#jedi high fashion

[willows-grow]

[prison-mikes-bandana]

IF YOU TRANSLATE THE AUREBESH LANGUAGE THIS STORE IS TRANSLATED TO PONCHOS!! THIS IS MY FAVORITE JEDI SURVIVOR EASTER EGG EVER!!

ITS ON CORUSANT!!

[bethanyeliseart]

Finn — art nouveau

[fromcold]

reeling from this revelation. tbh always suspected padawan braids were a somewhat dated tradition, but this just further cements the idea that qui-gon did that to obi-wan on purpose.

(anakin, of course, volunteered and probably cut his own damn hair off himself so he could look just like obi-wan)

[evilminji]

My ONGOING "SI-OC Ponderings that my Muse is haunting me with but I may never get around to write" Series!

Because, fuck it, might as well. Maybe it will inspire somebody?

Jedi Youngling! Staring down that double barrel Order 66! FUCK.

Now, see, they don't blame the Clones. They don't even blame the Jedi. Whole lot of "victims of circumstance and our Wrong Place Wrong Time environment" going on. But? Are they gonna lay down and take it? Fffffuck no!

They JUST got this body!

Also?

THESE ARE BABIES.

They, An ADULT, have a god damned MORAL OBLIGATION to save as many of this itty bitty alien babies as they can. They warn the adults, obviously. But they FULLY expect? And are unsurprised? When they DON'T LISTEN.

There is a Force Damned PRECEDENT for that. (May you finally rest in peace now, Master Sifo-Dyas.)

The younglings though? THEY didn't get to make a choice. THEY are innocents. And as the only ADULT with knowledge of what's to come? It's HER moral, ethical, and Force given obligation to PROTECT them until they can do so themselves.

As a Jedi... she has to PICK.

Try to save the adults? Those who willfully chose ignorance AND have the ability to defend themselves? To fight and flee under their own power? Or... save the younglings, the infants and babies. Those whose ignorance is that of the young and still learning? Who CAN NOT fight. Can Not run?

It's no choice at all. And if they truely understood? She can only hope they would command her to do EXACTLY as she is doing. Would demand no less. Consider it UNTHINKABLE to ever choose them.

She searches out the hidden passages. Practices lifting things instead of sword stances. She will need to carry so much. Move so quickly. She KNOWS where the attack will come from... Force willing, if she plans well? The Creches will be EMPTY by the time the soilders arrive.

But for that? She must steal. Redirect. Take things from where they should be. It is easier then it should be. First because no expects true mischief from a child, then? Because a war has begun.

Restriction Bolts of the Temple droids and a simple explanation is enough to gain their assistance. It's illogical not to have a plan, even if you never use it. And through them? "Liberated" data jewels. Already plumbed for all the information they're good for. High end, too.

Perfect.

She wipes them all. Fashion's a belt that, one day, Force willing she might wear as a necklace. Then sets to work coping EVERYTHING about the Jedi. When the temple is lost? Their history should not be.

So long as this string of jewels alone survives.

The Jedi are remembered. Luke with not have to start over from half memories and hearsay. They can learn from the past AND still have it. She puts diaries, prophecies, books the jedi wrote for fun. Various Force sects both past and still alive. Teaching methods. Anything. Everything.

A time capsule.

It HAS to be enough.

She fears it's not. Sneaks into the hall of retired Sabers. Sits. And opens her mind to them all. Please. Please! She knows. She's so, SO sorry. You were done. You EARNED your rest. She would not ask this if youngling were not on the line. If Illum might not become to dangerous to travel too.

....if she did not fear what would become of you, should you stay.

The Sith is coming. He WILL take the temple.

Will you come with me now?

Some do, some promise to die, and die VICIOUS. Swear to blow to deadly shrapnel in the hands of any who dare come for them. Others leave their casings. Willing to come, but not as they were. She apologizes for the indignity, as she stuffs them all in the hidden paths.

Honestly? They muse. They've seen worse. Remember that-? WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THAT. HE WAS TRYING HIS BEST, OKAY?!

And all throughout? One must wonder. What do the other younglings think? That OC is strange? Mad? To be ostracized? No, of course not. She is nice. Listens when they're upset. Does not judge or make every emotion a test. Hugs come readily and her mind FEELS older. Like the Creche Master.

And? If Master YODA can be short? Why not OC? She just lives with them. The other Knights and Master's don't listen to her because she Sees things. It scares them. They SAY they do. But children know the difference, don't they? Between what you promise you'll do... and what you'll ACTUALLY do?

But see, the Creche Master's? Increasingly distracted. Preparing the eldest of their charges for WAR ZONES. It's stressful. The fact that the youngers are quiet? SHOULD raise alarm bells. They KNOW better. But they are distracted.

The ones who DO notice? Are the orphan Padawan. The older initiates. People assigned to "help out".

There aren't enough mind healers. Not enough hands to help around the Creche. It was considered a good idea. Young children are full of uncomplicated Light! Yes, Yoda. They are. But as with Obi-Wan, so too with the Crechelings? Children are NOT here to mend the hurts of their elders. That is NOT their purpose.

They are exposing the youngers to Fear and Grief. Broken bonds and the echos of war. This is NOT good for young force sensitives.

Yet... are THEY not young Force Sensitives? Children too? OC knows they are. And it is a bitterness on her tounge. She does what she can. Because SHE is and adult. They notice too. How can they not? The other children turn to her, she guides them through their day. She gives "projects" and listens to concerns. Walks everyone through meditation.

......runs everyone through the Evacuation Plan? WHAT Evacuation Plan?

Oh.

It... it helps. Having something they are PART of. Doing TOGETHER. Something to combat the growing, creeping, darkness that is not violence and death. This? This is planning. Preparation. It... it feels like have some sense of control again, after everything has become senseless and OUT of control. Yet? It is not DARK. Not seeking to force control on others.

It is just... quietly stepping back.

One foot, then another. Calmly and with grief. Letting go, knowing you have tried, as you leave those who have made their choices to the fates they chose. Silently slipping out the door before the building begins to burn. Just as you warned them. Just as they refused to hear.

It's okay to grieve.

Even those who are still alive.

Of course, Shadows ARE supposed to notice unusual movements. Spies and Falling are a concern. Heeey, little youngling! How's things? Just swinging byyyy~☆ soft interrogation tactics~! Gonna admit to any of the Blatant Theft?

Yes, actually. Good you are here. Saves OC the trouble of trying to figure out who is and isn't a Shadow. Kinda convenient, Master Vos, that it's you. What's the fastest set of ships you could stash at the exit to this and THIS hidden path? By this date?

He's sorry, what?

You heard her.

Tiny youngling, unflinching, staring him down and asking for ships like that's a thing she has any right to do? Why? Well... that depends. Are you actually going to listen, Master Vos, or do you want an answer that will comfort you?

Excuse me.

Do you remember? Master Vos, the suffering of Sifo-Dyas? A temple full of Jedi, a seat upon it's council, yet not a single soul would hear him. Would truely listen. How many Knights? How many Masters? Tell me, Master Vos, exactly how many have DIED for willful ignorance and attachment to peaceful days?

