#platonic feels

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Damage Control

A/N: So the Star Wars fandom is pretty shaken up after the events of Wednesday. I couldn’t let this slide by without a mention. I’m sad that his cameo was overshadowed by my utter devastation. When I saw him I woke up from my stupor and I screamed, as soon as he opened his mouth I dissolved into tears because his voice holds so much comfort for me. I adore the Ghost crew and Zeb is a huge favourite of mine.

Warnings: None really. Big feelings. Platonic relationships, just some very self indulgent comfort that I felt I needed from our favourite Lasat.

Word Count: 2.3k+

“Go!” You screamed. Your fingers gripped onto his flight suit as you dragged him along. Mud suckered at your legs as you slipped through, your boots sliding and your entire body was screaming from the effort.

“Leave me!” His voice was right there in your helmet, his choked breath chased up with a hacking cough as blaster shots still rained all around.

“No.” You carried on. Your muscles were popping, your legs were trying to give out but sheer determination kept you upright.

“Commander, please…” your eyes closed. You knew really, this was futile. His injuries were too severe, if you could just get him on the ship you could say you tried. A shot whizzed past your shoulder but you didn’t even duck. Taking one slow step at a time. “I’m not gonna make it…” he became even heavier and you grunted. Refusing to let him go. If you held on, kept your fingers in the bright orange of his suit, you could keep him tethered here with you.

“Stay with me, Major. Major?” You could see your ship through the trees. The fighting was less centred around you, shouts echoed and explosions sounded but you kept going. “We’re going to go back to Yavin 4 and have a nice glass of spotchka. Or five,” you joked. Tears leaked from your eyes, splintering the light and you blinked, feeling them filter from your lashes to streak down your face. “And then we’re going to give everyone a funny recount of this mission because it covers the horror,” you whispered.

Your face screwed up and your steps faltered. You could feel it without even turning round. He was gone. His life, taken far too soon and desolation threatened to sweep out your legs. “I don’t want to leave you!” You moaned, tipping your head back as you fought the rising sorrow.

“Commander! Commander, where are you??” A voice sounded through your com and you scrabbled to answer it.

“Blue 4, I’m…”

“I can’t shake em! No one else is in the sky I—.” The transmission cut off and that’s when you noticed the silence. Only your own breath curled inside your helmet. The sound of your tired heartbeat in your chest and you realised everything was lost.

“Can anyone read me?” Static was the only response on any channel and that’s when you let him go. Falling to your knees in the mud, the body of your best friend laying unmoving behind you. You’d heard his last breath, you’d been his last interaction and it weighed deeply inside you, threatening to bring you down to those inky depths that everyone else had fallen into.

A soft beep sounded nearby and it took all your effort to look up. Your astromech was hiding in the flora, photoreceptor trained on you as she quivered under the leaves.

“CB-23.” She encouraged you on, a patrol was coming and you had to leave. You were the only one left.

How you made it back into your cockpit you’ll never know. Your entire body was caked in mud and numb, it seeped from that empty spot in your chest like a disease, twisting around you and tightening its grip with every parsec.

By the time you broke out above Yavin 4 you were raging. The numbness had been temporary, leading the way to something so white hot and painful you couldn’t control it.

As soon as your canopy opened you threw your helmet, hearing it clatter and split against the duracrete. You shoved the engineers out of your way, refusing to apologise, not acknowledging where you were going until you came upon your room.

A room you had shared with your best friend.

It looked exactly the same as it did days ago. His extra flight suit was hung up on the bunk, old boots lopsided on the floor. The room smelled familiar, a combination of his soap and your washing powder that reminded you of home.

The longer you looked, the more you saw of him and the hotter your anger became. The scream you birthed stripped pieces of you away, ripping mercilessly from your chest until all your muscles locked and you thought your heart was going to explode.

You were like a whirlwind, anything you could touch you destroyed. Tossing anything and everything, hearing smashes as items left your fingertips and it made the storm that festered inside you so much worse.

It wasn’t until a large hand grabbed your wrist and a thick arm curled around your waist to haul you off the ground, did you realise what you’d done.

Your sobs came from the cracks of pain that littered your body as you fractured under the weight of what had happened. Of what you’d lost.

“That’s it. Let it out.” His voice was like a cloud, attempting to come and wrap you in comfort but you fought. You didn’t deserve this, you should have tried harder, you should have saved everyone. It was your duty.

Zeb held you closer, his eyes closing as he felt the physical effort it took you to keep crying at this level. He knew what it was like, he’d been here more times than he could count and he hated seeing you tear yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault.

Your body was shaking, not even his large hands could calm the tremors as they racked fiercely through you. “I’m here,” he murmured in his deep voice.

“I—can’t—breathe!” You rasped, hands flailing to grip onto him. You were suffocating, the pressure gripped you round the throat, tightening, strangling. Zeb ripped off your life support jacket, opened the fastings of your flight suit, watching you with wide eyes as he tried to think of what to do next.

