#seize the droid

[sebsxphia]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Lbcs95/

Bob… that’s it.

omg no way

someone literally just inboxed me the same!!!! it’s so bob coded it hurts!!!! 🥹

thank you so much for this my love! 💌

[ryebecca]

for @seize-the-droid! ✨

want a moodboard?

[redbean-nom]

map progress for the admirals au

[kindly-whisper-norbury]

My Skeleton Crew predictions:

(Possible spoilers if any of these actually happen!)

Jod will have an opportunity to betray the kids, but will decide against it even though being loyal to them is no financial benefit to him. However, they will believe that he has betrayed them.

KB will have a medical emergency due to her cybernetics malfunctioning. Jod will save her, finally earning both KB and Fern's trust.

At some point, Jod will be lost and presumed dead. The kids will discover he is alive when he shows up to rescue them in a Big Damn Hero moment.

They find an actual old Jedi temple, which thrills Wim... and Jod will then have to explain what happened to all the Jedi.

Jod will acquire a lightsaber in the temple, though he will not be skilled at using it, and will get stabby with it instead of using any kind of proper technique. He will, however, use the lightsaber to kill a beast that is attacking the kids, which will delight Wim (who saw something similar in his storybook).

Fern, Wim, and Jod will all form a bit of a bond over the fact that they each lost a parent. Jod will not elaborate on how he lost one, though the kids will tell him about how their parents died.

We will not learn Jod's full backstory until the last episode, when it will be told in flashbacks.

As soon as they touch down on At Attin, Jod will be seized by the safety droids and locked up because he is an outsider. The kids will advocate for him, and their parents will support them in this (though not right away).

Because of Fara's actions, which went against admin rules, she and Fern will be put on house arrest. Wendle and the kids will hurry to get them out, then they will free Jod from prison.

Because the Supervisor doesn't believe Jod's warning about pirates coming, KB will send a message to Kh'ymm, who will get some x-wings to scramble to their aid.

At the end of the battle with the pirates, the x-wing pilots will threaten to haul "Crimson Jack" in for his crimes; but Fara will officially name him a resident of At Attin (since she is rather high ranking member of admin) and tell them that since he is a citizen of their planet he is not subject to New Republic laws. This will get the arrest wrapped up in red tape, and after the x-wings leave to get orders on the subject, Fara will tell Jod to leave before they get back, since she was just bluffing.

Fern will officially hand the captaincy of the ship over to Jod, who will smile when SM-33 calls him Captain.

Jod will give Wim the lightsaber he found, which Wendle stumbles over objecting to but ultimately allows him to keep.

At the end, it will be hinted at that Fara and Wendle kind of like each other in that way (making Fern and Wim have a bit of an "oh, heck no" exchange).

[chaos-chloe]

Handcuffs- PezzyxReader

CloolessxReader

Summary: I got handcuffs clip

TW: sexual innuendo, established relationship, platonic friendship, lmk if i missed anything

“Yeah we definitely should. He can't talk at all, he can still talk.” Puffer said, tying the cling wrap over Grizzy’s mouth, behind his head. “Can you still talk?” Droid asked Grizzy

“Yeah,” came Grizzy’s muffled reply, a cocktail of determination and humor spilling from behind the cling wrap.

“Damn,” Droid whispered, excitement dancing in his eyes. He suddenly seized more cling wrap from a nearby roll, eager to fortify their antics further.

“What? You’re trying to make me a permanent mute?” Grizzy teased, rolling his eyes as best as he could beneath the layers.“ I mean I'm just not going to talk”

“No we need to make sure you can't say a single fucking word ever again bro” Droid proclaimed, a gleam of mischief igniting his spirit. The room was filled with peals of laughter, their collective joy filling every corner as Grizzy shot Puffer a glance that said it all: “This guy.”

Pezzy, leaning against the counter, chimed in.“told you we should have bought the ball gaghe suggested nonchalantly. “I asked if you had one,”Droid snapped back, still engaged in his cling wrap project as if he were sculpting a masterpiece.

“I don't” Pezzy snipped at Droid, crossing his arms defiantly. “Damn it” Droid said jokingly, snapping his fingers in a mock display of frustration, which only elicited more laughter.

“Yeah right” Puffer sarcastically interjected with playful disbelief, his eyes darting conspiratorially towards Pezzy.

“That’s what I’m saying, I told you, don’t lie!” they bantered. The back-and-forth spiraled into glorious chaos, until Pezzy, fueled by the banter and laughter, threw up his hands in exaggerated exasperation. “I got handcuffs,” he blurted out, leaning against the counter with confidence.

instantly, a hush fell over the group as all eyes turned to Pezzy, their expressions frozen in surprise. Within moments, the silence shattered into raucous laughter once more, at which point Pezzy began to snicker too, reveling in his unexpected moment of fame.

But then, everyone’s attention shifted to the corner of the room. They’d almost forgotten about , the quiet, artistic soul who was holding the camera and capturing every lunacy of the night. had been silently observing while their cheeks grew crimson, illumination washing over them like a blush of ember, a glow in stark contrast to the chaotic humor surrounding them.

“Don’t worry,” Grizzy huffed, trying his best to speak with a cling-wrapped mouth, his eyes alight with mischief, “we��ll keep you safe from the handcuffs.”

“Yeah, we’re just having a little fun,” Droid added, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

[moriaarts]

ARC Trooper Corporal Jaig

Blorbo the second, Jaig the ARC of the 343rd. In house mother and bleeding heart in disguise. With the text under the cut.

CT - 8407 “Jaig” has proven herself to be a survivor. Calm, collected and aloof, Jaig comes across as a cold and unapproachable soldier. But its a mask of a hunter observing the world for signs of danger.

The name “Jaig” was given to her early in the war when a B1 droid got in close and disarmed her. It’s not in Jaig nature to go down without a fight. It’s not in her nature to go down at all. All clones are trained in hand to hand combat, made stronger and more agile than base humans. But these are necessary against unyielding mechanical fists. Knocked off her feet by a metal backhand, she remember the raw of the wind across the sands, of the LAAT’s, of blaster fire.

She registers the B1s flooding in and going for her batchmates, her squadron, helmet forgotten she goes for the nearest one and shreds out the wires in its neck. It’s a valiant effort. It’s luck. The droid reaches back, grabbing her by the face to pull her off. It’s joints seize and all thats left as it turns on her is the command prompt to shoot and keep shooting. The fucker took her eye. Tore the skin off around it.

The scar that it left was triangular shaded, the skin too smooth for the rest of her face. A jaig eye, Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se, a shreik-hawk eye, they said. Said her quick thinking took out a platoon of clankers when the droid she hardwired mindlessly shot a downed LAAT, blowing it, sending it crashing on top of the ones storming their trench. She just remembers being pissed because they knocked her bucket off and didn't finish the job. So she gets to trained as an ARC. It’s an honour. And she agrees but it doesn't feel real. Even assigned to the 21st Nova Corps, under the command of Commander Jet, Clone Marshal Commander Bacara, and General Ki Adi Mundi.

