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astheforcewillsit · 4 months ago

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(anyway wrote my post-war codywan fic where gets to find himself and be debrainwashed while coming to terms with the role Obi-Wan/Jedi-Order played in the enslavement of his brothers with a happy ending)

Working Pains Summary: It has been two years since the Clone Wars ended. Two years since Cody has had a proper conversation with his General. But in between extensive therapy, deconditioning, and learning to be an actual person, Cody doesn't know where Obi-Wan Kenobi fits in that.

(Un)fortunately, when a Jedi led peace treaty with former Separatist territories fails spectacularly, Cody gets the opportunity to close up loose ends.

Obi-Wan almost dies, and predictably Cody finds himself by his side.

----

Fox is waiting for him when he gets to the hospital. And Force is the place a mess.

To put it mildly, the hospital waiting room is a complete shit show. To put it accurately, Cody hasn’t seen chaos like this since he was in a medical wing during the clone wars. Behind the reception, doctors run like fire licks their feet through the halls, rubber soles squeaking against polished floors. Nurses call out orders like commanders on the battlefield, shouts slicing through the disorder in the waiting room. Droids console families who sit helplessly to hear the news of their loved ones.

(Cody fights the innate urge to help. But he’s not that man anymore.)

The Clone Wars may be over, but Cody hasn't moved on enough to let droids hold his hand while he cries. Not just any droid, after least.

Instead Fox sits beside him, briefing–telling him what news he's heard.

A surprise attack in hyperspace. Over a thousand dead, more injured. A Jedi led peace attempt in former Separatist territory that turned bad real quick. Tale as Old as fucking Time, and if Cody’s heart wasn't beating in his throat, he would have chuckled.

And the icing on the cake–the failure was led by none other than Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(He remembers where he was and who was with when Fox had commed him just that name three hours ago. Laying in bed against Rex as they watched a holo about loth cats, Boil asleep on the opposite chair. Jesse the most awake of them all, texting back and forth with someone on his datapad.

He remembers how the mention of his former General had been enough to take him from the Company of his brothers, brothers who had held his hand through hours of therapy, through the realization that he had been brainwashed and used.

That he had fought for a Republic who used him and abused him, and that the Jedi had led them still. That Obi-Wan had done little to save him. They had been there as he came to that ugly, painful revelation. They had been there with him as he put space between himself and the Master.

And yet, the last he saw of them was the disappointment when he threw caution to the wind to come to said Jedi’s side. Force, he hoped they didn’t hate him after this.)

Who is supposedly amongst the injured.

This is supposedly one of the better hospitals, though. In a higher, more affluent level of Coruscant. Fox has assured him of this. Still it begs the question-

“Why not the temple? Wouldn’t they know how to help him?” It’s been an hour and Cody is tired of sitting.

He stands, arms crossed as he begins to pace. Across the room a woman screams, her shrills erupting into inconsolable sobs. Both Fox and Cody wince. It hurts them all particularly more than a human woman would. Kel Dor have a knack for doing that.

Clearly the medical droid is not doing its job.

“Overwhelmed,” Fox supplies, chipped, “Kenobi was awake enough to request that the more injured be taken to the Temple–Jedi and non-Jedi alike. The Temple obliged”.

Cody wants to scream. It was clearly a ruse. The man was certainly the most injured of them all. How could they not see it? Two years apart from Obi-Wan and Cody could pick out his General’s tricks blindfolded. Did they know how many times he insisted his men be treated before him? How many times he’d lie to the 212th medics about his injuries just so the clones were being treated first?

Obi-Wan would give his blood to an orphanage if he was bleeding out.

“He'll be okay, Cody.” Fox is meticulously calm, as if sensing Cody’s distress. It's been practiced. Fox two years ago would have lost his absolute shit. Quinlan Vos was on the mission too.

“If I were with him, he'd…” he breathes in deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. Old habits die hard. Conditioning even harder.

He is not the Jedi’s or the Republic. He made that clear when he left GAR. When he distanced himself Obi-Wan.

That chapter has been long closed. And therapy made him realize just how fucked up his head was. Marshall Commander Cody, the most fucked up of them all. The most loyal.

Finding himself after that involved time with his brothers. And consequently, his relationship with Obi-Wan had suffered.

And Obi-Wan had been very sparse in reaching out to his men after. At least Cody. He'd put up his walls, fallen into the mold of the perfect “Jedi Master”, lack of attachments and all.

(If the clones felt the Jedi used them, maybe the Jedi felt the clones tainted them. Weapons that drew them to the Dark Side. Maybe the feelings was mutual. Or maybe that’s how Kenobi was before the war).

“The desk is clear,” Fox indicates to the clerk, who runs a hand through her tight curls, “Let’s go.”

Cody wastes no time in crossing the distance between the vast space of the desk and the clerk.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he manages before she can even collect herself, “we’re here for him. He’s the General–The Master–”

“The Jedi? Yes, he's recently gotten out of surgery. No visitors yet, name?”

At a time, he had been on Obi-Wan’s list of emergency contacts. Especially as the war waned. He hopes their time apart hasn't ruined that. If so, he has Fox. And all his ties to the government.

“Cody, CC-2224” he provides, urgently, “I'm–was his Commander–during the–” The underpaid clerk raises her hand, and directs them behind the rooms.

“You're on the list. I think we called you like five times, but you didn't answer." He swallows thickly. He had seen the number on his comm. He had an inkling about who it was for. But he just didn't pick up. He couldn't bring himself to. And then Fox called.

"Here's the room number.” She gives a breakdown of the directions and the maps that makeup the hospital. Visiting hours are defined, but Cody thinks that with the chaos, they’ll be extended. She ushers another family to the desk as she finishes with him.

Fox is able to walk him through the hospital layout sans the map. His time in the Corries saw him through these walls one too many times, as both an escort and patient.

Cody doesn’t think he could focus on the map if he tries. His hands are shaking, his breathing is uncharacteristically unsteady. Shaking like he’s stepping back onto the battlefield for the first time.

–

There’s less chaos on Obi-Wan’s floor. But still, it has been touched by the disarray from the waiting room. His room isn’t even private, most likely due to the lack of beds. And as far as Cody can tell, there’s at least one other patient in there, separated by a curtain.

Within the first few seconds of finding the room, Cody looks everywhere but where he should. He takes note of the window. The curtains are open, and the vibrant lights of Coruscant’s nightlife infiltrate the hospital room. He pays attention to the ambiance, the cycling of the machines, the steady rise and fall of his chest, a forced atmosphere of peace clashing against this war that still drags the Jedi into it.

Against whatever the hell is going on in Cody’s heart.

Fox says something behind him, gently coaxing him into the room. Automatically the soft lights illuminate the space. Cody had hoped they wouldn’t do that. It was easy to make out the outline of Obi-Wan’s body in the dark, helped by the lights from the window.

Now he has to look at him.

He remembers the last conversions had with Obi-Wan. Bits and pieces, his mind clinging onto them like oxygen. Stretching them out until this very moment.

“I’m sorry, Gen—Obi-Wan I haven’t been in touch, things have just been happening.”

How does one explain that ‘things’ are extensive therapy, working through years of brainwashing and mind control? Realizing that the man you loved the most and his entire Order sat near the pinnacle of that.

“I understand. These things take time. Please Cody, let me know if you need anything.”

Though despite the anxiety, despite the confusion. He still loves this man, he still wants him safe. And he knows danger follows Obi-Wan Kenobi wherever he goes.

“Be safe, General.”“It’s just Obi-Wan, Cody. I am not, and never should your General. And if that’s too familiar, Master Kenobi will suffice for me.”

How long was that? 6 months ago? 12 months ago? Two years ago? What had he lost in the time he tried to reclaim himself? Tried to find himself.

Who had he cut loose when he shed the skin of Commander Cody of the 212?

Obi-wan had answered then with some sort of sad resignation that Cody couldn’t pinpoint. Like they wouldn’t see each other again. He wonders now if Obi-Wan had sensed his inner turmoil. Kriff, of course he did. He was a Jedi.

That’s why he never reached out. Why he stopped when Cody stopped.

Suddenly he’s crying like a child when this starts to hit him.

The confusion of it all. The suddenness. He could have lost Obi-Wan, and he doesn’t know if that would make him feel better. It might make him feel worse.

Sobs and sobs rock his body. He didn't feel sad when he came in. He was anxious, yes. But sad? No, not at all. He hoped they could talk.

He acknowledges that this is a lot from him too. He hasn’t been on a battlefield for two years. He hasn’t seen an injured man like this since the clone wars ended.

Fox leads him to a comfortable chair, and places a gentle hand on his back. He’s glad he doesn’t ask questions. Fox isn’t like the others who lose their mind at the sound of Cody crying. He’s the eldest, supposed to keep them together. But Fox lets him be the baby.

As he revels in Fox’s comfort, he’s shocked to realize the absence of company.

It occurs to him then that Obi-Wan doesn’t really have many people to visit him. His relationship with Anakin Skywalker was infamously laughable. Ahsoka Tano had remained a distance from the Temple even after everything. The Council was spread across the galaxy, keeping peace without an army.

The Order was busy. Fighting wars the Jedi should have left ages ago. Cody thinks sadly to himself that they should have taken their Jedi with them. They could have sorted out the logistics later on.

Oh Force, he thinks, did I…did I leave him alone? Mustering all the strength in the world, he forces himself to look at Obi-Wan.

He doesn’t like what he sees.

Obi-wan looks pale. Almost as pale as a Kaminoan. According to the briefing from Fox, it wasn’t the burns that landed him on a stretcher. Though his body is covered in enough bacta to challenge that. It was the smoke inhalation and the blunt force trauma to his head apparently.

Cody remembers their many conversations with Obi-Wan about complex relationship with armor, and his fear when his General had stopped using it. The boys of the 212 had made bets about when Obi-Wan would end up in a body cast.

And while he’s in no body cast now, It looks like life has finally collected that toll.

Cody is almost terrified by how well he’s able to fall into the role of a vigilant commander. After the tears have dried, and the fog has cleared, he pulls the chair closer to the bed and breathes.

—

Fox disappears when the sun rises, excuses himself behind the curtain. He tells Cody that despite the curtain being closed, there's no one behind it and that he needs some space to work. Cody assumes he's left to do some Senate work on his datapad, or whatever Fox does to keep himself busy nowadays. He leaves with a gentle press against Cody's forehead, promising him he'll return.

At some point the doctor comes in to check Obi-Wan's vitals, and explains to Cody what procedures were done. He lets him know the Jedi will be there to collect their councilmen within the next few hours where he will likely undergo extensive Force healing for the mental strain he apparently suffered.

He shoots a quick message to Rex, who he left alone when Fox came to collect him. He thinks Rex may understand what he’s going through, though he’ll never say it aloud. They all know that Rex spends enough time loitering around the secured cells in the upper levels Coruscant to visit his old General.

(Rex doesn’t know Cody knows this though. That just like everyone who’s had the displeasure of meeting Anakin Skywalker, they still see some good in him.)

He groans after Rex shoots back a thousand question marks, even tries to comm him. He rushes to silence his comm, not wanting to wake the patient whose eyes have already started fluttering behind closed lids.

Its a futile attempt, because before he knows it, the bed’s occupant is stirring faster than he would have liked him to.

“Cody?”

It’s been two years, and yet a million years would not have prepared him for their eventual meeting.

What does one say?

“Sorry Sir–Obi-Wan, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He settles for an apology. Force, they could have been in their tents again. Commander and General. It’s so natural to fall back into old habits. Comforting and terrifying all at once.

For his part, Obi-Wan pushes himself up with his elbows, rising slightly so he can look Cody in the eyes. His blue eyes are wide, confusion radiating throughout his expression. And then, his gaze softens, and his brows furrow in guilt.

“Oh you’re not supposed to be here.” He says the first part gently, more to himself than to Cody, “ I apologize, I meant to remove you from my emergency contacts.” For some reason, that hurts. Cody swallows, feeling a familiar thickness in his throat.

“Life must be getting difficult for you, Master Kenobi, if you’re starting to fall behind on administrative tasks. You used to be on-top of that during the war.” He returns the comment with a formality of his own, though he means for it to soften the blow as well. If this is hard for him, it must be hard for Obi-Wan too.

In response the Jedi chuckles, coughing as he does so. Cody fights the urge to lean over and caress him. You are not his Commander, anymore. You are not his. He is not yours.

“Well, the adjustment from General to Jedi Master has had its ups and downs. Sometimes the details get lost in the translation,” he offers with a smile, his blue eyes scanning the clone. Cody can feel the full extent of the Force upon him, probing him unprompted. He’d learned early on in his service that this was normal for the Jedi. Just as easily as they used their eyes to see, and their voices to speak, they used the Force to scan everything and everyone.

It is their way of communication.

Cody may have put up some boundaries when he left the army, but this is not one of them. He lets Obi-wan in easily. The Jedi feels him out, his Force touch light and airy. Ticklish almost. “You really don’t have to be here Cody.” Obi-Wan says, more seriously now, letting his body fall back onto the bed, “ You can go, I will be alright. I’ll have your contact information removed after this.”

The warmth of his touch is gone. It sends Cody into a momentary spiral. He didn’t expect this coldness, this lack of familiarity. The sudden end to their very impromptu beginning. There is so much he still wants to do. To say.

He can’t stop the words that escape his lips next.

“That no-attachment clause sure has come in handy now, hasn’t it.”

It’s a vile kick in the gut, to throw something as sacred as the Code in the Jedi’s face. Obi-Wan jerks himself up, eyes wide. His machine beeps loudly. He looks dumbstruck, as if Cody has just slapped him across the face. Hard.

Cody knows in that moment his General recalls the late evenings they sat alone together, talking for hours about the Force, about the Order. About what it meant to Obi-Wan, about how the galaxy wide bastardization of his Order, his family, had hurt him more than he let off.

How the Force--The Order--had been there for Obi-Wan at his lowest. That this "emotionless order of monks" had saved him from himself time and time again.

How many times had Obi-Wan dragged a broken, shell shocked Cody into his quarters, forcing him onto his bed to meditate. How many times had Cody spoken the words 'I am one with the Force and the Force is with me' as Obi-wan calmed him after a gruesome battle, shielded him from the sharp pain of immeasurable loss. How many times had the Force been there for Cody, orchestrated through Obi-Wan?

Cody knows Obi-Wan recalls these moments because the clone does as well. And now, his guilt strengthens.

“Excuse me?” He grits out, wincing, “You’re the one who wanted nothing to do with us.”

Cody recoils.

“Its…not that simple.” He manages, barely above a whisper.

In these past few months, he’s found himself saying this a lot. To his brothers, when they ask if he still cares about Obi-Wan. To his therapist, asking what he needs to move forward from what happened to him. To himself, when he looks at his reflection and wonders how he got to where he is now.

The Force is back, cautiously ebbing around Cody’s field. Hesitant as the former commander lets him in.

Gently, Obi-Wan speaks, “You were resistant to me in the Force, and cold whenever I was around you. I know what The Republic–what we did to you–I’m not an idiot Cody. I knew you wanted your space away from me.”

Cody cannot meet his eyes. He feels ashamed. And confused. As if the consequences of his actions are now coming to tear him into pieces. But he shouldn’t feel this way, right? He wanted this, right?

“I don’t…” Cody deflates and throws his head into his hands. This is what he was dreading. His mind is still a mess of commands, of order, of questions, of anxiety. This is like exposure therapy, his trigger and his love all bound in one.

Through the gaps in his fingers, he looks at Obi-Wan lying in a hospital bed, bandages on his arms and head.

Made to protect a galaxy that would have had his kind murdered if it hadn’t been for the discovery of the chips (and even that happened too late. Both have the saber and blaster scars to prove it). He thinks of Obi-Wan who threw himself into battle to save his men, who placed himself between Cody and a bullet to make sure his Commander made it out alive.

Who approached him after Order 66 to make sure he was okay.