“Stay with me! Remember, in for four. Out for four.” The anguish in your face was torturous as you tried to breathe, each one ending in a painful cry that made your body curl into him as he held you to his chest.

The door opened behind him and Kallus strode in, his expression concerned as he met Zeb’s eyes over your broken form. He shook his blonde head and Zeb sighed heavily. “Karabast.” He hadn’t wanted to believe the report that had come in shortly before you arrived but every word of it was true.

Suddenly his hands weren’t big enough to hold you together and his ears drew back in distress as you struggled to cope in his arms. He’d never seen you so fractured. This wasn’t something he could pull you from the brink of, but nothing was going to stop him from trying.

Kallus sat heavily on the bottom bunk, hands in his hair as he listened to the agonised sobs that broke from you. He had no experience with this, this sense of loss and desolation. It made him feel detached but it confused him to see such a reaction from someone he admired, someone who did everything for the good of others.

He watched Zeb do his best, talking to you in a low voice as he attempted to calm you down with his deep rumbling voice and it started to work.

Soon you hiccuped in pure state of exhaustion, your head lolling into the crook of Zeb’s elbow and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Kallus put a hand on the Lasat’s back and stood up.

“I’ll get some spotchka.”

“Spotchka?” Zeb hissed. “She doesn’t need that.”

“Well if she doesn’t, I certainly do.” He left and Zeb transferred to your bunk.

He paused when your hands curled into his short fur, a soft whimper coming from your parted lips and eased himself beside you. A large hand raked over the loose strands of your hair.

“Everything will be ok. Maybe not soon,” he added quietly. “But it will.”

You awoke to a noise that sounded like a blown exhaust vent. It vibrated through your body, almost shaking the bunk whenever he breathed in and you smiled. Zeb’s arms were loose and you snuggled deeply into his side.

Everyone goes on about hugs from a Wookiee but only a rare few have experienced a cuddle from a Lasat. He had a distinct musk that you found comforting, no matter how much Ezra moaned and teased Zeb about it.

Gently you toyed with the hairs on his face, twirling them round so his nose twitched but you found no joy in the motion.

You ached. It hurt even more today.

The knowledge that you were never going to see him again hit you like a star destroyer coming out of hyperspace and you gasped. Pressing into Zeb you tried not to sob loudly but soon his snoring stopped and his arms came back around you.

He was strong although not strong enough to stop you shattering over and over again in his embrace. Pillowed in his hold, you found very little solace, wandering the deep fissure of your soul as it bled memories and happy moments that you knew you’d never experience again.

No more were you hearing his voice, even now details of what he looked like filtered through your fingers as you tried to hold onto them. He was fading too fast and that was your fault. It was all your fault.

“Will this end?” You whispered.

“No,” Zeb replied candidly. “We never forget.” He gently placed a curved finger under your chin, making you look up into his brilliant eyes as he searched your features.

“Zeb…” you had no more words. Everything failed you in that moment and you sagged against him.

“I know,” he murmured. His claw moved to press lightly into your chest, exactly where your pain exploded from as your heart beat through the shards of hurt. “But we have to let this go. This, that sits here like an agonising weight. Slowly, we have to shed it or it will consume us.”

“I feel like it’s already demolished me,” you admitted.

He sighed, nodding a little. “It’s not a nice place to be, but you have me to hold you up.”

“We can’t all be as ashbo as you, Zeb.”

“True. True,” he agreed with a slight smile. His face dropped slightly and he scowled, glancing at the door before he rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. Here comes Agent Drunko.”

Sure enough the door opened to reveal a very dishevelled Kallus, his long hair draped over half his face and his eyes had a wild quality about them; probably thanks to the bottle of spotchka that hung from his hand.

“You stink,” Zeb instantly said.

“As long as I don’t smell as bad as you!” Kallus spat and pointed with the hand that held the bottle as his other supported him against the doorframe.

“Heh,” Zeb smirked. “Watch me not bathe for a week.” You and Kallus groaned in unison. “Give you a real taste of how bad it can get!”

“How much have you had, Alexsandr?” He frowned, his eyes unfocused and he opened his mouth a couple of times before answering.

“I have had emough for you, you, you aaaand you.”

“Did you steal that bottle?” Kallus looked down like he forgot he was holding something.

“No. I left with it.” His hand slipped and he stumbled causing Zeb to get up with a curse.

“Karabast! Help me with him,” he growled and you scurried out of the covers.

“There you are!” Another voice boomed and Kallus’ eyes widened.

“He found me!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Captain Rex stormed in the doorway his eyes taking in the scene and his honeyed gaze softened slightly. “Ah.”

Zeb grabbed Kallus by the collar, holding him up as he looked at the clone. “What did this one do?” The Lasat gestured to the entirety of Kallus, a growl in his throat.

