I'm telling you, this is making me nervous because I know he's an asshole to the regs and he's cold and irritating; hell I would probably punch him if I met him irl.

But also. I can't imagine him just being bad. I can't picture him willingly hunting his brothers, trying to kill them, obeying orders like a good little soldier and being used as a war tool by the Empire when he couldn't take an order from Rex if Hunter didn't agree to it first.

Like... I know some people don't like him/ hate his guts, which I understand (difference btw fiction and reality, like I said above I would probably punch the snark out of him if I met him irl) but I also see the way he's synchronised with his brothers, the way he teases Wrecker with silly bets on who will take out the more droids; or the way he gently pat Echo's shoulder when they rescued him; or the way he holds so much respect for Hunter and his leadership.

I mean, family is a damn weird thing, sometimes you fight, you drag each other down, you make snarky remarks; but you also always got their back when they need you, you'd do anything to protect them from intruders and you'd put yourself on the line to make sure nothing bad happens to them.

And that's what he does everytime we see him with the BB pre-Order 66.

And post-Order 66, he sticks to his brothers, even if he disagrees with Hunter about the fate of Caleb, even if he feels filled with frustration and anger. He only turned against them when he's completely brainwashed by Tarkin and the enhencement of his chip; and even then we still have moments where he's doubting/hesitating (ep8), reflecting back (ep2).

So yeah. Do what you want with that, I just want Crosshairs saved from the chip, and see the aftermath, the consequences it has on his relation with his brothers; and with himself.

(TW: violence/ death, implicit mention of wanting to die, break down)

Just imagine:

Crosshair getting rid of the chip, fully aware of what he did under its control; all the killings and the tracking and the death threats on his brother's lives.

The way he almost shot Hunter, then Tech, then tried to get Omega killed.

The scars on his face being a painful reminder of him ordering his Empire squad to brun his family alive.

Have him sit by himself in the cockpit of the Havoc Marauder, unable to sleep because of the nightmares he has everytime he closes his eyes.

Let him get really uncomfortable when one of the Batcher join him; Wrecker or Hunter, sitting in silence in one of the seat, trying to keep him company but not wanting to invade too much...

But it's too much to bear anyway, and he breaks down. He shoves his face in his hands, barely able to mutter a "sorry"

And first he got tears rolling down his cheeks as he whispers "I couldn't help it", and it get worse when he says that he tried, he really did, he missed his shots even though it was atrocious and so hard to fight against the damn chip

And as he ugly cries, cockpit filled by his sniffing and his sobs, he confesses that he wanted one of them to get him.

"I wanted the nightmares to stop"

And his brother, sitting next to him, so taken aback by his confession, his behavior, he doesn't even know what to say neither how to react

Because the snarky and cold-facaded Crosshair is gone and all that's left is a broken man, a little brother begging for forgiveness.

I want a brutal shift in his behavior, as a direct consequence of the effect the chip had on him; the possessive and oh so nefast influence.

I want him being mentally and physically unable to mock or get snarky at his brothers because it triggers memories of the times he really did try to hurt them.

I want him to be as silent as usual, but now when he talks it's always to bring out something positive his brothers did or said; or a constructive criticism on a plan, a mission. He still chews on his toothpick, even more than he did before, and he cannot sleep alone anymore.

He grows to loathe cold blue, and doesn't protest when Omega paints a miniature version of his plush on his helmet. The next time the Batchers cross path with Rex, he takes him to a quiet corner and apologize about that one mission to save Echo, about the regs- the brothers Rex lost during Order 66.

I want him to realise that he was an asshole, but he is not a bad person in his core. Let him face the consequences of his snark; but also let him heal from the traumatic experiences he had to endure because of the chip, the Empire, Tarkin and Palpatine.

___________________________________________

Edit: just tagging @loth-wolffe again don't mind me I deleted the comment that's why 💀

[hellothere-generalangsty]

hi hello little mes. may i have a lil 📝 please? 👉🏻👈🏻 🥺 love u tons baby

-ari

Baaaabe of course I'll do yours! Trust me there are a lot. Because your fics are just THAT comforting and good. Also the order follows the one of your Masterlist; my absolute favorite is in blue 💙

Tagging u because I don't think you receive the notif when you send anonymously (I know I don't) @loth-wolffe

________

Home again

Of course I had to talk about this one; I just love the subtext in it.

[…]a little space for him to just be something more than what he was bred to be; not a soldier, not a brother, not a clone.

Just him.

See, that's the essence of the clones. The struggle of finding their identity through all these designations. Soldier, clone, brother, man. All of them, yet none of them. But then there's another option.

Themselves. No other name but the one they chose. No other person but the one they are.

He's got you, he thinks. And he's home.

Even if it's for a few days, everything's alright.

"It is now."

Again; it's beautiful yet painful. The only peace, comfort, home he knows is you; and you are ephemeral, he's passing-by for a few days, and though for a few days things will be fine- these days will also stop eventually and bring him back to the cold, bloody war he has no other choice but to be a part of.

And you manage to express that through barely a few sentences. I am amazed.

.

It's been a long, long time

This one is. It always hit me in the guts because it feels close to home to be honest. And it's both terrifying and reassuring to really be the reader and to know what they both feel; that dreading fear, do you still love me like you used to?

Which led you to this moment, nervousness bubbling in your chest like some sort of venom, thick and foul, spreading through your body fast and corrosive.

You feel sick at the mere thought of having him in front of you.

These two quotes hurt from being so real. It's the anxiety eating you alive as your mind fills with questions and doubts and fears.

And then the moment comes:

Your hand itches to feel him.

Where you need to know. You need a touch, a word, something to let you know where exactly you are now.

Until you do.