She never really like red. Liked the long kama though. She also had not like General Mundi. The rumour was that he had ten wives. The number changed depending on the battalion they were bunking with. It was more like four. But knowing the jedi’s no string policy she's even less of a fan. Even less in the coming months before. Jaig would be with the nova corps for few campaigns. Used to smile when Block chased her around with hair shears. How Duke would always grumbled getting dirt off his armour, and asked how she kept hers so clean and not smelling of wet bantha. But besides that she hadn't known much about herself until they had met them. Two of General Mundi’s wives met them at a medical station one a doctor the other visiting from a relief mission. Pamania. She was lovely. Covered in simple jedi cream robes all except for her eyes. Eyes of deep pools of dark purple, nebulas set in russet skin. They creased when she smiled. Lashes fluttered when she cried. They visited the medical base often. Pamania was gentle with them. Patient and kind, and fierce as a forests fire when they came back in a state. Jaig thinks she liked her. The first one to call her sister. The first to run fingers through her hair rather than playfully pull it when she gave her some self sacrificing crap. The first person to kiss her on the cheek and tell her she had a right to live in this world. War or no war.

Jaig had been younger then, Naive and unsure what to do with such gentle treatment. Who knew an innocent kiss to a clothed cheek would do such damage? Jet had scolded her and within a week she was decommissioned for improper behaviour, officially. Unofficially reassigned in shiny armour to the 343rd.  

Bonus:

Jaig loves the twins like her own. Especially Lash, whose quiet sarcasm is a family brand of deflection. She wants more with Ro, but Ro has a whole host of issues to make up with before Jaig is next in line. Doesn’t stop her having the ARF troopers back though. They both got on best, both being recon troops and with her 3rd in command and Ro in 2nd, they often share looks of exasperation and concern at the expense of Kiss.  

Here is Captain Kiss x and the rest of the company.

WIP Playlist

[heirofazure]

Thrawn’s Musings: 2

A Mother’s Sacrifice

Summary: Sad!Thrawn shower thoughts. I wanted to explore what a Chiss mother’s lullaby would be like considering their culture of rematching to new families. Are they conditioned from childhood that one's birth family may not always be there? Is it taboo to speak of one's past if rematched to a new family? Do Chiss keep in contact with their former/birth relatives if they are rematched? Does a birth family only refer to one by their new name, or a variation of one's core name since it's the one that follows the Chiss for the entirety of their lives? I’d love to see more people exploring this.

Precision, precision, precision was Thrawn’s mantra as beads of sweat streamed down his face and onto the floor of his private sparring gym. Of all the private amenities provided to him as Grand Admiral, this had to be the one he was most thankful for. The vibroblade gripped in his right fist thrummed with energy as he wielded it with brutal efficiency, the blade flashing as it made contact with the Imperial sentry droid’s black plating. He swiftly lifted his left forearm to block a rapid punch from the droid, the vibroblade’s hilt dragging along his chest and plunging forward into the droid’s alloy abdomen. Energy crackled along the plating and caused the droid to seize, granting Thrawn mere seconds to catch his breath. Fatigue was beginning to take over, and when he glanced at the crono on the wall, he realized he had been sparring for over 30 minutes. If he continued, his form would become sloppy.

Absolutely unacceptable. 

“Override...Code Ruhk,” Thawn said between ragged breaths. The droid immediately shifted into attention stance and powered down, Thrawn’s reflection becoming clearer in the sudden darkness now occupying its dimming red eyes. He swallowed as he took in his appearance, noting his own red eyes hooded with exhaustion, and his blue skin a shade paler than usual. 

His reflection was the only Chiss he’d laid eyes upon in the years since he’d entered Imperial service. It had never bothered him before, but for the past few months, it had begun to weigh on his mind. A reunion with Admiral Ar’alani was anticipated in the future due to unusual events occurring within the borders of the Empire, but it had yet to come to fruition. Had he even spoken a word of Cheunh in the past standard year? A hollow feeling began to expand in his chest. His exercising garments, now saturated with perspiration, felt too tight as the sensation spread throughout his entire body.

Melancholy. A feeling he was never fond of but currently permeating every fiber of his being. He shook his head and exited the sparring gym. Light followed his movement as motion sensors tracked his path from the gym to his shower. The thought of warm water and soap washing away the sticky sensation he felt all over brought a smile to his face. Surely that would make him feel better. He strode into his refresher, settling on the fact that of all his private amenities, his spacious shower ranked second. He began humming as he removed his garments and entered the stall, stark white lights illuminating the space. Soaps from distant planets housed in a variety of containers lined the wall, each a unique piece of art that made his cleansing space akin to a private gallery of all his intergalactic travel.

He was still humming a tune as he pressed the buttons to activate the shower, releasing a sigh of satisfaction when steaming water hit his skin from various jets clustered along the ceiling and walls. However, as the realization of what he was humming began to process through his mind, the smile that was plastered across his face slowly shrank. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as water ran through his hair and cascaded down his back. 

Rentor. His home planet. The melody? His mother’s. He could still hear her voice echoing within his mind as he stood under the jets, his humming increasing in volume as he remembered the words of the old Chiss lullaby.

Deep in the Chaos,

Far, far away. 

Cold unforgiving,

Our Ascendancy brave.

Resilient hearts,

Traditions of old. 

Fortune be with you,

Warrior soul.

Thrawn felt the weight of his sadness from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He wondered if it was possible that his own reflection made him recall the characteristics he inherited from a woman he never spoke to again after rematching to the Mitth. The woman who gave him life.

Your name may change,

And your life may lead,

Down paths I can’t follow,

To places I won’t be.

He had never reached out to her. Although it was frowned upon, birth family contact had never been explicitly prohibited by the Mitth. As he lathered dzisnir herb soap on a cleansing cloth and began scrubbing his torso, he felt the reason for his choice rise from the depths of his mind. There was no question about the pain this topic held in his birth home. 

Vurika’s disappearance. Being an inquisitive child, a young Vurawn constantly asked about his older sister after she vanished. There were never clear answers from his parents, although he would catch a pained look sweep across his mother’s face if Vurika was so much as mentioned. After countless attempts, he at some point stopped asking. However, he always ruminated on it, hoping to solve the reason for her disappearance as easily as a tactical dilemma.

Oh, how naïve he was.

As the years passed, Thrawn did his best to excel in his studies and remain obedient to his parent’s wishes, if only to not be the next child that disappeared. In hindsight, he realized his parents could have never revealed such sensitive information as to Vurika’s whereabouts, even if they had wanted to. 

Even if the silence hurt them as much as it hurt him. Even if he had vanished as well.

But you, my dear child,

Remember in your heart,

That if I live in your memory,

We’ll never be apart.

As he rinsed off the last of the soap, Thrawn felt his throat tighten with raw emotion. His mother had not lost just one child, but both her children to the needs of the Ascendency. More so, his passion for art stemmed from her influence. The fondest of his childhood memories were those seated next to her easel, watching her blend colors and bring to life the faces of children she would never see again. Had she had more children? Had she sung them that lullaby? Had she seen his successes and failures on her Questis news feeds, reading about a son who no longer acknowledged her existence? Was she still alive? 

There was no way for him to answer these questions now. Unlike everything else in his life, he had never planned for this. 

He had never planned to think of his birth mother, let alone miss her.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to exit the stall as he shut off the water. The light around him seemed too bright, and his breathing was shallow and quick. He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his senses, and was stunned to see his face- her face, peering at him from the earlier reflection in his training droid’s eyes. 

In that moment, a sudden tremor emanating from the core of his being overcame all his logical faculties like a massive explosion; emotions that had been suppressed for survival finally erupting on the surface. He roughly grasped the handlebar along the wall with one hand, and a pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Then another, followed by another. He could feel the tears roll down his face as shudders racked his entire body. He had given everything to the Ascendency, and so had she. 

So had she.