“He stole our bottle,” Rex said slowly, crossing his arms as Kallus looked sheepish in Zeb’s grip. “But I see why. Who made the mess?” Now it was your turn to feel guilty, turning round and observing the destruction you’d caused.

“Just a little damage control,” Zeb told him with a shrug. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Rex watched as you picked up the flight suit, turning the fabric over in your hands and bringing it to your nose.

Even his scent was fading, it had been less than a day. You really thought you had no more to spill, but the tears rolled hot and fat onto your cheeks, merging into the orange fabric that you helped up to muffle your cries.

“Come on Ad’ika.” Rex pulled you in, letting you settle against his broad chest as Zeb dealt with getting Kallus into a bunk and taking the bottle off him. “Easy,” Rex soothed, his hands sweeping through your hair as he comforted you. “You will come out the other side. It will be alright.”

The crippling pain increased and you felt more hot tears leak out of your eyes. Because if anyone knew the loss and devastation of losing people close to them it was Rex.

“I-I’m not sure I c-can go o-out there again!” You wept with stuttering breaths. Rex pulled back a bit, using a thick thumb to catch the tears that slid down your face, a soft smile evident past the white of his beard.

“Oh, Ad’ika. You will. If anything this will feed the fight inside you.”

“He’s right,” Zeb said as he approached, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe not right now but soon.” Zeb waved his large hand around. “We need you.” He held out the bottle and Zeb raised his shoulders a little at your questioning glance. “Might help. For today at least.”

It did. The spotchka, mixed with the gentle rumblings of Rex and Zeb having a conversation as you lay on the Lasat’s warm chest, finally lulled you into a comfortable sense of rest.

You had to believe what they were saying and hope that you were strong enough to see this fight through. You had to, for your best friend, for your fallen comrades.

You had to keep fighting in their memory. That’s how they stayed alive.

[robyn-i-guess]

liking someone platonically is so embarrassing like. yeah i admire you. yeah i think about you all the time. yeah i look forward to every time i see you even if it's only for a minute. yeah it's all platonic and yeah i couldn't explain this because it'd sound romantic. fucking hell

[redysetdare]

Sometimes...characters being in a romantic relationship is worse.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[overlymetaromantic]

Dungeon Meshi, or as I like to call it, Marcille's-increasingly-difficult-to-ignore-revelations-that-her-endless-devotion-to-Falin-may-in-fact-be-more-rooted-in-lesbianism-than-she-originally-thought

[quelfabulous]

"We don't need to do anything. We can just be."

Happy bi/pan visibility day (it's everyday for me). Also a sprinkle of ace and a dash of survivor and to top it all off- other expressions of intimacy, affection & connection taken seriously. I'm doing an Astarion origin playthrough and I ship him with Karlach like FedEx, your honor.

[sentientsky]

grabbing my friends by the shoulders and shaking them like YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN YOU ARE NOT AN INCONVENIENCE I CARE ABOUT YOU SO MUCH

[twisted-deal]

They're bound to run out of good board games at soMe point

[mamaclownhunter]

Ok I lied I have art that was too fun not to share

Listen- I need combative “I hate you bro but I would also die for you” platonic cumplane

I need Shang Quinghua calling Shen Quingqui a hussy and a harlot

I need Shen Quingqui to respond with a full bodied cathartic “bitch” I need them to be venting out frustrations every 2 seconds and ruthlessly gossiping the next. I need them to immediately turn on anyone that talks shit on the other.

Pls for my health.

[elfcollector]

I think I need to go to camp for a while. Be alone. Scream at the sky.

[imreallyonthishellsite]

People with siblings or know a pair of siblings I've got a question for you

the other day I had a conversation with a guy who said sibling friendships don't really count bc that's family and I'm just like, ??? yeah that's my family but I can also like my sister as a person and have a friendship with her. So I'm just curious to see what the general vibe here is.

btw the "it's complicated" option is for ppl who are either estranged siblings, parenting their siblings, or some other issue they've got going on not any weird freak shit(ifkyk)

Anyways choose your option and if want you can explain in the tags

[repressedqueen]

Ryan's "Come on, Oli!" 🥹🥹🥹🥹

(headphones on, for maximum experience 😁)

[radios-universe]

saw this card today, shoutout fellow aros and/or aces!!

[serapheseraphim]

People really need to stop talking about aromantic people in such a way to suggest we need to, like, make up for our lack of romantic attraction? This ties into the whole "aromantic people can still date" and "aromantic people can have qprs" and "aromantic people still feel strong platonic love" pattern I keep seeing where it's as if people are trying to say "don't worry, they can still be mostly normal" and it is so frustrating to me as a non-partnering aromantic person and is likely even worse for aplatonic and loveless aros.

[upon-the-snow]

early mornings after nightmares

[nikoisme]

I care them