There could not POSSIBLY be Sith. So we will not train or prepare. There can not POSSIBLY be a war, Sifo-Dyas, so be consumed by your fear alone. Die, alone. Let Padawan and peacekeepers be Generals. Because what the Force has shown you? It is happening today.

So we refuse to see it. Cling to the present, Master Vos.

Isn't it so COMFORTING here?

You don't have to know what might be. Don't have to ACT. Can be blind and choose ignorance.

A vision then? He surely concludes. For he is no fool. And the Youngling just looks tired. Eats their meal. Answer the question, Master Vos. Do you remember? Was Master Kenobi's suffering also ignored? How well did that work out. Will you LISTEN or have you already come to your conclusions, and now simply seek information to support them?

....he wants to. He does. But you're like, four.

OC nods. Fair. She can see the genuine conflict on his face. He HEARD her. But can not let go of what his eyes tell him. The Force is too muddled here. She too, would have a hard time trusting a small child with something so serious. But.... she can not change her path. And neither can he.

May the Force Be With You, Master Vos.

Plan Besh it is.

She is a small adorable child. The Coruscant gaurd are overworked and filled with spite. Who wants caff and bribery~? Do they clock her immediately? Yes. Is this hilarious. Also yes. Who did you kill, small child? We promise not to be mad.

No one, yet. Could change. She would prefere it not. But who knows. Anyway~☆! Do any of YOU caff loving (here have a refill) gentleman happen to know of any asshole Goverment Officals with REALLY fast ships that run primarily of droid piloting? With potentially easily disabled trackers? Not that she, a small child, would be DOING anything with this information!

It's just neat information to know! *innocent blinking of innocence*

Uh huh. And they were decanted yesterday.

That SAID.... they have a list. Oh noooo! They dropped the list! So much effort to pick it up. Hey, kid, could pick that up and definitely not steal it for us? Good baby Jedi. Thanks for the Caff. Tell Vos to stop haunting the lower levels. It's OUR job to hunt criminals for sport, not his.

Yes, sir o7

Of she goes? To the Senatorial Garage. It's mostly droids. Of LOOK! I have this handy little tool! Pop. Pop, pop, pop~! Hey? Wanna fuck over the asshole who doesn't appreciate you, steal this ship, AND save the lives of small children?

BOY WOULD THEY! Says local every droid in the Ship pool.

Great! Just figure out where the trackers are, how to turn them off, and when it's time? Meet a one of these locations for pick up. We're gonna NEED you. Like... actually NEED. Not "I'm throwing my money around on the latest and greatest then not USING THEM FOR ANYTHING" supposedly need. You'll have SO MUCH WORK.

(They're gonna cry in Binary. Omg? Fuckin FINALLY???)

And so... inevitably. The clock ticks down. The drama of adults ramps up. They smuggle a few clone troopers through surgery. Try to warn the others. Know it won't be enough. The momentum is too great. The gears of War will grind over everything.

Like a forest fire... the old has to burn away for new growth.

But like hell is she letting that come at the cost of tiny bodies. Clones trapped in their minds forced to fire upon children. There will be enough horrors this day. This can be on less. They WILL be ready. And... they are.

She sees the council running out. Knows what it means. And she does NOT hesitate. Her signal goes out. Her Padawan helpers dropping everything to BOLT for the Creche and the go bags stored there. They are followed by friends. Who do not understand, but trust them. Who's Master's do not understand, but assume this is some plan they were not told off.

It certainly seems so, when in the distance? They hear the temple gaurds fighting to hold the line. Hear blasterfire. They race down the hidden paths. Are met with droids, loading up food and medicine, leave as soon as each ship has the assigned numbers. Again and again. Senatorial chips mean instant pass into space. Important business, you understand.

The droids will follow, with everything. Including what was nailed down. Probably the nails too.

Might steal the hammers while they're at it.

Next stop? Wild Space.

Explorcorps newest finds. FRESHLY deleted. All points warning already being sent. A Fuck You Very MUCH, Sith-y Pants. You'll not be getting ANY of the Corps workers if THEY can help it. And hey... the Masters and a few knights were a pleasant suprise. Them and their squad of rescue troopers? Almost make enough adults to take care of everybody!

Now all they have to do? Is hide, rebuild, and regrow.

Return when Luke has down his Luke thing.

Who knows... not her. She made a plan and she DID it. Some one else can decide for a while. She's just a kid. Tell her when they get there, okay?

[valkyrieromanoff]

5 times you innocently sat on Hunter's lap (plus 1 you didn't)

warning: sexual content in the last part, most of it is just fluffy.

words: 3k

a/n: I hadn't written anything for a long time, but then this idea popped into my head and I couldn't help but try. I also posted it on ao3, I hope you like it ;)

1) Sitting on his lap when playing with his hair

Your fingers were entangled in Hunter's locks, gently playing with his hair. Seated on his lap, you had the perfect reach to those exact spots that brought him tranquility. His once tense muscles began to melt under the tender dance of your fingers across his scalp.

With a soft sigh, Hunter rested his head against your chest, the sound a low hum of satisfaction. As your fingers reached the nape of his neck, your nails gently scratched the sensitive spot before massaging it lightly.

Your touch was as light as a feather and as warm as the morning sun, leaving him utterly at ease. His hands rested lazily on your waist, a secure yet relaxed grip. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed to a quiet, rhythmic pace as he relished the gentle movement of your fingers through his hair.

He loved it when your hands were on him, even cherishing the playful times you joined Omega in braiding his hair when he dozed off on the sofa. In this moment, surrounded by the comfort and shared affection, he felt completely at peace.

2) Being in a room with no other chairs for you to sit on, so you sit in his lap 

As a Jedi—if you could still call yourself one, having been only a Padawan when Order 66 struck—you never fully grasped the endless parties and celebrations that inundated the island. It left you wondering whether the residents of Pabu were extraordinarily festive, or if you were simply old-fashioned. Yet, when your gaze met Hunter’s, you allowed yourself to relax. The long-haired clone, bound by his characteristic red bandana, seemed almost as out of place as you.

He had sought refuge from the crowd, sitting on a wooden chair that faced the beach directly. The moon kissed the sea in an almost ethereal vision, the sound of waves dissolving into foam on the shore working wonders to drown out the loud music, laughter, and animated conversations of hundreds celebrating the arrival of summer.

“Running away from fun?” Hunter’s deep voice rang out on the night breeze, breaking your reverie. You hadn’t realized you were staring. Nothing went unnoticed by him, you reminded yourself, taking a step toward him. Your attempts at walking were more like stumbling, brief steps in a straight line due to the ridiculously high heels you’d borrowed from Phee, who insisted they’d go perfectly with your outfit.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten used to the concept yet—drinking, dancing, and celebrating for no reason. It’s different from what I’m used to,” you reflected thoughtfully, your eyes lost in the starry night as fireworks ripped across the horizon, exploding in a kaleidoscope of bright colors. You shifted uncomfortably, transferring your weight between your feet, having lost count of how many times your heels had sunk into the sand.