Although I don’t know,

What harms you will face,

My love for you transcends,

Both time and space.

So go far, my child,

And if you seek me,

Within your reflection,

There I will be.

And as Thrawn finally cried for the mother he once had, he allowed himself to wonder if all their sacrifices would be worth it in the end.

Thank you to @stars-n-spice for the Thrawn divider!

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 3

The Separatist Army tries invade the Techganic homeworld and DIES SCREAMING.

I... I am cackling like a broken laugh 'track, in a low Senatorial staff seating area. Pretty sure everyone thinks I've lost my chips. But... BUT THEY DON'T GET IT! It's so FUNNY!? Oh Bones and Blood! Oh karking STARS!!! Of all the kriffing PLANETS to PHYSICALLY INVADE with DROIDS!!!

DROIDS!

I am wheezing. Gasping for air. Slowly tipping out of my chair as I all but seize silently in spasms of sheer, incredulous, amusement. Oh Stars, I'm gonna die. My gut is on fire and I DONT CARE. Droids! Just... just DROPPED UM right into the capitals like "here ya go! Surrender flesh bags!"

Pfffahahahahaha!

I finally slip, only for a gloved hand to catch my shoulder gently, keeping me from crashing to the floor. A calculated step and lift, brings my shoulder to brace against the side of familiar armor. A guard. I manage to glance up through my incoherent laughing fit. I know that armor!

"Fox!" I grin, glad I am starting to be able to tell the gaurds apart. It always felt rude to have to keep asking their names, even when I by all rights SHOULD already know them. "Good morning."

"Ma'am." He nods. I still don't get why people think they're 'emotionless'. Even through the voicecoder, his voice is warm. "Funny joke?"

"The Separatists invaded my planet." I laugh. At his questioning head tilt, I grin MEANLY from behind my mask. "Remember how we met? And you got infected? EVERYONE on my planet is some version of carrier, either Organic or Technological. Depending on where those droids land? They are either FOOD or free scrap metal. The Collective will EAT them. And folks back home?"

I glanced around, trying to find the room's cameras. Fox casually pointed before stepping between it's line of sight and me. Kriff he was so cool. I grabbed one of the old datapads I was supposed to dump in the recycler after my break. No one would miss if I threw one in the biohazard shoot instead... probably.

I turned it on. Showing it worked. A perfectly functioning, if old, datapad. Then? I listened to that old, old, OLD instinct in the back of my head that karking HATED technology. That honestly would be happier living in a stone shack on a distant moon, surrounded by growth. That could, at a glance, pick apart any given peice of technology's weak points.

Not to slice it. Or IMPROVE it. But to BREAK it. Irreparably.

My eyes found the weak point in the screen almost immediately. A point where fingers had worn it thin. Smack! I cracked it against the table, like an animal trying to open trying to open a nut. It cracked. And that was all I needed. All ANY of us would ever need, really.

Just One Little Crack.

I pulled off my mask, knowing my face was probably doing that... THING. That "super intent Murder Hunter" thing that we all do, when our instincts engage. But I wanted to show Fox. I trusted him. So I flexed my jaw and thought of the lift, of how me met, the STRESS. Just enough to get a bit of drool.

Then... I let it drop onto the screen.

The reaction, was of course, IMMEDIATE.

The datapad hissed and squealed, screen glitching violently. I carefully put it down, familiar with what was about to happen. Fox... was not. He watched. Frozen. Entranced. As the datapad burned and melted from within. Was CONSUMED. As my nanites wrecked hell in their final moments before dying, no longer supported by my body. Some of course, simply falling dormant.

Those were the lethal ones. The trap for future Collective members trying to reclaim tech. It's why all infected materials had to be treated as a biohazard. Those nanites stayed viable for upwards of a century AT LEAST. Several, in the right condition.

So droids? Ha! We were BIOENGINEERED to fight "droids"! We WERE the original GAR. What was that Human saying? "Nothing new in the Galaxy?" That.

Fox was taking even, measured, breaths. Clenching and unclenching his hand. His voice sounded... strained, as he agreed. That, yes. We WERE very, VERY alike. And that that was FASCINATING. Could his spit do that now too?

I... didn't know. Huh.

I blinked. First up at him. Then down at the 'pad. I hadn't considered that. Kriff. Well THAT was irresponsible of me. Yeah, yeah we should probably schedule some Techganic 101 lessons, shouldn't we? Since... you know, assuming you SURVIVE infection and first "heal"? It's kinda a one and done sort of thing.

You can't get... double infected? It very much IS a you ARE or you AREN'T a carrier. And even THEN... one of two kinds, which CAN NOT peacefully coexist.

Plus... since it's adapted to the Guards biology, a spread would be SUPER easy?

.........I..... I SHOULD tell someone.

But what would happen to Fox? I'm not blind. People aren't exactly... KIND to Clones. Would they decide its just easier to get rid of him? My gut say probably. Experience says likely. I've barely even STARTED working at the Senate and... well...

Maybe I should keep my mouth shut. WE should keep our mouth shut.

"This time, I'll be the one looking out for YOU, kay Fox?"

"Of course. I'll leave my self in your capable hands. I have no doubt... I'll learn A LOT."

There is something intent about the way he stands, the way he's bracketing me into my chair. The almost soft, warm but cloying quality to his voice. Like he's trying not to make it obvious he's handling me. Like I'm some import dignitary he wants to avoid upsetting. But one he LIKES. It's strange... I'm certain I'm missing something...

At least I have plenty of other Guards around to ask.

[kybercrystals94]

Six Weeks (Part 3)

Read here on Ao3!

<<Previous Part | Next Part>>

Rated: T | Words: 917

A/N: Ugh! This chapter has been giving me the run around; however, I wanted to assure you that I haven't given up on this fic...it's just taking longer than I'd like...so I decided to post what I've written so far with the promise that I will get this story wrangled eventually 🥲

In the Rebellion, Omega is a captain. She has rebel fighters under her command and direction. She gives orders and they are followed. She plans missions and carries them out successfully. She is trusted, respected, and capable of any feat given to her. 

On Pabu…

“You better not try to get up while I’m gone,” Crosshair says, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Omega sighs, picking at a loose thread on the hem of Wrecker’s old shirt. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Twice.” 

“Because it’s important that you listen.” 

“AZI said I could walk around on my leg as long as I’m careful,” Omega protests, and she hates that her tone comes out almost whiny. “So did the medics at the base. You guys are making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“Humor us then.” Crosshair doesn’t wait for her to snark something back before he walks away. The front door opens and shuts, and she is left in the quiet house by herself. 

Wrecker is down at the docks to buy fresh fish for dinner, and Hunter still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to. Crosshair didn’t say where he was going; however, Omega hopes that it’s to find Hunter. She’d go herself if it weren’t for the overbearing nanny droid that looks suspiciously like an ex-Republic sniper. 

Omega pulls out her data pad and sends Hera a message. You’ll be happy to know that my brothers are being as insufferable as you hoped.

The reply comes a moment later. Good. I better not see you for six weeks.

Yes, sir, Omega types back, hoping Hera reads it with its intended sarcasm. 

That taken care of, Omega tosses her data pad to the other end of the couch and sinks back into cushions. She looks around the main room, searching for things that might have changed while she’s been away; however, it is exactly as she remembers. Her brothers’ valiant attempts at home decor are still scattered throughout the room. Endearing eyesores, Echo had called them once when Omega complained about Wrecker putting up a piece of rusted metal he’d fished out of the sea.  

