#if you read through all this you are a trooper and you're the best ever

[cryptidcorners]

Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Vod’ika, hope you’re having a happy new year! I was wondering if you could do a f!reader x Fordo piece(or with and alpha arc really). Reader is a special ops officer and works closely with them, and has the most devastating crush on him. The thing is reader is really depressed and has a very low opinion of herself for a lot of reasons so she doesn’t think she even has a shot. The trooper himself thinks otherwise, and all it takes for everyone’s feelings to come to light is reader accidentally finding the trooper’s sketchbook which is filled to the brim with hand drawn sketches pinups of her(I like to headcanon the clones sometimes had a natch for art because Jango had a natural hand for it) and she’s shocked and honored but has a lot of questions. Que the embarrassing confession between reader and trooper ;) sorry if this is all weirdly specific pls don’t feel pressed to get every detail if you don’t want don’t mind me I’m just feeling crazy today

The Sketchbook

Summary: You've had a crush on Fordo for ages, and you're convinced nothing will ever come of it. And then you find the sketchbook.

Pairing: ARC Captain Fordo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1373

Warnings: Reader is not in the best place mentally speaking

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. And I'm sorry it took so long!

You mumble under your breath as you walk through the halls of Topica City, your gaze locked on your datapad as you quickly parse through the information from one of the special ops teams. 

Once upon a time, at the beginning of the war, you would have been with them, going over the information in real time, but after a serious injury left you with a prosthetic leg, you were relegated to having to analyze information from Kamino, rather than on the front lines.

No one blames you. Which is fine, you blame yourself enough for an entire squad.

You turn a corner, and let out a startled noise as you crash into something very solid. Red and white armor, and jaig eyes on the helmet hanging from his hands…whoops.

“Captain Fordo, my apologies, I didn’t see you.” You internally swear at yourself, of course you didn’t see him, you weren’t looking. Gods, you’re so dumb sometimes-

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been lurking around corners,” Fordo interrupts your mental train of thought, his voice quiet. 

“Even so, I should have been paying more attention.” You say quickly, “I should know better than to try and read and walk at the same time-”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” Fordo interrupts you again, “It’s not like you would have been able to hurt me.” His harsh words are accompanied with a kind smile, and your heart lurches.

Now is not the time for your embarrassing crush to rear its ugly head, you think firmly to yourself. “Well, thank goodness for small mercies, right?” You say with a tiny smile, “But I’ll get out of your way, Captain.”

“Fordo,” He murmurs, “We see each other daily.” He clarifies, “You can just call me by my name.”

“I…of course.” You say, slightly awkwardly, “Fordo, then.”

He smiles again, seemingly pleased with something so simple, “I appreciate it. But I do have to go-”

“Right! Of course. I’ll get out of your way!” You step to the side, and Fordo steps past you continuing down the hall, and you sigh, as you continue your trek to your office. You’re not going to get anything else done today, that’s for sure.

After all, you never do when you get the chance to talk to Fordo. 

You push your way into your office and set your datapad on your desk, before you sink into your seat and press your face into your hands. 

Frankly, your crush on Fordo is humiliating. He’s literally perfect, and you’re…well you. 

You push your hands through your hair, and then sit up. Fordo will never look at you the way you look at him, because you’re not good enough, and that’s fine. It’s fine.

Totally fine.

…maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough you’ll believe it.

You focus your attention back on your datapad, and on the information that you’ve been parsing. And you slowly reach for it. At least this work will get your mind off of Fordo.

Maybe.

Several hours later, with your eyes burning with exhaustion, you finally finish for the day, and slowly make your way from your office to your suite. You walk the path blindly, exhaustion making you pay even less attention than you normally would.

Which is why you don’t see the notebook until you step on it.

You stare at it, puzzled, and then you sigh and pick it up, opening it to the first page. Surely someone wrote their name inside the book.

The notebook falls open towards a middle page and you stare, dumbly, at the image etched on the page.

It’s…you.

Page after page of you.

Images of you sitting at a table. Of you walking through the halls. Of you standing in the rain.

And every so often, there are images of you that could have only come out of the artist's imagination. Images of you clad in lingerie, images of you sprawled on the bed, you in every state of undress that you can imagine.

Your face burns with slight embarrassment as you slam the book shut, you shouldn’t have looked at those. They weren’t for your eyes. Carefully, you open to the very first page and scan for a name.

And then you nearly drop the book in surprise.

Fordo.

Fordo?

This is Fordo’s notebook?

Maybe…you should just put it back on the floor and let him find it himself. Maybe that would be better than letting him know that you saw his drawings of you. 

Nervously you rub the back of your neck as you try and decide what to do.

You jump when you hear heavy footsteps behind you, and you whirl around, an excuse already on your tongue for why you’re just standing in the hallway, though the words die on your tongue when you see Fordo standing there.

His gaze drops to the book in your hands, and he shifts, slightly uncomfortably, “That’s mine.” He says quietly.

You hold it out to him, “Um, I found it. I stepped on it, I’m so sorry-”

He lightly takes the book from you, “Did you, uh…look inside?”

Your face burns, “I…yes. I was looking for a name-” You pause and your face heats a little more, “You’re a very good artist.” You offer.

“Kriff, you weren’t supposed to see those.” Fordo mutters, “Why’d it have to be this one that I dropped?”

“Um-”

“I can explain.” He says quickly, “About…about the pictures of you. And the…less than fully clothed pictures of you-”

“You don’t have to,” You take a deep breath, “I know there aren’t a lot of women here, and I’m flattered-”

“It wouldn’t matter even if there were more women here, because I’d still draw you.” Fordo interrupts. “You’re the only woman I want to draw. Ever.”

Your thought process derails completely. “...oh.”

“Look, you’re…” He pauses to gather his thoughts, “Gorgeous. Funny. Clever. And so very competent, which is unfairly attractive, so you know.” Fordo looks at you, and then he continues, “You also lost a leg and it barely slowed you down at all-”

“Fordo, you-”

“Let me finish? Please?”

You stop talking immediately, “I go out of my way to talk to you when I can, but you’re so busy all of the time, that all I can do is just put myself in your way and hope that you run into me.” Fordo continues, “And I know I’m just a clone, and I know I have millions of identical brothers, but I just want-...” He trails off with a sigh, “You. I just want you.” He pauses, “You can talk now.”

Millions of half finished thoughts spin through your mind, “You and your brothers aren’t interchangeable, Fordo.” Is the first coherent thought that slips from you, “And I’m hardly…I’m barely holding myself together most days. I’m not…any of those things that you say I am.”

“I disagree. If you could see yourself the way that I see you…” He trails off with a sigh, “Stars, you’re perfect.”

“I’m really not-”

“I want you to be mine.” Fordo says quickly, “I want to…to kiss you and hug you and make you believe me when I say nice things about you. I want to wake up every morning and see your face first thing, and I want your face to be the last thing I see before I go to bed, but I know that I don’t have anything to offer you except my affection.”

You stare at him, your lips parted in surprise, “I…don’t need anything more than that.” You finally say and his gaze snaps to yours. 

Fordo scans your face for a moment, and you shift uncomfortably, “You mean it.” He finally says.

“Yeah. I mean,” You nervously twist your hair between your fingers, “I’ve had an embarrassing crush on you forever it feels like, so…yeah. I don’t want or need anything more than just your affection.”

Fordo takes a step towards you and reaches out to brush his hand against your cheek, “I can do that.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” You ask, your voice a whisper, “I’m not the best cook but-”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” Fordo says with a small grin, “Right now.”

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 20: The Confessional II

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din has left it all too late as his fears are realised.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Mo blood, injured Reader, Hurt/Comfort (if I have ever written a self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic in my life, it’s this chapter), lots of feelings.

A/N: We're nearly there, omg. Every single one of you who's joined me on this journey and let me know you're enjoying this story, you're SO wonderful. Thanks for reading!

--

Din rips at your flight harness, nearly pulling it from the seat in the effort to get you up. He shouts your name but you’re limp and silent, lifeless. Grogu watches with wide horrified eyes as Din hauls you, limbs dangling, into his arms. 

He yells to R5 to keep the ship on an even keel.

‘Grogu. With me. We need. Lay her down.’ He grunts out the words in stuttered bursts of breath, moving to the door.

‘Pah!’ Still in his pod, the baby unbuckles to follow the hulking shape of Din carrying you through the cockpit, dropping into the hold, across to the cabin. He floats into the cabin behind the frantic Mandalorian and your unconscious form, hovering nervously and murmuring as his father lays you down before turning to him. 

Din lifts Grogu from the pod.

He settles the child next to you, by your hip so his little hands are just in reach of the wound, and seats himself on your other side – framing you between the two of them. He takes out a small knife and slices away your leather tunic to expose the short metal object that Grogu spotted when you had leaned back in your cockpit chair. It is pulsing with a low hum and the skin around the foreign object is riddled with gooseflesh. Sweat pools across the plains of your abdomen and in the hollow of your neck. You shudder. 

‘Grogu,’ Din hovers above you both. He takes one, steadying breath. ‘I need you to be strong for her now.’ 

He points to the small hilt sticking from your middle. Grogu murmurs, gazing between it and Din with unease.

‘This is a phase blade,’ he explains. ‘It is an ultrafine weapon that a war trooper must have slipped in when she was fighting. She would have barely noticed it going in, but now it is buried deep and is making her bleed inside her body. Do you understand what I mean by that, Grogu?’

‘Ebbe?’

‘It’s hurting her inside her body where we can’t see. And if I start to pull it from her, it will activate an energy field that is going to make it worse, more bleeding, more damage inside of her.’

His voice cracks for a moment. He blinks back tears from behind his helmet, seeing the charts on his vision array showing your staccato heart rate and plunging BP blur and distort. He shakes his head and focuses on the child’s face. 

‘It’s designed that way, d’you understand?’ he goes on. ‘They use it to kill even after a battle ends. It’s impossible to remove without killing her.’

Grogu gives a little wail of despair, leaning into your limp form.

‘But y’can save her, buddy.’

‘Eeeh?’ Din’s son gives him a disbelieving look. He really doesn’t know - how powerful he is?

‘Remember Greef Karga?’ he says, leaning closer to the tiny child. ‘Remember the creature’s attack on Navarro? You saved him. You can save her.’

From where you lay, you convulse slightly and thick blood oozes across your hip and onto the bed. Your chest rises in shallow, hyperventilating breaths. His voice gets urgent.

‘You’re stronger now than you were then, so much stronger. You can do this. As I draw out the blade… heal her as it goes. Make the bleeding and the hurt stop. Can you do that?’ 

The baby’s ears twitch as he looks up to where your head lays lolled on its side. He looks terrified.

‘Please, kid,’ the desperation in Din’s voice pulls Grogu’s eyes back to him. ‘Please, you have to do this, I need h—’

Fuck, take a breath, Fuck.

‘I need you to try your best.’

Grogu seems to steel himself. He reaches out and presses both hands to your entry wound. Din takes the petite hilt of the blade in hand and braces a forearm against your ribcage. He watches as the child closes both gigantic eyes and focuses, tilting his head progressively up and up like he’s summoning the universe to him. Din observes his breathing pick up and his little forehead scrunch tight. 

‘Ehhhhh,’ Grogu looks pained, straining. His little mouth opens and closes a few times before settling into a hard frown. Then, without opening his eyes, he gives one tiny resolute nod.

Din takes a long breath in and counts… three, two…  

He pulls.

‘Hhhhrrrrrngh!’ You wail and arch off the mattress, pushing into Din’s forearm with a surprising force. He leans forward to put more weight on you and grips the blade tighter. It’s barely moved a millimetre but you and Grogu are both shaking violently. 

Just keep going. Stay steady.

Another pull and hot crimson spurts from the wound, splashing across the view of his visor. You jerk as if struck, arching again. His grip slips off the hilt. Panic rises. He feels like he might black out. Flushing hot and cold, the air in his lungs turning icy and his blood setting to boil.

Furious regret tears at him. Worlds, curse him. He’s wasted so much time. Holding onto the hurt, onto the shame, and the anger. Why? Why couldn’t he have let go sooner. Why couldn’t he have just talked to you. If he’d just tried. Just understood you better.

Fucking focus.

Retaking the handle, he channels everything down to his hand and the blade. It’s not you he’s killing right now; it’s just his hand and this blade. That’s all it is. His hand, this blade, he chants it over and over as more of the quivering weapon comes free.

His hand, this blade. His hand, this blade. His hand, this cursed, evil, fucking, going to kill his--

The weapon draws out, deactivating the second it breaks contact with flesh. Din hurls it into a med tin and shakes his hand, as if to get the menace off him. He looks back to you, reads your still sporadic vitals. Your lips are white and you’re puffing hard through clenched teeth. Your wound is still leaking blood. Too much blood.

He’s on the verge of weeping. But he concentrates instead on Grogu, whose claws are sunk deep into your skin as he continues shaking and grunting. The child is giving everything he has. 