“Your ankle is swollen. You need to sit down if you don’t want it to become a dislocation,” Hunter pointed out, his voice serious yet filled with care.

“I’m not in the mood to sit on the sand,” you muttered softly.

Hunter snorted affectionately, pulling you by the wrist to sit sideways on his lap. “That’s not what I suggested,” he retorted, gently undoing the buckle of your high heels. The relief was immediate; kriffing, how you hated those heels. He repeated the gentle motion on your other foot, his fingers searching for any signs of swelling or twisting.

“You shouldn’t wear heels, mesh'la, if you can’t walk in them,” Hunter mused casually. You responded with a dramatic snort that soon turned into a sigh as he began to massage your feet tenderly, releasing the built-up tension.

As the moonlight danced on the waves and the fireworks painted the sky, you felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and belonging in Hunter’s arms. The world around you faded, leaving only the soothing rhythm of the sea and the warmth of his touch. In this serene moment, you both found solace in each other, embracing the rare peace and simple joys that life on Pabu offered.

3) Sitting on his lap while you softly apply lotion  

"You know, just applying sunscreen would have avoided this," you pondered calmly, opening the bottle of moisturizer. You poured some into your hand and began gently spreading it over Hunter's sunburned face. With each leg on either side of his lap as he sat patiently.

He let out a deep sigh at the sensation of the cool lotion meeting his warm,a natural response to his sunburn from a day at the beach. He had spent the entire day, diligently watching over Omega as she played in the shallow waves, his concern for her safety overriding his need for self-care. Hunter's heart nearly stopped with Wrecker's antics of tossing Omega into the water, despite Omega's giggles of delight.

The memory of falling asleep only to be buried in the sand by Crosshair and Omega, leaving just his head exposed, surfaced with a mix of amusement and regret. The sun in Pabu had been exceptionally harsh that morning, intensifying the burn on his face.

“Uhm,” Hunter huffed dramatically as your fingers carefully spread the moisturizer over his skin. The soothing aloe vera brought immediate relief, cooling the fiery sensation on his face. You smiled gently at him, a pang of sympathy in your heart. He had been so focused on protecting Omega — even buying her a giant hat that nearly her view of her feet— that he had neglected his own needs.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of you," you assured him softly, giving his nose a gentle kiss, careful not to cause any more pain than the sun already had. Hunter sighed deeply under your tender care, a profound sense of love and relaxation.

In your attentive hands, he felt cherished, his discomfort melting away as he basked in the warmth of your affection.

4) Take a seat on his lap as you read something from your datapad.

It was dusk in Pabu, the sun setting in a symphony of colors—yellow, orange, and red—tinting the sky like a masterful painting. The soft, calm sound of waves breaking on the long stretch of sand surrounding the island, accompanied by the fresh, salty scent of the sea breeze, painted a picture of serene domesticity. This tranquility and warmth, a solid change from his days as a soldier, filled Hunter with a thoughtful, almost wistful sense of gratitude. He pondered the sacrifices he had made to achieve such peace, his reverie only broken by the sound of your voice filling the silence.

“I don’t know how Shep got those meilooruns. I didn’t think they grew around here. I mean, technically, we’re in the Outer Rim, but the climate isn’t identical to Tatooine or Ryloth, for example,” you mused curiously, your eyes scanning the datapad in your hands. Seated on Hunter’s lap, your back rested against his chest, while he nestled his chin in the curve of your neck, trying to read along. “It’s not only rare, but it’s also incredibly sought after because of its unique flavor. Plus, it stays fresh for a long time, which is a big plus for traders,” you added, your finger trailing down the screen filled with highlighted snippets of trivia about the exotic fruit.

“Uhm, I bet it must be worth quite a bit on the market if it’s that valuable,” Hunter reflected casually, his hands resting on your waist, fingers gently caressing your exposed skin. “Well, now I understand why there was such a huge queue just to get a piece.”

You hummed in agreement, snuggling deeper into his arms. Every now and then, you’d bring up another interesting fact or detail that had caught your attention. Hunter, meanwhile, occupied himself with the simple pleasure of relaxing, savoring the mundane routine that now defined his life. The prospect of worrying about the rising price of fruit was far more appealing than the constant threat of the Empire. In these moments, wrapped in your presence, he found a profound sense of contentment, cherishing the peace he had fought so hard to attain.

5) Sit on his lap when applying some makeup on him.

“Darling, it's no big deal, just a little pressure. You won't even feel it,” you murmured softly, trying —and failing spectacularly— to apply the eye pencil to Hunter's eye. Despite your reassurances and his best efforts, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Even small reflexes like wiggling his leg or shifting his thigh made you feel like you were dancing in his lap.

"It's not your eye that's being poked," Hunter grumbled quietly, pouting as  he struggled to keep his eyes open without blinking. The sensation of the eye pencil gliding along his waterline was uncomfortable, heightened by his keen senses.

You gently held his chin, your thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. You hadn’t realized just how intense the sensation might be for him. With a slightly guilty pout, you let the eye pencil drop from your fingers onto the bed.

“I managed to apply it to just one eye,” you pondered softly, leaning to the side to pick up the small mirror so Hunter could see your work. He stared at his reflection in surprise. He wouldn't have expected it, but the layer of black pencil under his eye looked surprisingly nice, though he wasn’t about to admit it out loud.

“Maybe I could be persuaded to let you do the other eye,” he suggested mischievously, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and affection. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Uhm, I can think of a few ways,” you whispered back, your lips hovering over his before closing the distance. You pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, your hands already pushing against his shoulders, guiding him to lie back on the bed. His heart swelled with love and ease, the discomfort of the eye pencil forgotten as he melted into your embrace. The sensation of your lips against his, soft and insistent, he felt cherished and deeply connected, the shared affection enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and security.

6) Plus one time you didn’t 

The days in Pabu seemed to awaken earlier, as Tech had once explained, because the sun rose a few hours ahead of the neighboring planets. The warm rays of dawn gently invaded the room, casting a golden glow over the figures nestled in bed. A gentle breeze swayed the curtains, creating a delicate dance in the morning light.

"It's not even seven in the morning," you mumbled sleepily, your voice a soft whisper against the dawn. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, you tried to adjust to the tender light of a new day.

"Is there ever a wrong time to be affectionate with you, mesh'la?" Hunter's voice was a gentle caress, his eyebrow arched in a playful query. His hand, warm and tender, brushed against your cheek, sending shivers of love and comfort through your drowsy form.

"Well, when I'm still half asleep, maybe?" you replied with a teasing smile, leaning into his touch. "But I suppose for you, there's never a wrong time." You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "What's got you so affectionate this early, hmm?"

"Nothing, I just wanted affection from my girlfriend. Is that a crime?" Hunter murmured softly, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent deeply. Your curls tickled his nose, but he didn't mind; all he wanted was to have you in his arms.