Cody is flooded with thundering guilt. Was all this worth then? If he feels this way about Obi-Wan? What will he tell Rex? What will he tell Boil? He’s supposed to set an example. He’s supposed to be the one who breaks free. What will he be telling his brothers if he goes back? “Cody–Cody, breath!” How Obi-Wan found the time to leave his bed and pull up a chair that had been on the other side of the room in the span of two seconds, Cody does not know. All he knows is that he’s enveloped in Obi-Wan’s physical and not so physical embrace, breathing deeply as tears cascaded down his face.

“I thought I wanted that, Sir. And part of me is still finding out what all I want, but I know that I haven’t felt the way I just did when you touched me with the Force in a very long time. And I think that no matter how I feel about you, if you died today, I would have lost my kriffing mind.” He admits through tears, “so that counts for something, I guess. But I don’t know what that means for me.”

“Healing is not linear, Cody. I,” Obi-Wan falters, “I still have not spoken to Anakin. I still have not forgiven Qui-Gon, but I would never regret my time with them. And when I am ready, I hope to embrace my padawan again. I say this to let you know that should you never want to see me after this, I will accept that. But I will always be here, waiting for you to return Cody. Be it in this life, or when we are both one with the Force.”

Cody balls, sobbing loudly as he clings onto Obi-Wan. He nods, the coil in his stomach unfurling. He wonders if it is Obi-Wan’s doing.

“I’m sorry for what I said about the Code. I'm sorry for everything,” he breathes, pulling himself together, “I am usually not like this.” “None of that Cody, you have nothing to apologize for. The fault is ours. The Order should have done more for you and your siblings,” he states, fingers running through Cody’s hair, “I had hoped that by staying away we were doing that, but I suppose we should let you choose how we interfere.”

(He wants to tell him that this isn’t the case for all Jedi. Plo Koon tried the silent treatment, and Wolffe, Boost and Sinker apparently cornered him outside of his suite in the Jedi temple.)

“Clones getting a choice,” Cody chuckles through his tears, “what an amazing concept.”

Obi-Wan hums, fingers still twisting in Cody’s curls. Cody is more comfortable than he thought he’d be. He welcomes Obi-Wan’s touch just as he did the Force. “Obi-wan, I want to be with you. It won’t be easy, but neither was the war. And we both survived, somewhat.” The tears have stopped now, and he finds both his footing and his voice. Gently, he untangles himself from Obi-Wan’s arms and adjust himself so that he captures those blue eyes with his own.

“I think we can win this too. If you’ll be patient with me. I am still…healing, as you put it. They did a lot to us in Kamino, and to put it frankly my brain is fucked. And a lot of that was before the war. I will not be easy to be with.” “My padawan is Anakin Skywalker who nearly turned Sith during the war, I don’t think the Force wants me to be with easy people. And I don’t want to either. Besides, I was willing to not speak to you for two years. I will be as patient as you need me to be, Cody.”

“If you’re comparing me to the two second Sith, then we’re off to a bad start.” Obi-Wan erupts into laughter. Genuine laughter. Laughter so hard, he begins to tear up. Though Cody is somewhat hesitant to credit the humor alone for the tears. Maybe Obi-Wan needs an excuse of his own.

“Who’s idea was that nickname?” “It was Jesse’s, but now most of the 501st has adopted it. While half of the galaxy calls him Vader, the 501st calls him the two second Sith. I think it’s how they cope.” Cody joins in, reveling in the ridiculousness of it.

Leave it to the 501st and their General to be the much needed comic relief.

In between their laughter, and their tears, they lean forward, foreheads brushing against the other.

------------------

(Sometime later, when Obi-Wan has fallen back to sleep, and the Jedi have come to collect their council member, Cody stands to collect Fox from behind the screen. It’s time they both go home.

He nearly screams when he pulls back the fabric and sees Fox sheepishly bury his head into the mass of hair that is Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.

He doesn’t even want to ask how much the latter heard. )

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #the prequel trilogy #quinlan x fox

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wrencatte · 1 month ago

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44. Surprise me

...out of lust and surprise! It's bodecal - shocking I know. This is also 3 different prompts in one. Two you sent me and then just a random one in my likes

It’s seamless. It’s a, a dance. A silent conversation, never having to exchange a single word to know the other’s next move.

It’s Bode grappling a BX Commando droid to give Cal an opening to behead it, feeling the heat of his lightsaber pass less than inch from his face and trusting his precision and skill. It’s Cal catching a primed shock grenade Bode tosses him, trusting the timing, and attaching it to a raider’s chest, shoving them into their bodies just in time for it to go off.

It’s standing back-to-back, surrounded by a mix of droids and raiders. If they were anyone else, they might be considered out numbered. But Bode ducks under Cal’s spinning blade, dropping to his knees to shoot low while Cal goes high, and their enemies don’t stand a chance.

They make quick work of the crowd. Bode leaves his left wide open and Cal slides into place. Cal turns his back on a bedlam smasher and Bode is in their face before they can take advantage. And when everyone lays scattered, in pieces, clothes smoking, weapons broken, droids reduced to slag – it’s Bode and Cal, chest to chest, breathing the same air, grinning stupidly at each other. Cal smiles crookedly, tilting his chin, and Bode’s eyes flicker down without his say-so. He watches the way his smile turns into a smirk, all mischief and something knowing. Bode rolls his eyes, holsters his blasters, and he leans in, mesmerized by the sheen of sweat on Cal’s skin and the splatter of blood that’s not his own speckling his jaw, and he wants, oh does he fucking want.

So mesmerized, he doesn’t notice Cal reaching for his blaster until it’s too late. Until Cal’s already got it in hand, steadying his aim on Bode’s shoulder, and he pulls the trigger. The sharp whine of the coupling surges in his ear, the heat of the shot superheats the air next to his cheek, the kickback has his bones rattle. Bode meets Cal’s eyes, blinking, and he gets a smug smile in return. Cal keeps eye contact as he flicks the safety back on and slowly, oh-so-slowly, slides the blaster back where it belongs, making Bode shudder. He glances back to see a raider finish collapsing to the ground unmoving. Cal tucks his fingers under the leather strap of his holster, pulling Bode’s attention back to where it belongs. His expression is purely loth-cat who got the canary, satisfied and cocky. The Force shimmers with something heated.

Bode can’t take it anymore. He surges down and kisses him. No finesse. No gentleness. It’s all teeth and tongues and mindlessly messy. Cal laughs against his mouth and Bode takes the opportunity to deepen it, to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and yank him impossibly closer, bending him back to forcibly make his knees buckles so Bode can take and take, devouring the little sounds Cal makes until they’re not so little anymore.

Cal grabs the other strap of his shoulder holster, holding on and not letting him go too far when they have to pause for breath. “So, watching me handle your weapon gets you hot and bothered?” Cal murmurs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs breathlessly. It ghosts over Bode’s collarbone, drawing a short sound from the back of his throat. “Hmmm. Make me.”

Oh, Bode definitely shuts him up. Very thoroughly too.

#my writing #cal kestis #bode akuna #bodecal #spyscrapper

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meshla-cyarika · 8 months ago

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How many ARCS does it take to crush a natborn?

Pairing: Fives x M!reader, Echo x M!reader

Word count: 1,022

Tags/warnings: none. Its complete fluff.

Summary: you love cuddling your boys, you love waking up in their arms even more. The only problem is, you can't breathe.

--------------------------------------------------

You've gotten used to naturally waking up to Naboo's only sun streaming through the blinds of your bedroom window. What you haven't gotten used to is waking up unable to breathe.

Well, you can breathe, but it's a slight struggle with two former ARC troopers sprawled out ontop of you. Echo is on your left (nearest to the window) with one leg thrown over your waist and an arm and his head resting on your bare chest. You always found it uncomfortable to sleep with a shirt on, especially when under the covers. Meanwhile, Fives practically has his entire body laying on you, limbs sprawled everywhere and his face is squeezed into the crook of your neck.

You turn your head and glare at all the space on their sides of the king sized bed you had brought to avoid situations like this. That being said, you don't hate cuddling. Quite the opposite, actually. After being forcibly seperated all the time during the war, none of you give up an opportunity for physical contact. You sigh and wrap your arms around them both, knowing better than to wake them up. Disturbing your Dominos when they're perfectly content snuggled up to you would be a death sentence.

A smile breaks out on your face when you think about how you had met. It had been a big victory for the 501st and they were granted shore leave for five days. 79s was ram packed with boys in blue so much so that there were hardly any natborns in there, but you'd managed to weasel your way in. You were sat at the bar, nursing a Corellian whiskey, when a certain ARC with a numbered tattoo started chatting you up and a sheepish man with a hand print on his chest plate stood next to him. It feels like yesterday that Fives had said those twelve corny words to you. "Hey, baby, you got a name, or can I call you mine?" A month later, you were dating the most handsome men the galaxy had ever seen and you've been together ever since.

You're snapped back to reality, when Fives stirs in his sleep. You think he's gonna wake up and finally release you from his chokehold, but he stays sound asleep and somehow manages to put even more weight on your ribs. The Domino twins, along with many other clones, lost a bit of muscle after the end of the war, but, by the Maker, they were still heavy. It's been four years since the end of the Clone Wars. General Kenobi defeated General Grievous on Utapau, General Skywalker brought Count Dooku into custody, Commander Tano brought Maul into custody and Chancellor Palpatine was discovered to be the mastermind behind this war and was killed by the Jedi Council. It took half a year for the discussion of clone equal rights in the Senate, which they were granted at the end of that year. It took two years for the Republic to create a suppressant for the clones' rapid aging, which managed to slow it down to natural human aging.

The loyal soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic are free men.

You silently thank the Maker, when you notice the telltale signs of them starting to wake up - small twitches and grumbles. When Fives wakes slowly, he tends to stretch a bit like a loth cat. He yawns and does this little squeak that you don't dare mention, but it makes you smile anyway. After he stretches, he goes limp and boneless for a moment as his brain catches up to reality. Echo, however, tends to go from asleep to awake very smoothly. He doesn’t jerk awake as often anymore, but it’s a near thing. His body stays lax for the most part, but he blinks awake and takes just a second or two to get his bearings. Some mornings, he’ll lay with you for a little longer than usual, tucking his face up close to yours until you're both ready to get up.

They're absolutely adorable in their own ways.

You remain still when your partners awake. Fives sits up to stretch his whole body, before dumping his weight back ontop of you, making a grunt fall past your lips as he slightly knocks the air from your lungs. Echo blinks awake, tucks himself closer to you and breathes deeply. A luxury you can't perform yourself.

"Morning." Fives always has the deepest morning voice.

"Morning." You reply back. "Can you both breathe?"

A pair of concerned frowns meet your gaze, but you keep your expression innocent.

"Yeah?" Echo eventually answers.

"Well, I can't." You put it bluntly. "Shift."

You haven't seen them move so quick this early in the morning for years, as they scramble to their sides of the bed. You take a few deep breaths and, Maker, oxygen has never felt so good.

"You okay?" Fives looks down at you with furrowed brows. You nod tiredly and place a kiss to his forehead, causing his expression to calm.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You mumble, turning to kiss Echo's forehead aswell. "You have all that space and you still decide to crush me." You give them a pointed stare.

"Old habits die hard, cyar'ika." Fives smirks, wrapping his arms back around you, but making sure to give you more breathing room this time.

"We're sorry, cyare." A light blush coats Echo's face, as he sheepishly places a kiss to your cheek.

"It's not your fault." You reassure him, running a hand through his hair. "It's because of how many nights we all had to sleep in those regulation bunks that could hardly even fit one person in."

"Except this time, Echo isn't falling on his ass every five minutes." Fives sniggers.

You close your eyes with a smile, as you listen to them bicker about old times. Are you going to wake up with your airway being crushed again? Definitely. But you have your boys right where you want them, maybe breathing is acceptable to give up if it means you get to hold them as close as possible.

#Arc trooper fives x reader #Arc trooper echo x reader #The clone wars #Star wars #The clone wars x reader #Tbb echo x reader #Echo tbb x reader #Star wars x reader #Arc trooper fives #Arc trooper echo #Tbb echo #Echo tbb #echo bad batch

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jedi-nurse · 12 days ago

Note

Hello!

I haven’t seen

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home

For the WIP Ask Game yet! Will you tell me about that one please? 😁

Hehehehehe first off yes the title is from the Hannah Montana song.

So this is essentially a fic about Ezra somehow getting back to Lothal via the WBW. He gets back right as Ahsoka is arriving on Lothal with the map. There is a nice scene I have written where Sabine just yells at Ahsoka for abandoning her and Ezra has to pull her away.

BUT here is my personal favorite scene

Sighing, she turned around just in time to see her loth-cat knock another cup to the floor, shattering in the process. “Dank ferrick Murley, would you please stop? My cup budget isn’t unlimited, you little shit”. He just looked at her before hopping down to go lay down somewhere. The shattering of the cup took her attention away from the proximity alert that sounded from one of the terminals in the old comm tower. As she was sweeping up the broken mug she heard a knock on the door, which was extremely odd considering she didn’t hear the usual alarm. She figured it was one of the new government interns Ryder sent out to check on her. “You can tell Governor Azadi that he can shove it. I told him to stop wasting everyone’s time” she yelled through the door as she keyed it open. What she wasn’t expecting to see on her doorstep was Ezra Bridger. She stared in stunned silence at the man standing before her. He was unmistakably Ezra, his blue eyes sparkling at her. “Hey Sabine, long time no see” he joked, hoping she would laugh. Instead she punched him right in the nose and shut the door. Honestly, that was kind of the reaction he had expected. What he hadn’t expected was her long colorful hair and clothes that looked suspiciously like something he would wear. Of course she was just as, if not more, beautiful as the day he last saw her.

#star wars #ezra bridger #sabezra #sabine wren #star wars ahsoka #wip game

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hapan-in-exile · 16 days ago

Text

Volume 4 - Bonus Post Part 2: Never Knew I Needed You

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by @perotovar

A/N: this is a bonus post with OFC + Mando's POV

*Part 2 of 3* in an extended flashback episode I'm writing for Volume 4: Smart Girl like You. We go back to the beginning of Mando x ofc-reader's relationship to help set up some important events that will occur in the climax of Vol 4.

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, 18+ MINORS DNI *NSFW*

When you have to snatch a hermit crab out of the baby’s mouth—for the third time in as many minutes—you begin to realize the truth in Mando’s warning. This kid is definitely going to keep you on your toes. Running out of Loth cat videos to watch before bedtime will be the least of your worries.

At the moment, however, fear of boredom and establishing a nap schedule ranked far lower than your fear of vomiting up every ounce of that morning’s breakfast.

Seriously, how could this kid be hungry? The inescapable aroma of tar and fish oil radiates from every surface of this place. Rotting shellfish does not typically come to mind when you envision laying low at a “seaside cottage.” The word cottage implies a rustic charm—decorative driftwood, not moldering logs covered in barnacles.

Mando might have warned you! Although, maybe, he can’t smell it from underneath that helmet.

You’re not the only one suffering from nausea. Nito sits cross-legged on the floor of the boat house, slumped over an accumulation of tech equipment, with the collar of his shirt pulled up over his nose and mouth. He looks pallid under the mottled blue fur. And yet, despite being ready to yak at any moment, when he catches your eye, the Ardennian’s face brightens, and he waves both his right arms cheerfully at you.

Your hand springs up to return the greeting. This kid is such a sweetheart!

You can sense that Nito’s been through it. That life has been harsh for him. But he still had so much capacity for joy. You’re not exactly great with kids, but how can you resist falling for someone who responds to hardship with joy?

You’re reminded of yourself at that age. Beaten down by betrayal, yet always eager to make a new friend. Why is it that some kids—?

“Should I leave you with the speeder or the skiff?”

You jump nearly a foot in the air. Mando halts directly behind you like an overbearing shadow. Somehow, he’d managed to walk across every rotted plank of this decaying pier without making a sound.

“High-strung,” he observes wryly, sounding amused.

“S-sorry?” you stammer blankly.

“Our quarry is back at port, but I don’t want to leave you stranded here, so…the speeder or the skiff?”

Erenada, this might not be the best time to reveal you’ve never piloted a speeder. It won’t engender much confidence if you have to ask him how to turn on the engine. Whereas the skiff has a tiller attached to the motor. And in a worst-case scenario, you could at least paddle.