“He said it’s his favorite shape,” Omega had groaned, laughing. “I don’t even know what that shape is!” 

Hunter had bought a painting from the market that he claimed was abstract art; however, everyone knew that it was just a horribly, awfully painted tooka. Its eyes seemed to follow you around the room, becoming an inside joke: the tooka sees everything. However, Hunter will defend the “art’s” honor to his dying breath. 

Then there was Crosshair’s contribution, which Omega swears he did just because he knew it would annoy her. He collects rocks. Not pretty or unique rocks. Plain, nondescript, ugly rocks. He keeps hanging up shelves to display them on, and he makes them placards to note where they were found and the date.

“Rock.” Found: South Beach, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 15 BBY. 

“Rock.” Found: Left Boot, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 12 BBY. 

Omega does notice that a shelf has been added and a new row of rocks begins to line the plank of wood. She rolls her eyes. Omega decides that she will not give her brother the satisfaction of knowing whether or not she’s noticed. The perfect payback, because she knows he’ll never ask. 

**

“We’ve had worse injuries,” Crosshair says behind him. 

Hunter scoffs, seizing another weed by its base and yanking it out of the ground. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No,” Crosshair says, moving to lean against the wall, “just stating a fact.” 

“Appreciate it,” Hunter growls, rummaging through the foliage of the garden for another imposter. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t storm further away from the house.”

“I didn’t storm.” 

Crosshair huffs. “You had us fooled.” 

Hunter sits back on his heels and glares up at his youngest brother. “If you’re out here just to offer commentary, I really don’t need it right now.” 

“Oh, really,” Crosshair drawls. “And what do you need?” 

“I need to not think about it right now,” Hunter bites out, dusting the dirt from his hands. “I don’t want to think about Omega almost dying. I don’t want to think about her putting herself at risk every single day. I don’t want to think about the fact that we aren’t there to protect her because…” 

“We’re old?” Crosshair supplies.

Hunter makes a face. “That’s not why.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Whatever our reasons are for not fighting, it doesn’t matter…Omega’s made her choice. So don’t think about all that entails right now…because you have no control over any of it anyways. Instead, think about the fact that Omega’s stuck with us for the next six weeks and what we’re going to do with her while she’s in captivity.”

Hunter scoffs, moving to stand up and accepting Crosshair’s outstretched hand when it’s offered. “I forgot how poetic you are.” 

“One of my many talents,” Crosshair says loftily, but he moves his hand to Hunter’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “But I mean it, Hunter. We’re going to put our opinions aside, enjoy the time we have with her. Yeah?” 

Hunter swallows and nods. 

“Good.” 

As they start for the back door, Crosshair asks, “Do you think Omega’s noticed my new shelf of rocks.” 

Hunter grins. “She won’t say if she has.” 

“Brat,” Crosshair grumbles. 

“Says the one who keeps a rock collection just to annoy her,” Hunter says, bumping against Crosshair. 

Crosshair smirks. “A foundless accusation.”

TBC

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[sebsxphia]

I apologize if I start spamming you with shit. Honestly you are the only person I feel can share Top Gun shit with 😂

But the dagger squad making those couple tie blankets with their SO! (This one is a single blanket but I’ve been some where they do two blankets for each of them) Like what a cute fucking thing. I can totally see Jake picking out a Longhorns fabric.

I’m curious what you think of this? In your opinion what patterns/fabric do you think the others would choose for their side of the blanket?

never apologise my love! you’re always welcome to discuss top gun with me! 🥰

oh and i love this idea so much! especially if it doubled up and you had your fabric one side, and theirs the other! okay so…

jake. longhorns, yes!

bradley. a hawaiian print.

bob. a print with little model aeroplanes.

mickey. a pop culture print, star trek/wars, zelda etc.

natasha. an illustrated cats print.

rueben. this is oddly specific, but i know him, a print of little teddy bears.

javy. a print with vintage cars and motorbikes.

let me know what you think my love! thank you so much for this totally sweet idea! 💌

[sparkpop]

Skullgirls x Megaman!AU featuring: Squigly x Spark Man (nsake as Leviathan)

The third liners were cursed the day they were deemed as traitors by Wily, who they thought was already on mutual terms with, and sent King Dahlia to off any robots he did create and went against him(or maybe he didn't need them anymore, with new found power). "Traitors" was just an excuse, a label to call them, and all the third liners were wiped out. Or so they thought. With the Soul Droid gifted to Shadow Man, uses it's wish to resurrect all of them. Snake knew that something was wrong the day it was even accepted by a mysterious robot, who he's never seen. He planned ahead accordingly (special snake senses), and inputted his data into one of his Petite Snakes, with an inputted command to host any robot with the most heat radiating after death. Before their last remanence of robotic sentience, they were all under the Skulldroid's(Shadow Man) influence. The Petite Snake was already launched by Snake's orders before he deactivated. The snake ended up with Spark's body, since he had recently died after all the others, the last to seize function. (In Squigly's story mode, she's shot by Black Dahlia's gun through the head. In this, Spark actually gets struck in the chest by Shadow Blade for getting in the way.) (Note: I'll stop here, but if you've played Squigly's story, you'd know the rest of the events takes place as almost exactly as it does ingame.

(Redesigned him, now with clothes that should better fit him! Added design notes and some lore for it too) Bonus: 'Skulldroids' logo

[wantonlywindswept]

10/10 fox day: forgotten fox bit

to celebrate fox day you get more of the next section of the forgotten fox au, which contains...zero fox actually present x_X

i am trying okay

---

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that at least--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

She was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works in the future."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see Commander--"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes. 

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into rising unease and panicked alarm--he didn't think it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[charlieisannoying]

A perfect case for my certain skillset

Part 1 | Part 2

Platonic CF 99 X Jedi!GNReader Series Summary: Clone Force 99 is getting a Jedi, as if that could ever work out for the band of misfits. The worst thing? They're not even getting a General. Chapter: A dusty mission wrecks havoc on the team – and the success rate of CF99 is in peril. Good thing that their Jedi is creative with solutions; even if the solutions come with a cost at their own expense. Hunter starts to question his care towards their new member. Word Count: 2,138

The only thing guiding Hunter was the light from your saber.

His HUD was long gone, the dust storm making everything hazy and unreliable. His shots were going wide, the wind somehow managing to mess up even his blaster.

He knew Crosshair was nestled somewhere above the fight, taking droids that he deemed too close to his brothers. Even with all the wind and dust, his shots found their marks, having his brother's back always.

Hunter lost sight of his other brothers, but he had to have faith in them. Bred to be soldiers first, brothers second and all that.

If it weren't for the filters in his mask, Hunter was sure the muck would disorient him even more. How you could manage without a mask, he couldn't understand.

Your sabre hummed dangerously as you whirled around, using the droid's blaster shots against them, blue light deflecting red again, and again. In between clouds of dust, Hunter could see you pulled some fabric over your nose, trying to filter some dust out.

His comms flickered back to life, crackled chatter filtering through – it seemed that his comms were as happy as he was with this storm.

'–unter... –isiton is compromised. Repeat. Posi–... Position is... –ised. ..._ggesting a retreat...–ver.'

Kark.

Hunter tried to change the frequency of the comms channel, but all that filled his ears was the sound of static. Angling his visor towards you, you gave no insight if you heard Tech's report.

Even the droids were slowing down, which was great – it meant Hunter could reach you for a tactical retreat and make a plan with you.