"Well, of course not," you replied gently, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. Lowering your eyes to meet his, you added, "But I don't believe that's all. I know you, Hunter. Spill it."

Hunter chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Alright, you caught me, mesh'la. I must admit, seeing you in that dress last night... it's been on my mind." His hands, strong yet gentle, held your hips, guiding you to sit on his lap. "I've been longing to feel you close like this again," he whispered, his voice a tender caress, conveying the depth of his desire and affection.

"Oh, is that it, my love?" you teased softly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nestled into his lap. "I'll be sure to remember to wear that dress more often," you murmured, your voice a playful whisper. The closeness brought a warmth that filled the space between you, each touch and word deepening the bond you cherished so dearly.

Hunter’s eyes gleamed with desire, his grip tightening slightly on your hips. "Do that, and you'll find yourself in quite a few compromising situations, mesh’la," he warned playfully, his voice a velvety whisper. His lips met yours in a tender, passionate kiss, conveying a depth of emotion that words could not capture. "I promise to make it worth your while," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours as the promise hung in the air, full of longing and affection.

You smiled affectionately against his lips, moving your hips over his lap in a sensual dance, your fingers clinging to his bare shoulders to intensify your painfully lascivious movement. ''I'll remember, huh"

Hunter groaned softly, his body responding to your tantalizing movements. "You're playing with fire, mesh'la," he murmured, his hands wandering up your thighs, pushing the hem of your nightgown higher. "And you know I love every second of it." His lips found your neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses as his hands explored your curves.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you caught Hunter staring at you, his gaze lingering on the hem of your nightgown, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places.

''You couldn't keep your eyes off me last night," you whispered, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. You slowly began to trace patterns on his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. His breath hitched as you leaned in, your breasts pressing against him, your lips brushing against his ear.

"And now, I can't keep my hands off you," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. You let your fingers dance down his stomach, feeling him shiver under your touch. You hooked your finger into the waistband of his boxers, pulling him closer, grinding against him. He was already hard, and you could feel him throbbing against your center.

Hunter's grip on your hips tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as your words and touch ignited a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing the primal hunger that coursed through his veins. "Mesh'la," he groaned, his voice a desperate plea, "you're killing me."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up emotions into it. His tongue danced with yours, claiming your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your desire. His hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, before finally finding the damp lace of your panties. He groaned at the evidence of your arousal, his cock throbbing painfully against his boxers. He wanted nothing more than to tear off your clothes, to bury himself deep inside you, to feel you pulse around him as you came undone.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you lifted your hips, allowing Hunter to slowly peel your soaked panties down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through you. Your heart raced in your chest, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as you eagerly awaited what was to come.

Your fingers fumbled with his boxers, your hands shaking with anticipation as you finally freed him from the confines of his clothing. You marveled at the sight of him, thick and hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You longed to taste him, to feel him pulse in your mouth, but your desire to have him inside you was too great.

You guided him to your entrance, your fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking him gently as you positioned him at your core. You could feel the heat radiating from you, your body aching with need. Hunter's hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you open, his gaze locked on where you were about to join.

"Please, Hunter," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "I need you inside me. Now." Your hips bucked, trying to impale yourself on him, but he held you firm, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Not yet, mesh'la," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I want to watch you take me in. Slowly." And with that, he began to push into you, inch by torturous inch, filling you completely, stretching you deliciously. You gasped, your head falling back as you savored the sensation, your body trembling with pleasure.

When Hunter finally sheathed himself completely inside you, you let out a cry of ecstasy, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to his size. He gave you a moment to settle in, his hands stroking your hair, his breath warm on your neck as he murmured soothing words in your ear.

But soon, the need for movement became too great. You began to rock your hips, sliding up and down his length, taking him deeper with each thrust. Hunter groaned, his hands moving to grip your ass, helping to guide your movements, setting a rhythm that had you both gasping for air.

You could feel the tension building inside you, your body coiling like a spring ready to snap. Hunter must have sensed it too, because he suddenly flipped you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as he began to pound into you, his pace frantic, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Come for me, mesh'la," he growled, his voice laced with desperation. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock as you come apart."

His words sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you screamed his name. Hunter followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his own cries of pleasure mingling with yours.

In the aftermath, he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and spent. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hearts beating in sync as you both struggled to catch your breath. 

[blackkatmagic]

Mace Windu and Qui-Gon Jinn being in a romantic relationship, but nobody believes them. It's a sort of reverse of the "everyone thinks we're dating but we aren't" and at the start, Mace and Qui-Gon try to make it obvious: live together, train together, give gifts publicly, share clothes, but nobody buys it. Depa and Feemor live through hell because of that, and become good friends because nobody believes them about their masters. Idk how it would end but. Shenanigans and obvious dates to romantic places and while Mace and Qui-Gon don't really care about the lack of jedi gossip about them, everyone keeps assuming they're single, and asks their padawans to establish contact with Depa and Feemor (Jedi flirting ways) and Depa and Feemor WILL fight someone and scream at some point because Mace just brought a man eating plant for Qui-Gon (who loves it) and then they kissed in front of the high council (who thinks kisses are some fashion from a planet Qui-Gon recently had a mission on)

Amazing. At some point they throw a full-on wedding in the main hall of the Temple. Mace wears white. Depa is the flower girl and Feemor is the ring-bearer. Everyone just thinks they're putting on an obscure play no one's ever heard of before.

[tennessoui]

Was reading this old book written back in us-civil-war/Victorian era when human hair jewelry was considered the height of fashion. Anyway the girl gives her friend a lock of her hair to make a jewelry piece from because it's such a 'lovely color and quality' and the guy who is courting her flips out that some high society nobody is just adorning themselves with her loveliness which he considers his... AnYway. Big Obikin vibes. Do you see the Obikin? Can you imagine the sheer explosion that would happen if a senator asked for a lock of red hair?

oh i absolutely see the obikin like let's add in a clone wars dynamic here where like. senators and high society bloodsuckers start to want to show their support for the jedi and the GAR by wearing tokens from the jedi around in everyday life and anakin doesn't think much about this. he gives padmé a lock of his hair and he even suggests she wear a bit of 501st blue to really push the support home and he doesn't think much about it. he really doesn't.

until he's attending a closed doors senator meeting with some random woman and obi-wan and him and she not-so-subtly asks obi-wan for a token and anakin internally just can't understand. it makes sense when it's padmé but this random person??? asking for?? something of obi-wan's?????

and then obi-wan agrees?? with a sort of shy and rather self-abashing moment of laughter about how could anyone want his hair or colors or token??

and anakin is just 👁️👄👁️ (broken)

(the explosion happens 1-3 business days afterwards, when anakin sees that senator again and she's wearing a garish orange dress at padmé's function, as if she has any right to those colors)

[io-lu-art]

I know we all want redeemed Ben Solo to look and dress like his father at some point. But- ok, hear me out: There hAs to be sOme Lando spirit in there, SOMEWHERE. Like, come on, the CAPE? Are you telling me that Ben Solo, son of Leia Organa, grandson of fashion Queen Amidala, former Jedi padawan and Supreme Fashion Leader himself wouldn't fancy a cape at all? I don't believe u.