Din Djarin looks between the two of you. His whole fucking world. He’s losing a part of it. Maybe for good this time. He’s been so foolish. 

Fresh tears come. His vision shifts out of focus and, instead of your two quivering bodies, he sees the spray of blood across his visor. Your blood. A wretched reminder of how tortured he’s been since you returned. Empty while you were gone, he’s been on fire from the moment you looked at him as you stood at that damned forge saying you’d fight for them. Each time he’d watched you from afar, desperate to go to you but drilled to the spot, it burned. His desire to see you, to actually see you. 

It’s time. It might be too damn late, but it’s time. 

He reaches and pulls his helmet up, off. Deposits it over you onto the bed. He sits back and puts a hand to Grogu’s back and the other to your uninjured side, drawing the two of you together, holding you as close as he is able.

Whatever happens, he needs to hold you both close, for as long as he can.

‘Come on, Grogu,’ Din leans in. ‘You can do this, you can. You’re so strong, stronger than any—’

Grogu gives a long pained sigh of effort and flops forward, head resting next to the spot where – thank all the worlds – your wound has closed over into a puckered, angry looking scar. Your breathing is evening out and you slowly come to stillness.

Even as the child lays there wheezing, the wound continues to lighten and shrink, the connection between you and he potent and enduring.

Din becomes aware of his own hammering heart, his staggered breathing. Sighing out every ounce of fear and panic that had consumed him these past few minutes, he looks at you. 

He gives himself a moment to take you in. Traces the side profile of your face where your head has turned away. Relishes in the way your eyelashes flutter, and your lower lip quivers a little. The way you’re breathing more normally with each passing moment. 

He gives himself a moment to think about the colour of your eyes, wonders if his visor’s vision array has ever truly conveyed their beauty.

Then he gives his son a reassuring pat.

Grogu’s eyes slip open and he looks at his father in wonder. Din smiles.

--

It’s so much pain. 

Great crumbling walls of it. Savage spikes impaling your very core. You fall back away from it, toward some dense murky nothingness. That’s what you’re aiming for – just for the relief – when something else reaches down and wraps around you. A coil of earnest embrace. A branch of tender love. It takes hold and gives a single strong entreaty. Come back. As it strengthens its hold, the excruciation eases. The agony releases.

And so you turn back.

Push through a dense fog, swim back to consciousness. It feels endless. White haze claws at you, but the warm light waits not far away. You drag yourself to it. It takes effort. So much effort. You have to call on the weary presence within you to rise up, haul on it like a rope out of there. Reaching, grasping, breaking the surface tension with a long, strained inhale.

The first thing you sense is Din’s voice.

‘Sshh, cyar’ika,’ he’s whispering. ‘That’s it, take it slow. There’s no hurry.’

You hear yourself groan then. Feel filtered cabin air settle on your skin. Smell earthy sweat and the tang of blood, and under those something achingly known. More out of curiosity than any desire to expose them to light, you blink one eye open a little, then the other. And then you feel confusion. Because through blurred eyesight, what you see makes no sense. With your head rolled to the side, you’re looking at the unoccupied half of the bed. Except it’s not totally unoccupied.

Maybe you haven’t woken up, after all.

Din’s helmet rests on the blankets. Empty and cold, no life behind the visor. 

You sense him sitting on your other side. Hear his steady inhales and exhales, clear and unmodulated. Feel the heat of his thigh pressed into your side. 

‘Din?’ you say, voice croaky and weak, still staring at the lone helmet. You can’t bring yourself to move, to turn. You can only raise a shaky hand to press a finger to the cool metal. A flood of feeling at the contact you’ve ached for, you trace over it, follow the streak of dried blood spattered there. Draw a thumb down the high arch of its side. A caress you’ve longed for.

‘I’m here,’ he says.

‘You’re not…’ Still looking at the helmet. You notice his gloves and gauntlets also discarded on the bed. ‘You’re…’

‘It’s okay,’ he says, throaty and barely above a whisper. ‘You can look.’

‘Are you,’ you struggle to keep tears from blurring your sight even more. Blink hard to clear them, hiss in a breath. ‘Are you s- sure?’

The sensation of two fingers gently pressing to your cheek makes you gasp. If you weren’t already lying down, you’re sure you’d collapse. You screw your eyes shut again as, with a tender push, he tilts your head to turn to him. 

He sighs, pulls his hand away. ‘Please,’ he rasps. ‘Let me see you.’

Come on, you tell yourself. This is all you’ve ever wanted.

So you focus where you think his hands will be, likely resting in his lap. You blink a little when you see them there – those strong, capable hands. Thick fingers, veins tracing over knuckles, over his wrists, and up to where his forearm disappears into a sleeve. You follow that up to one shoulder, dart from it across to the other. No pauldrons. Land in between. No cuirass. 

In your peripheral vision, above the chest you’re staring hard at, you register dark hair framing indistinct features. Dark hair you already know to curl around his ears and fan over his forehead, from touching him blind and from that one scant glimpse before the battle. You’d been so eager then. So desperate. And now…

He murmurs your name. ‘Look at me, please.’

Tracing the line of his neck, the edge of his jaw, you sweep your eyes up to meet Din’s. 

A plush lower lip purses just a little, as he releases a breath like he’d held it his whole life. You struggle to breathe at all, drinking in the glorious sight. Lungs burn as you slot each tiny detail into the image in your head. There’s so much to take in, but his eyes… My gods, his eyes.

Deep, and dark, and bottomless. They match his voice so perfectly, that velvety timbre you know so well, you’re amazed you hadn’t known their hue and tone all along.

He gazes back, absorbing you. Irises like onyx marbles roll over your face, opening you up and exposing you completely. Tears start to threaten you again just from the sheer overwhelming sensation of making eye contact with Din.

‘Mmm, weh,’ a gentle murmur pierces the spell, has you glancing down.

‘Baby, hey,’ you whisper to Grogu, who’s tucked into your hip squinting up at you. You prop yourself on an elbow. ‘Oh, you look so tired. Why aren’t you resting?’

‘He’s been waiting,’ Din says, drawing your eyes back to his, where you struggle not to get lost in their fathoms again. Gods, this is the face of the Gods. ‘To make sure you’re alright.’

You look back to the child, whose own huge eyes blink languidly. You can see the effort he’s making to keep them open. You remember then, what he did. Grogu reaching for you as you sunk into a murky oblivion. Giving you the life raft to let you drag your way back. Saving you.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ you reach over and let him take hold of a forefinger with his little claw. Enclose it with a thumb. ‘See? I’m okay now. I’m okay.’

‘Emm?’

‘Yeah, you did good. You can rest now. Thank you.’

Grogu gives a lazy nod of his head, exhaling and cooing to the two of you. He pushes himself up and moves toward his pod, tentative little steps and huffs of air until he’s seated comfortably among the blankets. Pawing at the controls, he drifts out of the cabin and you listen for the shift of his hatch, open and then close.

Moving the hand he’d grasped to rest on your stomach, you feel it. Raised skin, threaded and uneven. Fingers trace back and forth over the new scar.

‘What was that? What happened to me?’ you ask, gazing up at the man sitting beside you, at his soft mouth, his sharp nose, his knit-together brow – his gorgeous features. 

A shadow crosses them as Din leans down and picks up a little metal tray. A tiny hilt with no blade rattles inside it. He lets you get a look at it before tossing it back on the floor like it’s tainted. You suppose it is.

‘Fuck,’ you huff an exhale, lean back. ‘Dicey.’

‘That would be putting it fucking mildly,’ he says, glaring at the offending weapon. How had you failed to notice a damned phase blade? When did it even happen? What would have happened to you if Din hadn’t— If he hadn’t been with you? You pull in a long breath of air.

‘How many times is it you’ve saved my life now?’ you ask. 

Eyes so soft and deep lock onto yours. You’re not prepared. They’re so expressive, you can read every single ounce of feeling in them. Longing, and fear, and some deep sad pain that breaks you wide open right from your chest.

The swell of emotion rises so swift it chokes you and slurs your words. But you force them out. As fast as you’re able over the short shallow panting that starts ramping up a staccato beat.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Gods. Din, I’m so- s- I—'

He’s leaning in, head shaking just a little.

‘I was scared,’ you push on, words bursting out over rising sobs. It’s been too much. It’s been too long. ‘I was just so fucking sc- scared. And confused. And like I was just lost? I’m sorry, fuh, ah, I’m so--’

‘Stop,’ he speaks over you. ‘Stop, please.’ 

But you can’t. You can’t stop. The dam you’ve been straining against dissolves into a torrent. Chest heaving and hands shaking, you scrunch your eyes shut and weep.

It’s when Din bends forward and takes your face in his hands, swipes a thumb over a tear-streaked cheek and whispers, ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ that you still. At the sound of your name, murmured and desperate, you open your eyes to see his own just inches away.

‘I understand,’ he says, looking right through you, brows pulled in and expression pleading. ‘I understand now.’

He holds you there for a long, agonising stretch. Faces so close your breaths merge, brush against the cooling moisture on your skin. It’s when your mouth parts just a little, and his gaze drops there for a second, that he seems to return to himself and sits back.

Bereft for a moment, caught off guard by how just a few moments of his touch has your body thrumming, you stay quiet. You lay still and watch him gather himself, readying his words. You know this posture, know what it looks like when he’s preparing to open up. The added details of his jaw working and forehead creasing in contemplation are not lost on you – in fact, they put your heart in your throat. Yet still, in this moment, you have no idea what he’s going to say. 

Sure enough, his words take you out.

‘A while ago,’ he says. ‘Through a misstep in fate, I possessed a weapon that could have allowed me to rule Mandalore. As Bo-Katan does now.’

This out-of-nowhere revelation has you asking before you can think, ‘Why didn’t you? Why aren’t you?’

‘Well, among many other reasons,’ he makes a gesture like politics and such. With a head tilt you know well, you nearly die to learn it comes with a single eyebrow arched high in sardonic humour. You feel giddy, but keep still and listen. ‘It was… heavy,’ he continues, expression dropping to neutral again. ‘Too heavy. Being a part of my Covert is about belonging. But this was something different. I did not have the want to carry that weight. To be pulled down. Bound.’

The word pierces right through your chest. ‘Bound?’

It’s a tiny squeak, the way you say it. Bursting out of you as you see him in all new light. Familiar light. He moves a hand over you to touch your forearm, strokes there in comfort – a reflex that he doesn’t seem to make note of. It makes your skin sing. 

‘Mmhm,’ he says, looking at you. ‘The thing you fear? I understand it. I should’ve understood it all along, but I was blinded by—’ He cuts himself off, swallows hard. 

‘Anyway, I am sorry for that,’ he says, whispering your name again. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

You’re trying to find the words to say he has nothing to be sorry for. To tell him you’d carried remorse and guilt with you across most of the galaxy. That you’d do anything to go back to before that cursed day and talk to him. Tell him these things before it had all become too late. But he continues before you can. 

‘And I’m sorry that I have been… since you got here, that I’ve…’

‘It’s okay,’ you say, when you see him struggling to keep going.

‘It’s not,’ he says. ‘It’s not okay, I was just- Shit, I was just so furious…’

‘I know,’ you murmur, ready to accept this and beg forgiveness. ‘I know you were angry with me, and, and I underst—’

‘I wasn’t angry with you,’ he interrupts.

‘But I- I hurt you so badly, I--’ you say, unable to believe him. Tears encroach again. ‘And- and I was here and you weren’t, and I didn’t know if you’d ever speak to me again, and I--' 

‘I was hurting, that’s true,’ he says, warm hand continuing its motions on your arm. It hasn’t stopped for one second. ‘But so were you. And I wasn’t angry with you.’

‘What?’

He leans the elbow of the arm not caressing yours on a knee, shifts a little closer. Drawing a deep breath to speak, he gives you another wounded look. An intense wave of gooseflesh ripples over you.

‘You being here,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’

You must look fit to break because he rushes on. 

‘You being here, in danger. From the moment you stood in front of everyone and said you’d fight, I’ve been,’ he drags a hand through mussed curls, searches for words, ‘drowning, in fury and fear. When you told us your plan for the walker… Fuck-- I was livid.’

Paying attention to the tender muscles in your abdomen, you nudge yourself upright. Shuffle a little until you’re sitting up facing him, drawn in by what he’s saying.

‘That’s what you were angry about?’ you ask. ‘That I came back to fight?’

He shakes his head. ‘I was angry that you were risking your life. That you wanted to fight our battles. That they were letting you. After what I did? How I let you go?’

Din stops there for a moment, works his jaw some more and swallows like he’s trying to not choke. Grips your arm hard. He looks tortured.

‘I should never have let it get to that moment by the forge, that day you left,’ he whispers, voice tight and just under control. ‘But I wasn’t, wasn’t paying attention. I was so afraid… The idea of you in a war that wasn’t yours to fight… All I could think about was how I could protect you. If I even could.’ 