One that didn't involve:

Him getting Force thrown;

2. You jumping into the heat of battle without a plan.

Noticing his presence, you swept with your eyes over the area once, twice and finally closed your lightsaber. Pulling down your mask, Hunter could see your flushed cheeks underneath the grime and soot, as well as remains of your favoured blue sparkles over your eyes.

Putting you hand up in a very Tech manner, you stopped him before he could even utter a word. Rude. Instead of trying to stop his tactical retreat as he expected, a violent cough seized you.

Ah, so you couldn't manage that well with the dust.

Righting you back up as you continued coughing, Hunter scanned the area, anticipating an attack any second.

Keeping his hands on you, he started guiding you towards the last known location of the Marauder. Even with all of his devices going haywire, nothing could beat Hunter's sense of direction. At least in the safety of the ship, your lungs could take a break. He could deal with your indignation later.

For now, his priority was to discuss with the squad another battle plan.

Because there is always another battle plan.

Their success rate of 100% was not going anywhere.

For the first ten steps, you lagged behind, feet dragging. If you didn't use your words, Hunter would not let you stay and fight some more.

After only 2 months with them, you managed to find a small space to call your own. Hunter couldn't lie and say that you blended in the group seamlessly... But. There was what Hunter would tentatively call hope.

After the first mission it was clear that whoever on the Jedi Council thought that you would reign them in, was absolutely wrong. In fact, the plans seemed to get even more dangerous.

You weren't even a General. He thought that only Padawans were Commanders, and that Padawans need Masters, so... Where was your Master? Or why weren't you a Jedi Knight?

He could ask Tech to look into it.

Well, he did want to know who was the person he had to live in close quarters with... Where's the harm in that?

So there you were, creating each plan. with zero regard to your safety and some regard to the squad.

Climb over the smoothest wall? Well, we can always jump from the Marauder and catch us with the Force.

Sit on the wing of the Marauder while flying? It's only the calmest place to meditate.

If your words were few, your actions were certainly something.

Your lungs gave an ugly rattle that made Hunter wince underneath his helmet. Although, with you, it didn't matter if he had a helmet on or not – you just seemed to know what face he was making in the (relative) safety of his helmet.

Sending a scowl to him, you started shaking some dirt from your long Jedi robes and cleaning up your face with a clean rag.

Jokes on you – Crosshair's scowls, sneers and general being made him immune to anything negative sent his way. The perks of having younger siblings, he supposed.

As soon as Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair joined them on the ship, a rare silence engulfed the walls. The only thing that Hunter could hear was the wind howling.

'It is clear that we will not be able to take off during this storm. However,' adjusting his glasses, Tech continued, 'we can utilise the storm to our advantage. It might cause some issues with the data transfer, but we should be out of the planet's atmosphere in good time.'

'We just needed to take the information from a data bank, right?' Your voice was still small when asking questions, but it was getting better. Or the entire squad was getting better at becoming silent once you started speaking. 'What if we just take the entire data bank? Tie it to the Marauder and leave. We can transfer the data in a more secure location.'

Four sets of eyes were trained on you unblinking. Credit where credit is due, you did not hunch down or flinch back... rather just stared back. Running your hand through your dust filled hair, you looked away first. 'Look guys, we are losing daylight here. I don-'

'Technically we would not be losing daylight, as days on this planet are much longer than the standard that we know. This is due-'

'Yes, thank you Tech. This is not the moment.' Although he loved his brother to bits, they really needed that information on time. Hunter could apologise later and would ask Tech later about all the small oddities that they encountered on this planet.

Looking back at you, Hunter gave you a nod, urging you to continue.

Your plan was not that bad. Except for the fact that they couldn't fly the Marauder, could they?

Your attention was on Tech.

'Tech, do you know in how much time the storm dies down for a bit, so that we can fly at a lower altitude?'

'Of course. In exactly 2 hours and 10 minutes the storm should stop. Based on how the storm is going on at this moment... we could theoretically fly blindly towards deep enemy space and retrieve the data bank. If I understood your plan correctly.' An uninterested blink from Tech, and then his attention was back on his datapad.

Crosshair was the first one to object. 'Do you even consider that we don't have to die?' His sneer was sharp and his eyes were on fire, but you weren't deterred.

'No one has to die. We just need to be creative with our survival.'

—

The price for your plan was two blaster grazes and just one sprained ankle for the whole team. Hunter could consider himself satisfied.

The only thing he was unsatisfied about was that once the mission was over, you locked yourself into the fresher with a medkit and that was it.

And here he was, stationed with his brothers on either side of the small door, trying to figure out how to approach you.

Everyone was patched up and cleaned. The only one un-accounted for was, well, you.

'You think she died?'

'That would certainly solve our issues now.' Leaning agains the wall, Crosshair had his arms crossed, toothpick in his mouth and eyes closed. Relaxed even. A rare occurrence indeed.

Silencing his brother with a glare, Hunter turned towards the door. No biggie. You were just a Commander. A Jedi. Padawan?

Hunter knocked on the door.

'You alright in there?'

'Uh-huh.'

Your voice was muffled, and while Hunter couldn't really hear you breathing... you did sound out of breath, and your heartbeat was elevated.

'I'm coming in.' Giving you an extra 30 seconds to cover up in case you were dressing up your wound, Hunter punched in the override code to the door.

Opening the door slowly, he expected to see you near the mirror, cleaning the blaster wound on your shoulder.

What he did not expect was to see you curled up in the corner of the fresher, head between your legs. As he entered, you gave no sign of acknowledgement. Crouching next to you, he could see your back moving with each shallow breath. Instinctively, his arm moved to your shoulder. With no flinch from you, he gingerly put his other arm on the injured shoulder, a sharp inhale coming from you.

'C'mon, sit up straight, it would be easier to breathe.' His words were hushed, trying to emulate the way 99 used to calm him or his brothers down. The fresher was not silent. Your breath echoed slightly, bouncing between the walls. The ship hummed, pipe creaked. And even with all those small sounds, Hunter heard the moment you decided to shift.

Guiding you in a better suited position, Hunter reluctantly took his hands off you. If it were one of his brothers, he wouldn't hesitate to slide behind them and try to match their breathing. With you?

He didn't know if he could do that yet.

You kept to yourself, and even after almost two months, you still looked standoffish every time you were alone with Hunter.

At most, you let Wrecker hug you sideways when he was excited with something, or manhandle you into a 'throw the Jedi' game-plan you two had going on.

Your eyes, still closed, fluttered slightly before settling again. Hunter could faintly smell the shampoo you preferred, all the debris and dust washed away into the pipes of the Marauder.

Well, almost all of it.

'We really need to work on your communication skills Commander.' All he got from you was a huff and a smile, but it was more that enough for Hunter. Raising his voice, Tech's name carried through the ship.

'I'm right and you know it. You need to come to us when you're injured.'

His brother appeared in the doorway, data pad and med scanner in hand. With so little space, Hunter knew he had to get out and let his brother in. Reluctantly, he got up, knees creaking in protest. Even if he didn't stray far, Hunter already missed your proximity. Crouching near you, Tech started scanning you to further know the issues caused by your lungs.

With a small beep, the scan indicated its end. 'We should move you into one of the lower bunks, Commander. It will help you breathing.'

'I'm fine... just. Just give me a minute, alright?' Hunter would bet his entire non-existent pay check that you were not, in fact, fine, if the pallor of your face or the fact that you hadn't opened your eyes were any indicators.