Rex wraps your body in his arms, pulling you flush against him, face hiding in your neck as he breathes you in. He almost cries, right then and there, you smell just like he remembered, like something sweet, something like home.

It's comforting, really, to know nothing has changed between you two in a galaxy that always seems to be.

And just like that, you know you're fine.

And it's honestly - for me - your best fic because it's the one I see myself in the most. It's very real to me and it's just... It just gave me hope when I was hopeless; it gave me the strength to face my fears/ doubts and to trust my partner and myself enough to know that even after all that time apart, it would be alright.

We still find each other. We still love each other, and care for each other. And we still find a way to make things work.

It's not about leaving, it's about always coming back to each other. And that's why this fic will always have a very special place in my heart.

I'm grateful you wrote it, because it was here when I needed it the most.

.

Here in the open

Rex is so soft in this one-

The way he drops the mantle of Captain and simply is Rex, a man who never felt sand under his feet, who never felt the warmth of a kiss and the soft touches of hands running on his body-

I promise you this fic is. Absolutely amazing. It's just so delicate and natural; the way everything happens, learning that a beach can be pretty and calm, that you can feel something else than your hard plastoid armour or the cold metal of droids; that there's more than fighting in life.

It's just so meaningful and soft, I just love that fic.

And tbh these last few sentences were hot. Me like it.

.

Goodbye again

It's a Fives' fic, of course I love it. And it's the opposite of 'It's been a long, long time' in a way, so I love it even more.

That one quote about knowing that one day, he won't come back... It hurts. It really does. Because we know he won't come back, right. That's why we write these fics in the first place, because we know and we are so desperate to change that.

You wish you could see him, but he's already late, and someone calls his name but he decides ignores them.

Right now, you're more important than them, than war, than everything he's supposed to be made for. You are his whole world, at the end, his home, his safe harbor he can always come back to after the most harrowing storm.

And again, the whole crisis around who you were made to be and who you want to be- who you truly are.

And the metaphor? Earlier on he thinks reader is an anchor to him; and now a safe harbor? Yes, sign me in immediately.

"I'll comm you as soon as I can."

[A few moments later, on the comm]

"I miss you already."

Dude. That and the "I said I love you! "

It just makes me m e l t. It's so SOFT. Ari I promise you I could read everyday and feel these goosebumps like it was the first time. I'm just so soft for this little playfulness, this amused affection he has.

That's just... That's just so him.

[And here you can witness Meds falling in love all over again]

.

Doctor's orders

This. I am SO WEAK for this trope. "Where does it hurts? " try my CHEEKS BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP SMILING DUDE.

Kix is so. Soft. And the way you wrote it? "This is it. This is him making the first move." ?? "Then you'll need a few more kisses. Doctor's orders. " ??? Do you want me dead????

Good thing Kix's a doctor because I need someone to breath life back into my body right now.

.

The warmth a cup of caf brings can also be given by the gentlest of souls.

Where do I even start...

I love the domestic undertones. The habits, knowing about one another, recognising patterns and filling the gaps between the two.

Him watering the plants, you knowing he hates that movie; it just smells like trust and comfort. That's the kind of habits and almost mechanical reactions you develop when you just know someone.

This fic is like- the development of "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you" and that's just... So meaningful.

You know, I'm a sucker for domestic life and everything that comes with it, and this fic is the epitome of that. It's comforting. I love it.

.

Baby came home

It's one of the first I read from you, and I remember how painful it was. I think that's the fic that convinced me to dedicate my life to your stories.

The amount of pain. Unrequited Love is one thing; but when both parties love each other yet it just can't be-

"I can't love you anymore." / "you can't love me anymore."

Baby I promise you, you broke my heart and had me honestly tearing up. It is even more because it's Obi-Wan. A man who spent his life losing everything he ever had. His freedom, his master, his friends, men, lovers. Eventually his family, and his life.

And here he loses more. And here he carries pain- and it hurts him but not only. And that's soul crushing.

And you have a way with words. You have a way with words that make it all so true, you don't just write these stories, you bring them to life. And it's painful but oh will I ask for more anyway.

.

That Maul fic

"Ruthless and violent.

But not with you."

That's it. That's the trope. I am in love.

I just- I adore your take on Maul. And you should expect a Maul request when you'll open them again because gIRL do you write him well.

Because before you he didn't know something as simple a touch could be so soft, and light, before you he had no knowledge of such feelings, of warmth and and home. Of safeness.

This is the same energy as Crosshair being at home when he's with you. Men breeded for war, hurt and broken, somehow managing to find a little peace and softness through someoke who just- loves them.

[…]and his eyes gleam at the small action, the warm shade of a yellow that reminds you of the suns you both met under makes you lean over for a kiss […]

Aka how to turn a very distinctive symbol of pain and evil into something delicate and beautiful. Poetry at it's finest.

It's been too long since he last kissed you. Around noon, before you left to your usual walks around the Palace gardens' with his brother.

It's so sweet; at first I chuckled because it's silly. But then I felt sad because it is silly. It's mundane, and it feels exaggerated - just what you wrote - but it's Maul. A man who's been deprived of love and affection for so long, of course he's going to miss it as soon as it leaves.

As soon as you leave.

I just- I just love how you have me sitting there and analysing your fics and finding double meanings and subtext and how you subtly reminds us of the pain in the soft moments; and the softness in the painful ones.

This fic is a feel- good fic; it's powerful yet soft and I absolutely love that.

________

So yeah. That was a bit longer than I thought but I won't apologize because these fics are just-

They're so comforting and good. And I just love them so. So much.

Moony is right when she says you write magic; you do. And, Ari. I am proud of you. I really am. You always leave me there, speechless and absolutely captivated by your stories and the delicacy of your words and that little something hidden between the lines-

I'm not lying when I say you hold my heart in your hands. You really do.