He simply nods when you decide on “the skiff,” and hands you a fuel canister.

“Before you said it wasn’t safe to leave the Crest. Now you’re saying it’s not safe to stay on board?”

Mando’s plan to keep the Razor Crest docked at the harbor—while you and the kid hole up in an abandoned fishing village—is either an excess of caution or a sign that you’re in way over your head. The Mandalorian had yet to explain why the Child is being hunted. Which is definitely suspicious, but glass houses, you know? If you’re keeping secrets from him, you can let Mando hold onto a few.

“My…partner,” he trails off awkwardly, unsure where to begin. “...the man who came to see me yesterday…”

“Kosar?” You’re pretty sure you’d heard the Mandalorian call him that.

The bounty hunter looks up sharply from his rucksack in alarm. “Did he speak to you?”

You think back to your unsettling encounter with the man. He wasn’t physically intimidating the way Mando can be. Muscular— but short and wiry. Handsome smile. It was more of a feeling, really. Hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced the ravenous glare of a predator. The feeling of being sized up as prey. The soft blonde curls that framed Kosar’s face couldn’t hide the cruel emptiness in his eyes.

What had he said? You’d been heading toward the medicine cabinet with the baby saddled on your hip when he’d stepped through the side hatch. Something about Mando being ‘lucky.’ Something about good help being hard to find. The words from his mouth were simply noise because the thoughts in his head were so loud. Despite the charming demeanor, this man was thinking about how much he would enjoy hurting you. How pretty you would look with his hands wrapped around your throat.

You shrug, “Just hello, I think.”

“What I said,” the Mandalorian sighs wearily. “Is that it wasn’t safe for you to be seen.” He pulls in a deep breath through his nostrils, reaching for a length of climbing rope. “We go back a long way, but I think it’s best if Kosar doesn’t know where to find you or the Child.”

“You don’t trust him, but you’re going to do the job anyway?”

Trust. Again—always. There must be very little of it in his life.

It’s gotta be hard being human. Having to guess at other people’s intentions. Never knowing whether they’re about to stab you in the back. Shit, not being able to get a read on Mando has made you downright paranoid. No wonder, then, why the bounty hunter is so guarded.

Except, he’s trusting you. Isn’t he? Trusting that you won’t abandon the Child the minute he’s gone. That you won’t just take the baby and make a run for it as soon as he’s out of sight. Sure, he could probably track you down, but…he’s allowed you this opportunity to show allegiance. A chance to prove your loyalty.

“Kosar can’t bring in his quarry without me, so for now, our interests align. I can trust that he won’t do anything to jeopardize his money or his life.”

“What about Nito?” It’s not your place to ask, but you have to know.

Mando pauses, a handful of charges held between his leather fingers. You expect to hear guilt or resentment in his voice. Maybe both. It’s an accusation, after all. But you can’t help it. You care about these kids.

Instead, he slings the rucksack over his gleaming shoulder and steps closer.

The thing about having watched the Mandalorian over the last few days—his interactions, the attitude and posture he adopted when speaking with someone like Kosar—and how that contrasted to the Mando who sat in the pilot’s chair with the kid in his lap, or the Mando who searched through every storage compartment in the cargo hold to find an extra blanket for you—is that now you can recognize the difference.

The muscles in his shoulders tense, but not with anger. “It’s my duty to protect you. All of you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

You nod apologetically, a flush rising in your cheeks.

“Nito will be operating from behind a display screen. Where he’ll be safe.” Mando says, tilting his chin down to look you full in the face. “While you and the kid stay here. Safe.”

He made it sound so simple, but….“Who keeps you safe?”

A staticky huff crackles through the modulator, “Don’t worry about me.”

But you do. It’s not just the kids. You care about him, too. “Listen, Mando. I know you’re more than capable, but…be careful. That man’s heart is hollow.”

A slight dip of that steel jaw is the only acknowledgment of your cryptic warning.

“If I’m not back by sunrise, Nito will be waiting for you at the Crest. Take the skiff and follow the shoreline south to the harbor.”

What else can you say? Please don’t go! Would he believe you if you confessed to probing Kosar’s conscience and finding nothing but ruthless indifference?

And would it change anything? This is his life as Mandalorian—how he made his way through the galaxy. To survive this long, he knows what he’s doing. You’ll show him more respect with faith rather than doubting him.

“Then, we’ll see each other soon,” you murmur. “Any requests for breakfast? I can’t promise it won’t end up tasting like fish.” You shake your head, “Pretty sure everything is going to reek of fish, including me.”

“I like the taste,” he responds in a low voice.

Your belly clenches.

“Of fish.” Then he draws back suddenly, “I—nothing a hot shower won’t fix.”

Did Mando just—? The fluttering in your stomach draws lower, and what you’ve come to refer to as ‘the sparkle sensation’ stirs between your thighs. Did he mean for that to sound so suggestive?

No. No.

You guys have a good rapport, but he hasn’t indicated he wants anything more than that. Mercy of the gods, you spent the whole night chatting him up in your underwear, and the man hadn’t even touched you. No accidentally brushing against you, or anything.

No! The Mandalorian is probably celibate, like some kind of righteous paladin. Sworn to his god of war. Why else would he wear sacred armor and never remove his Beskar helmet?

Granted, if sex is permissible, you could get creative about positions if the occasion called for it. But if there’s some way to casually drop, Are you allowed to fuck with that thing on? into polite conversation, it’s beyond your skill.

Wait! How long have you both been standing here staring at each other?

Clearing his throat, the bounty hunter stands up straighter. “You want to do something for me?” he asks somberly. Mando’s leather fingers reach for the blaster at his hip. Releasing the clasp, he swings the barrel upward and offers it to you. “Take this.”

“Won’t you need—”

“I told you not to worry.”

That makes you laugh, “Well, now I am worried. Should I expect…I don’t know, pirates, dropping by?”

“No,” he responds. Gods, you can almost hear the grin on his lips.

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“I am,” he doesn’t skip a beat. “Because they’re either dead or in carbonite.”

“Oh!” That is a good reassurance. “But then, won’t the villagers be returning?”

“Saberjowl is out of season,” he says, offering you a shoulder holster from his pack. “And,” Mando concedes, “I haven’t told them about clearing out the pirates yet.”

“Hmmph,” your lips quirk into a conspiratorial smile. “I guess we have the place to ourselves.”

But the bounty hunter is busy inspecting the blaster’s settings, adjusting the energy levels with his thumb. Only then do you notice that the Mandalorian isn’t carrying his usual firearm. The gun he held was a snub-nose 44.

When did he have time to get a hold of an ion pistol? You’d only just spoken about it last night. And what an oddly sweet gesture.

Mando steps even closer, and your stomach does an excited little flip before he presses the blaster into your hands.

“Take it. I’ll feel better knowing you can defend yourself.”

He’s practically a stranger. It’s reckless to hint at your desires when you have no idea how he’ll respond. But when has rationality ever stopped you? Some part of you desperately wants to know whether the Mandalorian feels the same pull towards you.

And seeing him get flustered is too tempting to resist. Nothing a hot shower won’t fix?

So you tilt your chin, arch an eyebrow, and nudge him playfully with your elbow. “Defend the kid, you mean.”

As you suspected, his stomach is—Wow, really firm!

You can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to reach under the layers of fabric and leather to trace your fingertips along the stiff ridges of his abs, the sinewy lines of his back…

Mando’s grip is strong when his fingers wrap around your shoulder. “I will always come for you when you need me.”

Dammit! Sexy and protective? The heat rising in your cheeks intensifies, and your heart begins to beat faster.

“Use the comlink if there’s any trouble.”

Right! The Child. Your focus should be guarding the Child. You know, the job you’ve been hired to do. And while this wouldn’t be the first time you secretly lusted after your boss, perhaps you can make it through a whole day before throwing professional ethics out the window?

Mando immediately tests your resolve.

“I…” The Mandalorian’s tone softens, lost for words. Finally, he clears his throat once more, and settles his shoulders. “I’ll come if you need me.”

Ugh, you are so fucked.

Maybe it would be better if you left after this. Pick up transit from Eldin Station as he suggested. You’re clearly not a prisoner and free to leave. It’s probably for the best. Leave before things get complicated. You already like him a little too much. More than is wise for someone like you. He’s got enough to worry about without heaping your bullshit onto the pile.

Of course, you don’t have anywhere to go… But the longer you remain, the more likely you are to overstay your welcome.

Just because he needed your help with this, doesn’t mean there’s a place for you on his ship.

His tiny, tiny ship.

Do you want to stay? Do you want to grow hopelessly attached to a man you can’t have? A man determined to live and die by a warrior’s Creed?

The Mandalorian will just throw you out the minute he discovers who, and what, you really are. Namely, more trouble than you’re worth.

“See you for breakfast,” you say in farewell, watching him secure his pack to the bike. Mando swings a powerfully muscled thigh over the speeder, and it bounces under the sudden weight of all that body.

“Okay, baby. I’ve brainstormed a bunch of stuff I thought was fun as a kid. I suggest we work our way down the list.”

Nito loaded up his game console for you to play, but you can’t get enough fresh air after spending so much time inside the ship. Even if it does smell like low tide out here.

The kid looks up from his spot perched between your boots and blinks those gigantic brown eyes excitedly.

“Alright! Should we start with cartwheels before transitioning to sandcastles on the beach?”

-----------

“That one. That’s where they’ve got him stashed.��

The Mandalorian’s gaze landed on a grand, if unimaginative, rowhouse—its sunbleached facade made up of sharp lines and pointed corners.

The hastily constructed limestone houses surrounding the canals of New Coral City all looked like they might crumble into the dredged waterways at any minute. Flimsy, flat-roofed buildings leaning against each other at odd angles, as though their combined weight was the only thing keeping them upright. The mansion Kosar nodded toward wasn’t much to look at. Indistinguishable from any of the other three-storied houses, haphazardly built over swampy marshland with infill, silt and sand.

Yet they all had ornately carved screens and thick-paned windows. The streets were raw and unfinished, but they were clean. As were the people crisscrossing the canals in their well-made clothes—wool from Endor, shata leather from Zeffo, and Karlini silk. Even the beggars here wore shoes.

The majority of Mon Cala’s population lived in cities underwater. However, thanks to an influx of refugees after the collapse of the Empire, more settlements began to take shape above the surface. Governance on Mon Cala was more stable than most Outer Rim planets, with better economic opportunities, bringing wave after wave of migration to this once remote part of the galaxy.

New Coral City was built up for trading—an anchor for the new citizens of Mon Cala that cultivated the islands and archipelagos for fishing, kelp and salt harvesting. But these settlements were populated by outsiders and, thus, largely overlooked by the Mon Calamari royalty.

Which made it easier to hide here if you were a nobleman’s son.

“And you know he’s in there?” Mando asked skeptically. There was one guard posted outside the door facing the slatted boardwalk below, with two more monitoring the canal from the rooftop. It seemed like a lean operation for a man who was wanted by Yarella the Hut. “You’ve had eyes on him?”

“Not me,” Kosar conceded. “Never leaves the house, this one. Been scoutin’ damn near every property connected to this schutta’s family for weeks. Daddy’s got fake safe houses set up all over Mon Cala. Nystullum, Zeran. Posted mercs on every one of ‘em.”

Mando looked at the mercenaries stationed on the roof. Their chrome armor, harvested from fallen Stormtroopers was coated with a vibrant, iridescent film—it was loud and gaudy, standing out against the stark white stone.

“Brite-Boyz,” Mando spat out like it was a slur. “Guarding a safe house?”

“Right?” Kosar snorted. “Very fuckin’ subtle. Ah well, get what ya pay for with that crew.”

“Can you guarantee Grosk is in there?”

“Like I said, he never steps outside. But I got a tip from one of Vigo’s lickspittle who says they’re bringin’ in girls to keep him happy. So I track down the brothel in question, avail myself to the whores workin’ there…and that’s how I know this is the real safe house.”

Little was easy about this job—but tracking down spoiled rich kids was one of them. Children of wealth always managed to get themselves into the most idiotic kind of trouble. Behavior so deeply ingrained since birth that not even the threat of death or capture could curb their privilege. This nobleman’s son could not fathom a reality where he shouldn’t have exactly what he wanted. Every impulse indulged. Damn the risk. Consequences are for lesser mortals.

Mando’s thoughts strayed, and he wondered absentmindedly if Thulani came from money. Something about the way she carried herself. The clothes she wore—like these rich merchants walking the streets of New Coral City. She certainly had acquired a taste for the finer things. He’d been ready to shoot her into space inside one of the escape pods after she complained that the soup he ate was ‘tragically bland’ and ‘too salty.’ Then she’d spent the entire afternoon making rice porridge that even the Mandalorian had to admit was delicious—-after which she cleaned and organized the Crest’s galley station. All to merely shrug, “Don’t mention it.”

The Mandalorian did not know what to make of Thulani. But he would bet money that this Mon Calamari prince, Grosk Zatarus, was not helping out with household chores.

“That’s where we’ll find him.”

“Did this woman tell you how many guards are sitting on him?” Mando muttered. “What part of the building to enter?”

“That’s what the furry guy’s here for, yeah?” Kosar hooked a thumb in Nito’s direction.

The Ardennian looked up from his tablet screen, blinding them with the glare from his headlamp.

They’d set up operations from an empty storefront across a narrow waterway that fed into the city’s larget canal. Just as Kosar had promised, the balcony afforded them a sweeping view of the Jomeshbridge, which spanned the widest point of the lagoon—bordered on both sides by shops, hotels, and warehouses.

Nito appeared satisfied with his calculations. “If one of you can get this sensor in direct range of the building, it should make a complete scan of each floor.”

“Should?” the Mandalorian huffed. The limestone walls proved too thick for his helmet’s heat sensors. So while Nito wasn’t his first choice for tech support, he needed the kid’s help conducting surveillance.

“Don’t be grouchy!” Nito rolled his eyes theatrically. “Not a ton of opportunity for beta testing in hyperspace, boss.”

To which Kosar shot him a baleful look. “See ya run a tight ship, Mando.”

But the bounty hunter was way past trying to reign in Nito’s smart-ass attitude. He frankly didn’t have the energy. Mando often reflected on his own childhood and the unswerving obedience he’d shown the Mandalorian elders who raised him—eager to learn and prove himself. Whereas Nito questioned everything. Nito, who was so engrossed in synching up the bizarrely constructed device he’d built for this job, he hadn’t noticed Kosar’s disgusted glare.

“It should read the layout. Plus any life forms.”

“Hmm,” Kosar glanced back at the mansion. “So we’ll know how many are in there...”

“But not which one is our quarry,” the Mandalorian countered.

“Quarry?!” Kosar scoffed. “Not in the Guild anymore. Remember Mando?”

“How can I forget,” he said in a tight voice. “When there’s no fob or puck to work with.”

“Since when do you rely on shortcuts?” The mercenary clapped Mando on the shoulder, “Relax, brother. My lady will be wearing a tracker, and she’ll be with him. That’s how we locate the target.”

The Mandalorian did not think of Kosar as a brother. Nor did he consider the man a friend. In the ten-plus years since they’d last seen each other, Kosar had visibly aged but was otherwise unchanged. Still cavalier, selfish, and furtive as ever. Hollow, Thulani had said. It made Mando weary. But he needed this kind of money to have a breather—a few weeks of rest somewhere safe and hidden where he could come up with a plan. A plan for what to do with the Child.

Things had gone sideways on Dorumaa before he could collect payment, and clearing out pirates for the local merchants in New Coral City had paid next to nothing. Most of it already spent on repairing the Razor Crest.

It had felt like fate running into Kosar. Now, he was about to discover whether it was a blessing or some trick of Hod Ha’ran.

The Mandalorian had made the mistake of reconnecting with the specters from his past—Ranzar Malk, Ingtar—but his time on Tatooine and Toro Calican proved working with strangers could be just as dangerous.