His eyes are glossy as they stare over your shoulder. Your fingers itch to touch him. ‘And when you did run… I thought at least, at least you’d be safer that way.’ 

Din takes a sharp hiss through clenched teeth.

‘But I was a fool,’ he says. ‘To not realise that whether you had run that day or not, you still would have ended up here, because of your bravery, and loyalty. Because of me. And I couldn’t stop it-- I couldn’t-- Fuck.' He lets go of you to drop his head into both hands. ‘And you almost just fucking died, right here-- All my fears were—'

This time you’re the one reaching out, clutching at arms and wrists and trying to shush and still him. You lift his head and you’re inches apart again. You mutter at him to look at you, look right here, I’m okay … Just look. I’m here.

He sighs hard and stares. Tears shining in the corners of his eyes, they shift back and forth across your face. Your fingers tingle where they dig into his hair. Heart thunders. A white hot current crackles through your arms and across your chest, sends sparks up the back of your neck. 

‘I’m here,’ you say again, voice breaking only a little.

‘You’re here,’ he whispers back. As he calms, clenched jaw relaxing, he leans into one of your palms. Just a little, without breaking eye contact. Although you do see, for the barest second, a soft pink tongue dart out to swipe his lower lip.

But he doesn’t move, just keeps looking at you – waiting for you to choose what to do next.

It’s not that you don’t want to keep holding him like this, to pull him closer, wrap yourself around him entirely. Not let go. It’s not that you wouldn’t give anything in the galaxy to simply press your forehead to his, nudge his nose with yours, press your mouth to—

It’s just that you’re on a threshold you’re not yet ready to step over. There’s things you want to say first. Answers you still need. Somehow, doubt there still about whether he wants the same thing.

So you pull back. Not much. Just enough to bring his features into focus again. Drop your hands to rest between you. He seems to will himself to relax and settle back as well, understanding the air between you is a volatile thing, and you should move forward carefully.

Into the silence, picking at the covers on the bed, you do let a little insecurity out. Just let yourself say it.

‘Well, here for as long as I’m allowed to be anyway,’ you mumble, hoping it conveys the question you’re too afraid to ask. Can I stay?

Din doesn’t say anything at first, but his eyes roam over you and you have to fight not to squirm under his gaze. Not react to the heat it’s building within you.

He moves a hand to you again and that heat flares. But rather than touching you, he lands it on the armour guard still clipped to your shoulder. A piece of the set the Armourer had had made for you.

‘You have come to be more accepted here than you realise,’ he says. You sense his thumb tracing back and forth over a specific spot, a tender caress. Tilting your head to the side to try to see, you can just make out a scorched tear where an enemy weapon must have grazed over the leather – and the dark grey steel underneath it.

‘What?’ You move your hand across as Din fluidly unclasps the piece so you can take hold of it and get a proper look.

Cradling it, you gaze up in disbelief. 

‘Beskar?’

‘Mmhm,’ he affirms. You look back down, draw your own thumb over the split to feel the cold bite of sacred steel.

‘I don’t understand.’ Tears prickle your eyes. One falls to land on Din’s thumb where it has come to rest over yours. He palms it into a fist, draws it back.

‘You will,’ he replies, voice soft. ‘Soon. There’s things for you to know, when we return to the Covert.’

His tone draws you from the shoulder piece back to his face – he’s nervous, hesitant, trying to not spook the wild thing before him.

The you of several months ago would have let what he just said set you on a panic spiral. Let it burrow into all your insecurities and trauma. Let it put a wall around you.

But the you of right now fends it off, reminding yourself that the price was just too damn high. The cost of giving in to fear and paranoia would end up destroying you. You know this now. Just trust him, you tell yourself. Remember what he said. Just be patient.

So you give a nod, an acknowledgement that you’ll wait to learn more. He relaxes a little.

Still, you have to work to not fret about what’s to come. So in the quiet that follows, your mind wanders back to the battle instead. Scenes and snippets dance across your consciousness. One thing jumps out at you, and you blurt it out.

‘Hey, why’d your jetpack cut out?’ you ask. He starts at your sudden turn in this conversation, but goes with it.

He looks embarrassed though. ‘Um, that’s…’ he mumbles, rubs palms together. ‘It’s only really powerful enough to carry just the one… person.’

‘Ah, too much weight?’ you ask.

At his chagrined look, a short laugh bursts out of you – breathy and full of relief. In response, Din smiles, with lips curving and teeth showing. The sight punches the air from your lungs.

‘Guess I’ll have to see about an upgrade,’ he says dryly.

Hells, and you’re gonna let that sit with you for a bit.

More bits come back. The miraculous course of events is overwhelming now that adrenaline and shock aren’t flooding your system.

‘And how would you have taken out Cephlate’s ship if I wasn’t here?’ you wonder aloud. ‘If I was still on the ground with…’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’

‘You had the second controls installed…’ Din shrugs, tips his chin and looks up at the ceiling, you see the faintest crawl of a blush on his neck. It’s charming as hell.

‘Let’s call it… hopeful planning,’ he offers. ‘I wanted to be prepared for anything.’

‘You were,’ you breathe. ‘You always are.’ He smiles again. You could get so used to that.

Another question bubbles up, but Din senses it and shushes you.

‘We can do a full forensic later – and talk more, I swear. But I think we’re about to—’ R5’s binary burbles a warning over the ship intercom. ‘Run low on fuel,’ Din finishes. 

He examines you with an ‘okay to move?’ kind of expression and you nod.

As you each move to stand, careful to give space to the other, the sensations of your body rush into your awareness. Unpleasant, irritated, and clammy.

You stop in the doorway, turn back. ‘Um, D- Din?’

He straightens from collecting his helmet and turns to you, listening.

‘When we’ve landed, can I-- would there be time for me to…’ You raise an arm covered in dried blood to rub it across your neck, caked in dust. Drop it to the cut-away hole exposing your abdomen, also bloody. Dither before thinking hells with it. Just ask. ‘Would it be okay for me to use the fresher quick?’ You mumble it out in a rush. Grubby and self-conscious. ‘I just…’

‘Of course,’ he says, voice a low rumble. ‘Anything.’

Not long later, you stand under the warm stream of water revelling in the sensation. You know you don’t have much time, but you linger long enough to feel yourself seeping back into your skin. Coming home. Rivulets of cleansing moisture travel down your body, as you let the dirt and the blood and the months on months of heartbreak wash off and away.

--

Prev | Next

[lamaenthel]

Obedience

[read on ao3][masterlist][Febuwhump prompt: obedience]

Jesse tries to hold out against the flaying of his mind, but Darth Maul won't be denied what he wants to know about Ahsoka Tano.

Characters: CT-5597|Jesse, Darth Maul, Original Mandalorian Character Wordcount: 1942

Jesse spat into the sewer water at Maul's feet and fixed him with a glare. "We can go round and round in this circle if you want," he snarled. His blood was still burning from the battle—from the humiliation of being captured—but the commander was safe. As long as Rex kept her from doing something stupid, like trying to come after him, she'd stay that way. "I ain't telling you anything."

"It is not up to you." A shiver went down Jesse's spine at the look in Maul's burning eyes. "Your mind will speak, or it will break." He raised his hand and flexed his fingers; a cold sensation like icewater spread out under Jesse's skin and shocked him. While he twitched, Maul started rifling through his brain like a holodex. Jesse pushed him out with everything he had, falling back on the tricks that his commander and general had taught him in order to resist mental manipulation. Enclose yourself in a box. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. The only thing that exists are those walls. Make them sharp, make them cut whoever reaches in. With every breath in, your walls are fortified. With every breath out, your intruder is repelled.

"Tell me."

Jesse tried to breathe in and fortify, but the Sith's intrusion squeezed his brain like a vice. His eyes rolled back in his head with the effort of trying to breathe and push the bastard away at the same time. He clenched his teeth and shoved to no avail; the weak mental walls he'd erected were effortlessly swept away by an icy red tide.

Maul breathed out the heavy scent of old blood and sulfur inches away from his face. "Who is this Ahsoka Tano?"

Jesse threw his head back and screamed, helplessly pulled under by the Sith's wave. It forced the air from his lungs and left him violently shaking in its wake, memories rising to the surface like a school of dead fish.

"That's our commanding officer? Shabla haran, she's barely out of diapers." Jesse stared at the little Togruta that stood at attention behind General Skywalker, all gangly limbs like a newborn orbak and eyes half the size of her face. Those oversized eyes snapped to his through his visor. His cheeks went hot and he squirmed, suddenly afraid that she could hear helmet comms with those horns of hers.

"We coat them in metal to protect them,” Ahsoka said proudly, removing her headdress for the three troopers to see. Jesse leaned in to get a better look at the iron-coated trophies. “Akul teeth are sharp but break easily. They’re like lampreys, they’ve got something like ten rows of teeth and are constantly regrowing them.”

Jesse punctured the hydropouch with a straw and handed it to Ahsoka. She was still too dizzy to stand. The static burn his stunner bolt had left on her big forehead was getting redder by the second. "I'm sorry, Commander," he said, too ashamed to meet her eyes. She laughed and patted him right on his fresh ink as payback for tagging her.

"Bobi!" Ahsoka piled out of the larty tumbling over her gangly legs, eager to dive into the arms of General Kenobi. She frantically rubbed her head on his weary, ash-smudged face. Jesse raised an eyebrow under his bucket. "Give you ten warra nuts if you call him General Bobi," he whispered over comms, making Kix snort.

Maul growled like a rabid massiff. "She is of his lineage. Of course."

"Kix said you're going to be on bedrest for at least two weeks while your nerves regenerate, so I brought something to keep you from going totally insane." Ahsoka set up the holoprojector at the foot of the medbay cot and slid onto the covers, stretching out beside him like a sleepy tooka. "Ever watched a sholo—erm, a Shilian holovid? Shili makes the best in the galaxy. This one is a series, it was only released off-world a few months ago. It's called Princess For A Year. The premise is a little sketchy, but the reviews are good." She rested her big head on his chest and dimmed the overhead light with a wave of her hand.

"Let me be very clear with you, Ahsoka." Dol Sylen rested his chin on folded hands and fixed the commander with a hungry look. "I am no fool. I'm sure you already have a plan brewing in that pretty head of yours. You're going to play nice, do your best to convince me that you return my affection and try to gain my trust." He fondled Ahsoka's lek. "It's not going to work. You're going to do whatever I want you to do. Not because you like me and want to be obedient, but because if you don't, I'll hit this button—" he held up a small remote, " —and shock your pet until he pisses himself. If I want you to dance, you'll dance. If I want you to bend over this table and let me fuck you, you'll get fucked." Ahsoka inhaled sharply as he yanked hard on her lek. "Or maybe I'll watch your clone fuck you."

Jesse screamed and shoved Maul out of his mind. The Commander's humiliated, tearstained face swam in his vision, her mutilated lek dripping blood, the wild-eyed look of a prey animal that she didn't shake for a full month afterwards… 

"Stop fighting and obey, clone." Maul spat the words like they burned him. "Give me what I seek, or I will return you to your beloved Commander as a drooling husk."

"I'll die before I let you touch her." Jesse spat a thick glob of saliva in the Zabrak's eye and tried to headbutt him. The Mando dalgaan holding him kneed him hard in the spine. He fell to the ground gasping.

"As you wish." Maul's eyes brightened, burning with hatred. "But you will show me what I want to know before you do."

Maul peeled Jesse's brain apart like an onion to get at what was hidden in the meat. His vision went black around the edges as Maul ripped him open with tooth and claw, spitting out the memories like viscera.

Jesse held Ahsoka tight and desperately begged the Force that she trusted so dearly to not let her die. "I think you need a transfusion," he said. She purred weakly and shivered, cold despite the humid heat of Xior-Cal. He helplessly watched another drop of blood leak from the tip of her right lek. She nodded off in his arms for the second time.

He dragged Ahsoka to the ground and started chest compressions. He felt her ribs crack and swallowed down a sob. Kix always said that if they didn't break, you weren't doing it right, but he was still terrified that he was driving shards of bone into her heart.

They'd brought an oversized bed into the halls of healing to accommodate Ahsoka's need for physical touch while she recovered from surgery. Jesse lay at her front while General Skywalker curled around her from behind; he met Jesse's eyes between her montrals and smiled gratefully.

"S-stop…" Jesse said weakly. "You…"

"Quiet." Maul flexed his hand. "Your childish affection for Skywalker is of no importance to me. What happened to this Mandalorian?"

"She killed him." Jesse caught his breath, fixed him with a glare. "She'll do the same to you, demagolka."

"His name was… Sylen. That was your kinsman, Ijaan, was it not?"

The hulking blue Mandalorian behind Maul removed his helmet and smirked at Jesse. "He was."

Jesse snarled at the sight of Dol Sylen's lone surviving clanmate. "Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar."

"Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten."

Jesse flinched at the slur; stillbirth, the most favored word by the Deathwatch to describe him and his brothers.

"He was the one that suggested you." Maul clenched his fist. "More."