'It will also finally clear up the fresher. Are you done dying around?'

'Cross.' It seemed that no matter how many times Hunter warned his younger brother, or glared at him, Crosshairs mission was to antagonise you. Looking back at you, you were pulled up by Tech, your legs not cooperating for the first few seconds, but your eyes were open, trained on the sniper.

Huh.

At least that made you more alert.

'Very funny Crosshair. Didn't your mama te-' Maybe it was a good thing that your coughs were unpredictable. The last thing Hunter wanted was a fist fight in the tiny fresher.

Now all they had to do was to rendezvous with the Negotiator, and make you sit still long enough so that the medics can take a good look at you.

As most things related to Jedi, this might be easier said than done.

Maker help him.

—

The debrief went as smoothly as it could go.

All Hunter wanted to do was to get some chow, get all of the sand out of his hair and finally get some sleep. After all, you were in the hands of the highly skilled medics.

And yet.

His legs were on autopilot, and there was Hunter, in front of the medbay. If he strained his ears, he could hear the faint chatter of the medics, soft beeps creating a soothing rhythm. Nestled between all the sounds, there it was.

Thud. Thud-thud. Thud.

Your heartbeat, familiar after just a couple of months with the team, reached Hunter. You were not asleep. If he just opened the door, he could probably see you, data pad in hand, not one second wasted.

Would you smile?

Shaking his head, Hunter took a step back. Why would you smile? You were there because the Council ordered you to wrangle them, his band of mischiefs.

As if.

With one last sigh, Hunter took another step towards the barracks. The next mission was inbound sooner rather than later. He needed to rest, without a Jedi on his mind.

[yellowocaballero]

hello i am here to gush. genuinely obsessed with all of your fics but this time ab star wars specifically bc i got into clone wars recently and CANNOT stop thinking ab roleswap AU. both the regular and no chip versions make me so fucking insane. i have never encountered a parent/child relationship that breaks my heart quite like that one. the fact that literal-solider-raising-a-kid-in-an-active-war is the LEAST fucked up part ab their dynamic is incredible. also i love thirty with my whole heart

Aaaahhh thank you!!! This ask is so appreciated lmfao. I am VERY CLOSE to being done the No Chip rewrite (I have decided to rewrite every story in the AU and add another one, because I'm insane) and I'm struggling so hardcore with the last story I need to complete before I finish. I want to share them with y'all so bad because a few of them are really freaking good and people need to witness it. I will take the encouragement and hopefully it shall help power me :)

Regarding the insane Cody & Obi-Wan thing: it has to break your heart. Originally, the gulf between them was due to their difference in stations, social status, and personhood, and Cody's unwillingness to close that gap even if Obi-Wan waned him to. But in no chip the gulf is pretty much 100% shitty decision after shitty decision after shitty decision. There are huge themes of cycles of abuse, authoritarianism, and toxic masculinity, and although the effects of these things are a problem in almost every clone, it's definitely worst in Obi-Wan and Cody.

Cody feels helpless, I guess. He has zero control over his life. He can lead the GAR, he can lead the Imperial army, but no matter how much power he tries to take he can't fill that pit of helplessness-induced despair inside of him. He can seize power again and again, he can exert control over Obi-Wan's life more and more, and he can justify everything terrible thing he's done by saying that it's to keep the people around him safe, but he knows that there's no way to do that. The heartbreaking part is that he cannot protect his kid and his family. He'll never have the power that he thinks a father needs to have, the power that Jango had and that he coveted so much. And that his endless struggles to do the impossible causes 80% of problems in the story.

There's a recurring motif in the story about how love can ruin (This Is Star Wars.). I can't really say if Cody's a good person or a bad one, but I can say that love has made a ruin of Obi-Wan's life.

Thirty loves you too. I also love Thirty. I'm doing the Ben POV rewrite now and he's gotten so insane.

Thank you for the encouragement! Please subscribe to my channel so you can see when the story is finally posted. I am vaguely ballparking that it's 200k words, plus the Ben POV rewrite. Snippet of the Order 66 story under the cut :) What I like about the O66 story is that this snippet is cute out of context and very horrifying in context!!!

Another nightmare came. 

They didn’t get any less scary. The terror was the same, again and again. Obi-Wan thought he was going to die three times a month at least, he faced down armies of battle droids again and again, he had come face to face with a Sith. Maybe these things used to be scary, but Obi-Wan was fourteen now. Nothing freaked out fourteen year olds. Look at Quinlan, he didn’t give a kriff about anything. 

The nightmares never changed. They were just as scary as the very first time. But Obi-Wan knew that everyone was sick of dealing with them, so he had convinced Master and Grandmaster to just ignore them when he woke up in the middle of the night again. Fourteen year olds did not make three people wake up just for one nightmare, and Obi-Wan had to shape up.

Cody said it was always okay to wake him up. And clones didn’t need that much sleep. And…and Obi-Wan’s soul was really convinced that he was going to die, that one day everybody was going to die, and somehow Obi-Wan ended up knocking at his cabin door at 0100. 

Regret hit instantly. Cody opened the door almost as quickly as regret, blinking down at the sleepy and terrified Obi-Wan wearing his robe over his sleep clothes. Obi-Wan second-guessed all his life decisions. 

“Uh,” Obi-Wan said, “wanna hang out?”

Cody, still wearing his day armor, leaned backwards and obviously looked at the clock. Obi-Wan started sweating.

Then Cody looked back at him, shrugged, and stood aside. “Alright. If you stay quiet, you can stay as long as you like.”

And then Cody let Obi-Wan into his room.

Cody had been inside Obi-Wan’s room over a dozen times, but the other way around felt different. Clones were insanely private people, and although Obi-Wan’s newfound access to the barracks had opened up a world of wonder and mystery, certain people still remained enigmas. Cody was one of them. For somebody who was so dominant in Obi-Wan’s life, he didn’t actually know a lot about him.

The cabin didn’t help. It was completely bare, with one trunk at the end of his bed containing his personal belongings and identifications. It was the same trunk every clone had, probably with the same personal belongings and identifications. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. He was at least hoping for wall-mounted heads of vanquished enemies. What he deserved for thinking Cody might have a personality. 

The reason why Cody was still wearing his armor became quickly evident. His small desk bolted to the wall was piled high with formwork, and the softly glowing white lamp evidenced how Obi-Wan had interrupted him in the middle of his midnight formwork. 

Obi-Wan squinted judgmentally at Cody. Cody refused to be ashamed. Obi-Wan squinted further, insinuating that shame was the only appropriate emotion to feel when you were up at 0100 doing formwork. Cody abruptly looked very frightened. 

“When did you get so good at that?”

“I pick up some stuff, you know.” Never would Obi-Wan ever admit how much. He shucked his robe and carefully hung it up on a peg next to Cody’s bucket, bouncing over and depositing himself on Cody’s cot. He’d never seen such neat corners. “Can I help you with your formwork?”

“I have it handled. Take the cot and get some rest.”

Obi-Wan looked dubiously at Cody. “Then where are you going to sleep?”

“I already slept.”

“You liar.”

“I only lie if it’s important.” Cody sat down at his desk, swiveling the stool back and re-asserting his focus over the formwork. He picked up a stylus, only to halt hard. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

What was there to say? It was just the usual. Death, destruction, a million voices crying out in pain before being silenced. It wasn’t anything Cody hadn’t heard before. That Obi-Wan hadn’t felt before. Yet Obi-Wan still couldn’t beat it. 