Six years later, and he still faced the same problem. Honest work did not pay as well as warlords. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild had been less lucrative, but a more consistent and straightforward way to make a living—to support his Tribe after they fled Concordia. The Hunter’s Code had appealed to him at a time when he’d been mired in loss. He was not too proud to admit that he was struggling without it. Those weeks laying low on Sorgan, when he planned to simply leave the kid behind and track down the new Covert, felt like a lifetime ago.

Mando banished the thought. Surely, his struggles were nothing compared to what his Tribe faced in his absence and the loss of his earnings. He needed money and a plan to find his way back to them.

“I’ll distract the guards while you attach the scanner.” Kosar’s voice returned him to the work at hand.

Mando nodded before grabbing his partner by the collar. “Keep it contained. We don’t want to spook them.”

Kosar’s distraction ultimately involved starting a riot on the Jomeshbridge by picking a fight with one of the pedlars and heaving their cart into the canal—only for it to collapse onto a passing barge. Callous, but it was at least effective. The Brite Boyz on the roof leaned over the siding for a better view while the Mandalorian scaled the other side of the building.

“If you can attach the sensor to a power line,” Nito’s voice piped into his earpiece. “I can also take out their comms network.”

With the device secured per his teenage overlord’s very specific instructions, the Mandalorian climbed back up the shop’s tapered stairwell, surrounded on all sides by glittering bolts of fabric covered in dust. A dressmaker? He settled his back against the wall and shut his eyes, trying not to think about Thulani in that beaded gown she wore to the casino as he floated in and out of consciousness. He was used to these long stretches with little sleep. His body would wake him when he needed to.

“Kinda nice not worrying about the kid while we’re on a job.”

“I’m on the job,” he muttered without opening his eyes. “You’re generating a computer model.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nito waved all four hands dismissively. “But, you know what I mean. He gets himself into the weirdest mischief the moment you take your eyes off him…”

Mando said nothing.

“How’s your hand doing, by the way?”

Kriffing—Why did everyone feel entitled to ask him about it? If Mando’s hand was troubling him, he would do something about it. The Mandalorian did not recall ever being this nosy when he was thirteen.

“None of your concern,” he said brusquely and watched Nito wilt in disappointment, shoulders hunching. Before he could help himself, he amended, “I’m fine.”

The kid’s face lit up with enthusiasm, “Good to get it treated by a professional, eh?”

Mando let a frustrated sigh spill from the modulator. “Where are you going with this, Nito?” Though he was pretty sure he knew already.

“I was just thinking…maybe you should offer Thuli a job? That way, she could, you know…stay. With us.”

Us? Is that what they were? An us. When had that happened?

“And why would I do that?” Mando asked.

He’d been thinking much the same thing—that they would be fortunate to have the Healer on board—but he wanted to hear the argument from someone else. Someone who hadn’t spent the entire morning obsessing over the shape of her breasts.

Fucking farrik! He needed to best this temptation if he wanted her to stay, or she would become a dangerous distraction rather than a crucial asset for their survival.

“Uh, okay…well, beyond the obvious reason that she’s the only one who can fix you without taking off your armor?”

That was true. He didn’t understand the source of her power, but after Thulani had healed him on Dorumaa, the Mandalorian felt years younger. No stiffness in his joints. His muscles were lighter and more flexible. It was the best he’d felt since his twenties. He had no doubt she could have easily healed his hand. But he hadn’t let her.

When Mando returned to the ship with his thumb gushing blood down his forearm, nearly bitten off by a Shistavanen pirate, he’d tried to ignore her while tearing through the medicine cabinet, looking for adhesive. She’d calmly but firmly grabbed him by the arm, beneath the pauldron, where he could feel the pinch of her fingertips through the canvas.

“You don’t want to do that,” she said.

He was surprised that his body had not recoiled from her touch, that he hadn’t immediately sensed she wasn’t really asleep. The Healer’s grip was firm as her words were soft, explaining that he could not seal the wound shut.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but…well, it’s hard not to when they scream like that going into the freezer. Anyway, if a single bacterium of saliva is in the wound, you’ll get an infection. Maybe lose the use of your hand.”

“I can—” She asked to remove his glove. There was the barest flash of hurt on her face, there and gone, when he told her no.

“The edges should be closed, but part of the wound needs to stay open. And clean. There’s a SmartMed program that will—”

“No droids,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” the Healer nodded without pause. “Guess that explains why you don’t have a MedPod on board. Your hand will take a few weeks to heal fully. Another option…if you wanted me to—”

He already knew the other option. But he did not want to feel Thulani inside his head. The Mandalorian could work through the pain for a few weeks.

Thulani didn’t push back and intuited his discomfort. She was mindful of wearing gloves and used one of Nito’s worktables to minimize any contact between them. Mando was relieved she didn’t try to hold onto his hand. The last person who had held his hand was his mother—running for lives amidst a hail of blaster fire. He wasn’t certain he could repress that memory if she touched him again.

There’s much he admired about Thulani’s skill, but it was threatening. In a myriad of ways. She could probably kill him with the brush of her finger, yet that wasn’t what he found most unsettling. He disliked navigating this confusing space the Healer occupied within his Creed.

It was forbidden for any dar’manda—anyone outside the Tribe—to know his identity. What if she saw a memory of someone using his name? Like the memory of his father pulling a splinter from Mando’s palm after working alongside him in the garden. What if she saw a memory that captured his reflection in the mirror hanging in his grandmother’s bedroom…or the surface of the river that ran behind his family’s home, where he skipped rocks with the other children?

If Thulani were a Mandalorian healer, she would safeguard his identity. Like priests and armorers, healers held a sacred caste within Mandalorian society. They were revered. The skill of a healer could be the difference between a long career or a debilitating injury. In the days before the Purge, a warrior like himself would travel to the Temple, bend his knees and worship her, begging to fight another day—if she deemed him worthy.

But the Temple had been destroyed. And Thulani was not Mandalorian.

Still…she accepted his Creed without question. Unlike every other dar’manda in his life, she did not joke about the helmet or ask him to remove it. In his wildest dreams, he could see her accepted amongst his people. If Thulani were a Mandalorian healer with the power that she wielded...

Another thought he banished. It did him no good to dwell on dreams.

Thulani had not used her powers to heal him. But, there was no need to correct Nito.

“She’s also really helpful to have around. Super smart. Funny. Nice to me,” the Ardennian compiled his list of criteria. “Plus, she’s a veteran, so, you know, she’s already used to being shot at.”

“She told you that?” Mando asked in surprise.

“Yeah, it’s called friendly conversation. Amazing trick, boss, you ask people stuff you want to know, and then they tell you.” This kid could pull the most condescending looks. Mando definitely was not this much of a little shit at thirteen. “I just asked how she became a healer.”

“You didn’t tell me she was a Rebel.”

“I’m not gonna report back to you on everything she says,” Nito’s eyebrows shot upward meaningfully. “If you like her, Mando, you have to put in the effort.”

“I do not like—” he snorted and then, shook his head. “That’s not—I like her just fine.”

Nito raised his brows so high they became indistinguishable from the rest of his shaggy blue forehead.

“Enough!” The Mandalorian growled. “If she’s so smart, what makes you think she wants to fly with us?”

Us? Dammit, now the kid had him saying it, too.

Nito was irritating, but a good investment. Regardless of what happened with the Child, Mando wanted to keep him on board. And he might be more inclined to stay with Thulani on the ship. And it might be best for the Child to keep her around.

But that meant there were now three people he had to provide for…taking up space on his ship and in his life. He’d been working alone for too long—since before the Purge. Mando should be more careful to keep them at a distance. All of them. The Mandalorian had only one allegiance, and that was to his Tribe on Nevarro. If they were on Nevarro. He could only guess where to find them now.

The kid didn’t seem to recognize the significance of what Mando had said—that us. “Honestly? I don’t think she’s got anywhere else to go.”

Mando suspected as much but didn’t understand why. Thulani was immensely powerful. How did she end up working for a criminal cartel in the Expanse when she could be living it up in luxury on a Core planet?

She might have asked the same about him—an elite bounty hunter leaving the Guild to crisscross the galaxy picking up odd jobs. By now she must have realized the Child was being hunted. And yet she hadn’t asked. At some point, without realizing it, they had formed some unspoken agreement to withold the past and only look forward.

“Got it!” Nito cheered triumphantly, projecting his scan of the building.

With the guard posted outside the front door and two on the roof, there were three more on the ground floor, one on the second floor, and two on the third. Eight guards plus the target in the house.

“Now what?” the kid asked expectantly.

“Now we wait.”

----------------

Despite his usually awkward movements—that adorably shuffling walk!—the kid is surprisingly coordinated, and you quickly progress from cartwheels to handstands.

Unfortunately, the black sediment forming the tidal flats beneath the village are not ideal for sand castles. But do yield another fun activity. The shocked look on the baby’s face when you’d buried your hand wrist-deep into the sand, feigning panic, only to pull out a wriggling razor clam in your fist, was priceless. He giggled, gasped, and cooed no matter how many times you repeated the performance. Soon, he recognized the tale-tell pockets of air on the surface of the beach and courageously stuck his little talons deep into the tunnels, searching. It was a great bit of fun until the baby was nearly strangled around the neck, pulling a clam out by its siphon.

Seriously, this kid is alarmingly accident-prone.

But soooooooo fucking cute! Gotta respect that evolutionary adaptation. Cuteness helps infants to survive by eliciting caregiving. You make no attempt to fight the instinct—just hold him in your lap a safe distance away as you watch the clams burrow back into the shore.

You’d love to hold onto a few for dinner, but whatever fuel the villagers used to power the generator was spent, and the hot, humid air made you leery about keeping fresh shellfish. By evening, the tide will have surged back into the cove, allowing the clams to dig deeper into their beds to avoid getting swept out to sea.

Beside you, the baby grunts, “Unngh! Unngh!” pointing in the direction of an approaching creature, slinking toward the scurrying clams on the beach. It crept slowly, its soft, fluffy belly hovering above the sand. Its features were familiar—like either a very small wolf or quite a large weasel with a spotted downy coat in brilliant reds and oranges.

“Unngh!” the Child waved emphatically.

“Yes! Like the cat from the videos.” You smile down at him. The creature’s careful movements were identical to a Loth cat stalking its prey—pointed ears pressed flat against its furry cheeks, tufted tail swishing.

“Hey, kitty!”

The weasel-cat’s ears perk up. You toss one of the clams closer, and it chirps at you before snatching the shell between its jaws. In your lap, the kid jumps up and down excitedly.

Tearing at the clam, the creature sprawls on the sand a few feet away. It’s cautious but boldly curious for a wild animal. Maybe it’s someone’s pet that had been abandoned when the villagers escaped. The whole place was eerie, with overturned chairs and half-eaten meals left to rot on the tables. Whatever happened, they fled immediately.

After scarfing down the first clam, the creature approaches and chirps more insistently. At first, you toss a few right in front of it…then progressively closer to where you’re sitting. But it’s too warry to eat from your hand.

Too bad Mando isn’t here, you catch yourself thinking. He’s good with animals. Maybe it’s his quiet confidence. Perhaps that’s why you find him so attractive. As someone plagued with anxiety and self-doubt, using charm to cover up your neurosis, his unwavering assurance is captivating.

Hmmm, makes sense. Just a scared weasel-cat caught in the thrall of a more dominant animal.

At midday, the tide comes in fast. Fortunately, the kid follows you around like a little shadow and doesn't mind being hoisted onto your shoulders to escape the rising water.

After a simple packed meal with your feet dangling off the pier as the waves surge back into the cove, you find the tidiest looking house to take shelter. There’s a canned jar of fruit in the pantry that you open, replacing it with a few credits from your pockets. It’s syrupy and delicious.

“Okay kiddo,” you say in all seriousness. “I know things are rough and tumble on the Razor Crest, but in my family naptime was sacred. What do you say we give those hammocks on the porch a go.”

The first one you try collapses under your weight, the fabric tearing with a comically loud rrrrrrip that has you and the kid rolling around in fits of hysterical laughter. Eventually you find one in good enough shape to climb into with the baby curled up in the crook of your arm. You’re not a great singer by any stretch of the imagination but you warble out a few tunes. The kid vocalizes over the melody—humming and gurgling in rhythm.

Before long, your silly chorus draws the weasel-cat’s attention, those curious ears pointing in your direction from the beach.

“A fox!” you shout in sudden epiphany, nearly tossing the Child from your hammock. “Sorry…but, I’ve just realized…it’s a fox. We have them on—”

Was there really any harm in telling the kid where you’re from? It’s not like he’s going to report back to the Mandalorian. Yet any lapse in your disguise was dangerous. If you were truly vigilant, you’d make no mention of home—to anyone. Oh, fuck vigilance! You want to remember.

“On Hapes, we have foxes that live in the forest. The trees come all the way out to the beach, so I must have seen them eating clams before.” Your father used to tell bedtime stories about foxes. Einahid’s Fables always had lots of animals learning important lessons.

“Let’s see…” you mumble, situating the baby comfortably between your arms. “Once there was a fox and a cat who were great friends.”

“Uuuwwaa,” the baby gurgles meaningfully, ears upturned.

“Yes, a fox and a cat! They would meet in the meadow to search for berries and mushrooms together. The fox and the cat both prided themselves on being very clever creatures but they wanted to determine who was the cleverest. ‘How do you tell a good mushroom from a bad one?’ the cat asked. They both knew all the same tricks. All day, they went back and forth: ‘How do you know when the snow will melt?’, ‘How do you know when the berries are ripe?’ Until the fox asked, ‘‘How do you outsmart a hunter?’ Fox boasted about the many tricks they might use to escape, but the cat confessed to having only one, so the fox declared themselves the clever one. When suddenly!” You gasp dramatically and grab the Child around the middle until he giggles. “A hunter arrives in the meadow! Quickly, the cat runs up a tree, but the fox—so overwhelmed by all the tricks they might use to escape freezes on the spot…”

Right! In this fable, the fox is captured by the hunter and skinned for their beautiful coat. The lesson is obvious: it’s better to have a simple plan you know how to put into action than a thousand clever plans floating around in your head. But why must the consequences in these stories be so dire? And how much of your anxiety is attributable to hearing these tales as a child?

You look down to stare into the Child’s soft brown eyes. “Since they were such good friends, the cat showed the fox a path of branches they could use to climb up the tree. And they both escaped the hunter.”

Now, it's a lesson about the power of friendship and solidarity. A lesson for you? You’d been so determined to leave, but maybe, instead, you should draw strength from these new friends. Maybe you should stay. If the Mandalorian wanted you to stay…

The baby blinks twice, his eyes heavy-lidded. Yawning, he stretches his fingers and talons wide. The kid rests his fuzzy green head against your chest and drifts off to sleep.

-------------

By the time his glittering party of companions arrived from the brothel, there were twelve guards posted on Grosk Zatarus.

Mando awoke suddenly. The sky outside the shop windows was inky black. Nito stood over him, shaking his arm gently. “They’re here.” The Mandalorian nodded once and stood, rolling his shoulders, the humid air of the lagoon surrounding him. It felt warm in his lungs. He was sweating beneath the Beskar armor.

“Are you all right?” Nito asked tentatively, but apparently, Mando’s silence was answer enough. “Yeah, okay, you’re great,” the kid said dimly and hurried up a ladder onto the roof.

They crawled over the clay tiles on their knees, keeping out of sight. The canal waters below looked mercurial in the bright moonlight. Mando reached for his rifle tucked under the stone ledge lining the rooftop. After sighting the house through his scope, the bounty hunter activated the comms-line in his helmet—while Nito equipped himself with the most elaborate headset the Mandalorian had ever seen.

“We’re in position,” Mando said cooly.

“Same,” Kosar replied.

With the microphone propped under his chin and the datapad clutched between his hands, the Ardennian looked ready to lead an armada into battle.

“Okay, I’ve got the tracker online.” Nito’s voice sounded like he might truly be coordinating a military offensive. “Looks like the signal is coming from the second floor, next to the southside stairwell. First room on the left.”

“Told ya this would work.” Kosar jeers. “These bitches’ll do anything once you’ve got them in line.”

“Keep the comms clear,” Mando barked. He’d picked up Nito from a scrap yard in Coronet City, so he had no doubt the kid had heard far worse. But that was no excuse to indulge Kosar’s vulgar barbarism.