"I thought Appo was joking when he said you adopted that little shabuir, Commander!" Jesse stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders with a pleading look. "Tell me you're joking, Commander." Her big eyes filled up with desperate tears. "I couldn't just leave him in there, Jess!"

"Sentiment." The bastard snorted. "She adopted the brat of your progenitor? How compassionate of her." 

"Get down!" Jesse blasted the first two Weequays in the face, caught the knife of the third and shoved it into his own throat. The fourth got flipped and a gutshot from Tup. Boba plugged the next two that ran in and cried out for help as long, spidery white arms wrapped around him like a flytrap and disappeared behind the tent flap. "Boba!" Jesse cried, stepping forward without seeing the Nikto break off from the three fighting Tup behind him. Scaly fingers yanked his head back and a long knife opened his throat.

"I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me." Skywalker held his hands on either side of Jesse's neck. The tissue rapidly closed, forcing Tup's finger out of his artery as it knitted back together with the Force. He sank back once the wound closed with a final tingle, panting and pale. "Aurra Sing," Jesse croaked as soon as he drew enough breath to speak. "It… it was Aurra Sing."

Ahsoka sat with her legs dangling over the side of the catwalk and picked at her cuticles miserably. "I… I love him. I'm in love with him." She closed her eyes and squeezed out a trail of tears. "I am so kriffing in love with that man that it hurts, Jess, and I can never, ever tell him."

"Adorable," Maul said, his voice a sickening coo of mockery. He kept going, shredding Jesse's mind in search of what he sought. He flipped through memories like picturebooks and examined every tiny cranny that Jesse kept his deepest, darkest thoughts in. By the time Maul's hunger for knowledge was finally sated, Jesse could barely kneel upright. He'd pissed himself long ago and tasted vomit, though he didn't remember throwing up. His whole body dripped with sweat. When he looked down, he saw a small puddle of blood. He sniffed and choked on coagulated clots.

Maul finally withdrew his choking, oily presence from Jesse's mind. "Take him away. Ensure he is fed and watered. We do not want our hostage to perish before it is time." 

"Yes, Lord Maul." Ijaan Sylen yanked him to nerveless feet with one massive hand and shoved him forward. "Move it, chakaar."

Jesse stumbled over his clumsy feet. Maul…Maul knew everything. Every memory that Jesse had ever shared with Ahsoka had been sucked up and devoured for analysis, then spit back out with the meat cleaned from the bones. He knew about her Empathy and how her synesthesia turned people's emotions into colored auras. He knew that she left the Order after Barriss Offee had framed her for bombing the Temple and the Council had let her hang. He knew that she had a soft spot for the clones, that she had a deep adoration for General Skywalker and General Kenobi, that she believed in justice and in helping people and doing what was right even if it killed her. 

He knew she was in love with Rex.

He knew everything. Jesse had given Maul everything he needed to know in order to destroy her. He hung his head and wept as he was led away, wondering if it was possible to die of shame.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS Shabla haran: fucking hell Demagolka: monster Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar: Motherfucker. Nobody will remember you. Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten: I'm free. You're a slave, stillbirth. Chakaar: asshole

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo

Divider: @saradika-graphics

[kaijusplotch]

Started writing the separated bad batch fic....

And shit young Cody is a doll and I love him. Alpha does too.

Story bit under cut

Cody didn't bother knocking on Alpha-17’s door, instead walking into his office with a datapad in hand and sitting down at the free chair across from him at the desk.

Alpha simply raised an eyebrow and sighed, putting his stylus down, folding his hands on his desk at the young Commander.

“Can I help you, Kote?”

“I assume you know that I'm losing my Captain.”

Alpha nodded. “Commander-sorry General Skywalker has his own battalion now, so I would imagine he would take Rex.”

“Exactly.” Cody said, putting his data pad on the desk. “And I need an ARC to replace him too. Not that I could ever replace my little brother.”

“No one could replace Blondie. I suppose you are here for suggestions on who would fit well from the last graduates who are waiting to be assigned.” Alpha picked up another datapad and moved to open the list as he spoke.

“Actually, I already have my ARC picked out. But there is a small problem,” Cody smiled charmingly at his former Commander.

Alpha’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he took a deep breath through his nose. “You have been taking lessons from Kenobi. What is it?”

“He hasn't technically graduated, and technically not cleared for active duty from the Kaminoans. EC-9902.” Cody pushed his pad toward the man who was the closest thing to a father. “And maybe I've been taking some finer lessons from General Kenobi on negotiations.”

“Don't let him charm you. He's a menace.” Alpha took the pad and read over the report Cody had written himself. “You and your personnel reports. You realize that he hasn't even been cleared by Nala Se for active duty. Not to mention his status as an EC means he potentially has detriments that haven't been discovered yet in his testing.”

“That's not my concern. He's skilled. Not just as a spotter. His academic tests are off the charts, not to mention his skills as a pilot and shooter.”

“His physical prowess, though, is above average at best, acceptable at its worst.” Alpha countered.

“For an ARC trooper. But he is still well above average and into exemplary performance in his training sims.” Cody argued, still smirking.

“I take my words about Kenobi back. You are a menace. I can't just approve him without informing Nala Se. The 99s are her special projects that she is desperate to keep on Kamino for fine tuning.”

“He's the one I want, Buir. I have a feeling about him.”

Alpha narrowed his eyes. “A feeling? What? You're a Jedi now?”

“No, but General Kenobi has helped me trust my gut. Something you honed in all of us, Alpha.” Cody leaned forward. “And I have a feeling that EC-9902 and the other 99s may have a bigger part to play. I know I can't take them all, but they need to be in the field.”

Alpha sighed and pushed the data pad back to him. “I already was going to put him into the graduating class, and I can bring up his potential and your interest to Nala Se. She has the final word. Don’t get your hopes up.” he warned.

Cody simply beamed and nodded. “I won’t. I know you’ll pull through for me.” He stood up and walked to the “I leave in three rotations. I’d like to have him on the shuttle with me to get to know him.”

“Menace. I'll have news in two rotations. You’ll have an ARC either way.” Alpha-17 watched as his oldest son; the man who took over Command of the 212th, beamed at him.

“Thanks, Buir. I’ll see you for late meal.” Cody waved and left his office, smiling to himself as he looked down at the datapad, showing a bright eyed, goggled clone. EC-9902 would make a perfect edition to the 212th, he knew it.

[cheapsweets]

The nocuous Shonweak

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum

Jinhao shark fountain pen with fine, hooded nib, with Monteverde Raven Noir ink, over initial pencil sketch. I'd considered adding some colour, but didn't have time this week; imagine it's got telltale orange/yellow and black warning colouration :)

It's been interesting trying to relearn pen shading techniques from scientific illustration again (as ever, suspect going a bit bigger would make this easier, I'm also going to have another rummage through my pens to see if I can find an even finer nib, since the one's I've been using don't come close to using a dip pen).

Reasoning under the cut;

The Shonweak is so called because it is proof against fire.

Okay, first things first, we get no indication about what type of creature this is. My default assumption when the bestiary authors don't give us any more detail is that is must be a Beast, but I've been wanting to mix it up a bit. But what to go for...?

Of all poisonous creatures, it has the strongest poison. Other poisonous creatures kill one at a time; it can kill several things at the same time. For if it has crawled into a tree, it poisons all the apples and kills those who eat them. In addition, if it falls into a well, the strength of its poison kills those who drink the water.

Okay, a poisonous critter, and not just poisonous, the most poisonous...! Okay, this narrows it down a bit. We get some creatures that are occasionally poisonous due to their diet (including certain birds, and snakes!), but mostly we're looking at amphibians, insects, echinoderms, fish, flatworms, and some others too.

This also made me think about the line between poisonous and venomous. We've all been on tumblr a while, so we've probably seen the memes, but technically the main difference is that poisonous animals deliver their toxin passively (in this context, being eaten is passive...)

We also know that this thing can crawl into a tree, so must be able to climb (that eliminates most fish, for starters).

I've gone for a beetle, since drawing an arthropod is pretty different from anything I've done thus far. Main influences are;

The diabolical ironclad beetle, a tiny awesome critter that is nigh on indestructable. It has a flattened body, fused elytra, and a cool, knobbly surface to its armour; I gave the elytra a bit of an overlap, so it could consider clamping its body down if it gets into a sticky situation (like a fire).

Bombadier beetles; in case you're not aware of them, their defence mechanism is spraying near-boiling noxious chemicals at attackers (you'll also be familiar with them if you've ever read the Spider World books by Colin Wilson!). The most famous ones are yellow and black, and you can see the nozzle on the end of its abdomen.

While the bombadier beetle does actively spray toxins, keeping them in its body also makes it poisonous - best of both worlds!

Also can't deny the influence of the blue death feigning beetle, a very aestheic insect indeed, and if I'm honest, the tanker bug from Starship Troopers...!

I did look at large beetles like the goliath beetle for some inspiration, especially around the legs (I imagine the Shonweak to be pretty big as beetles go), but decided against it since they're a lot fancier, and I figured a tough, fire-braving critter like this to be a little plainer and unadorned.

It resists fire and alone among creatures can put fires out. For it can exist in the midst of flames without pain and without being consumed by them, not only because it does not burn but because it puts the fire out.

Okay, if this is the creature I strongly suspect it is, this is an interesting wrinkle to the mythology around it; it's proof against fire because it puts the fire out (not something I've heard before). I'll have more to say if it does turn out to be what I suspect...

Okay, hear me out... The bombadier beetle combines exothermic chemicals in its body to produce its boiling, caustic spray... What if a creature could do something similar for a seriously endothermic reaction; it would be almost like a tiny, living fire extinguisher... I imagine the Shonweak as a bomadier beetle relative, spraying freezing toxins at enemies (or just generally if stuck in a fire, or if it falls down a well, or if those apples are looking particularly hostile...)

[momojedi]

━ PINNED POST

This story happened long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.

It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.

It is the story of the end of an age.

A strange thing about stories…

Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here.

It is happening as you read these words.

This is how twenty-five millennia come to a close. Corruption and treachery have crushed a thousand years of peace. This is not just the end of a republic; night is falling on civilization itself.

This is the twilight of the Jedi.

The end starts now.

For my masterlist, please check this post here!

I. ABOUT ME II. RULES III. REQUESTS IV. TAGS V. SOCIAL MEDIA

Hello there! I'm Milo, or Momo, a 19-year-old freelance illustrator and writer from Germany. I'm a huge Star Wars fan and have been influenced by it as well as other scifi franchises ever since I was a little boy. I'm not very good at interacting with other people based on my interests or being social in general but I really wanted to change that, so I created this blog to share my love for Star Wars and its story on!

As many things, I too have a set of rules I'd like you to read through and respect, though I know I have little control over but then again, the block button isn't very far ;)

No real-life politics: Politics are an important subject in Star Wars considering it revolves a lot around, well, wars. However, this blog was made in order to be able to leave behind reality and escape into our beloved galaxy far, far away every once in a while and despite there being a lot of bad things in the world, I intend to keep it that way.

No bigotry/sexism/racism/etc. I'm aware that especially sexism is a huge problem in the Star Wars franchise and I'd like to make it very clear that I absolutely do not stand with that. I want my Jedi girls and trooper sisters to know, that they're loved and appreciated on here!

Be patient! As much as I'd rather be a cool Jedi, I'm afraid that I too have a busy schedule, especially considering I'm a physically disabled student who spends a lot of time either studying or going to various therapies. With that in mind, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd be a little patient with me when it comes to requests.

Regarding clonecest I'm aware that the topic of clonecest is a very heavily discussed topic in the fanbase. Despite me not being a shipper of such kind, I do not necessarily care whether you do interact with/enjoy it or not. Your interests don't matter to me as long as you don't harm anyone while acting upon them. (This however does not count for lolicon or anything alike.)

If you want to request something from me, please sent me an ask following this template:

Character Reader (gender, type, etc.) One-Shot or Headcanons? Prompt/Idea (can be a sentence, a scenario, etc.)

I write for the entirety of Star Wars, with an exception for minors where I only write platonic relationships.

I write all from fluff to angst to spice/light NSFW, except for full smut.

Usually my readers are gender-neutral but I'm willing to twist it a bit if that's what you're looking for

#my writing - everything I've written so far!

V. SOCIAL MEDIA

Ko-Fi: CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE! AO3: WHERE ALL MY FICS CAN BE FOUND! ART BLOG: @thepaintingjedi (potential nsfw) OC LORE BLOG: @sw-waterguns COSPLAY BLOG: @mossplay

[littlemissmanga]

Heeheeeee how fun! Smiles all around.

Personality - I'm an aquarius sun and a leo rising. That translates to: I am deep in my thoughts and innovative with my solutions. My outside is entertaining and personality personality personality!!! Everything can be a presentation or a show. Perhaps in perfect harmony, my career goal is to be a drama therapist.

I love reading folklore and mythology of other cultures besides my own (white english). Currently enjoying Hindu mythology.

