#commander verse

[tajcox]

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

[jigsaw voice] hello non-transfem lesbian hornyposter. before you is a computer logged into tumblr dot com. your task is to write a hornypost about a transfem lesbian without making her an aggressive dom-top or a sexual predator. should you fail in this task, the computer will explode into a pile of hammers, killing you instantly. you have 30 minutes.

[grtmnick]

"And [she] that was dead came forth, [draped] with graveclothes; and [her] face was [scarred]..."

John.11.44. The Bible. King James Version, Oxford UP, 1998.

(Thanks to @masseffectwillcontinue on Instagram for sharing the above awesome art of our favorite commander!)

[mango-mya]

Love it when a man is absolutely pathetic but can also kill me if they wanted to

[graylinesspam]

Charming

Having a teen girl in military camps was somewhat of a balancing act. Your average encampment, at least those for the 501st had around 300 men, and you couldn't expect to keep that many men on their best behavior, in a war zone, for extended periods of time.

There were some stress relieving behaviors that the men needed to stay balanced. Drinking, roughhousing, and generally acting unsavory to name a few.

In the early days they'd just tried to herd Ahsoka to certain parts of the camps and stay vigilant to catch her coming. It was a precarious game that Rex in particular had no intention of losing.

They tried having the boys on watch whistle signal her location, which had only irritated her. Curse her insanely quiet little stride, he blamed Vere and genetics for that one. They lost track of her once she started dodging them on purpose.

Then there was that comment on Felucia. "Maybe we should reconsider General Kenobi's suggestion of a bell," Rex had smarted off as Ahsoka ghosted silently into the upper branches of a tree.

Well Hardcase was injured on that deploy. His leg was broken, not an easy fix planet side and med evac wouldn't be for a few days. He was stuck in a cot. All that chaotic energy contained within the four edges of canvas. He needed something to keep himself busy. That's where Ahsoka's first present came from.

Six muzzle seals roughly the circumference of a thumb, cut and re-bent around each other until it roughly resembled a crude flower shape. It didn't hold it's shape well unless laid out flat on a surface, but he strung it with a crude chain made from braided wire pulled out of a fried HUD.

Ahsoka, the poor thing, was in and out of medical the whole time for medication, snot rubbing her face permanently raw. When the medication knocked her out she chose Hardcase to curl up on. He had presented her with the gift curled up in the center of his palm, a sheepish look on his red feverish face.

Rex couldn't have organized it better if he had tried. A bell they couldn't attach to her without some serious protest and her going even farther to evade their tracking tactics. But a handmade gift from a sick and pitiful vod? It was the perfect excuse.

Ahsoka hooked the dangly little charm onto her belt clip. It tapped musically against the hilt of her saber. The tinkling of little bells that could be disarmed quickly in combat by simply holding her sabers or hooking on of the rings around the clip.

Everyone came to memorize the sound of her stride, the little tapping highlighting every step. Just loud enough that you could here her before she turned a corner or caught you doing something you shouldn't be.

The first charm lasted for almost half a year. It's crude design and salvaged parts eventually becoming a casualty of combat. The second charm came from Fives, ever competitive to be everyone's favorite vod, He'd been working on it since she'd received the first one. Three little scraps of plastoid he'd cut to shapes. One rectangular chunk painted to resemble a domino, one flat piece painted with a five on one side and a tiny crude recreation of a hand print on the other side. And a third painted with 212th yellow unsuccessfully mixed with a hint of medic red to create a streaky red orange color, the paint carefully carved away in the shape of Ahsoka's markings. It had a woodier sound as it collided with her lightsaber.

Cody was next with a series of little plastoid stars strung on real chains. They tinkled like rain on music stones when they knock against plastoid.

And General Plo-koon, as her founder, showed them all up with a metal medallion wolf charm.

Getting bells on Ahsoka was easier than any of them expected it to be. Their only miscalculation was believing she didn't know exactly what they were doing the whole time.

[hercarisntyours]

oplita but no one knows they're together for safety and they have to sneak around

[thelordismylightandmysalvation]

Love means doing what God has commanded us, and he has commanded us to love one another, just as you heard from the beginning.

Verse of the Day - 2 John 1:6

[kingtuna]

*ve'vut verse*

Cody, the very moment after finally adopting Rex: Why are you burning your adoption papers?

Rex, never had a family before, has issues: Good luck returning me without a receipt!