“Sure thing,” smug laughter crackled through the helmet’s speakers. “You take out the guys on the roof. I’ll go through the front. Watch the alley. Anyone escapes, and every mercenary daddy’s hired will converge on us.”

“I know the drill.”

The Mandalorian turned his attention to Nito and held up three fingers. “On my count.”

The kid nodded solemnly, holding his hand poised above the datapad.

“Three.”

Mando settled into a lunge, resting his elbow over his raised knee, and lifted the rifle into position.

“Two.”

He exhaled, placing his finger on the trigger, lining up the Brite Boy watching the canal-side into his crosshairs.

“Now.”

Next to him, he heard the shallow thud of Nito’s thumb pressing against the touchscreen—before a blinding flash of light obscured his vision.

“Farrik!” Nito gasped, fingers furiously typing commands into the datapad as a distant alarm started sounding. Mando blinked away the searing halo of white light behind his eyelids. When it finally cleared, he saw the guards on the roof scrambling as every perimeter blast door and window slid into place.

“I don’t know what happened,” Nito blanched. “Comms and power are down, but—”

“You triggered the fuckin’ safeguards,” Kosar snarled into his earpiece. “Cover me. I’m going in.”

A cloud of smoke—a burst of sparks—and a clattering shower of chrome is all that remained of the first guard after the Mandalorian’s disintegration round hit them in the groin. Mando slid the next cartridge into the breech, taking down the second guard posted on the roof. The third shouted in horror at the piles of armor and charred flesh before jumping over the side, hoping to plunge into the canal. He missed, landing with a sickening crunch onto the boardwalk.

“Charges laid. I need cover!”

Kosar detonated the thermal charges, blowing a crater into the front gate. There was a glint of prismatic color from a window on the third floor. Its blast shield hadn't been activated. The Mandalorian hit a Brite Boy, trying to catch sight of the explosion with a bolt from his rifle. And another who charged at Kosar coming through an opening in the blast door. That left six inside. With the front entrance now the only way in or out.

Thermal detonators in a residential neighborhood? The nighttime streets were empty, but not for long. “You better make this quick,” Mando muttered over the comms-line.

“H-he’s still on the second floor. The target is on the second floor.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t spare the kid a glance, so he just shouted. “Go back to the ship, Nito.”

“I can help!”

“I’m inside,” Kosar called over the comm-line. The sounds of blaster fire and screaming battered against his helmet, echoing in his eardrums.

“There’s two—no, three—heading for the front gate.”

But he didn’t need Nito to tell him that. The sensors in his helmet picked up the approaching heat signatures through the warped metal and decimated stone. At the first wink of chrome, he fired. Then—shit! The next figure who slid into his scope was a Zeltron woman, her shimmering dress torn, the makeup on her face smeared from sobbing. This Brite Boy had an arm wrapped around her waist, carrying her like a shield as she twisted and writhed in his grip.

Mando couldn’t get a clean shot.

The bounty hunter was no longer beholden to the Guild’s Code, but he couldn’t bring himself to fire the rifle. With the comms-network down, the mercenary couldn’t call for help. But if he made it past the range of Nito’s jammer…?

The Mandalorian watched through his scope. Waiting. The Zeltron fought, kicking wildly, but the Brite Boy dragged her through the street until, finally, he shoved her to the ground and fled down a narrow alley between the houses. Mando rained down blaster fire but only clipped the limestone.

The buildings were all so close together…

With the press of a few buttons, the Seeker in his helmet activated and locked onto the escaping Brite Boy, sprinting through the maze of buildings and waterways.

“Back to the ship, Nito!” Mando shouted before he tossed the rifle aside. The Mandalorian took a running leap and threw himself over the canal.

--------------

To be continued...

Part 3 - Coming Soon!

#din djarin smut #mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #star wars smut #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mandalorian oc #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando smut

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 1 month ago

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Sentences For WIPs Game

I was tagged by @ulchabhangorm (thanks lovely! 🩷) to participate in this little game where the idea is to make a 24-hour poll including every WIP you want to work on, and have people vote for one of those WIPs. Then once voting has concluded, you write one sentence for every vote of the WIP that received the most votes.

Thing is: I have so many WIPs that I hope to write within the year (if I can!!) that I'm going to offer as many as the poll will allow, AND, I'll "cheat" a tiny bit and write a sentence for ALL of the WIPs that get a vote. ;)

No Pressure Tags: @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @returnofthepineapple @dragonrider9905 + @lonewolflupe @the-bad-batch-baroness @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @eternal-transcience

I'll put what's cooking under the cut so anyone who's interested can get a taste of what's to come, only if you're so inclined~ Those marked as request fics will have the details purposely sparse or vague to keep a bit of the surprise alive.

Lost on Life Day: *Request fic. Combination of bad weather and a "small" natural disaster leads to a bit of Huddling Together For Survival between a certain cobalt blue captain and the trusted friend he's harboring feelings for. Because he's put her in danger, Rex thinks it might be best to let a certain loth-cat out of the bag... (Oh, and he should probably mention that it happens to be Life Day, too.)

Cyber Crush: *Request fic. While doing a bit of the ol' “slightly questionable research”, Wrecker and the reader “meet” each other over the galaxy-wide-web, where Wrecker answers a few… concerning questions. Worried he’s accidentally helped a Seppie, he asks Tech to run a thorough background check and finds out that the reader isn’t a Seppie at all. She’s just a writer!

Stuck in the Stacks: *Request fic. Modern AU, where the reader and Wolffe live in the same, small mountain town that is no stranger to the odd bout of bad weather. They've been passively flirting for so long, but never seem to make much progress... When a truly bad storm rolls in the first time Wolffe comes to pay her a visit at her job—hoping to check out a few books for a "little project" he's working on [C'mon, it's Carol's request fic, of course I'll give this reader a fitting job!]—it forces them to stay after-hours. Alone. ;)

No Foxes In This Hole: Longform story I started 10/10 of last year, series link here. Reader's new to Coruscant after seeking a big life change, and boy is she gonna find one. The crimson commander will too, for that matter!

Seaglass in the Surf: Hiding out on a remote, backwater planet, Din Djarin makes the acquaintance of a woman who frequently makes trips to the shoreline just to scour through the sand for something. He offers to help, thinking she's looking for something she lost. Turns out she's looking for things that others have lost, for a rather different reason than the one Din initially suspects.

Your Body Remembers: Experimental fic without a single line of dialogue where you as a local living in hardship on an Imperial-controlled planet find a little more than just hope in the man who, at first, will tell you nothing more than he's a Mandalorian is the only person who has answered your desperate plea for help.

Yellow Blankets, Yellow Blades: Reader makes their favorite Jedi fugitive something rather special to keep in the room he's always been offered whenever he needs a place to lay low from the Empire. While the item brings up many memories that are perhaps a little too bittersweet, Cal, who hasn't seen a lot of genuine kindness like yours since the start of the Purge, can't believe how lucky he is that you went through all that trouble, just for him.

Like Family: Star Wars AU. Feral asked you a very important question recently, and he's been riding on Cloud 9 ever since! Trouble is... he's having difficulties finding the right time to tell his brothers the happy news. The way you and him go about letting the loth-cat out of the bag together isn't exactly what you had planned, but hey; you're still warmly welcomed once they know you're officially going to be part of the family!

Hunting the Nexu: An absolute mess in the outline stages right now, HtN is a TBB AU that covers events from both season 2 and 3 between Crosshair and a mysterious hired gun that agreed to help his brothers and sister with rescuing him from Mount Tantiss and the Empire.

Glory In Gold: Hired to teach Cody Mando'a under false pretenses for an Imperial mission, it isn't long before it's revealed to you the real reason you're here once, sometimes twice a week, on the Empire's dime, is personal. But it's not long after that that the reason changes again. To something more... intimate.

Loving A Lazarus Species: You've been mourning Tech's death for close to a year. Maybe more. The denial that this death is real runs deep; chasing down the ghosts of ghosts when it comes to rumors your love still lives. Lucky for you, the brown-eyed, bespectacled man proves you have no need for the morally murky research you've turned to in your desperation: proving he's harder to kill than initially believed... [We're doing a Tech Lives AU!!]

Dressed to the Ninety-Nines: You and the bandana-wearing sergeant have to feign being on a date for a "special assignment". Hunter effectively proves that he sure cleans up well and behaves like a perfect gentleman, the whole nine. But is there really a "special assignment", or is this all part of some elaborate bet?

#dashboard games #wip game #sentences for wips #captain rex x reader #wrecker x reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander fox x reader #mando x reader #cal kestis x reader #feral opress x reader #crosshair x oc #commander cody x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb hunter x reader

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doodlebethel · 1 year ago

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Hello! I love your Loth cat designs! And wanted to make my own since Disney hasn’t renewed its loth/Tooka cat products and are sold out (Plus I like your designs waaaay better). My biggest issue is figuring out how to made the head of your cute Loth cats 😅 I’m not on and unable to get onto Instagram could you post the story on how you designed it on here or give me some tips on how to make one? -thank you so much :)

Also, I’m designing the pattern of this one after a cheetah, I also love how you did the striped tail so I’m going to do that with black and white longer fur at the end. (I’ll need to trim it some though.) but any tips you could give would be much appreciated! 😄

Hi there! Thank you for reaching out, I will post roughly how I made the heads. However it's all the same techniques of making an art doll. There are great youtube tutorials out there which I watched to learn how to make my loth cats.

Long Post! Also heads up, they look really creepy until you put fur on them!

I used a styrofoam base for the head to keep it really light, loth cats have huge heads so it's important to keep the head light on the doll so it doesn't fall on it's face right away. Craft stores usually sell half spheres that I carved down to more of an oval shape to start.

I bought resin eyes on etsy and glued them on with hot glue. There are so many color options so have fun with them! I then used foam clay to add more shape to the face and make the eyes more natural looking. You can also probably use paper mache or another light air drying clay. But again keep the weight in mind.

I never worry about adding too many details as it will all be covered by faux fur, but having those shapes helps it look more realistic.

Next you enter what I call the creepy monkey phase. I usually paint the face a natural skin tone or the color of the fur so you can't see any gray.

I then attach the head to the body fur using glue. Next I cover the face in masking tape and draw the fur patterns I want onto it. This is a common fursuit head making technique. I recommend looking that up for more details on how to do that, but the photo below shows the steps I did.

*Note! Pay attention to the fur direction, on my tape pattern you can see the arrows showing which way the fur lays, use real animals as reference.

I then glued it on the face using fabric glue or hot glue. The more you cover at this point the less you have to flock later.

Once you have most of the face covered, you can cover any little gaps using a flocking technique. Basically laying down a layer of glue and then taking very short hairs of faux fur and pressing it into the glue. Again there are some great youtube tutorials on how to do it if you google "flocking art doll".

Below is my first loth cat showing how weird it looks. Trust the process! It will look silly and kinda bad right until the end.

Trim up any extra hairs that get in the way of the face, and next comes my favorite part, making them look like loth cats and not nightmare creatures!

I use sharpie fabric markers for the blacks and go around the eyes and mouth. This give them instant personality. You can also use some paints to add extra markings and color.

For the tail. I don't have any photos of the tail specifically, but here is the pieces of the pattern for the blue cat. The tail is basically just a rounded tube!

Good luck with your build! I would love to see the final project!

#loth cat doll #tutorial #sorta #tooka cat #art doll #ask

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illuminatedquill · 1 year ago

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Sabine Wren x Ezra Bridger

Murley and Me

Story Summary: During a dark and stormy night on Lothal, Sabine finally tells Ezra the story of how she met her beloved loth-cat, Murley.

Rain and wind spattered unceasingly against the watchtower's windows but the old structure still held firm after all these years; it had survived the worst of the Empire - a mere thunderstorm, no matter how powerful, would not cause it to topple.

Sabine sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the living room table, enjoying the particularly cozy feeling of being safe inside shelter while a storm raged outside.

It's a feeling as universal as the Force, she mused. Must be.

On the ledge of a nearby window sill, Murley - her loth-cat - perched silently and watched the rain and flashes of lightning with avid interest. Sabine smiled fondly.

There was a gentle thunk on the table and she felt the warm, loving presence of her husband, Ezra Bridger, join her on the couch. She looked over to the table and found the familiar sight of his holo-recording from so many years ago laying there.

"Whoa," she said, eyes widening. "Where'd you find that? Thought I'd lost it."

"Dug it out of a drawer. Let's see if it still plays - aha." Ezra pushed the power button and, sure enough, the recording came to life. It was a surreal sight for Sabine to watch the current, older Ezra watch his younger self on the message.

He gazed at the recording, a soft smile appearing on his face. "You were watching this a lot, huh," he said without looking at her.

Sabine felt her cheeks grow hot. "What makes you say that?" she asked, trying to play it cool.

"You're mouthing the words along with the recording. You've got the whole message memorized, I bet."

Embarrassed, Sabine just let out a scoff and turned her face away to hide the full-on blush. "Only watched it if I needed something to laugh at."

"Hmmm, nice to know it was good for something at least," Ezra replied. He sighed and leaned back into the couch, wrapping an arm around her. "I leave you alone for a couple years and you were busy swooning over a younger man the whole time."

Sabine let out a laugh. "Well," she admitted, "he was pretty cute."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Cute? That's it? That's all it takes to get your attention?"

She elbowed him. "Watch it."

Ezra chuckled, rubbing his side. Sabine grinned at him, before leaning deeper into his embrace.

They sat like that for a few moments, listening to the thunderstorm rage outside. Murley, hearing the commotion, decided to join them at the couch; Sabine heard the mewling and looked down to see the loth-cat looking curiously up at them.

"Hey, buddy," she said. "Want to join in the cuddle?"

Murley cocked his head at her, eyes bright. His tail wagged eagerly.

"Alright, then." She reached over to the table, grabbing his favorite pillow and then placed it on her lap.

Sabine patted the pillow. "You can come up now."

The loth-cat bounded up to the couch and kneaded at the pillow before curling up on Sabine's lap. She gave him some affectionate scratches on his tummy, as way of thanks. "Good boy, Murley," she cooed.

Murley purred his gratitude in reply.

Ezra watched them both with a warm smile. "You know," he said, "I just realized you never told me how you met Murley."

Sabine's hand froze for a second, hovering just above Murley's exposed stomach for another round of scratches.

Outside, thunder rumbled.

"Oh, yeah," she said, a little too casually. "It's not a big deal."

One of the problems with having a Jedi husband, however, was that you were never completely alone.

Ezra raised an eyebrow and said, wryly, "I caught that."

Sabine grimaced. Sometimes she missed having her thoughts and feelings to herself.

"Look," she admitted, "it's not an . . . easy story to tell. I'm not - I don't want you to know."

"Why?"

Sabine looked her husband straight in the eye. "Because I'm ashamed."

"About meeting Murley? Or something else?"

Sabine replied, hesitantly, "Murley . . . saved my life."

Ezra frowned. She could feel his worry wrapping around her in the Force, probing at the edges of her mind - but he stayed quiet.

"Saved your life from . . . who?" asked Ezra.

Sabine kept her focus on the sleeping loth-cat when she replied, "From myself."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I will respect that," said Ezra after a while.

Sabine took a deep breath and kept petting a sleeping Murley on her lap, thinking.

After a long moment of listening to the rain falling outside, she said, slowly, "Maybe it's time."

She felt Ezra's gaze but continued to focus on the loth-cat on her lap.

"Sabine. If you're not sure - "

She snorted. "I'm never sure. But we're married now. No sense in keeping secrets."

Sabine leaned back into her husband's embrace, letting his love and sincerity and devotion flow in, filling the dark cracks opening around the edges of her memory.

One of the benefits of having a Jedi husband, she thought contentedly, was that you were never completely alone.

"Ready when you are," said Ezra. "Otherwise, I'm about to join Murley and fall asleep over here."

She reached down and pinched his leg.

"Ow."

Sabine smiled and began to speak.

"Before Ahsoka came to me with the map to Peridea, I was searching all over the galaxy for leads; leads on the purrgils, leads on Thrawn, leads on you. Anything I could find."