I love to curl up and play video games, and I love to embrace my geeky side. I also enjoy deep conversations with people. I tend to think that everyone has the best of intentions, even if they're doing something shady - they're just protecting themselves or doing what they were trained to do to survive.

I prefer cats over dogs.

I read fiction over nonfiction. And fantasy or classics over modern day explorations.

Yen Ori'ken's Valentine's Day Matchmaking Services

Yen: What a lovely profile, @madameminor! Thank you for sending it in.

I believe your best match this Valentine's Day is ...

Clone Medic Kix, of the 501st Legion. Kix is calm and collected, but his passion often shows through. He cares deeply for his brothers, feeling their wellbeing is his responsibility. While he isn't as loud or ostentatious as some other 501st troopers, he can definitely keep up with them. But he does tend to be more introspective than the others.

Kix can and absolutely will meet your extroverted and lively personality. You won't ever have to feel like you're carrying the show OR being carried - Kix is an equal partner kind of man. He loves seeing you light up about what you're interested in and he'll match your excitement. He is also incredibly soft over your outlook on life and people. That positivity is something he tries to carry with him.

He's also someone safe to share your quieter, deeper thoughts with. He loves that you study culture the way he studies medicine. I imagine the two of you will have more than enough to talk about on your date, and I pity anyone who tries to interrupt or catch your attention (you'll be too deep in conversation to even notice).

I think a classic date night will serve you two the best - dinner at a nice restaurant, you two dressed to impress, then dancing (NOT at 79s, though. Kix should know better to take you to a nicer club).

I hope you enjoy your Valentine's Day date with Kix, and thank you again for writing in!

[sketchguk]

Part Time Lover was so good 😩🦋❤️!!!! Your words painted a picture of a deep, passionate connection between the characters that left a lasting impression on me.

I couldn't help but be drawn into the intense sensuality of your writing. The way you described Jeongguk's desire to take his time and make love is truly enchanting.

Your ability to create an atmosphere of raw, unbridled desire is unmatched. The way you crafted each scene with such attention to detail and emotion is simply 😩😩🦋. I'm in awe of your ability to convey the depth of their connection.

Exploring the characters' first-time experience with such care and detailis a testament to your dedication to your craft 👌❤️✨️. I've never read a first time experience beautiful. (I manifest this type of 1st time for myself(

The way Jeongguk whispered sweet nothings to distract her from the initial discomfort was incredibly alluring and added an extra layer of sensuality to the scene!!

It took me 2 hours to read the SMUT scene I was taking every all in and taking it slow like jk 🦋, my stomach was a zoo of butterflies.

“Shh, shh, angel,” he hushes before dropping a thick glob of spit onto your entrance. He can’t believe that you’ve never come in your life. Have you never played with your cute little cunt before.😩✋️💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

“Just breathe for me, angel, okay? Relax, ease up for me. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but you’ll feel so good, I swear.”🦋🦋🦋🦋✨️

Thank you for sharing your incredible talent with us and for bringing such a special moment to life in yourfanfic. Your writing is a gift to the fanfiction community. Keep up the fantastic work!

😭🫶❤️👌

😭😭 Come here, let me kiss you with consent !!! Thank you so much for sending me this thoughtful message !!! You seriously think too highly of me

With this couple specifically, after all that they've been through, being together was like living their first lives! They got to experience "childhood" all over again. We got to see mc have her first kiss 😭 (they grow up so fast)! They got their puppy love which also happened to be their first love!

Mc means everything to me because she's a reflection of myself. She deserves nothing but the best! So I packed as much emotion as I could into the build-up/tension of their first time together ahaha. Sexy time with Jeongguk is exactly what we all need and deserve :') 2 hours to read the smut !!!!! You're incredible and such a trooper for that 💛 I had the most fun writing that scene!

Writing all of this intimacy was healing for me <33 Even if it wasn't easy, I'm happy I pushed through it !! It definitely made me emotional with a #yearning desire !!

I'm happy I could provide you with content !! As a writer, all I ever want is for my readers to feel the sincerity through my words. If I could pull some heart strings or earn a visceral reaction, I would be the happiest girl in the world :')

[tiredassmage]

7 & 8 for the swtor asks? :)

Saving this for after work was the correct choice (and also I overslept, oops >.>) bc bOY WERE WE BUSY. So thank you, this kept me a bit more sane, lol.

ask list here!

7. Which player voice actor is your favorite and your least favorite?

To probably no one who has seen an ounce of my content ever, I'd listen (and... have... by playing) to the Male Agent for hours. I think I'm up to 3 male agent ocs and the urge to make more? Constant. Inescapable. More than likely inevitable, tbh. I'm a glutton for the punishment of Imperial Agent story, apparently. Just leave me where I lie, there is no saving to be done.

Female Smuggler gets an honorable mention as well because I adore her. I adore the humor of smuggler. I adore the sass, the take no shit.

THEY HAVE THE RANGE!

Anyway, my least favorite is... probably either of the Jedi Knights, I think. Side by side, they don't feel as distinguishable from one another as some of the other classes. The job is done; I've played both at least through the class story and I wouldn't mind doing it again just looking at voice acting, but I feel like other classes have a bit more pop and variety. Or maybe I've just played my Knights too predictably akdfnlksdnflsdf.

8. Name your top favorite companions.

Oh man. Oh boy. How do I pick??? Y'know what, maybe I'll choose violence. Maybe I'll pick my favorite from every class. I've played them all. I could do that. (It's just as daunting to consider as it may be to read.)

Preface: I think my faves are largely story-based in my reasoning - I like their story, I like how they're engaged in the story, etc. Very rarely do I swap companions because of a felt need in gameplay given everyone's capability to do anything, but I have done so for story reasons.

Okay, I decided I'm insane enough to try to pick one from each, so since that's quite a list, find that beneath the cut:

We'll start with Agent, my beloved, and Vector. The Friend The Agent Needs. No more need be said. I want to hug them. I hope he's having a good day. One day, I'll do his romance, too. Dot stop playing male agents challenge. (I'm such a creature of habit.)

Bounty Hunter's a tough call because I found myself fond of practically the whole damn crew. Real found family vibe. Idk if I love one of them so much over the other as much as I just appreciate the crew's dynamic overall so, so much. The level of interaction and mingling with the crew just felt so much higher or hit so much harder than a lot of the others that I'd rank BH as a class story relatively high on my list solely for companion interactions.

For Sith Warrior, again, to little surprise if you've heard me open my mouth, Malavai Quinn. Ironically and slightly unironically my "he did nothing wrong" bastard. I'm, unfortunately, so incredibly attracted to this smart idiot of a man. The repression of feelings to explosion of passion and dedication in his romance is chef's kiss kind of shit. They're lying if they're trying to convince me that this man isn't a disaster bisexual. He's just. So insanely pretty. I'll forgive him even if I ever make a character that won't.

I think Talos is probably my favorite Inquisitor companion. Whoever said we were robbed because we don't have an Inquisitor x Talos romance in-game? You're so right. Dude has a cool name. Love this history nerd. He's so incredible. I am so pleased he was still being bright and bubbly on Elom. Miss him.

Trooper is hands down Elara. Constantly tip-tapping like a very excited, happy dog when I see I can talk to best girl. I love her story. Her romance is incredibly sweet. She's the single thing that got me through a 2nd Trooper playthrough.

Smuggler's another no competition in favor of Bowdarr. I want to give this Wookie so. many. hugs.

Kira Carsen for Jedi Knight. Again, no competition. The friendship is so, so sweet.

And Jedi Consular is a tough one to round out on. I have a lot of love for basically the whole crew, but I think I'll have to go with Qyzen for being bestie original MVP. I'm so glad we get to build a friendship with him because I don't think we get to see Trandoshans in quite this same light anywhere else in the game.

And also Theron Shan. I can't do this list without him. Sir, I'd die for you. Sometimes you're an idiot and I love you. Insert, after all, why shouldn't I romance Theron again meme here.

Honorable mention to Major Anri. I'm love her. If I have to fuck with her directly in saboteuring of the Empire, I'm going to feel SO many emotions. Keep me in your thoughts kan;fladnkfl;dsf.

[ghostsxagain]

//hey friends. looks like I needed the weekend away from my computer. I had no muse and focused on other hobbies and tasks (yesterday Jamie and I spent the day running errands and hanging out and it was really nice to unwind with him - he woke me up with Tim’s breakfast he got for us, it was a good day). today I have an in class essay to write from 6-9pm and have to go to the pharmacy but I would really like to try bringing muse back later if I can.

I still haven’t really come to a decision about work though I think I’m getting closer. my gut is telling me to put my two weeks in now. and to take a few weeks at minimum off of work. just focus on the end of semester, do my assignments and take care of my mental health. then I can apply for jobs and take it slow. my mom thinks I may need to take a few months off to recover but I’ll have to look into what my options are (maybe if I stay jobless I can get a bigger osap loan to help with rent during summer sessions? no idea). I just dont have the energy anymore. under the cut I’m going to post what happened saturday. it’s long so don’t feel inclined to read if ya don’t wanna. I just wanted to get it out there//

so r, my supervisor started at 7am. I started at 8am. we had three open shifts throughout the day, with an operator set to come it at 9am and another at 3pm, then the manager, k, at 4:30pm. pretty baren schedule. well, the 9am tells r that she isn’t coming in today, so it will literally just be the two of us all day. naturally we panic because we can’t handle calls alone! and what about our lunch breaks! only one person will be on? that’s not fair! so r calls k and asks her what to do. k says to contact two other operators that don’t work saturdays and ask them to come in.... okay, helpful. neither of them answers us.

so we do what we can. thankfully call volumes are pretty low. k comes in at 11 and bumps our breaks up and she covers them. she sends me a message saying something like “thank you for doing this today. can you take lunch at 12 instead?” and I ignored the first half of her message and just confirmed the lunch time because I’m mad at her.

I come back from lunch and all hell breaks loose. k left and wont be coming back until 2ish. so its just r and I again and o m g. we keep getting calls from one of our property management companies. the residents received a weird note about the parking passes and that their cars will get towed if they dont go to the office to update the passes or whatever but no one is at the office so everyone is standing outside in the cold so their cars dont get towed. we took one disgruntled call and notified the property manager right away, as per our instructions. well, the calls wouldn’t stop. over and over residents called screaming at us. we have a queue of 5-8 calls for an hour, they won’t stop. after so many people yelling I snapped and just started bawling. I messaged r that I need a breather to take my medication so I leave for a few minutes. she apologizes and tells me to take my time. by the time I come back it seems to have quieted down.

then k comes in and she messages me another thank you message and I couldn’t handle it. I told her that this isnt easy or fair and this past week has drained me and I can’t continue working under these conditions. she apologized for the girl calling in sick, said she didn’t know that would happen, and that she tries to get people to come in. I said that my point is bigger than just today though, we’ve been understaffed for ages and haven’t brought anyone new on. we had three open shifts before she called in sick - thats a problem man. she said that she has the board outside (basically a wooden standup in the plaza the office is in that advertises that we’re hiring) and hasn’t found anyone yet. I got mad and said ‘look, I don’t think the board is sufficient. do you have an ad on indeed or kijiji? I referred someone to you and you passed on her, as have other ladies here. something more needs to be done.’ well she didn’t like that. she called me right away and was extremely defensive and was literally crying. she said that people hired need to work in the office for 3 months to see that they’re a good fit and that’s why she didn’t take on my referral (my sister who lives out of city, but its remote work so why does that matter BUT OKAY) and I said ‘K, I’m not attacking you. you can train however you like, I’m just bringing it up to say that us as operators have tried to help you with hiring and even that isn’t enough.’ she said that its been so hard and she’s doing all she can and blah blah blah. I told her frankly it isn’t enough. I shouldn’t have to be thanked for working BARE BONES shifts. I shouldn’t have to take 40 calls in one hour like I did last week. I told her I’m tired and have nothing else to give and that I’m being honest with her. she knows I’m a student, she knows I have depression and anxiety issues. yet she’s going to cry to me about how hard things have been???????? she didn’t want to talk or acknowledge my feelings, all she said back was “I guess I have to try harder” and I said YUPP and hung up. she immediately went on DND and didn’t take calls until I was about to leave for the day. 

so yeah I’m done. a manager that has been with the company LONGER THAN I HAVE BEEN ALIVE can’t take suggestions? complaints? concerns? can’t just listen to her employee without taking it personally? hm. yikes. I wrote my resignation letter and am just debating how I want to go about this. I’ve been with the company for 5 years. I can’t take it anymore. the callers are tough already, now my boss has to pile on and not hire. I shouldn’t have to be thanked for dealing with this shit - just don’t put me in these positions!!!!

[vodika-vibes]

And a follow-up to the last thing I posted. As a story! With no proof-reading, because now that it's typed it's no longer my problem.

And, I'm tagging @starrrgazingbunny

CC-2224 woke slowly, though he didn't want to. He had been having a wonderful dream. He was back in the GAR, and he was sitting with his brothers, and they were just having a good time.