[fierysword]

[tajcox]

[vampire-bat-boy]

Every day I spend using windows my hatred for it grows

[pencildragons]

snippet from my upcoming foxquin fic sinner, sinner (come to dinner) for foxquinweek !!!!!

“Commander Fox,” says the Chancellor, smiling his kindly smile. Fox stands very still and stares straight ahead, past Palpatine and through the great transparisteel window at the city below, skyline exploding in the brilliance of the sun’s final dying rays. The fanciful part of him that will one day be responsible for his death imagines that, if he’s just still enough, Palpatine will forget him entirely. It’s ridiculous, he knows, he knows, of course he knows, but he clings to it anyway, endeavours to move as little as possible, turns trying to hide even the slight rise and fall of his chest into some sort of test of how good his impression of being a block of stone is. “Sir,” says Fox. “Commander Fox,” Palpatine says again, still smiling that awful fucking smile, but sadder, now, mournful, bushy eyebrows doing something terrible and expressive. “You have disappointed me.” “Yes, sir.” “I gave you a very simple directive, Commander, and still you failed.” Fox is barely breathing now. Only a few klicks away, the spire of the Jedi Temple burns in a halo of pink-red, spearing through the cloud-strewn sky. It looks like one of the paintings hung in the Senate rotunda corridors, the ones that like as not cost more to procure than he did. His throat is dry. He tries to swallow. It sticks. It is likely he is dehydrated. There is a little light flashing on top of the spire, warning away in-atmo transports and low-flying starships. Orange-blue-green. Orange-blue-green. He stares at it, so he doesn’t have to look at Palpatine. “Yes, sir.” “Such inadequacy is, of course, unacceptable, Commander, as I’m sure you’re aware. I really had hoped it would not come to this, you understand.” Liar, Fox thinks. You love this. “But there is only one way to learn, and that is through experiencing consequences of your actions. Perhaps next time you will not take your sworn duty so lightly, hmm?” “Yes, sir.” “Draw your blaster, please, Commander.” Fox blinks and, in his surprise, breaks his stillness to turn his head to face Palpatine properly. “…Sir?” “Must I repeat myself twice? Draw your blaster from your holster.” Slowly, Fox draws. He wonders if this is some sort of test, if he’s going to be punished further for making his weapon naked in front of the Supreme Chancellor of the entire fucking Republic. (In the light of the dusk spilling through the window into the opulent office, Palpatine’s eyes seem almost gold. It is for but a brief moment, just the rays of the fat sun catching oddly, and then they return to that sharp, ice-chip grey like nothing at all happened.) “Good,” says Palpatine, and smiles again. Like this, he looks like some natborn’s father’s father—grandfather, he believes the term is—all benevolent wrinkles and knowing looks. “Set it to kill.” Fox sets it to kill. It is not a difficult thing. He is just as much a weapon as the blaster in his hands, well-oiled, clean, smooth. Efficient. He was designed for this. It is easier to follow orders mindlessly; his brain, like all their brains (except, perhaps, Kote’s, but Kote’s a little fucked up and is an outlier for everything else, anyway), is primed for command, made to obey. A perfect, thoughtless gun, with just enough ruthlessness and self-determination to set them apart from the CIS’ droids. That’s the idea, anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Kaminoans failed in the execution of something. “Turn around, Commander,” Palpatine murmurs, words soft and smooth and rich as the heavy velvet-fabric from his home planet that he has all his clothes cut from. “And fire at will.”

rbs deeply appreciated :]

[bitterrobin]

We're in a The Culling by Chelsea Wolfe is a Damian song kinda mood tonite. The dichotomy of taxonomy!Damian's rage and guilt over being the figurehead of cult child soldiers while still not seeing himself as a child, in addition to his (flawed) perception of Tim and Colin as sheltered people who got to stay alive. I think its far more interesting to explore Damian's contempt for people outside of things like his own insecurity and need for recognition - because while very important, isn't it fun to see Damian get mad that Tim is just a struggling teen and Colin gets to have children he cares for be safe?

(Something something Damian is a failure of a leader and a failure of a child something something the expectations placed on him made him worse not better and he projects just as hard onto other people as others do onto him)

[mango-mya]

Noooo I don't have a type what do you meaan

[loch-genesis]

another day of wishing there was locked tomb visual media so i could make a Commander Wake/Kiriona Gaia/Gideon Nav edit to Clara Bow