"There were whole months that went by without anything popping up. And I just . . . stayed here. Waiting. I didn't leave the watchtower unless there was another lead that came up worth investigating. I just . . . holed up in here. Absent from everything else."

Sabine closed her eyes, remembering the mounting desperation she felt with each passing day; the frustration that threatened to boil over when her attempts at finding clues to Ezra's whereabouts ultimately lead to nowhere.

And she remembered how empty the watchtower was whenever she came back. How the hole inside her widened more with each day of Ezra's absence with the realization that he was still not there.

She took a deep breath and continued. "All that mattered was finding you. Nothing else. I didn't eat much or sleep or . . . I wasn't really much of a person during those years."

Even through the Force, Sabine couldn't gauge Ezra's reaction. Something dark began coalesce beneath the currents of worry and reassuring love, but she couldn't get a proper feel for it.

She plowed on. "It was such a waste of time and credits, in hindsight. None of the leads panned out. Some of them were traps, actually; word had begun to spread among the seedier types in the galaxy that a Mandalorian was venturing out by her lonesome and they saw an opportunity to score a lucrative payday if they took my beskar armor."

Finally, Ezra stirred. "Were you ever hurt?"

Sabine gave her husband a cross look. "Ezra."

He snorted. "Right. What was I thinking?" His face turned serious for a moment, his eyes probing. "Others were hurt, though."

Sabine grimaced. "Yeah . . . I tried to minimize the damage, but the pirates started getting more determined with each encounter. Innocents started getting in the cross-fire. I had to stop leaving Lothal after a while, permanently."

"Where does Murley come into this?"

The loth-cat in question snuffled in his sleep; Sabine resumed petting him. "Every time I returned from these trips, this mangy loth-cat was waiting for me inside the watchtower."

Ezra raised an eye-brow. "He got in? How?"

Sabine shrugged. "Not a clue. I kept checking and re-checking every possible way he could get in and making sure it was air-tight. Murley kept finding a way in."

Murley popped open a curious eye at the mention of his name. She blew a kiss at him.

"Smart loth-cat," mused Ezra.

"Annoying, too," muttered Sabine. "He always brought in something with him: sticks, bits of machinery that I didn't recognize, random credit chips, some clothes - even one time, a dead womp rat."

"A womp rat?" Ezra's voice was incredulous. "I don't think those are native on Lothal."

She shook her head. "I have no idea where he was getting all this stuff. Or why this weird loth-cat kept appearing in my home and giving me this stuff."

Ezra looked thoughtful for a second and then said, quietly, "I think he was trying to take care of you, Sabine."

She looked at him, startled. "Take care of me?"

"Loth-cats are inquisitve creatures, you know. Smart and observant. He was bringing things he thought you needed. Random machine parts since you're always tinkering away on something; credit chips, he'd probably seen people in the capital using those to buy stuff; clothes, being an obvious point; even the dead womp rat, for food."

"And the sticks?"

Gently, Ezra reached over and petted Murley on the head. "I think he wanted to play."

Sabine stared down at the loth-cat in her lap, feeling dumb-struck. "I should have been nicer to him."

"Did you give him the boot every time he showed up?"

"No - I fed him, but I never let him stay." All those years he kept showing up . . . the guilt surged deep inside her. "I'm such an idiot. I was so mean."

Ezra gripped her hand. "You were barely taking care of yourself. Murley would have been an added strain," he said, carefully.

"Maybe," Sabine replied, uncertainly.

"And it all worked out for the best. He's here now, right?"

Sabine took a deep breath, re-asserting control over her surging emotions. "Right."

"So," Ezra said. "What's this deep, dark memory of you and Murley?"

Sabine leaned back and was quiet for a long couple moments. Ezra just watched her.

Finally she said, "I mentioned before how the leads were starting to get dangerous."

"Yes."

"The last one - it turned really ugly. I stopped leaving Lothal after that. Some minor Outer Rim wannabe crime lord named Huxley. Lured me into his bar and then sicced some salvaged commando battle droids from the Clone Wars on me and the customers inside."

Ezra winced. Sabine closed her eyes, the flashes of blaster-fire and screaming still easily remembered from that terrible battle.

"I tried to save who I could."

"How many?"

Her voice was bitter, as she replied, "Not enough."

"I took out all the droids and - and I made my way to Huxley. The moment the battle turned he fled to some hideaway safe room inside his bar. Triple lined reinforced blast doors and walls that could withstand a direct bombing from an Imperial Star Destroyer."

She smiled grimly. "But they weren't lightsaber proof. So, I started cutting my way to him. Took a solid ten minutes with how thick those doors were, but I made it through."

"I got inside. He was there, on his knees; begging for his miserable life."

Sabine could still see the face of Huxley; how the green light from her blade had cast a sickly pallor over the crime lord's face, shiny with tears and sweat. She could remember the quiet, deadly hum of the blade; how cool the metal felt in her grip.

The cold, deadly feeling rising like smoke in her heart. Choking her inhibitions, making her want to lash out at this pathetic excuse of a person.

"Did you kill him?" asked Ezra, quietly.

"No," said Sabine. "I couldn't. I don't know what stopped me."

She thought for a moment and then corrected herself. "No, wait - I know what it was. It was your lightsaber. I remembered Ahsoka's teachings that a Jedi's lightsaber was only raised in defense, as a last resort."

"And . . . it was your lightsaber. At least, I thought of it as being your lightsaber still. You gave it to me. I knew how much that meant - and the responsibility that came with it. I didn't want to - I mean, I knew you wouldn't want it used that way."

"So you left?" asked Ezra.

"I told Huxley that I didn't want to see his ugly mug ever again or I'd finish what I started and then I helped the customers caught in the crossfire to the best of my ability. And then, yeah, I left."

In her lap, Murley stretched with a massive yawn, and then sat upright. Sabine patted his head for a moment before continuing.

"Getting home was the bad part. The battle - all those leads coming to nothing. And people were getting hurt. And you were still missing but I knew that I had to stop poking around - " She stopped, choking on the rest. With a grim resignation, Sabine pushed forward with the rest of it.

"I had to stop, Ezra. That was it, the end of it," she finished. Even now, the echoes of hopelessness and raw, red rage were still felt all these years later. How it poisoned her.

"I was so tired. I was so angry; I felt like something was going to rip out of my chest if I didn't do something. I got back to the watchtower and I just . . . snapped. I wrecked everything."

Sabine looked at her hands, not realizing they had become clenched into fists. "I didn't stop until my hands were bleeding. I don't remember when it happened; I don't even remembering feeling the pain."

Ezra said, quietly, "And then?"

"I exhausted myself. Sat down on a chair that I hadn't broken and just . . . I was just there. Feeling miserable. Feeling tired. Feeling beaten."

Sabine swallowed hard. "Feeling low."

"I looked over and saw one of my blasters on the floor nearby. Next thing I know, I picked it up. And I was just . . . thinking. Staring at the blaster in my hand and thinking in the same vicious circles."

Her face was scrunched up, trying to get the words out.

"You were going to use it," said Ezra.

"Maybe. Yes. I don't know," confessed Sabine. "Never found out because next thing I know, I heard your voice."

"My voice?" asked Ezra, surprised.

"Yeah." She pointed at his old recording. "Coming from that."

Murley mewled and she returned to petting him again. "This loth-cat had snuck in again and turned it on. And . . . it woke me up. I realized what I was about to do."

Even now, she felt the wave of horrible realization and disgust at herself like a shock of ice cold water. How close she'd come to ending it.

"I dropped the blaster and just listened to your recording again. Wasn't the words that did it, just hearing you speak . . . it reminded me of what I was supposed to do. I had to find you; bring you home."

Sabine looked fondly at her loth-cat. "And Murley was the one who gave me that reminder. When I needed it the most. After that night, I kept him."

"Proddings of the Force, maybe," suggested Ezra.

"Maybe," agreed Sabine. "It's stupid but . . . for a while, I wanted to believe that you sent Murley. To keep me company."

"I'm not that talented in the Force," replied Ezra, wryly.

They sat there, together, for a few quiet moments and then - like an enormous weight lifting, Sabine realized that was it.

She had told her story to Ezra. The one she was most ashamed about.

"Huh," she said. "That was easier than I thought."

"Talking honestly with your husband? Yeah, I'd imagine so," said Ezra. "You probably should do it more often."

Sabine snorted and turned to give her husband a sarcastic remark -

Only to see Ezra crying.

She reached out and cupped his face, alarmed. "Ezra, what's wrong?"

"I asked too much of you," he said, quietly. "It almost killed you."

And then she finally recognized the dark emotion swirling behind his usual love and concern - it was guilt.

Ezra blamed himself for what she suffered during those long years apart. Sabine's heart twisted in grief.

"No," she replied, firmly. "Ezra, listen to me. It was not a burden, do you understand?" She was crying too, now. But she didn't stop the tears.

"I would have always gone looking for you. It was my own problems and failings that made it harder than it should have been."

He nodded. "I'm sorry - this isn't about me. You're the one who was hurting," he said. "I just can't help feel responsible for what happened."

"You weren't," she responded. "You were my purpose. Am I clear?"

Ezra nodded again and took a moment to compose himself. "Are you feeling better now? Are you in less pain?" he asked.

Sabine let out a genuine laugh, despite the tears. "I found you. You came home. We beat Thrawn. We fell in love. We're married."

She pulled him close and placed a warm kiss on his lips. "I'd say, yes, Ezra Bridger. I am much happier now."

"Nice to know that our marriage is in your top five," observed Ezra with a small smile.

"Well, it was exciting to see another galaxy," conceded Sabine. "If we got married on Peridea, maybe it would have spiced things up for me."

Ezra snorted and pulled his wife in for another kiss. "If you want to spice things up, then all you need to do is ask, my dear."

The next morning, Sabine woke in the early hours. The storm had passed and a new day was dawning on Lothal.

She found Murley sitting in his usual spot by the window, waiting for the sunrise. He purred as she approached.

"I never said it before, but I'll say it now," Sabine whispered to the loth-cat. "Thank you for saving my life, Murley."

Murley looked back at her with bright eyes. She gave him a tender kiss on the forehead. "Don't tell Ezra, but you're still my favorite."

The sun broke over the horizon, casting the interior in a warm, golden glow. Sabine sat on the window sill next to Murley and they watched the sunrise, together.

#sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #ezrabine #star wars #ahsoka show #ahsoka #murley #loth cat #sabezra fanfiction #sabezra fanfic #star wars fanfiction #natasha liu bordizzo

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lxstfathier · 1 year ago

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Here it is! finally some threesome thots with Master!Luke for all of you (inspired in this other thot) enjoy!! 💗

Ok, this is probably one of the nastiest things i’ve ever written, it’s pornhub worthy fr. So please, don’t read it if you don’t like gross porn 🤓✨

At first, he tries to be responsible and stop all the flirtatious attempts that you, and the other padawan, do to him. But, at the end of the day, he is a man with needs who is tired of using his hand every night, so why would he deny a little bit of fun with two pretty girls??

If you two want him, you can have him. As simple as that.

So every time that the three of you are in the mood for it, you end up in his room, with him leaning into the wall as he watches you make out with the other girl. Cause he really enjoys a little show, specially when you undress and start scissoring to rub your clits together, that gets him rock hard.

If Luke wants a blowjob, he makes sure to have both of you in your knees, drooling all over his cock at the same time. You swirl your tongue around his tip, and the other girl licks his base and plays with his balls.

Maybe he cums on your faces, or maybe he saves that for later.

Depending on his taste for the day, he will lay on the bed and have one of you ride his cock and the other ride his face, or he has the two of you on all fours, with your asses up and faces into the mattress, fucking one of you while fingering the other… or maybe he pounds you while the other girl rides your face, smearing her slick all over your mouth and nose.

Luke also loves cumming inside, only if he’s sure that you’re both on some form of birth control. And, if he’s feeling specially nasty, he makes you lick his cum off each others pussies, and then kiss him after, or probably he tells you to scissor again until his thick cum makes a creamy mess between your legs.

However, fucking with Luke always leads to a long long night, and you both know it. Cuz he is never satisfied with just one round, he can go multiple ones, only stopping when both of his girls end up dumb and trembling.

And once the fun is over, he lets you sleep with him, one on each side snuggling close to his chest, like a pair of little loth-cats <3

#am i into girls?? idk maybe??#luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker smut #star wars smut

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jedimandalorian · 1 year ago

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Ahsoka- Notes on Episode 2 and Kiner’s musical score made by a Sabezra shipper. (You’ve been warned.)

Ahsoka hears voices. She seems to be hearing Sabine’s dream. Sabine is dreaming of Ezra once again. A fragmented rendition of Ezra’s theme can be heard very briefly along with the voices in the dream, but the music is mostly mysterious and unrelated to any other character’s theme.

Baylan & Shin at the stone circle. The end of this track reminds me of purrgil song. I didn’t see them until someone pointed them out in this screenshot.

Lothal tower. Ahsoka hears voices from the past (Sabine vs. Shin fight). Ahsoka’s theme (fragment). Flute plays during loth-cat’s appearance.

Ahsoka inside the tower scene: Music from the Clone Wars is heard. [Edit: It’s from Rebels.] A quiet quotation of Ezra’s Theme is played by the cello when his hologram is activated. Ahsoka destroys assassin droid.

Hospital scene with Sabine trying to recover the droid’s memory. “It’s now or never” is a line that Sabine says that was spoken by both Ezra and Sabine in Rebels. Hera’s Theme can be heard when she tells Sabine “You did good.”

Morgan arrives at the stone circle. Morgan opens the star map for Baylan & Shin. Mostly new musical material here. Thrawn’s theme is heard when Morgan mentions him. There is purrgil imagery in this scene and the first mention of the Eye of Sion. Sinister and mysterious music is used here with a big crescendo to end the scene.

Ahsoka arrives on Corellia. Incidental music here does not use familiar themes until Hera asks Ahsoka to teach Sabine again. The music here is based on Ahsoka’s Theme until Hera asks that question.

Sabine & Huyang and the lightsaber. Sabine says it is “Ezra’s lightsaber.” Huyang says it is hers now. No music during most of the conversation. Sabine says she does not have the talent “like Ezra.” We finally hear Sabine’s Theme when Huyang says “The only time you are wasting is your own.”

Hera & Ahsoka on Corellia. Incidental music doesn’t make use of familiar themes until we hear the first three notes of Ahsoka’s Theme when she leaps out of the window. Fight with Inquisitor and droid. Hera & Chopper in pursuit of stolen SSD hyperdrive. Action sequences have new incidental music.

Sabine returns to the tower. Sabine’s Theme is heard as she lays out her armor. After she cuts her hair the first two notes of Ezra’s Theme crescendo as the scene changes.

Hera, Chopper, & Ahsoka on Corellia. Ahsoka gets a holo from Sabine saying that she’s ready. This is new incidental music until Hera’s theme is heard as she watches Ahsoka’s ship leaving at the end of the scene.

Sabine at the mural. This is new music until Sabine walks toward Ahsoka. A subtle rendition of Ezra’s theme is heard here. From NLB’s acting and the music we know she’s going on this quest because of Ezra. ❤️

Ahsoka & Sabine depart. Segue to the Eye of Sion under construction. Morgan mentions Thrawn and his theme is quoted briefly under her dialogue. The other music used is new.

End credits music: Intro, Sabine’s Theme, Ahsoka’s Theme, Hera’s Theme, and a reprise of Ahsoka’s Theme.

When they find Ezra and Thrawn I hope we hear more of their themes used with the end credits. I loved how Kiner sometimes changed the end credits Music for Rebels to fit with the mood of the episode. I hope he will do that in this series too.

Bonus: a new arrangement of the End Titles Music.

#sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars #ahsoka series #sabezra #ahsoka tano #star wars rebels #ezrabine #hera syndulla #kevin kiner #chopper #morgan elsbeth #baylan skoll #shin hati #thrawn

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kalevalakryze · 1 year ago

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Mar'e'yi'manda

A quiet night under the stars on Lothal, Shin's laying in the grass next to Sabine, "What does it feel like?" They ask, risking a glance over to the other woman in the silver light of the moons.