He fought waking up. He didn't want to go back to being a Purge Trooper. He was so tired of fighting. Of killing.

But, despite his best efforts, he found himself more and more aware. And it definitely wasn't helped by the whispering coming from nearby.

He cracked open his eyes, grateful that the lights in the room he was in had been dimmed, and he rolled his head to the side.

"Look, he's awake!" A tiny wookie said through his translator.

"Shhhh! Rhawl. We're not supposed be be in here!" A teenage boy with white hair hissed frantically, "if buir finds out-"

"He'll ground you for disobeying? You're right." A deep, familiar, achingly familiar, voice came from the doorway, "You're all supposed to be in lessons now."

The man came into view, carefully maneuvering his body so that he was between him and the children. There was the sound of a wookie grumbling, "yes, even you. I know you love your lessons." There was the sound of light feet on steel, and then the door slid shut, and the man turned.

CC-2224 felt his breath catch in his throat. Long hair pulled into a neat bun at the back of his head, an ear clasp on his left ear, and a very unique tattoo curling around his neck.

The man carefully settled in a chair and watched him thoughtfully, "Are you back with me, vod?"

"Dusk-" and oh, was that his voice?

Dusk smiled, tension draining from his body, as he leaned forward, "Do you know who you are?"

"I'm...I'm CC-222...I..." He faltered and his eyes closed, memories flooding back, "I'm Cody. I am, was, Marshal Commander. I...God's. I killed General Kenobi! I-"

"Easy there, ori'vod." Dusk reached out and grabbed his hand, "Easy. It wasn't your fault. It was Palpatine's fault. All of it." He paused, taking a moment to consider Cody's state, before he continued, "We had chips in our heads, vod. It was designed to overwrite our feel will. I had yours removed."

Cody was still. Very still. "You're chip-?"

"Never triggered. Never did figure out why it didn't. But when the order went out, I snuck away from the Guards and into the Temple." Dusk grimaced, "I walked in on the Purge, vod. I was only able to save those three...and had to kill some vod'e to do so."

"They wouldn't blame you, Dus'ika." Cody said immediately, naturally falling into his ori'vod voice. "Hell, they'd probably thank you."

"Doesn't stop the nightmares," Dusk admitted, leaning back again, "anyway, we're on my ship, the Starsinger. I'm a Bounty Hunter now. The question, vod, is what do you want to do."

That...was a good question. What did he want to do?

"I want to shoot Vader in the face." Cody said hoarsly.

"Good start, but let's try something a little less likely to end in our untimely deaths." Dusk countered sarcastically.

"...I want to be a good ba'vodu to your kids. And maybe help the rest of our vod'e?" Cody offered after a moment of thought.

Dusk stared at him intensely, and Cody was suddenly reminded of the fact that Dusk was much more dangerous than he ever acted. "Two conditions,"

"Name them."

"One. If you even look at my ad'e wrong, ori'vod or no, I will kill you." His voice was tinged with promise, and Cody was so, so proud. "And two. Tell me where Fox is."

Cody stared at him. He knew, of course, that Dusk's loyalty had been to Fox first and then the rest of the vod'e, he was surprised to hear that it remained even after all this time.

And then he grinned. Something sharp and dangerous, "Fox is still on Coruscant. You have any armor that doesn't scream Purge Trooper?"

Dusk tilted his head slightly, "You want to help?"

"Fox is my brother too."

He nodded slowly, and then a grin full of dangerous promise crossed his face, "Once you're feeling up to moving, I'll show you my armory. For now, let me get my ad'e. They've been eager to meet you."

[fluffyprettykitty]

Altitude

Pairing: Tony Stark x avenger g/n reader

Word Count: 460 words

Outline: Flying your first mission to space alongside your mentor Tony Stark.

Warnings: Swearing, age gap! Bad grammar, not beta'ed! All mistakes are mine!

Author’s Note: Day twelve of the over 200 words daily drabbles for February. Today's prompt is 'space'. First time writing for Tony! :D

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics​

🌟 Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to know what people are interested in reading🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・ Tony Stark Masterlist

"Did you ever dream of this, Tony? To fly amongst the stars?"

"I didn't do a lot of dreaming growing up, Y/N."

"Later. When you were all grown up."

He chuckles shaking his head and lifting his head to look at you letting a couple of minutes go unspoken.

"Did you? Dream of it?"

"Hell yeah! This is space, I've always wanted to fly a jet and go to different planets."

Your enthusiasm is unmatched. A cheerful almost childlike excitement has overtaken you. Space has always been your favorite, your one true goal, one of your favorite things growing up. All these studies and endless hours just to become an astronaut and fly to outer space.

And now? You were an avenger, working amongst the best. You were skilled and intelligent, this job was made for you. How could you not be excited?

"Then you're going to fit right in the team, kiddo."

His reassurance makes you smile, a pleasant feeling overflowing you.

Giving him your warmest most inviting smiles you reach for the steering wheel, fixating your position and looking through the controls. The dark-haired man is watching your every move carefully making sure your every gesture is correct.

"You're a natural."

A compliment that makes your heart skip a beat. Not expected but most welcome. Is true that you wanted to do nothing more than to impress Tony Stark with your talent and your level of skills. But you would be lying if you didn't admit you were interested in something more ever since he had first started training you.

Evidently, you loved his intelligence, his accomplishments, his humbling yet magnifying nature, and the way he used humor for everything. Reminded you of yourself. But there was something about him, something underneath the surface and you would love to come in contact with it.

The space mission felt like the perfect opportunity to prove both of these things to him. It was only two months ago when you started training vigorously for the mission. All-day training and tons of books to read through each night. As to be expected since you were very brave and managed it all victoriously.

Once you were accepted to the avenger's program, you pursue studying even more wanting your knowledge to be unmatched. The lunar exploration might have only started a mere couple of hours ago and the take-off might have made you scream and electrify your body but you were handling anything else like a trooper.

With a soft sigh, you look up from the panel to look at the sight of the man sitting next to you while he is gazing happily at the stars and the sky.

You conquered space, now how could you conquer Tony's heart?

[emperor-palpaminty]

Heart Song (2)

In which Tech grows closer to his soulmate and his training deepens his understanding if who he is.

Tech was in a good mood. He had narrowed it down to two reasons:

1. He was doing more specialized lessons and training, meaning less time getting dirty looks from the other boys.

2. He had all the words to his soulmate's lullaby figured out. She had sung him the one about whiskey several times, and would be overjoyed that he had learned it.

Tech was humming it over breakfast today, stirring the unnamable food on his tray with his spoon, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Someone's in a good mood." His blonde brother remarked. He'd said he would go in for special combat and sniping training later today, so he was less snide and sarcastic than usual.

Tech nodded, shoving the spoonful in his mouth. "Excited for training, that's all."

"You're telling me!" Wrecker cheered. "I get to throw things all day."

The most average looking out of the four of them nodded. He didn't say anything- he didn't have much to say, typically. He hadn't said much about what he was apparently specialized in- but he'd started sleeping with eye and ear coverage since he'd met with Nalaa Se.

"Apparently, I'm going to be running through programming and artificial anatomy today." Tech's leg bounced and he wondered if he should tell them about the lullaby. Not yet, at least, he decided. "Then we get to do training together later."

Wrecker laughed, smacking the table. "I hope you guys are prepared! I'm thinking I can throw one of you at a droid."

"Please don't." The blonde one mumbled, lowering his spoon.

Tech grinned, pushing up his glasses, chuckling. "Let's see what they give us. I wouldn't mind being thrown."

Wrecker cheered, leading the oldest of them, the most normal looking, to chuckle and pick up his tray. "I've got to run. I'll see you later."

"Bye." Wrecker waved, and Tech and the blonde one repeated after him. Wrecker shoved the last bits of the gelatenous pile of nutrition in front of him into his mouth, swallowing mightily and jumping up. “I’ve gotta run too.” he waved at his brothers and practically sprinted out, giggling gleefully about throwing heavy things.

Tech stirred his food, standing after a moment, walking in a haze to the appointed training room. What did his soulmate look like? He sighed, happily, thinking of her voice. Maybe her hair was long! Or curly! Did she have glasses too? 

There was an obvious pep in his step as he entered the training room, mechanical mind engineering all the faces she could possibly have. No matter how she looked, his little heart was already pledged so deeply to her that he was scared if he took it away he would simply die.

Tech sat down at the screen, fingers flying over the keys, embracing each click as a musician does his instrument. He found his leg bouncing under the pristine table to the song he had memorized.

What will make the dumb talk, what will make the lame walk, what's the elixer of life-

Tech blinked as the screen flashed, them went blank. He looked up at the Sargent standing behind him. "What happened?"

"You finished." The Sargent offered him a half smile, taking the headset Tech removed from his ears. "Good job, kid."

Tech stood, quiet, nodding softly. He paused and looked back. "Sargent, sir?' A grunt acknowledged him, and Tech inhaled. "Is there any way I can... find music?"

The Sargent hummed in thought, glancing at the boy, brow piqued in... concern? Question? Tech felt his face flush. "If it's no trouble-"

"No, no. Cadets don't usually ask. That's all." The Sargent rubbed a finger along the headset, pushing his lips together in thought. "There's a few spare radios in the hangar bay. Gonna be shipped out and thrown. If you can fix one, it's yours."

Tech perked up. "I can?"

"Yes." The Sargent smiled, shaking his head softly, but the curious glint had been replaced with amusement. "Go on, now. You're due for combat in an hour."

Tech thanked him before marching away as quickly as he could, doing all in the world he could to not skip. He paused, looking around, and then whispered, "Song bird?"

There was a pause, and then a gleeful giggle responded. "Smarty pants! Calling so early?"

Bobbing his head in a nod, Tech smiled. "Yeah. I wanted to ask you something. The Sargent said if I could fix one of the radios, I could have it. I want to listen to music. Maybe I'll know lullabies too."

"Please!" She gasped. "You would learn songs for me?'

The joy in her voice alone was enough to send the boy spiraling again, imagining the smile on every face he could imagine. "I would learn all the songs for you," Tech sighed, narrowly avoiding bumping into a rather stern-looking trainee, smiling apologetically, the rose haze of infatuation lifting briefly.

"You're so sweet!" The girl gushed, squealing. "Who knew my soul mate would be such a sweet heart?"

"I thought I was smarty pants."

"A sweet-smarty-heart-pants."

The words didn't make much sense, but Tech conceded, making his way into the darkened hanger. "I did lots of training today."

"What kind?"

"It's pretty boring," Tech admitted, sheepishly, as he tugged at a cable.

"You want to listen to my songs! I want to know what you know."

His heart was near exploding, it was beating so quickly. "You... do?" Other clones steered clear of the nerd, and his brothers could get easily frustrated with Tech talking about things they just wouldn't understand. Mechanics and physics were beyond them, though fascinating to him. "No one ever wants to know."

"Well," She reasoned, and Tech imagined her puckering her lips in thought. "If we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, I want to know more about what you like."

The rest of our lives.

His face went red again, and Tech made an involuntary noise, joy washing over him as he finally heaved up a smaller, clunky radio from the pile. "That sounds incredible." He clutched that device to his little chest, heart racing, and almost slumped over.

He stood and walked, a sense of purpose in his heart. "Can I talk to you more tonight?"

"You can talk to me any time." She sighed in response, sounding almost as smitten as Tech felt. "What are you going to do now?"

"My brothers and I are going to the arena. We're practicing combat today." He picked up his pace, dispensing the radio at the foot of his bed. "We're trying to be soldiers. Training is important."

"Do your brothers know about me?"

"No." Tech inhaled. "I'm technically not supposed to be talking to you."

She sounded horrified, appalled. "Will you get in trouble? Why?"

He shrugged, adding "I'm not sure, I just shouldn't," a little lamely. "But I really want to keep talking to you. We can have a secret together! Just one you and I know about."

She laughed, in affirmation, stating it sounded so romantic and thrilling, like some story her fathers read to her. Tech could only smile as he hurried down the hall to join his brothers for their combat training.

___

It wasn't that Tech hadn't believed Nalaa Se when she stated they were an experimental batch of specialized troopers. As far as he knew, the Kaminoans wanted the best for him and his brothers. It just shocked him as he watched the four of them, himself included, in action.

The blonde one was deadly accurate with a shot, taking only a second to scale upwards, aim, and take down a series of AI. Wrecker abandoned his gun for throwing droids at each other, practically invincible in his cadet-regulated armor, and the oldest one, the normal looking one, wove away from his brothers quickly and between the barriers, making his way quickly towards the droids.

Tech was stunned. For all the engineering, for all his brains, he lacked skill and brawn. He stationed himself behind the barrier, shooting at the droids that stalked up. He grimaced, looking around. His batch was too far, and he was alone.