“Don’t take any vacations to Alderaan,” Obi-Wan said wisely.

“I don’t take vacations.”

“You’re fine, then.”

“Go to bed.”

Obi-Wan embraced the slightly surreal experience of snuggling under Cody’s thin blanket and tightly fitted sheets. Cody turned the lamp low, leaving a single dim star shining in the cabin’s darkness, and soon Obi-Wan heard nothing but the omnipresent hum of the ship’s atmo control and the creaking of Cody’s stool. 

“...Cody?”

Cody spoke without looking up from his work, implying his complete lack of faith that Obi-Wan would stay quiet. Harsh but fair. “Yes, Commander?”

“I seem pretty stupid, right?”

Cody continued signing the formwork, completely unphased. “Not at all. The future’s a scary place.”

Obi-Wan pulled the thin blanket higher, trying to bundle up in it. It was such a thin and scratchy blanket. He was literally a Marshal Commander, why didn’t he have nicer blankets? Obi-Wan had a soft and fluffy one brought over from the Temple. 

“Are you scared of it?”

A little wryly, he said, “I’ve been reliably informed that I’m not afraid of anything.”

Obi-Wan would absolutely believe that, but Cody didn't sound as if he did. “Then what are you scared of?”

Without pausing, almost absentmindedly, Cody said, “Something happening to you.”

Oh. Wow. Obi-Wan pulled the blanket up higher, close to his ears. “Really?”

For the first time, Cody halted. He looked up, staring at the wall. Obi-Wan couldn’t see his expression, but he spoke slowly and strangely. As if he was surprised, or had come to a belated realization. “I…suppose so.” 

Alright, Obi-Wan had to feel guilty now. He had really thought that Cody scolded him for doing dangerous things because it was against regs. “Sorry for jumping off a cliff with that rocketpack Rex stole.”

Cody leaned back a little, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t turn around, and Obi-Wan had a hard time reading his microexpressions. The dim light cast him in a strange glow, a shadow against the dark. “I - remember that. I remember watching you jump off that cliff. I didn’t even see the pack. I just saw you, and…I’d never felt like that before.”

“Felt like what?”

“Petrified,” Cody said distantly. “Like my galaxy was in its last second before neutron collapse. I think I’m scared of that feeling too.”

“I promise not to jump off any more cliffs,” Obi-Wan said, truly distressed. “No more cliff-jumping for me, I swear.”

Cody just huffed a silent laugh. He bent back down over his formwork, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Maybe I’m just scared of you, Commander.”

“What? Me! I’m not exactly going to turn Sith and start commanding a droid army, you know.”

“Goodnight, Commander.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything.

He quickly slid off the bed, trotted over to Cody, and gave him a very tight and very awkward hug from behind. Cody froze. Obi-Wan released him, trotted back to bed, and slipped back underneath the covers.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕕𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕒𝕣𝕔 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕠

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴇᴄʜᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴇᴄʜᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ��ᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ’ᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ɪɴꜱɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴇ ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴀɴ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ/ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ʜᴀɪʀ, ᴇᴄʜᴏ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ!

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3.7ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ/ɪ’ᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ - ɢʀᴏᴜᴘᴇʀ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴅᴏ - ʜᴏᴢɪᴇʀ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴄʟᴀɪʀᴏ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ - ᴀʟᴇxᴀɴᴅʀᴀ ꜱᴀᴠɪᴏʀ

⋆ ★ ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ ɢᴜʏꜱ ɪᴍ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴀᴏ3 ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɪ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴀ ʜᴏᴢɪᴇʀ ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴍʏ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ ʟᴍᴀᴏᴏ. ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ'ᴅ, ʟᴏᴡ-ᴋᴇʏ ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ᴀʙᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴛᴠ, ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴜᴢ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴇᴄʜᴏ :((((( ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ 🤍

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

“We can make this work.”

The room instantly stills with her insistence; a claustrophobic air of expectation surrounds Echo as her eyes, the eyes he thought he’d never see again, look at him like he is the same person she fell in love with.

The same man who proudly showed off his ARC kit and flexed his muscles jokingly because of a lame tip Fives had given him. Who made out with her a couple of corridors away from General Skywalker, so enraptured in their heavy petting they didn’t even notice when he’d banged on the door for them to get out. The same man who kissed her goodbye for the last time before going off the citadel on a life-risking mission.

How can she not see that the person standing in front of her isn’t the Echo she used to love?

Damp eyes plead silently and she takes a small step forward, reaching out her arms almost like she wanted to engulf him in a warm embrace. But Echo steps away and oh-so softly shakes his head, all to ease her down gently. 

She tilts her head; he can't stop himself before he's grimacing. 

Kriff, does his heart want to break; it wants to shatter. He can’t bear the thought of what he has to tell her. Not when she’s even more beautiful than before, incredibly pained yet exponentially mature with the years of his absence etched onto her face.

She looks exhausted, awaiting any moment she'll be allowed to retire. Not just his death, but the lives of so many of his brothers have weighted her back, turned her into another tragic story of Atlas. Echo can't dare imagine adding more for her to carry on her shoulders.

“No, cyare, I don’t think you understand,” Echo tells her, eyes darting from his hands to her face. “I’m- I’m not the trooper you met all those years ago.”

Her face contorts, eyebrows pushing together with her head tilted to the side. He grunts in frustration at the back of his throat, squeezing her hand softly for emphasis as he talks.

“Just look at me,” He pleads. “I’m more karkin’ battle droid than human. You- You don’t want me.”

It’s unsettling, how she looks at him. Still lovestruck in a fantasy even after what he's said. Echo cranes his neck.

“It–” His voice dies when the first word forces itself out; he grunts softly and scrunches his eyes, trying to compose his thoughts better. It's overwhelming; never in a thousand years did he think this would happen. That he’d be in her apartment again; that he’d get to see her again. And that she’d still want him.

“It isn’t fair on you,” He finally manages to say.

The expression on her face Echo isn’t able to read. He used to be so good at telling what she was thinking.

Now she perplexes him; just like everything else in this new life of his.

“Why-why would you think you’re not good enough for me?” How her voice sounds more choked than his, Echo isn’t sure; but it still seizes his heartbeat all the same.

He hadn’t noticed before, but her hands have slowly separated themselves from where they held his and reached up, hovering over his face, shaking slightly in the air as she waits for his permission to continue. He gives it, nonverbally, with a dip of his chin, despite everything supposedly logical in his head saying he shouldn’t allow it.

As her hand cups his cheek, elegant and warm against his skin, he grimaces painfully with a creased brow.

“Because–” He begins, losing his argument the longer he thinks it over. “I said it already. None of this is fair on you.”

“What’s ‘this’?” She responds immediately. To anyone else, she might’ve seemed confused, an ignorant, greedy, and impatient lover who isn’t listening to him. But in her presence again, he picks up on her little mannerisms, her patterns of behavior. It’s a comforting sensation. One of familiarity.

Will he learn how to read her mind again? Only time can tell him, Echo promptly concludes.

“This body,” He responds without a single stammer. Echo wants to look her in the eyes and give her the assurance she needs, but instead, they dart back and forth with uncertainty.

“This life with me, this–“ He groans, the back of his throat dry. “We can’t be normal, cyare.”

A meek ‘pfft’ noise falls past her lips, eyes fluttering up and down in what seems as though a measly attempt at an eye roll.

“We’ve never been normal,” She responds.