"what does what feel like?" Sabine hums, fingers twiddling where they're clasped over her stomach.

"To be you?" There's something vulnerable there, something that tells Sabine not to look at them, so she focuses her golden eyes into the reflection of the light that reminds her of Shin so much.

"Everything sings," Her hand raises, open towards the night sky, a gentle breeze skirting past open fingers as her other hand drops from her stomach and to the grass, caking mud under her nails when she sinks the tips of her fingers into the dirt, to the still rain-damp layers below the surface.

"Sings? They question, and Sabine can hear them rustling in the grass, rolling onto their side so they can look across the foot of empty space separating them.

"Music is in everything, y'know?" The Artist shrugged, letting her risen hand finally drop back to the ground to twist grass up between her fingers.

"The wind in the grass, the ships coming out and going in, the life in the cities, the life we can't even see, all of it; and thats just who I am."

"I am the wind echoing across stone and I'm the sun melting away shadows, and sometimes I'm the color and the world is just waiting on me to paint it; I spent too long living in monochrome prisons to be anything but this.. this life,"

"Maybe that's sappy," Sabine huffed out with a tired smile, moving her dirt streaked hands back over her stomach, clasping them together once more, as if physically holding herself in and against the earth beneath them.

"To a Mandalorian, everything is handled in song- The Manda is everything we are; past, present, and future. It's this collective of all of our brothers and sisters, the songs of the lives they've lived. I can't be me without mentioning them, and the songs they wove into this life-"

Offering a sheepish smile, Sabine dares a look back at Shin. Their gaze is cast towards the moons in thought, their gloveless fingers twirling the padawan braid in a self stimulating movement, the ball of their gemstone sliding between the lightsaber calloused pads of her fingertips.

They seemed to be deep in thought, so Sabine let her words fade into the calming silence. From the tower, she could faintly hear Ezra, fumbling as he tried to navigate their home in its new state, with the most naggy occupant in the form of a territorial Loth-cat.

When peace and good company had finally begun to lull Sabine into a near sleep-like tranquility, accent thick in thoughtful words. "The force is like that too," They were contemplative, head held up in one hand, while the other traced a line of smell pebbles hidden in the grass.

"Singing?"

"Ah... Perhaps," Shin's nose crinkled. "I do not hear the music you are referring to, but-" The wolf sat up, legs crossing beneath them and hands dropping to the dirt caught in her greaves. "I can hear the stories." When Sabine's gaze flickered back to them, she found the pebbles, suspended in the air above their palms.

"Not the echoes in the force, more..." A slow exhale, the furrowing of their brows, and a tingle of anxiety as it melted into the cosmos around them. "Your music, your manda; that is the force, for me... My Master taught that everything was the will of The Force, like the Jedi; that we are conduits of the force and executors of its will... and the force has to have wants based on experience, right?"

A smile flickered on Sabine's lips as she watched the pebbles raise higher, the stars reflecting in their eyes as they followed the bottommost stone. Even after everything, Shin never did get talking much; Sabine learned long ago to take every moment their passion and drive for understanding was allowed to surface.

"The Force is written by the lives of all, these stones were once boulders, and in the Force, their pieces can be found; they never stop Being. They will always have a story, even when we cannot see them anymore."

"Funny, Jedi and Mandalorians have a long history of fighting over things like this, when they're so similar," Sabine shook her head as she finally sat up, brushing grass out of her hair.

The pitter-patter of soft paws in the grass tickled her ears, though before Sabine's head could turn, Nix was already making his way to clamber into Shin's open lap. "Little beast," They greeted with a sigh, allowing their pebbles to drop into their hands, setting them down back into the dirt where they had been found.

"I always had a hard time understanding the 'Force is life' thing; But I get it, I think;"

"There is no true way to get it. However you interpret it, so long as you are acknowledging the life it has and the impact you have on it all, that's what it is." Silence fell over the two women again, Sabine allowed her body to lean, shoulder drifting until she was pressing against the smooth leather of the jacket she would never hope to get back. "Thanks for that; I think sometimes, I need the reminder of how big it all is, and how we're all significant despite the size of it."

"Well, you cannot punch it, paint it, or blow it up, so I doubt you would have understood it alone, Mandalorian,"

"Why you little-!" Sabine shoved into Shin, sending Nix hissing and darting off into the tall grass as the wolf and the moon rolled in the grass.

"Hey guys! The Noti are hungry and I think I set your kitchen on fire!" Ezra called, squinting at the plume of smoke from the upstairs door wafting into the night sky.

"Little brothers," Sabine shook her head as she came to a stop, pinned into the dirt with a near smiling wolf.

"Jedi," Shin agreed, rolling their weight off and offering a hand up to the purple haired woman; Force, Manda, whatever it was, both would be rich with the songs and the stories of Ezra Bridger, the Jedi who ignited a bowl of ice-cream.

#wolfwren #wrenwolf #sabine wren #shin hati #shin x sabine #sabine x shin #Sabine Wren x Shin hati #ezra bridger #I got a little soft #a little lost in thought #a little something #i'm soft #ficlet #star wars #drabble #no angst #Mandalorian

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kill-the-feels · 2 years ago

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Aliit

a/n: hey y’all! Here’s the final part — the epilogue to Jango’s story!! Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with this from day one. All your comments and likes and reblogs truly make my heart happy. Enjoy!! <3 (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~2.5k

warnings: none! Just lots and lots of fluff and implied spicy content and reference to past injuries (very mild/vague)

Building a house takes a surprisingly short amount of time. It isn’t big; just large enough for the four of you to comfortably inhabit. You make short trips to the nearby settlements, bartering for odds and ends that make the house more comfortable, slowly but surely putting down roots by the sea.

You and Jango lay in bed, the sun slanting through the curtains, the shushing of the ocean drifting in through the open windows, the breeze bringing the scent of salt and earth.

The two of you have been awake for the past few minutes, both of you too lazy to get up out of bed.

The giggling outside your door gets louder. Jango reaches over and snags your pillow out from under your head, stuffing it over his face.

“Sounds like we’re about to have guests,” he mutters.

“Hey!” you protest quietly, right before the door pops open and Boba and Jate enter softly. Boba has something behind his back, something living, judging by the way Jate keeps reaching up to help him hold it.

Unceremoniously, he dumps a loth-cat on the bed, the poor creature freezing in fear, torn between running over you or trying to sneak past Boba.

“Boba,” you say, jumping back, taking half the covers with you. The cat hisses, its ears flattening against its head.

“Can we keep it?” he whispers, mistakenly thinking Jango — who hasn’t moved — is still fast asleep.

“Can you- no! It’s a living creature. You’re not keeping it.” He and Jate give you twin pouts, Jate reaching to pet the cat. To your surprise, it purrs and curls into a ball at her touch, settling. Boba looks pleased.

“You just told us we needed to find something to do. About how we should do something productive with our time. Buir, getting a pet will give us that.” it’s hard to argue when he throws your own word back at you. You look between the both of them. Jango is no help, but you can feel the way his side twitches slightly in laughter.

Fine. You’ll show him.

“You promise you’ll take care of it? Promise that I am not going to be the one cleaning up after it?” Both of them nod vigorously. You bite your lip, the only way you can contain your laugh.

“Okay. We can keep the cat.” Boba cheers quietly, snatching the poor creature back up, and the three of them are gone in a rush of giggles, the door swinging shut behind them.

“They get it from you, y’know,” Jango says under the pillow, and you snatch it off his head. He retaliates by reclaiming his share of the covers.

He’s laying on his back, eyes still closed, mouth tilted up in an easy smile.

“Get what?” you poke his ribs gently and he jerks away with a grunt, eyes finally opening. A recent discovery? Jango is ticklish.

“Taking in strays.” You raise an eyebrow. It’s rich coming from him. Jango, who specifically asked for a son, instead of credits, who plucked you up because he couldn’t leave you, who Jate currently has wrapped around her little finger.

As if he wasn’t the one to go over how to clean and shoot a blaster with Jate over and over, until she could do it nearly as well as him, or he wasn’t the one to find a needle and thread to stitch up a tear in Ai-Ai’s tail after the two of them went to bed, or he wasn’t the one to sit in the field for an extra hour, pretending to fix the equipment as he posed for Boba and Jate to draw him, instead of finishing tilling the ground like he wanted to.

But you’re the pushover.

“Please,” you say, poking him again. This time he catches your hand, holding it to his chest, over his heart. With a huff, he rolls over, pinning you to the bed underneath him. You grunt, trying to shove him off, and in response, his hand falls to your side, tickling.

You snort out a laugh, head falling back into a patch of sunlight.

“You know that damn cat is going to become a hassle,” he says, easing up a little, so he can slip his legs in between yours.

“You didn’t see their faces. They clearly- oh!” The last part of your speech is cut off when Jango shifts forward purposely, pressing up against you in the best way.

“Clearly what?” he whispers, not taking mercy on you. You clear your throat, intent on giving as good as you get.

“Clearly were excited for it.” You tighten your grip on his waist with your hips, pushing him over, so you’re on top. He lets you, hand coming to a rest on your hip.

Now, some months past that fateful day, he’s almost completely healed.

His lungs still give him problems sometimes, coughing fits that double him over, leaving you feeling helpless as you cradle him and stroke his back, coaxing him through it.

The scar on his neck has faded, the jagged edges pink. And if his missing hand bothers him, he never says, and he more than makes up for his loss, sometimes more competent than you with both hands.

“You just couldn’t say no to their faces,” he says, stealing a kiss before you can refute his argument.

“Neither could you,” you murmur. “Which is why you put the pillow on your head.”

He tightens his grip around you, pulling the two of you into a sitting position, so you’re sprawled across his lap.

You can feel him press against your center and you bite your lip, trying not to moan as his lips move to a spot just beneath your ear, pressing a final kiss there before moving to your lips.

It starts out lazy, and impossibly, achingly gentle as he simply presses his lips to yours, the two of you just enjoying the contact. But you want more and you’re hungry for it, so you twist your hips, grinding against him, eliciting a perfect, choked groan against your mouth. And then you’re kissing him deeply, practically licking into his mouth as your hands hold the side of his face.

He pulls away from the kiss just slightly, and you bite his bottom lip as he goes, thighs clenching just slightly at the way his own grip tightens on you. His hand, which has wandered all over your body, tightens over your ass and then your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

You can’t quite contain the breathy moan when your chest makes contact with his, and you feel more than hear the low growl he makes in response. Your breaths are coming out as pants now, and with every gasp, your increasingly sensitive nipples brush against the fabric of your shirt and his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dragging his mouth away from yours. Laughter echoes in through the window, followed by a loud meow.

“Got-gotta get up,” he murmurs, even as he pulls you in for another kiss. “Got stuff to do.” You roll against him.

“Just stay,” you say. “It’ll keep.” He kisses down your neck.

“Mhm. Maybe. But it’s important. Remember?” You do, actually. Have been looking forward to it for almost a week now.

Today, you and Jango are making it official. Even though technically, you’ve been together for years, today, he’s really giving you his name.

It takes your breath away.

“Later,” he promises you, giving you one more searing kiss before he stands. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you laying in the bed, eyes drinking up the way the patches of sunlight highlight your body, before he finally forces himself out the door to get ready for the day.

You follow soon after, finding Jate and Boba playing with the cat under the kitchen table.

Jate still doesn’t talk, but none of you mind. After all, Jango himself can go through phases where he uses little words, and you and Boba are perfectly fine being the only two talkers — it’s what you’re used to, after all. The four of you have come up with signs and motions that allow you all to understand each other without words anyways.

She’s signing at Boba right now, fingers flying furiously as she argues over something he’s said about the cat.

“We’re arguing over a name,” Boba fills you in. “I want to name it something cool like Killer, and she wants to name it something boring, like Seafoam.” You hide your laugh by turning to the cabinets, setting about making something to eat for everyone. Days of overly bland Kaminoan foods are long behind you, and if you never have to taste a ration bar again, it’ll be too soon. ~~~ The house you’ve built is surrounded by fields of crops Jango has been steadily tending to with the help of you, Boba, and Jate.

“Fett,” he confessed one night under a full moon, “means farmer.” It’s something that his ancestors were quite proud of. Now, he uses it to make a living, instead of bounty hunting. Some of the crops are kept for your own food, the others bartered away at the nearby settlements for other necessities.

It’s such a change from your time on Kamino, the unhurried way in which Jango moves, the very air charged with something different, but in a good way. It’s here you’ve learned that while Jango was very good at bounty hunting, it was never his true passion. Rather, just a way to survive.

The Slave I remains parked up behind the house, at the border to the forest where you, Boba, and Jate go sometimes to forage and see what trinkets you can find.

Jango keeps it ready to fly, just in case, but you know his hope is to not need it for years to come. There’s a pounding coming from behind the house, the clanging of durasteel on durasteel. Jango’s been working on something back there for a few weeks now, but you’ve been put under strict orders not to come investigate. Boba and Jate are in on it, all of them sharing little smiles when you ask if you can know the secret yet. ~~~ There’s another Mando’a word Jango taught you the night before, after Boba and Jate were put to bed. The two of you stayed up, staring at the stars. It’s one of your favorite pastimes now, without Kaminoan clouds to hinder you.

“That one looks like a helmet,” Jango’d said, as the two of you tried to make shapes out of them.

“There’s four all in a row,” you’d replied, curving back into his chest while his arms tightened around you.

“An aliit,” Jango said.

Aliit. Clan or family, he explained. A group of people sworn to protect each other.

Today, the four of you are becoming Aliit Fett.

As the sun sinks in late-afternoon, you step outside, the breeze brushing over your skin, a welcome reprieve from the sunny day. It’s nothing like Tatooine here, with the hot, dry air, or Kamino, with the constant dampness and cold.

It’s the perfect middle, a hidden oasis in the midst of a chaotic galaxy.

Jango is waiting down by the ocean, high enough to avoid the tide, with Boba and Jate, one on each side. The loth-cat darts past Boba, and you hear him shout, “Seafoam!” telling you who won that argument. He’s wearing his armor, minus the helmet, as is tradition. The hole’s long since been patched, the piece heated and molded until you can no longer see where it once was.

You take a step towards him, closing the distance.

Ten feet. Seven. Five. Two.

He extends his hand towards you, drawing you into his arms. Your palms land on his chest, the armor warm from the sun, seemingly alive in its own way beneath you.

“Hi,” you say, and he doesn’t even try to stop the small smile that tilts up the corner of his lips, the secret look in his eyes, the one he reserves for you alone. In the setting sun, this close, you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the few freckles on his nose.

“Hi,” he responds.

Mandalorians, he explained the night before, don’t have marriages in the traditional sense. Instead, they promise to become one, two sides of the same blade, preparing for the future.

He told you the words, in the Mando’a language, and now, as he says them, they flow off his lips in a way you know you can never replicate.

“Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome. Mhi me'dinui an. Mhi ba'juri verde,” Jango says. He pauses after each phrase, and on the last one, his voice cracks a little. Boba watches solemnly, and you don’t miss the way he swipes a tear away before Jate takes his hand. You clear your throat, determined to get through this without crying.

“We are one when together,” you say, speaking in Basic, too overcome with emotion to try and translate in your mind.

“We are one when parted.” Jango tightens his hold on you when you say this, pressing his forehead against yours. Another part of his culture, something he never quite told you how meaningful it was until the night before, when he was explaining all this.

“We will share all.” An easy promise to make.

”We will raise warriors." This part. Your voice is a whisper when you say it. Realistically, you know that one day, the galaxy will intrude. Everything outside your little moon is in turmoil now. You and Jango are careful to keep the extent of it away from Boba and Jate — wanting them to be children for as long as they can — but one day.

Even if you don’t like it, one day, the galaxy will pull them away, because the two of you are raising the two of them to be protectors. Leaders. Warriors. It would go against everything if you forced them to stay, to avoid the fight. But for now. Here. This moment.

It is enough.

Jango smooths a thumb over your cheek, wiping away the moisture.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something. A ring, you realize, made out of part of his armor. It’s the same blue as the painted portions, smoothed and shaped until it fits your finger perfectly. There isn’t enough of his armor to make you a set, something he lamented over the night before, but you couldn’t care less in that moment.