Lemme explain.

high waisted Lando pants but put inside the boots.

Shorter cape. Kinda like Lando's in Solo.

High belt, cause it looks good on him and he knows it.

Dark grey. Mid grey. With a bit of off white. (I believe this is self explanatory.)

Later in life, as he grows older, maybe he will start adding some colour to his clothes.

I'm still not decided on my definitive headcanon. The one on the right is still very close to Luke in RotJ despite the grey and higher belt, but I kinda like it? Just cause it looks more elegant. I mean, sure, you could give him a blaster (I... probably will, at some point), depending on where the stories go and how you write him as Ben. I gave him two lightsabers, because, well- I will explain that when my fanfiction is finished. Or maybe I'll abandon the idea till then. :') (Yes, yes they would be white.) Gotta see if it serves the story well or if it's just my old love for young Ahsoka's yellow shoto lightsaber blinding me.

Jeez, there are so many directions you could take this character. Jedi, pilot, smuggler, gambler, senator... there's no end to this. I've seen so much Jedi Ben Solo fanart and I love all of them. I love the robes so much that I went and made some shape exploration with them.

But the thing is I'm not really feeling it. If I were to take the story into a new direction, no Jedi, no Sith, just Force sensitives, a new take on this whole idea, expanding on what Rian Johnson gave us - which, I am - I would probably go away from the traditional Jedi designs. Sure, it all also kinda depends on how you colour it, I guess...

*sighs* there could have been so much to explore and discover in IX. But, eh, let's not turn this into another tros rant.

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day twenty six: forgiveness

hands behind his back, stone eyeballed the small group of troopers gathered in the coruscant guard galley. the group were mostly shinies, with one or two more experienced troopers loitering at the back, all of whom were able to recognise signs that—as thire would put it—someone had proper karked it.

stone let the troopers shuffle for a moment longer, drawing out the tension, before speaking.

“there has been a grievous crime committed and someone in this room is at fault. if you speak now, i’m willing to work together to rectify this situation, but if no one admits responsibility, then…” stone trailed off to let them fill the silence with their overactive imaginations. he didn’t actually have a threat ready; no one was going to get decommed, for kriff’s sake, not over—

“sir!”

frowning behind his bucket, stone scanned the group for the speaker, finding them at the back. cosine, one of the older troopers.

“trooper cosine? you have a confession to make?” stone asked coolly.

stepping forward, cosine snapped a salute, but shook their head. “no, sir. just saying that it wasn’t any of us what done it, sir.”

“then was it a corridor ghoul? an agent of the sith? perhaps a feral tooka?” before cosine could voice an undoubtedly smart-arse quip in response, stone whipped out the jar he’d been holding behind his back. once filled to the brim with fresh cookies, it now held only crumbs. stone shook it. “are you saying tookas can open jars now?”

“no, sir!” cosine’s posture wavered despite their quick response. “but it really wasn’t us, sir. it was—“

“patu!”

the high voice sprung from the back of the collected troopers, followed swiftly by a little green being with big brown eyes and a gleaming smile, who launched himself across the intervening space with full confidence he wouldn’t be hurt. stone scrambled forward to catch the kid, his heart loud in his ears, while cosine lunged to catch the empty cookie jar.

“grogu!” stone hiked the jedi youngling onto his hip, who drummed against his armour with visible delight. “when did you get here?”

beside stone, cosine shook the empty jar. “about twenty cookies ago, sir.”

stone eyed grogu. the kid didn’t speak basic, but the expression on his face said he knew exactly what they were talking about, and he had absolutely no regrets. typical jedi.

as if following stone’s thoughts, cosine made a thoughtful noise.

“he did confess, sir. after a fashion. looks like he wants to make right.”

“patu!” grogu concurred, big ears flapping with his nod.

a murmur went around the other troopers, agreeing with cosine’s assessment of the situation.

stone had been trained to be the best and he knew how to recognise a losing battle. he lifted grogu to look eye-to-visor.

“those cookies were for sharing with everyone in the coruscant guard, and you’ve eaten all of them. that’s not fair, is it?”

grogu shook his head, his ears drooping. a serious expression—or maybe indigestion—crossed his face. stone made himself think of explaining any of this to thorn and hardened his resolve.

“you’re welcome to come and pl— come and visit us, but there are rules. we’ve got to try and make amends, okay?” stone finished.

cosine shifted. “sir, you can’t make a jedi do kp—“

“that is exactly what i intend to do, trooper,” stone told cosine flatly. then he looked back at grogu and smiled, safe behind his bucket, as the kid’s ears started to rise. the force gossiping to him, maybe. “what do you say, kid, want to learn to bake cookies with me?”

“patu!”

what a cute little criminal.

stone hoped the kid was planning a spree.

[generalpierrotdameron]

Not yet seen on screen, the costume was one of Bryan’s favorites to design, with a weighted cloak fashioned from fabric the designer acquired in Spain. “It is a very luxurious wool, and it has a basket weave with gold and silver threads,” Bryan notes. It’s also quite heavy, which helped inform the design choice of a wide band across the front to distribute the weight. Perhaps it’s also a subconscious nod to the character’s journey this season. “Unconsciously, she has a lot of weight on her shoulders,” Bryan notes. “She has a lot to carry. She knows things. She knows that there's a lot of — the word I would use is a lot of duplicity — in what the Jedi did in the name of protecting the Force. She's basically trying to manage and do damage control with the Senate.” Accentuating the garment, Bryan added the symbols of the Jedi Order in the High Republic. Even among politicians, it’s clear where Vernestra’s allegiance lies. ”It's kind of a feminine throwback to a Jedi's leather belt that has the symbol.”

Dressing The Acolyte: The Stranger and an Assassin Hunt the Jedi of the High Republic — Updated

[i-have-zero-social-skills]

Why the Jedi Stopped Wearing White

In my opinion, the white robes the Jedi wore during the High Republic quickly fell out of fashion because white cloth never stays white unless you constantly wash it. So it is much more practical for the Jedi to wear beige or brown, because they are out helping the sapients of the Republic, so they can’t be focused on constantly scrubbing spots out of their clothes.

[illuminatedquill]

Short Story Summary: Hera Syndulla arrives at Sabine and Ezra's comm tower to drop off the first print editions of their personal trading cards.

*For @alphaofdarkness and @jedi-nurse who inspired this with their conversations on the Discord server. Hope you like it.

Lothal, Early Morning - Sabine and Ezra's Comm Tower

The characteristic soft chime that played whenever someone was waiting below in the comm tower's courtyard alerted Ezra to their guest's presence. Setting down the data-pad he had been browsing through for the Holo-Net's daily news, he stood and walked over to a nearby monitor at the security station that had been recently installed by Sabine as a precaution.