He exhaled, hands shaking on the training pistol. He thought that the mechanics, the autonomy, were all he needed-

Tech paused. He lowered his gun, glancing around. "Wrecker! I need that commander droid!" He saw Wrecker give a brief grunt of agreement, and then he ran towards Wrecker, who was currently yanking down the commander droid.

Tech yanked the droid down and pried open its head, tugging around at cords and wires. "Wrecker, cover me!" He grimaced, fingers working at the cords, small brain working to try and remember what did what.

The droids shut down, and Wrecker cheered. "This is the end of your training session. Please return to the point of entry."

Tech felt his shoulders slump, abandoning the droid's cranium. His plan- it hadn't worked. He just wasted his time. The room was littered with remnants of practice deoids his brothers had easily taken down, and here he was, struggling with one. Tech stood, slowly, and followed his brothers, shuffling in behind them, shame covering his face, and he reluctantly moved his helmet from his head, eyes downcast. His glasses slid down his nose as he tried to not sniffle.

Stupid glasses. Useless clone.

___

He tinkered with the radio, quiet, waiting for his soul mate's voice. It seemed to be the only thing that would bring him comfort.

Even his oldest brother's encouragement wasn't enough. "It was a good plan, Tech! You'll get the hang of it." Tech had only mumbled in response and let the blonde dissuade Wrecker (who was dramatically reenacting the training), leading the others out to go watch a spar between some older cadets.

The door opened, and only a muffled step responded. "Tech?'

The boy grunted a soft hello to 99. He didn't bother glancing back, frustrated tears still pricking his eyes. Good soldiers don't cry.

Tech heard 99 approach, and felt the weight of his bed shift. The older clone was kind, caring- especially towards this batch. Perhaps he was some of himself in them. "What's wrong, Tech?"

"Nothing," Tech whimpered, trying to inject venom in his words. It was a pitiful attempt. His grip on the radio slipped and it collapsed on the bed. Tech sniffled, reaching up to rub his eyes, still not looking at 99. "I'm useless."

"Now, Tech, don't go saying that." 99 reached down with a knotted hand and gently patted Tech's shoulder, letting the boy sniffle as he hugged his pillow. "What makes you believe that?"

Tech inhaled, shakily, removing his glasses and rubbing his face. "W-well," he gulped in air. "I was tr-tr-training with my brothers," His voice warbled, and he swallowed to contain it.

Good soldiers don't cry.

The older clone offered a gentle smile, nodding and humming in encouragement.

Tech gave a sob. I'm not a good soldier. "I tried to do something during training. I saw Wrecker and- well, they don't have names yet, but they were all doing these amazing new combat skills." Tech's face went red and he rubbed at the tears, now breaking past their barrier. "And I just... sat there. I thought, maybe I could re-program the commander- but- I- I-"

Tech broke. He buried his face in his little hands and began sobbing. His fingers felt soft, and he drew his head away in disgust. Wrecker already had blisters from lifting weights, and the other two were forming callouses from their specialized combatative training, with knives and rifles. "My hands are wimpy, even." Tech whined, pulling his knees to his chest.

99 kept his hand firm but easy on Tech's arm. He patted the boy's back, listening to him gulp in air and try to control his breathing, and waiting patiently. "Breathe deep. You'll want to, because I have something to say."

Tech sniffled, picking his head up and inhaling through his snotty nose, then exhaling from his lips, thick from crying. His face was still warm, and his eyes felt dry, but his chest felt lighter. He glanced at 99, who was smiling softly, the comforting weight of his hand still on Tech's shoulder. When he finished, 99 scooted closer, hands moving to shakily pick up the radio. "You aren't useless. Would you call me useless?"

"Never!" Tech drew away, fingers gripping the glasses in his hands. "You're not!"

99 chuckled gingerly, adjusting the radio to sit in his lap. "My point exactly. None of us are useless, Tech." His knobbled fingers traced the old radio, thoughtfully, as if trying to draw words from the stations not playing on it. "One way or another, we live to serve each other. We all have a purpose. It can be hard to find. You seem to know yours, Tech, and you should value it. You're smart and I don't know any other clones who would think of running out into battle to try and hack a commander droid." He reached to his chest pocket, tugging out a small and thin cylindrical object. "Sometimes, though, you need tools to get you there."

Tech's sniffles had subsided. He was down to taking a few occasional shaky breaths, watching the clone work gingerly on the radio. "So, I need tools?"

"Everyone does." 99 stated simply. "You're all good kids- gonna be good troopers, too." 99 tapped the know, smiling slightly in victory when it crackled to life. "You're just gonna need to have to right tools to make your purpose happen."

Shoving his glasses on, Tech scrambled to the radio. "You fixed it!" He bounced on his knees, turning the dials with a loving unfamiliarity. "Thank you."

"Any time," 99 stood with a grunt, hobbling towards the door.

Tech rotated towards him. "99?"

"Hm?"

"Can I tell you a secret? It has to be between us, okay?"

Chuckling, 99 slid the door shut again, sitting down on the bench. Standing for a long time was hard on his body, and Tech scooted his legs under him. "Sure, Tech. I'll keep it between us."

"I met someone." He grinned, fiddling with the radio. "She's wonderful."

"She?" 99 blinked. "General Tii?"

Tech shook his head, excitement bubbling in him. "My soulmate." He grinned widely. "I have a soulmate! She's wonderful," he repeated, knees bouncing. "She likes to sing and she listens to me."

99 grinned, crow's feet by his eyes wrinkling. "Tell me about her."

"Well, she sings to me.' Tech's chest tingled, and he felt like a fog, a good fog, was closing in on him. "I don't know her name, though. She doesn't know mine." He paused, setting down the radio. "I really want to meet her some day, 99." Tech adjusted his glasses, pausing. "I'm not going to be useless to her, I hope."

"You won't be." 99 smiled, standing. "Not a lot of cadets are familiar with soulmates, here." He paused. "And I'm not good with girls myself, but if you need anything, let me know." He grinned and stood, grunting with effort. "We all deserve a soulmate. I'm glad you have one."

Tech exhaled in relief, assured that the soulmate would be kept between the two of them, and he turned on the radio, listening for songs to learn just for his soul mate.

Tech quietly curled up in bed, awaiting for her voice to fill him.

But it didn't. Not that night.

___

Tag list:

Thank you all for your comments! Im trying to figure out how to change this to my primary blog so I can respond without posting my personal blog a ton! I see and love all your comments, they don't go ignored. I'm just trying to figure out dumb technology, haha!

@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @lafy-taffy @photowizard17 @nick-djarin @fanfic-cave @shytastemakerthing @phoenixhalliwell

[its-captain-sir]

BATTALION BREAKDOWN

Alright y'all, here it is, my breakdown of what I think a GAR battalion SHOULD look like. Full disclaimer before we get into it: I tried to research this stuff on wookiepedia as best I could but 1. there wasn't a ton of information out there on some of the things I had questions about and 2. some of it just makes No Sense when you put it together, so a lot of these numbers were made up by me and what I thought made sense based on what we see in the show and just simple logic. Feel free to accept/ignore parts as you please! Also, I'm gonna try to explain the rationale behind certain things as I go along but if you have any questions about this, you can send an ask/reply/reblog this post with your question and I'll do my best to answer it :)

Now that all that's out of the way, here's all the actual info beneath the cut.

Basic Organization

Essentially, the GAR breaks down into four tiers at this level: battalions, companies, platoons, and squads.

Battalions are the largest groups with 576* members and are all numbered, such as the 501st, 212th, 104th, etc. The only exceptions to the numbering convention are the Rancor Battalion that guards Kamino and the Coruscant Guard. Personally I believe that both of these should be double, if not triple, the size of a regular battalion, which could potentially explain the difference in names. Battalions are led by a clone commander and Jedi general + a padawan commander if the Jedi has one. 4 companies make a battalion.

Companies consist of 144 members and are all named. Using the 501st for example, this would be Torrent, Tide, Wave, and Typhoon. Note: Torrent, Tide, and Wave are canon/widely accepted fanon, but Typhoon is something me and my friends came up with. You're welcome to use the name as the fourth 501st company in your wips if you want! The names don't have to be related, but my guess would be that they often are. Companies are led by a captain.** 4 platoons make a company.

Platoons consist of 36 members and are simply referred to as the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th platoon under their company. Platoons are led by a Lieutenant. 4 squads make a platoon.

Squads consist of 9 members and are named. I don't have names for any 501st squads unfortunately, which is why those spaces are left blank in the picture. As a content creator, you'd have a LOT of freedom when it comes to these because there's so many within a battalion and it seems like they can be named just about anything. Squads are led by a sergeant.

*Numbers for this and subsequent numbers in this section were taken directly from wookiepedia

**One problem people tend to have with this is that Rex is a captain, and yet he seems to be in command of all of the 501st. I think most people have figured this out already but the clone wars writers really just threw names around willy-nilly when it came to all the military stuff. Rex should by all intents and purposes be a commander, and my personal in-universe explanation for this is that while he was skilled enough to go through ARC/command track training, he wasn't originally meant to be a commander and his CT number is what barred him from the title initially. Keeli would be another example of this.

A few comparisons just to illustrate it a bit better:

1 battalion = 4 companies = 16 platoons = 64 squads = 576 members

1 company = 4 platoons = 16 squads = 144 members

1 platoon = 4 squads = 36 members

1 squad = 9 members

Please note that these numbers do not include the officers. There would be 64 sergeants, 16 lieutenants, 4 captains, and a commander added to this number to make a total of 661 clones in any given battalion.

Now I could have just stopped here but I have a tendency to want to get way too specific in my wips so I went a little further:

Internal Battalion Assignments

To make the numbers a bit easier, this just looks at what would be found in one company, you can do the extra math if you want to know the full battalion numbers.

I tried my best to remember what kind of specialized troops showed up in the show since wookiepedia wasn't much help, and I ended up breaking these assignments down into medics, heavy gunners, ARF and tank operators, scouts, tech specialists, and standard infantry.

Medics total 16* within a company, one for each squad. Within the medical corps, they're further broken down into junior medical officers (JMO), medical officers (MO), senior medical officers (SMO), and the chief medical officer of the battalion (CMO). Any internal promotions would probably come from the CMO, maybe a SMO on occasion. When pertaining to medical issues, they do often outrank any other officer, but in combat, JMOs and MOs only hold the rank of private (underneath sergeant) and SMOs and the CMO hold the rank of major (between sergeant and lieutenant).

Heavy gunners total 16 within a company, again one for each squad. These are the clones who have been trained to use the Z-6 rotary blaster, like Hardcase and Hevy.

ARFs and other tank operators total one platoons-worth spread throughout a company, or 36 members. ARF troopers are the ones who drive the AT-RTs (the really bouncy walkers you can see used on Ryloth and Umbara) and other tank operators encompass, well, the operators of all the other ground vehicles we see used. The ratio of each of these seems like it could be fluid based on the needs of the battalion and their mission, so I didn't go too much further into this.

Scouts total two squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 16 members. To me it makes sense that one of the lieutenants within their company would specifically deal with their recon reports, simply because it's more organized and practical.

Tech specialists total one squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 9 members. Honestly this is where I grouped anything else left over, like the bomb squad members we see in the blue shadow virus episode, any slicers, etc.

Standard infantry totals the remaining 49 members in a battalion. They're strictly the fighting force on the ground. This doesn't mean that they're the only ones who do the actual fighting, just that they aren't specifically trained for any other specialization.

*These numbers and the subsequent numbers in this section were not taken from any canon source. They were calculated simply by what I thought would make sense to have.

LAAT/is and Starfighters

Again, I tend to be way too specific in my wips so not only did I go through all of the ground fighting force, but I started figuring out the some of the space forces attached to a battalion as well. This doesn't go into a ton about the Republic Navy because frankly, as soon as I read "7400 crew members on a star destroyer" I exited out of that tab cause that's a little Too Much to try to figure out, but I will cover how I think the gunships and fighter squadrons should work.

LAAT/is (gunships) total 48 per battalion, or 12 per company. However, two per company are usually held in reserve to make sure there's always something available for easy transport to/from the ground. This brings down the number to 40 per battalion, or 10 per company. Gunships take two people to man, so the total number of those pilots for a battalion is 96, or 24 for a company. There's also room for two gunners, which would bring the battalion total to 192, but from what I remember in the show the side guns rarely have someone in them, so I don't think the full 96 LAAT/i gunner positions would be filled. I also think the LAAT/i gunners could be temporarily reassigned from the main star destroyer crew (because 7400 is a LOT, they can spare 96). Wookiepedia said that the gunships could hold 30 troops for transport, but that seems like it'd be really cramped quarters. My guess is that each one would hold somewhere between 14-17 comfortably depending on how many people need transport and how many gunships are in use, which is what I kept in mind to come up with the original number of 48 for a battalion.