This is a piece of him, a physical part to carry with you no matter where you go.

“Cyare,” he says softly. Beloved. It echoes, over and over in your mind, and you realize, he means so much more than just you.

It’s everything. It’s Boba and Jate and the home, and yes, you.

All of it. For was long as you have it.

Enough. Cherished.

Beloved.

Your aliit.

#Jango fett x reader #jango fett x you #reader insert #fluff #epilogue #this was like tooth rotting to write and i dithered over it being too sappy but then said screw it #Bc they deserve some fluff after all they’ve been through #Thanks for reading!! <3

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literallyjustanerd · 2 years ago

Text

Scenes From The Caf Hall

So I had a lot of ideas for fun clone shenanigans but none substantial enough for full fics, so I put them into a sort of montage of moments I like to believe have gone down in the GAR caf at mealtimes. No consistency in timeline, just some harmless clone fun. Enjoy!

Note: one of these scenes references there being an abundance of Chancellor Palpatine biopics in the Star Wars universe. I saw someone mention that that would be funny in a text post once but try as I might I cannot find who that was. If you know what I'm talking about please let met know so I can credit them for the inspiration!

“I’m not kriffing drinking it, Fives. I won’t do it.” Fives lets out a low, pained groan as he drops his tray on one of the benches, head lolling back in a heavy circle over his shoulders. “Then don’t,” he says, for at least the third time. Echo pays him no mind. He may as well be speaking to himself. “Why would they change it? The one good thing I could count on every day, but no, let’s take that away, too. Kriffing Republic budget cuts. Kriffing quartermasters…” Hardcase is already grinning when he joins the two, watching in amusement as Echo’s rant fades to a low, sharp muttering. “What is it this time?” he asks, sounding almost excited. Echo is too busy stabbing at his salad like he wants to draw blood to answer.

“They changed out the brand of tea in the stores,” Fives says, head propped up on his fist. A hand slapped across Hardcase’s chestplate accentuates his feigned shock. “Not your precious Tarine!” he gasps. “What would they ever replace that with?” Oblivious or uncaring of Hardcase’s mocking tone, Echo’s fury is reignited. “Generic brand.” He spits the words like poison and scowls at the taste they leave in his mouth. Like they’re profanity. Which is ironic given how he continues; “I’ll be karked nine ways into the void before those shabuire make me drink the osik’la generic brand.” “Nobody’s making you drink it, Echo,” Fives reminds him, though by now he’s resigned, fully aware that he is little more than background noise. Echo growls at his tray. A couple of nearby shinies speed their steps to hustle past their table.

“Personally, I could never taste the difference,” Jesse pipes up. He’s so unfazed by the scene that nobody had even noticed him sit down. Fives sighs. That was not the right response. “The difference is night and day!” Echo blurts, voice surely close to reaching the upper limits of pitch. “They’re making us drink dirt water!” “Not making you,” Fives mumbles. “We lay down our lives for their war every day and this is how they repay us?” “Bit dramatic.” “We work our shebse off and you’re telling me I can’t even get a decent brew after an eighteen hour shift?” Fives pauses, tilts his head. “Yeah, no, okay. That’s fair.” At last, Echo acknowledges his presence in the form of a single, righteous nod.

Across the table, Hardcase flashes that look like a child about to poke a sleeping loth cat. “Why not just drink caf instead?” Echo falls deadly silent, eyes narrowed to a slit. His response is whip-fast. “Why don’t I just shoot you right here?”

***

“Telling you, things got wild that night. Don’t remember most of it, of course, but man, it was fun.” Waxer’s pride swells at the awed gazes across the table. His new 212th vod’ike, the gold on their armour barely dry, eyes wide with awe and demanding to know more of their superiors’ exploits. It’s like a drug, the wonder and admiration, and by now the 212th veterans know the best way to get it. Battle stories were great for gaining respect, sure, but if you wanted to really wow your rookies, stories of shore leave misadventures were far more effective.

“We woke up the next morning in a motel room on the lower levels,” Boil recounts with a grin. “No clue how we got there.” “What about the twi’leks?” one shiny demands, on the edge of his seat. “The ones from 79’s, what happened to them?” Waxer and Boil share a smirk, and Waxer delivers the kicker. “No idea,” he chuckles. “But they each left one of their numbers written on our vambraces.” “I really oughta call him sometime,” Boil muses. “See if they’re free again for this New Years’.” “She really was something else,” Waxer affirms. The shinies have gone silent before them, smiles wiped clean and suddenly sitting bolt upright. It takes the lieutenants a painfully long moment to realise why.

“Sorry to interrupt, troopers,” Cody says from behind the pair, sending bolts of ice through their veins, “but this wouldn’t happen to be last New Year’s you were talking about, would it?” Waxer and Boil both fall over themselves, mumbling sheepishly in the affirmative. “Interesting…” Cody hums. “Because I seem to remember things taking place differently.” “O-oh, is that… Is that right, Commander?” Waxer sputters, and tries immediately to move the conversation on. Cody doesn’t let it. “That’s right. As I recall, the two of you had to be carried out of 79’s well before New Year struck, and sent back to the barracks in a cab, drunk off your sorry faces.” Boil swallows audibly. He too is cut off when he tries to speak. “Can’t remember which one of you it was who was crying at the time, though.” His face is trained, his smile thoroughly measured, though his amusement is still glaringly clear. “Strange how our memories play up, isn’t it?”

He leaves it at that, and turns to walk away. One of the shinies, evidently a bold one, pipes up from the table, much to the horror of his batchmates. “Commander,” he calls, and Cody pauses in his step, turns back to face them. “How would you know what happened that night, unless… unless you were at 79’s, too?” After a moment’s pause, Cody merely flashes a grin. He turns to walk away, throwing one last comment over his shoulder: “Welcome to the 212th, boys.”

***

It’s been on Jesse’s mind for a while, but only now does he get the chance to bring it up. “There are three pieces of cake on your tray,” he says. Kix doesn’t look up from his work, datapad in one hand and sandwich in the other. He looks tired, but then, Kix always looks tired. “Very observant, vod. Good job.” “You got out of night shift last week.” “Mhmm.” “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on fresher duty.” “Okay?”

Jesse rolls his eyes, peeling the lid off his preserved jogan fruit. As if to illustrate his intended point, another trooper passes by their table and surreptitiously slides a pack of biscuits across to Kix like it’s a drug deal. When Jesse’s raised eyebrow gets no response, he clears his throat pointedly. Kix finally stops tapping away at his pad. “Why does everyone keep giving you their stuff?” Jesse demands. He doesn’t like the responding smirk that passes across Kix’s face. “Why do you think?” he asks, amusement tinging the edges of his words. Jesse sighs, lacking the energy to play this game. “Would I be asking if I knew?”

The look Kix gives is weary, bemused. He drags a hand over his eyes and takes a short, sharp breath, then begins. “Being a medic sucks.” “…Uh-huh?” “Long hours, always on call, the datawork never ends. People expect me to heal three-inch stab wounds in three minutes.” Jesse’s brow furrows, hoping there’s a point to this beyond his brother’s bitching “I’m… sorry?” “But as much of a pain in the gett’se as it is,” he says, finishing the sentence around a mouthful of cake, “being in charge of keeping all you di’kute alive it has its upsides.” Jesse can only roll his eyes. “Quit being so mysterious and get to the point.” Kix sighs sharply. “Jesse, I haven’t paid for a drink in over two years.” But the dots remain unconnected, Jesse’s expression still perplexed.

Begrudgingly, Kix sets the datapad down on the table and adjusts so he’s fully facing Jesse. He scrolls back on the pad through a plethora of files until he finds one. Jesse suddenly feels like a cadet again, called into his sergeant’s office. “0742 hours. Morning after last year’s Festival of Stars. You presented to medbay. Do you remember what for?” Kix needn’t have asked the question: a searing flush has already flooded Jesse’s skin, one that draws a sadistic grin from his vod. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen it a hundred times before and since. Never in that place, though...” Jesse’s head is in his hands as Kix continues. “Didn’t know how you’d managed it at first. Course, you told me the whole story. Spotchka and pain meds are great at loosening tight lips.”

“You kept that on file?” Jesse says in a strangled whisper. Kix shrugs, unfazed. “I’m required by Republic protocol to keep a record of all assessments and procedures carried out.” Jesse’s eyes fall to the extra cakes on Kix’s tray. Kix’s smile grows, tapping his datapad proudly. “And I carry out a lot of procedures.” Jesse curses under his breath, eyes wide in the dawning realisation. “How much dirt do you have on us?” he breathes, caught somewhere between awe and abject horror. Leaning his elbows on the table, Kix raises an eyebrow and grins.

“All of it, vod. You boys are animals,” he chuckles. “The things I’ve seen…” “You mean like—” “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse.” “What about—” “Worse.” “You don’t mean—” Kix leans further forward over the table, tilting his head down at Jesse. “Worse.”

Jesse swallows, leans back in his seat and acquiesces to Kix’s warning look. As much he itches to dig further, he knows Kix is probably doing him a favour by keeping the details obscured. “So. There you go. Maybe I get out of fresher duty. But with what I see on a daily basis, I think I’m within my rights to a few gratuities in exchange for my discretion about certain topics,” he says. “Like someone’s very inventive use of contraband fireworks…?” An uncomfortable silence falls between them, dragging on until Kix finally breaks it, eyeing Jesse’s tray. “Say, that jogan fruit looks—” Jesse’s handing it over before Kix has finished the sentence.

***

“Eight times in the last week he’s lost it. Three in one day, once. One of these days I’m going to weld that blasted saber to his hand.” Rex is slumped in his seat, shaking his head at the table. His brothers all murmur their commiserations around him, in various states of consciousness. Beside him, Cody jolts upright after almost falling face-first into his mug of caf for the fourth time. Ponds puts down the spoon he’s been using to mindlessly stir his porridge for the last ten minutes straight. “Least your general lets you have fun. General Windu makes us do weapons inventory and maintenance in every single minute of free time,” he grouses. Rex huffs. “I wish General Skywalker would order us to do weapons maintenance. I’m the only reason anything gets done in the 501st.” He gets a few affirming moans, half-hearted complaints about their own generals neglecting the more unglamorous responsibilities of commanding a battalion.

“You all have it easy.” It’s Fox who throws in next, hauling himself up from where he had been splayed across Wolffe’s back. He waves away the answering protests with a lazy hand. “Didn’t you go to the theatre last night?” Bly retorts. The disdain in his voice gives away his expression, which remains unseen; he’s on his back on the floor beside the table. The jab gives Fox a sudden burst of vindictive energy. “I did, Bly. I did go to the theatre last night. And do you know what I saw?” he says. “I saw another kriffing biopic on Chancellor kriffing Palpatine’s noble and heroic rise to power.” He spears a fillet of grey meat on his tray. “If I have to sit through another minute of some actor the Chancellor wishes he looked like making an empowered speech about the sacrifices he’s made for his people, you’ll all see me at the tribunal when I’m court marshalled and decommissioned.” The others say nothing, dredging up little more than sympathetic winces or groans. A few note that Fox’s hair seems just a little greyer than it did the last time they met up.

“General Kenobi jumped off a cliff on our last assignment on Onderon,” Cody offers a short time later to break the silence. He’s barely lucid enough to mumble the words. Nobody is at all surprised by the report. After a long draw from his caf, Cody continues, seeming bored by his own words. “Found him at the bottom totally unharmed and petting a bogwing. Asked him how he knew it would be there and let him ride it down, and do you know what he said?” The vode raise their weary voices to join him in chorus for the answer: “He didn’t know it would be there.”

Silence again. Someone snores, though it’s impossible to tell who and nobody can be bothered to try. Those awake enough to think straight mourn the state of the evening so far. It was a small miracle that this many of them were all in the one place to begin with. They’d planned for drinks at 79’s after dinner. And maybe they’d still rally and somehow make it out there. Maybe, with enough caf and the GAR’s famous resolve. But for now, they’re a sorry sight to behold. Soundly and thoroughly defeated. “Why does General Yoda talk like that...?” It’s Gree, his voice a pained whimper, muffled against the table. The question is directed at nobody. “Nothing he says makes any sense. He doesn’t need to talk like that.” Bly’s hand appears from below to pat his vod’s shoulder. With a shaking breath, Gree asks it again, barely a child’s pitiful sob: “Why does he talk like that?”

A little more moaning later, they seem to come to the consensus that their Jetiise (and Chancellor) were just confounding and infuriating by nature, and that they were tragically and inescapably doomed to a life dealing with their bantha shit. “They’re hopeless,” Ponds sighs. “Ridiculous,” Bly agrees. “Children,” Rex laments. “Maniacs,” Cody says, with finality in his tone. A voice rumbles from across the table – the first time that night Wolffe had made it known that he was awake at all. “What did you say?” Rex yawns. Wolffe raises his head. “I said, speak for your kriffing selves.”

***

The table in the corner of the caf hall may as well have a reserved sign on it. It does, in a way: Wrecker carved a crude ‘99’ into one of the benches months ago. The regs tend to steer clear, although on days like these, Echo can’t really blame them. He hears it before he sees it, the first signs of an argument beginning to escalate. “Get out of my face before I blast yours off,” Crosshair snarls. Echo almost turns and walks away. But someone will need to be around to pick up the pieces if this all goes sideways. He steps through the remaining crowd to find his place at the end of the table. Opposite him, Crosshair is hunched over like a wolf with its hackles up. Tech is beside him, one finger poised delicately approximately an eighth of a centimeter from Crosshair’s shoulder.

“I will,” he says, “the moment you explain why you are so put out when I, clearly, am not actually touching you.” The plastic fork in Crosshair’s hand snaps. “How long?” Echo asks with a heavy sigh. Hunter, eyes occupied sharpening his knife, replies, “Going on fifteen minutes.” “Think there’s a point?” Hunter shrugs, slots his knife back into its sheath. His eyes flick from Tech to Crosshair, to Wrecker, who is watching the stalemate with rapt attention like it’s a nail-biting bolo-ball match. “Supposedly it’s a study on patience and stress levels,” he says. “But he hasn’t done it with anyone else. You know, Cross did trash his goggles last week.” Echo nods vaguely, sipping his tea and watching the rest of the exchange play out with distant disinterest. It would be imperceptible to the regs passing by, but Echo catches the slant in Tech’s tone, the tiny quirk in his eye. He’s enjoying this.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” “I don’t know what you mean. I’m still not touching you.” “Knock it the hell off, or you’ll wake up tomorrow to all your datapads melting in the kriffing furnace.” “I'm not touching you, though.” “This isn’t a joke. I—” “Not touching you.” “Hunter!” Crosshair hisses, shifting away yet again. He’s crammed onto the last three inches of the bench now, but Tech advances quickly to narrow the gap. Hunter cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, no. I’m not getting anywhere near this one.” “Some Sergeant you are.”

Echo tries to tune it out and enjoy his stew, as the threats grow increasingly crass and Wrecker eagerly demands the two get on with it and fight already. How they could lose themselves so shamelessly in such childish antics he does not know. He turns his gaze to the rest of the caf, the grid of tables packed with troopers he’d rather be sitting at. Though as he watches, he soon spots a table in the opposite corner of the hall; two shinies are locked in a fierce arm wrestling match, vode around them whooping and jeering. A few troopers at another table take turns lobbing berries in the air and trying to catch them in their mouths. More than one table has a perilous game of five finger fillet going. He looks back to Tech and Crosshair, inching towards all-out war, and lets his thoughts wander back to his old squad. Nights spent in this very same caf, breathless with laughter as Domino squad tried to one-up each other with outlandish dares. Lobbing wadded-up napkins into their commanders’ drinks. Sneaking behind the serving counters to steal extra desserts. Echo himself had definitely had his moments, dropping ice cubes down the back of Fives’ blacks when he wasn’t looking.

Across the table, Crosshair is reaching the end of his rope. “Are you all just going to sit there and watch?” he seethes. Echo feels a wry grin pulling at his lip. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says glibly. “He’s not even touching you.”

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