After all, the last time a guest had arrived she had ended up with a lightsaber stabbed through her abdomen. It was not an experience she wished to repeat again.

Shooing a curious Murley off the console, he pushed a button. The monitor's screen lit up, showing the crisp image of the tower's courtyard - and the familiar face of their guest.

Smiling, he spoke into the intercom. "Hello, Hera."

The green-skinned Twi'lek smiled back and waved at the camera. Seeing her face, practically the same since he had first seen it over a decade ago, always filled Ezra with a sense of warmth and comfort. Hera had been a steady friend, mentor, and surrogate mother to him during the hectic early days of the Rebellion. She was the eternal bedrock of the Spectres, the foundation from which all of them had built their new lives upon.

He noted the casual outfit she wore today: not her usual flight uniform, but a fashionable beige sport jacket, dark brown tunic, slim, high waisted pants, complete with comfortable walking boots. Grasped in her hands was a slim, non-descript wooden case.

"Retirement looks good on you, General," he remarked.

Hera snorted. "Semi-retirement. I was practically forced into it by Leia. She was very insistent."

"It's well-deserved," he replied. "And long overdue."

"And boring," she retorted. "I need structure, Ezra. A mission."

He laughed. "So, you're hiring yourself out as a delivery service now?"

She scowled at him. "Gotta do something. I'm still helping people, at least."

"And not getting shot at or participating in dog fights with pirates is presumably a benefit, as well," Ezra added.

"Eh," she said, waving a careless hand. "I kind of miss it, sometimes."

Hera peered up at the camera. "Are you going to let me up or we just going to chit-chat like this all day? I've got other places to be, you know."

Ezra grinned and let her in.

The slim wooden case lay open on the worktable, revealing the contents within. Ezra peered over it, taking in the sight of what Hera had brought.

She sipped at a caf, a special blend of Hera's favorite flavors. "Thanks for this," she said gratefully.

"Of course," Ezra responded. He picked up one of the items within the wooden case and observed it more closely: a trading card, thin and metallic. With a sense of bemusement, he inspected the image of himself on it, conforming to what he had perceived at the time of the photoshoot to be a "heroic" pose: his lightsaber activated and held in a basic guard position.

There was at least a dozen more of these contained within the wooden case.

"Where's Sabine?" Hera asked.

Ezra nodded towards the section of the comm tower's interior, where the master bedroom was located. "Sleeping in. She just returned from Mandalore late last night."

"Busy days for her, huh," Hera said.

Ezra shrugged, still eyeing the trading card in his hand. "Bo needs her to keep the clans in line."

He shook his head. "I can't believe these are actually real. A Jedi on a trading card."

"Hey, don't knock it," Hera said. "Skywalker's got a bunch, too."

Ezra's eyes widened. "Luke? How did the New Republic convince him to do this?"

"Same way we did with you. He had similar concerns: that Jedi shouldn't be involved in this sort of publicity, even with benevolent intentions," Hera explained. She paused to take a brief sip of her caf before continuing. "To counter this, the government pitched that it was for historical purposes. It was a good way to get the young ones across the galaxy up to date with knowledge of galactic affairs and the people who shaped them."

He blinked, remembering the exact same explanation being given to him. "It's a little scary that they found a way to trick Jedi into this."

Hera shrugged. "You're both history nerds. And there's no harm in giving the kids heroes to root for. I think you both appreciate that fact."

Ezra studied the cards some more, smiling a little. Living as an orphan on the streets of Imperial controlled Lothal, he would have given anything to have a fun side hobby like that.

"Leia, her husband Han, Skywalker, and Lando all have their own trading cards, too," Hera commented. She reached down and plucked a card from within the wooden case. "Everyone in the Ghost crew, also. Me, Zeb, Kanan - even Chopper."

Ezra snorted. He glanced over at the trading card Hera was holding, this one featuring Sabine. She was wearing one of her go-to civilian outfits, her head encased in a speeder-bike helmet. The characteristic Sabine Wren smirk was also in vivid display, along with one other feature that immediately caught his attention.

He frowned. "That can't be recent," he said. "When did she grow out her hair?"

Hera turned to him, surprised. "Right," she said. "You weren't here to see that."

She offered him the trading card. Ezra took it, gazing softly down at the image of his wife.

"She's beautiful," was all he could say. He had only ever seen Sabine with short hair, a necessity with her Mandalorian helmet. Even when she had come to rescue him on Peridea, Sabine had worn a short pixie-style cut. Ezra had assumed that had been her style the entire time he had been gone.

The deep purple he remembered from Peridea was present, but it blended beautifully with the longer locks of burning red. It reminded him of the gouts of flame bursting forth he had seen in paintings of dying stars; the effect of her dye colors presented the look of pure starfire flowing down her shoulders.

"Yeah, Sabine had these done a while ago," Hera confirmed.

"But they're just being released now?" Ezra asked. "Why?"

She sighed. "It took quite a bit of convincing for Sabine to acquiesce to this decision. You know how she is with public facing stuff like this."

Ezra winced, imagining the conversations between Sabine and the New Republic officials to be short and one-sided. Despite her brash exterior, he knew his wife to be an immensely private person, preferring to keep out of the public eye.

"I finally got her to agree, but Sabine would only do it on two conditions: first, that she would have a say in how the cards were designed. If her face was going to be on them, she wanted to ensure that the cards were artistically up to her standards."

Ezra smiled slightly. Sounds like her, he thought. Art was Sabine's first love, before she met him. She would want to make sure that the artwork showcased on the trading cards was befitting of the heroes they featured.

"What was the second condition?" he asked.

Hera cocked her head at him, her eyes suddenly wistful. "That her trading cards would only be sold as a set, not to be separated for any reason."

Ezra's brow furrowed. "She wanted her card to be permanently paired up with another?"

"Yes, Ezra," said Hera quietly. "Yours."

His eyes widened at the revelation.

"That's why hers are only being released now," continued Hera. "She was waiting for you."

Ezra was silent, looking over the cards: his and Sabine's, paired together.

Not to be separated for any reason.

He coughed, trying to clear the sudden lump in his throat. Hera clapped him on the shoulder.

"I think they look better together," she observed wryly. "Don't you?"

Ezra smiled; his eyes were moist with emotion. "Yeah," he agreed. "They do."

Sabine wandered out of the bedroom a little after mid-day. Her hair was sticking up on one end; eyes still bleary from the long sleep, she shuffled over to the couch and sat down next to Ezra.

"Had a good sleep?" he asked her.

She laid her head onto his shoulder. "Mmmmm. First soft bed in weeks. Heavenly isn't strong enough to describe it."

He kissed her head softly. "Is Mandalore still doing alright? No one's gunning for another civil war? "

"Yeah, clan meeting went nice and smoothly," she replied drowsily. "Boring."

Ezra chuckled, strongly reminded of Hera's same response earlier this morning.

"Sounds like progress," he mused.

She shifted her head on his shoulder, moving into a more comfortable position. "Heard you talking with someone. Was it Hera?"