The Starfighter Corps consist of 5 separate squadrons, the standard* being two squadrons of Y-wings, one squadron of V-19 Torrents, one squadron of Z-95 Headhunters, and one squadron of ARC-170s. There are 12 in a squadron, plus a squad leader and two usually in reserve, so that's 15 total ships in a squadron and 75 total ships overall. Y-wings require a pilot and a gunner, so the total number of members in a battalion's starfighter corps equals 105. However, I believe some battalions could have up to double** these numbers if they're frequently in space battles, like Anakin and the 501st, or if they have a name that suggests it, like the 327th Star Corps. Squadrons seem to often be named after colors, but that isn't always the case, ie. Shadow Squadron.

*This standard isn't canon, it's just what I believe makes sense based on the number of ships types available and how frequently they are seen used in the show. The Y-wing bombers seem to be used a bit more than the rest, which is why I think there would be two squadrons of them.

**While double the number of ships is certainly possible, I figure it's more common to have three more squadrons instead of the full five so there would be two squadrons of each type of ship.

~~~

That's all I got! Like I said earlier, use whatever you like, ignore the parts you don't, it doesn't really matter to me. This system is definitely what I'm going to follow in my wips if anyone is ever curious about what's going on with those.

Hopefully this is helpful to someone out there! And if you made it this far, thanks for reading! :)

[dottiechan]

ICEBREAKER Pt. 4

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2605

Summary: R&R at 79s is the wrong time and place for you to try to regain control over your life, but at this point, you'll take any chance you can get.

Warnings: cursing, drinking, kissing

The music is almost deafening, and you let it rattle your very bones, shaking your worries and inhibitions straight out of you. You swing your hips, synching your movements up with the rhythm of the song. There's a steadily growing crowd - the 501st is back on Coruscant for a couple of weeks after all - but there's something soothing about being surrounded by so many familiar yet unfamiliar faces tonight. You've been too alert lately, eyes wide open, watching for friend and foe alike, so you allow your eyes to close now, losing all mindfulness of your surroundings, slipping into a blessed state of unawareness.

But you wouldn't get lost in 79s anyways, because the arms around you would never let you drift too far into the crowd all alone.

You barely caught his name to be honest, the name of this handsome trooper with sleek charm who started hitting on you when you were ordering yourself a drink at the bar. Of course you already know you're only toying with him, you'll never take him back to your temporary quarters on Coruscant, you probably won't even remember his name the next morning (is he Five? Fiver? The loud music drowned out his voice, and it's probably for the best), but you never needed to hit the refresh button more than you need to now.

It's a real pity, because he seems like a nice guy, but you don't have room for another nice guy in your life.

Your point is proved by the two pairs of eyes constantly following you, never losing you for even a fucking second in the middle of the crowd.

You love your squad, you really do. You've been through so many things together, you don't think anyone will ever understand you as well as Hunter, Crosshair, Tech and Wrecker do. But you also know that out of the four of them, two have a silent stalemate between them regarding their fixation on you, the third is painfully aware of this, and the fourth is impossibly oblivious. So is it too much to ask for, to want to have an entire night to yourself, without Hunter and Crosshair breathing down your neck, without Tech throwing you knowing looks, without Wrecker not understanding the tension?

Not according to you, despite the many objections the boys have all raised individually. Then after a few drinks, you very politely informed them that you need not to be chaperoned ("Okay, I've fucking had it with you all."), and that you would see them tomorrow morning ("And don't you dare come after me."), so now you're alone, enjoying your night the way you see fit.

Five - Fiver? - tightens his hold on you, almost reeling you in thanks to his enthusiasm, bless him, enjoying the attention you shower him with. He tried to impress you with his ARC trooper tales at first, but you quickly floored him when you told him you served with a squad full of enhanced commandos.

"I'm here to dance, trooper, and yet I've only heard about what you can do. Why don't you show me instead?"

That's all it took, and he's been glued to your side ever since, your drinking buddy, your pursuer, your admirer, your dance partner. You're clearly using him, and you have no doubt that you'll only be a conquest too that he can brag about to his brothers on the next morning. You don't feel bad about this, about his hands on you, sometimes even inappropriately, about the way he leans in and tugs you close by your hips. You're not a fucking Jedi, and you've had enough to drink to boost your confidence, and you accept his advances with ease. It's nice to do what you're not supposed to for once, and even though it is undoubtedly a petty reason for your little escapade, it's also nice to stick it to Hunter and Crosshair for even daring to think they could own you.

And maybe this is a cruel way to drive a point home, but you will teach them that you're not theirs to lose.

You force yourself to concentrate on the man in your arms alone, eyes lazily dragging over his beautiful features, and you reach up to trace the small "5" tattoo on his temple. Something shifts in him when you do that - he's staring at you intently, pupils blown, his hold around you tightening, like it was just a game until you touched that sacred patch of skin. It was fun, but you've made it serious now.

And you love the consequences of your actions as he leans down to kiss you, his goatee prickling your chin, his hand on your lower back pressing you impossibly close. Revenge really can be sweet sometimes. (There are feelings behind this, of course. Real feelings, painful ones, and maybe a little regret too, like the seat belt digging into your chest when the ship comes to an unexpected halt. But they don't want you. They just want to keep you in line. So how could you ever truly love either of them? How could they truly care for you? How could you feel bad about a kiss so exciting and strange and unexpected when you've been alone for so long?)

...

"I will kill him, I swear."

"For the thousandth time, Hunter, that is an ARC trooper, a valuable asset for the Republic war effort – I trust you still remember the war we're trying to win? And she's a grownup. They're both consenting adults, therefore no intervention - or killing - is necessary."

"Oh, it's not necessary, Tech. It's just something I too would fucking love to do," Crosshair joins in, grumbling. Wrecker nods along enthusiastically, never taking his worried eyes off you while you're in the embrace of a reg the squad doesn't know.

Tech pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting off the hangover that seems to have skipped ahead and visited him in the form of a headache almost instantly after he finished his last drink for the night. Or is it his brothers, his stupid, stupid, stupid brothers, not understanding that they drove you to do this? Because he sees the situation clear as day, he knows you just want to feel in control, and he can't blame you. The level of cold protectiveness you've had to put up with lately was much more than warranted. You really can take care of yourself, and yet on the excuse of not wanting you to repeat the reckless stunt you've pulled on Bracca, you could barely function aboard the Marauder or on missions without Hunter's approval or Crosshair's accompaniment.

Your rebellion, your act of defiance shouldn't surprise them, and yet they have the audacity to blame the ARC for essentially their own actions.

Tech’s shoulders bunch up around his ears, and he picks up his helmet to occupy his fidgety hands before sighing - it is unfortunate that he can no longer blame an early onset of hangover for his headache. But maybe the situation is not unsalvageable, maybe he can steer the general mood and conversation in a direction that would finally serve a more constructive purpose.

"You are all acting ridiculously, I hope you know that."

Hunter leans back in his seat, Corellian whiskey in hand, angry with Tech for challenging him, but secretly so, so embarrassed about how seeing you with someone else makes him feel. Crosshair is all death glares and crossed arms too, and Tech swoops in to claim this opportunity, to put his brothers in their place.

"Can't you see that it's all your fault? You seriously think that months of overbearing protectiveness and mistrust in her individual functioning wouldn't have repercussions? And let's not even mention the cold shoulder you give her most of the time when she tries to talk to you about this."

"How is not wanting her to get herself killed to blame here?" Hunter huffs, offended by the suggestion that somehow he has a hand in this. He would never drive you to this. He'd never try to control you! (He lies, oh, he lies, even to himself, because if he could, he would drive you into his arms instead of the arms of a stranger. He would do it, even though he knows how unhealthy and fucked up it all sounds.)

"You controlled her. But that is not love – however, letting her be and giving her the chance to make her own decision for herself is."

"This isn't about love," the sniper scoffs, taking Hunter's side for once. It is a rare occurrence, something Tech would normally cherish, though right now he has a difficult time appreciating his brothers’ cooperation. "This is about a no-good reg pushing his fucking tongue down her throat, that's what this is about."

"Oh please, because your motive to be angry isn't love." Tech doesn't mean to snap, but he can't help it. Not anymore, not with this headache, not with all this worry in his heart for you, all this anger at his brothers, all this concern for your unit. "And as our esteemed squad member has put it, 'I've fucking had it with you all, and don't you dare come after me.'"

The boys sit in their booth, almost eerily silent long minutes after Tech has up and left the bar abruptly. Wrecker, who's arrived back with the next round of drinks in the middle of this conversation, frowns in confusion when neither Crosshair nor Hunter tries to explain why Tech has stormed out on them. "So what the hell is his problem?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Crosshair shrugs. He takes one last look at that fucking ARC holding you as if you were his, whispering in your ear as if you'd ever choose him to be your lover. He stands, and pretends not to be bothered anymore. But he knows he will take his anger elsewhere for tonight, he will try to drown it, he will ask for a bottle only so that he could smash it against the sidewalk outside after having drank every last drop of it.

"Well, this party is over," Wrecker grumbles, eyeing the untouched round of drinks in front of them on the table with palpable regret.

"Is it?" Hunter asks, forcibly injecting his tone with faux cheerfulness just to reassure his brother. "When was the last time you and I had a drinking competition, old boy?"

The challenge seems to bring about a grin on Wrecker's face, and while Hunter is genuinely happy about improving his brother's mood, he just really needed an excuse to stay and keep an eye on you, beautiful, stubborn you, in the arms of another man, a man he would kill to be, even if only for one night.

...

"So did you at least get his comm frequency?"

Wrecker's question seems to turn the already cold mood to downright icy during your breakfast the next morning. Your cheeks heat up a little, but you decide to hold yourself together with decency. You're not spoken for, and you're lonely, so why the fuck should you feel sorry for what you've done last night?

"No. He was nice, but like... I'm not exactly looking for a husband right now. And he did say he would marry me on the spot if he could."

"Technically, he's Republic property, and therefore you couldn't even marry him officially even if you wanted to," Tech informs you, mouth full of food. "Unofficially would be another question, of course."

"Would you officiate my wedding if I asked you to?" you turn to Tech, eyes wide with genuine curiosity, last night's shenanigans forgotten for a moment.

"I just said it couldn't be an official marriage. But if an unofficial ceremony would be something you needed, and if you really wanted me of all people to lead it, I would do it, no questions asked."

"Tech," you smile at him, reaching across the table to give his arm a warm squeeze. "That's so sweet of you."

"She just said she wasn't looking for that sort of thing," Hunter interjects meekly, stabbing at his breakfast with his fork.

"Yeah, Tech. Apparently quick rush is more her thing."

"And what's yours? Sulking because I hang out with people you don't like?" You just can't help it, the tension hanging over you is almost unbearable, and if you can drain some of it by being an ass and snapping at Crosshair, then you will take it. You've held your tongue for so long, obeyed their every whim, but now they've crossed a line by inserting themselves into your personal life. And yet there's a nagging guilt in the back of your mind, tiny, so tiny you could almost ignore it, and yet you don't. Because you know why they've even dared to make decisions for you these past couple of months. Nobody ends up having a say in your personal life unless you letthem.

"It's not about liking them," Hunter protests, shaking his head. "We didn't know that trooper. And you're one of us. If anything happened to you on our watch..."

"Watch my back on missions, fine. But when we're on leave, I'm not yours to lose."

Tech is quiet, but there's a smug satisfaction swelling in his chest when he hears your outburst - even if it was long overdue. Maybe none of you are just quite there yet, maybe you can't solve everything overnight, but it's been a big step, and failing to appreciate the silver lining in everything has never been one of Tech's - arguably very few - weaknesses.

"And I'm... Not that it's any of your business! But I wasn't with him. Last night, I mean. I ran into Annihilation squad!" Your guilt turns to genuine joy, and it's your squad mates' turn to put on an apologetic face.

"I've met Brii on my way to the mess hall," Tech nods. "I assume you've spent the night at their barracks then?"

"They had a spare bunk, and they were stationed closer to 79s than us,” you shrug, but your nonchalance turns into sheepishness before you continue. “Lacky, erm, acquired a copy of the last season of that reality show... About the senator's wives? We used to watch that shit all the time before I got transferred here.”

"Let me get this straight," Crosshair deadpan, pointing at you with his knife. "You ditched your date just to watch a crappy show with your old squad?"

"See? You do not know me as well as you think you do."

"Apparently not. I also used to think you have good taste."

"Well, I never gave you a reason to think that," you snort, taking a bite out of your cereal bar.

"For once, we do actually agree on something."

"Cut it out, you two," Hunter grumbles, trying and failing to ignore the newfound lightness in his chest. Wrecker punches him in the arm, laughing at his tone.

"Why the grumpy tone, Sarge? Don't tell me you have a headache. Can't keep up with me anymore?"

As Hunter and Wrecker engage in a friendly round of arguing about yesterday's drinking competition, and as Crosshair joins in, inserting snarky comments here and there, you sigh, nursing your cup of caf. Aside from being exhausted, you feel... more like yourself. Stronger. Feet planted on the ground more firmly. Your will asserted and respected. And while they argue about Tatooine Sunsets and Corellian whiskey shots, somehow, in the midst of this mess, you feel at home.