He nodded. Sabine grimaced. "You should have woken me up, goober."

"You were tired. Hera didn't mind. Said she'll call later, to catch up with you."

Sabine didn't argue back, which was an indication of just how exhausted she still was. "What did she want?"

Ezra produced from his pocket the trading cards. "She was dropping these off."

His wife sneaked a glance at them and let out a surprised breath. "Karabast," she muttered. "I forgot these were a thing."

"Freshly minted, first edition," he bragged. "Super rare and valuable, I'm told."

She snorted. "Whatever. We should sell them and buy tickets to a star cruise."

Setting the cards down on the worktable, Ezra grinned and hugged his wife close. "I'm also told," he said gently, "that ours are not to be sold separately."

Sabine went quiet.

He reached over and laced his hand in hers. "It's very thoughtful of you," he whispered. "Thank you."

She squeezed his hand back. "We're a package deal, Ezra. I don't want anyone separating us ever again. Even in something as silly as trading cards."

[graylinesspam]

The clone language

I will stand by the fact that the vast majority of clones speak Mando'a, but and this is a big but. They do not do it well.

The Commandos are the only ones that speak Mando'a well, including pronouncing it correctly and using the right grammatical structure. The rest of them are simply absorbing words and phrases and using them wrong.

Mando'a is not exactly a closed language but is very rare to be spoken by a non mandalorian anywhere other than the planet Mandalore. But I do think that in their language training the Kaminoans would have offered like an entry level class which consisted mostly of flashcards with translations. The big two languages of the galaxy, Basic and Huttesse, are the only ones that they are taught extensively. There are several other languages they have access to beginners courses for like the Twi'lek and Togruta language, ect. But that's all voluntary learning/extra credit.

The reason Mando'a sticks more is because their trainers speak it. Whether just absorbing the language through osmosis or learning it voluntarily to listen in on the trainers conversations, some pick up a lot of words and phrases. Then those phrases are explained and poorly translated to the rest of the clones. And not just translated in one language. This is a bunch of bored bilingual kids trying to explain a new language to each other. They play fast and loose with the line between basic and huttesse. A lot of phrases are straight up translated into an entirely different grammatical structure, which mixes up the words and swaps some for words from other languages.

Now this is where the generational divide comes in, because the older clones had a lot more time and motivation to learn half way proper Mando'a than the younger ones. They also had time to spend with their generals at the beginning of the war and absorbed a lot form their respective languages. Especially the jedi sayings.

Think about the way that Jedi speak. Super cryptic responses to straight forward questions. Poetic observations, Flowery language. But then sterilized by military formality.

That leads to a lot of the older, especially high ranking clones to develope a formal yet vague way of speaking, kinda like office languages that says nothing with too many words.

The younger men do not understand this at all. They're blunter. Less well socialized by the Kaminoans and more internally minded socially. The elder clones assume they're being perceived at all times and behave according. The younger figure if they're incomprehensible enough, they can't get in trouble for what they say.

The result of which is slang.

The elder clones slang evolved from multiple languages and sayings getting mistranslated. It includes a lot of shortened words from the reg manuals, quotes from the training videos, and jedi sayings they've heard repeated too many times. Sometimes interjected with a pessimistic sense of humor. Eg, "They're on the planet" becomes "they're planetside" becomes "they're dirtside."

Meanwhile the younger clones slang develops in more of a throwing spaghetti at a wall and seeing what sticks fashion. Way less of a logical evolution path and more of a whatever gets a laugh mindset. Eg, taking a piss could be "off gassing" or "Going past the perimeter" or "getting fresh" or "flipping his belt" or "finding a tree" ect. There are too many options, it truly becomes a language at this point. A specific dialect that you have to be taught to keep up with.

There is a bit of a language barrier between the generations. It isn't too bad. Run of the mill "youths and their slang today" kinda stuff. The youngins absolutely use it for evil. Gossiping and joking around in front of the COs without getting in trouble.

Their incorporation of Mando'a follows this pattern as well.

An older clone might say something like "Better one big enemy." referencing the Mandalorian saying "Better one big enemy you can see, than many small ones you can't"

where as a the younger generation might here a phrase like "Hukaat'kama" literally cover my kama, more broadly watch my back/6 and translate it to something like. "your my six", "On me", "Watch my ass", "get on my ass", "you're my ass", "cover me", ...Which is a lot less clear than previous... They might also say something like "my kama" but translate it to mean something more like "Watch this"(boastful) or "watch me"(defiant) or "Watch me"(accepting a challenge). Which is just a blatant mistranslation of the phrase. Or the phrase could evolve past a call to action and turn into an insult. like calling someone a "Hukaat" or a "watcher" for staying in the back all the time. or calling them a "kama" insinuating they're only good for covering. Or saying "loose my kama," to tell them to fuck off. which could also turn into "loose the kama," when theyr'e acting too big for their britches as a kama is usually a sign of rank.

Basically language evolves as it is used. If it's used by more formal people in a more formal context then that is the pattern it takes on. If it's used primarily for mischief and shit talking, that's the form it'll take.

But either way, as fascinating as the clone language can seem to us, it's still a bastardization at heart.

[orangez3st]

Zest's AO3 Reading List

Just a personal list for online safekeeping :) bcs my chrome mobile currently has order 66 unclosed tabs

In AO3 I read longfics so some in this list are probably over 50k+ words roughly? Idk I read so much

To authors whose works are on this list: pls comment to be tagged! You deserve all the crediiitttssss!!!!! 🫶🏻💝

My account isn't that big to reach many people in regards of sharing, but I hope you (author) don't mind me tagging you! I want to, if I could find the authors here on Tumblr, so I can deliver my utmost appreciation and rESpEcT for creating such fabulous stories many could enjoy including me. All of you are making me gush over your plot and your OC quirks and your headcanons and I love wasting my time like this lolol

To all fanfic writers out there: stay creative 💓 all of you are doing an amazing job for serving stories like these to the majority of fans down to the smallest niche area 💓💓

I'm not good with pep talk but there u go

Nor am I good with writing hypeup gushing rants, my best effort is to actually scream like a really long high pitched AAAAAA so if you catch me tapping vote/like on your story you bet I'm positively exactly doing that and went into gibberish in my own head but I now am learning to do written version 🥺🫵🏻

Readers! Always support the authors! Leave a like/kudos at the very least! Write something in the comment section no matter how short or long that is, or reblog and share, it'll make authors happy for interacting with you!! 💝

Anything on Tumblr that I read I'll add if I spot the ao3 link as well 👍🏻 I'll always update this list as I read more and more

Tags: 💐general 🌱teen 🌳mature 🍁explicit 🧸domestic/found fam/clone shenanigans 🌸typical romantic 💄smut but light/tame 🔥explicit smut ⛑️typical violence 🌧️angst or hurt/comfort

Reader Fics

More Than Empty Servitude 🌳🧸🌸⛑️🌧️ by k8s_space (Rex)

Living Legacy 🌳🧸🌸⛑️🌧️ by ashxv (Anakin & Obi-Wan & Rex, endgame unknown yet)

By Any Other Name 🍁🧸🔥⛑️🌧️ by @rowansparrow (Rex, Fives, Echo)

What Blooms in Thunder 🍁🧸🔥⛑️🌧️ by @rowansparrow (Rex)

The Headless Guardsman 🌳🌸⛑️ by AmberOwl24 (Fox) @eclec-tech

Tambor's Monster 💐🌱🌸🌧️ by AmberOwl24 (Echo POV) @eclec-tech

OC Fics

Rex

In Command 🍁🧸🔥⛑️🌧️ by Wild_Karrde (Jedi OFC Senna Aven)

Side By Side 🍁🧸⛑️🌧️🌸 by Jamie_writes99 (Bounty Hunter OFC Lenna Stale)

When We Bleed, We Bleed The Same 🌳🧸⛑️🌸 by @inkstainedhandswithrings (Force User OFC Nevaeh Requa)

An Arrangement Meant (not) to Be Broken 🌳🧸💄 by @merlyn-bane @pyromanicdaydreamer (Nurse OFC Riis Beranna)

Fives

Halo 🍁🔥🌸⛑️🌧️ by @rowansparrow (Nautolan OMC Quill Cawthon)

caught in your gravitational pull 💐🧸🌸 by @pyromanicdaydreamer (Waitress OFC Kala)

Echo

When I Watch The World Burn 🌱🧸⛑️🌧️ by halfwaydown (Bounty Hunter OFC Senua Hallack)

Call the Twi'lek Midwife 🌳🧸🌸💄🌧️ by ficsnooneaskedfor (Midwife OFC Citali)

And For You, I'd Break A Thousand Times 🍁🔥🧸🌸 by Mermaid_of_the_Woods (Uni Student OFC Elawyn Hawk) @mermaid-of-the-woods

Jesse

I Like These Odds 💐🧸🌸 by @pyromanicdaydreamer (Athlete OC Siala Jerikko)

Fox

After A Fashion 🍁🔥🧸🌸🌧️ by @aggy72 (Fashion Designer OFC Sylvi Arak)

hold my heart in your hands 💐🧸🌸 by @pyromanicdaydreamer (Senator Aide OMC Isaac)

Cal Kestis

The Force Betrayed 🌱🧸⛑️🌧️ by arthurmangoes (Jedi OFC Sakana Angedis)

Multi

Seeing Red 🌳🧸🔥⛑️ by @hellfiresky (Rex & Fives)

Like A Ride That Cannot Be Stopped 💐🧸🌸 by @merlyn-bane @pyromanicdaydreamer (Rex, Fives, Echo, Jesse, Hardcase)

Who We Are When It Matters The Most 🌱🧸🌸⛑️ by @merlyn-bane @pyromanicdaydreamer (de-chipping AU)

Canon Fics

loopdeeloop 🌱💐🧸⛑️🌧️ by stationary_cycle (Fox and Fives stuck on a time loop to stop O66)

As we Bend and Break through Time 🌱🧸⛑️🌧️ by MapleWren (Time Travel Cal Kestis, TCW)

The GARNet 🌳🧸 by WobblyCat (clone troopers on social media)

Like Fire in Our Bones 🌱🧸🌧️ by acuteneurosis (Time Travel Leia Organa, TCW) @this-acuteneurosis

Order 65 🌱🧸⛑️ by ChaoticGoodThiefling (Post Order 66) @beskarthief

The Presence: A Spooky Bad Batch Tale 💐🧸 by AmberOwl24 (TBB halloween) @eclec-tech

See My Youth In You 💐🧸 by @merlyn-bane @pyromanicdaydreamer (Knight Obi-Wan & Padawan Anakin)

the ghost in the walls (is just a really stupid cat) 💐🧸 by @pyromanicdaydreamer (Codywan, 212th)

[rose-arwen-padme]

The Jedi Council waited respectfully so he could walk down the ship's ramp first.

Technically, the first boots that met the plaza floor were those of his new guard. New to him—not new to the position. Each of these stone-faced men was already tall, but the black plumes jetting out from their helmets added to their imposing frames. Neither the movement of their uniformed march nor the innocent wind could bend the stricken feathers. The uneducated eye would think these virile men in their metallic armor were the more formidable unit, in stark contrast to the variably aged Jedi Masters hanging behind in their soft, unassuming robes.

Their weapons were on full display. This was about presentation as much as it was about protection. The guards covered as much vertical air as the Neimoidians with their own high hats, yet in their bearing the sentries possessed none of the defeat or cowardliness.

He didn't look at the failed oppressors when he strolled right past them; there wasn't even an acknowledgment of their existence. Perhaps that should have been a sign, but clues are more difficult to spot when you aren't aware you should be looking for them. He was nothing but grins and celebration. Puffed sleeves swung left to right as he traveled forward. This was when he still infused his wardrobe with welcoming blues and browns in the fashion of Naboo's wealthiest—carryovers from decades spent representing them. Long fabrics in charcoal, black, and blood red came later.

I observed from afar as he cordially greeted Obi-Wan. The mild distance and the breeze prevented a clear listening, but I heard him say something about bravery. Then his eyes shifted to the blond-haired boy idling at the Jedi's hip. No amount of space between me and the trio could filter the beaming smile that spread till maxed, nor could I miss the way his eyes went from polite automation to enthralled.

Then I watched—as a pleased spectator to this event, and as a friend—when the new leader of the Galactic Republic placed his hand on Ani's shoulder. The boy was just as worthy of adoration and admiration as anyone, but I recognized what a special moment this was. Though he was so much more than his background, Ani was a former slave from the Outer Rim, only recently indoctrinated into our Republic's fold. Yet the Supreme Chancellor—the most powerful figure in the galaxy; a demon who knew exactly what he was doing—placed a hand of friendship and blessing on the very tunic Ani had worn in his slavery.

Claiming him. Publicly claiming him in front of all of us—the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan, and although I was the unexpected chess piece no one saw coming at the time, he even claimed Anakin right in front of me.

None of us realized what we had just witnessed. When we felt the breeze snake through our ranks, we never suspected it was Fate infiltrating the show. Brushing up against our shoulders. Whispering condolences behind our ears. I remember the weight of my black gown, donned for mourning. I remember the relief I felt at his victory with the Senate, though Naboo had already secured hers without it. I remember the paleness of his hand as it briefly rested next to the boy's tan neck. A bloodless beast touching the sun god heir.

Still grinning, he paraded next towards my group, success at his public and private triumphs electrifying his eyes. Congratulations were exchanged between us like tokens. He smiled at me, and he spoke pretty words for "peace" and "prosperity."

I smiled back and welcomed him inside the palace. Later that evening, we stood side-by-side as Qui-Gon Jinn burned.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would have run forward while Palpatine was still disembarking from the ship, put my body between him and Ani in order to shield the boy, and screamed.

Read more of Suppression, a fanfic telling the story of AOTC from Padmé’s POV, at Archive of Our Own.