Echo frowns far too automatically. Tragically? in part, she isn’t wrong. Allowing yourself to fall for a soldier and let him into your life isn't easy, even for the most tough-willed. Nights when he'd return bloodied and bruised unearth themselves from his clouded memory, and fragments of moments where she'd try to muffle her quiet sobs of relief, wiping away her tears as he held her tight in his arms recur beside them. She constantly lived with a fear he'd never return, and even that came true. His shoulders heave.

“Maybe we haven’t, but-but you know what I mean,” he persists with complete seriousness. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t give you the life you deserve.” He gestures to the space around them, the space between them. “One with the perfect, handsome husband and a family and a house.”

When she shrugs, leaning in further and cupping his cheek, he holds back the wry face he wants to flash; she pushes him backward, further into her room, closer to the bed; he still has her layout memorized and etched into his retention. It's one of the only things that the Separatists didn't extract from his brain.

"I don't want 'perfect,'" She makes air quotations in the air as she says that, thinking of the ideal life Echo had illustrated for her. "I want you. I want you just as much as I did before."

He frowns.

"Even with all this?" A hand hovers over hers, gesturing for her to look, really look at the body he has, the metal and the circuits and the superficialness of it all. She gazes for a moment before looking up again. 

"If I'm to be completely honest..." She begins, moving so their chests are so close to touching, so close to pressing together so they become one person again, one entity of pure love and adoration. Perhaps those feelings can be revoked unchanged, an optimistic shadow of Echo hopes. "It makes me love you more."

Before he can beg the question how?, she's already continuing. Her other hand reaches up and cups his face endearingly.

"It shows everyone, even me, how strong you are," She marvels innocently, yet undeniably heartwarming. A sting of pain stakes throug his stomach. "My brave ARC trooper who went through and hell and back, and still came back just as wonderful."

His gaze drifts down again; somehow, her words make him even more terrified of looking into her eyes. What if, one day, she looks into his eyes, and doesn’t see that? Sees what he does, a broken figment of a man, a clone who failed his purpose, a soldier who can’t follow orders, no matter how hard they try. And then all this love he’s undeservingly graced with will be gone in just an instant. How selfish of him.

"Just as wonderful..." She still continues. "Just as handsome."

His eyebrows push together, and she pulls him down to kiss where his creases meet; she is a splendor of honey and healing between them in ways he never knew possible. Echo's eyes widen suddenly when he feels her lips against his, for the first time in what felt like a thousand eternities. Something in that moment is stilled; and for a fraction, everything is good. Everything is perfect.

"You're beautiful, Echo," She whispers against him. Her forehead comes to rest where he dips down. His eyes are still closed, but he can picture how she might look quite well. Eyes filled with adoration and hope, hope he so desperately wants her to share with him. 

"How-" He begins, choking slightly; his eyes shut harder. If he focuses hard enough, he can't feel her touch; the touch he feels so undeserving of. "How can you say that so easily?"

There’s a thin, unmeaningful pause in the air.

"It's second nature," She responds effortlessly. Her hand strokes his cheek, slowly lulling him to open his eyes and look, don't think, just look. "And because I love you."

And at that moment, he falls apart. Something in him, his lungs perhaps, collapses under the sudden pressure he's pulled into. It's a type of pressure he wants to be under, no doubt about it–he wants to be loved, to be held like this no matter what the sensible part of him thinks–but it remains a slow, painful strangling. 

His eyes shut close again and a sob ruptures at the back of his throat, thyroid straining. He leans into her without thinking of the crushing weight– not a step he consciously realizes he's taken, but one nonetheless. Her hands hold his face entirely; how she can be so incredibly firm and keep him so steady, Echo doesn't understand. None of this he can fully comprehend.

Another sob is ripped out of him.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Echo tells her, hushed and sorrowful between two quiet sniffles. "Your voice- I used to play the sound of your voice every day."

"I know, I know," She whispers back, nodding as he talks. Echo isn't lost entirely to pick up on how the words don't match her feelings; she didn't know, and her heart bounds to be swelling with overwhelming adoration. He knows hearing this means the entire galaxy to her; she missed him so, so much.

Why does he feel so much pain then?

He peels open his eyes, blinking away the litter of tears over his face, and allows himself to encircle her waist; they're already so close, and why Echo feels so nervous to simply touch her is puzzling

The softness in her eyes is something powerful. More powerful than a lightsaber-wielding Jedi or the most prepped battleship. Any remaining tolerance he has left completely dissolves under waves of matured, pained, yet beautiful love. Because he can’t deny how much he loves her. How much she makes him feel. That’s a power the Separatists will never have on him. 

"Stay the night?" She then asks gently, caressing his cheek. Echo gulps hoarsely as he realizes how long he’d been holding his breath, then nods desperately. 

"–If you'll allow me."

-

She's been in the `fresher for forty-five minutes now.

Told him to 'Get comfortable, I'll be out soon,' and 'You've slept over so many times before, don't feel like a guest,' but he sits stiff atop of the bed, still in denial that this is home. That it's still home after forced abandon. An oh-so-familiar feeling he hasn’t felt in so long rushes through him; its not as comforting as he’d hope it’d be.

Echo can hear her breathing, her soft humming of a lullaby she once confided that her mother always used to sing to her. The same one she sang lowly into his ear when he woke up in a cold sweat, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he held her and crooned to him like a sickly child. 

Nightly tire seeps into his eyes, heaves his chest and Echo allows himself to breathe all the way down to his stomach. His lungs feel metallic, just as robotic as the rest of him as he awaits her to come out again. She never takes this long. At least, she never used to. Always efficient and makes so well with her time to keep her water and electric bills down.

Anxieties sweep through. She doesn't want to leave. Can't bear to see him sitting there on her bed again. She regrets her decision. She doesn't love him, she never did, she never will, she...

The door opens. She peaks through her head, a pleading softness etched into her.

"Echo?" She calls out to him.

"Yeah?" Her eyes scan him up and down, and Echo realizes how misplaced he looks. He hasn't sat down completely on the bed yet, his hands on his thighs and his posture perfectly composed, comfortably uncomfortable and so out of place. At least that's how he feels.

"Would you please brush my hair?"

A fond memory rushes through like a wave of warm water. She hates brushing her own hair. Always whines as she tries to untangle all the knots and always asks him to do it for her. The faintest smile graces Echo’s features.

“Of course, cyare.”

She grins softly. He tilts his head slightly.

“What?” He asks, incredulous.

“I missed your voice so much,” She recalls with a nostalgic glint in her eye. “The way you called me cyare.” 

His only response is a soft grunt of agreement; he feels the exact same way. He missed the way her voice wrapped around a note, let out a laugh discreetly when she shouldn’t have been amused, hold onto a gasp or relief when he came through the door bruised and bloodied. Everything about it lost in the cryochamber and restored the moment he sits face to face with her now.

Swiftly, he beckons her over and lets her sit beside him, turning her back to him and handing him the brush. The moment he takes it and lets it sift through her hair, the softest moan is coerced out of her lips and she leans back into his touch.

Wordlessly, he continues to brush her wet hair. There's a level of intimacy that can't be reached with skin against skin, heavy pants as he roots himself deep inside of her; they can't reach this level of trust, where her back can be turned against her and allowed to control her vanity. Even after going through hell and back disheveled–half a man, she puts her reliance in him without hesitation.

“I missed this,” He admits in a hushed, almost shameful exhale.

A soft chuckle comes out of her. Somehow, she sounds disbelieved.

”Putting up with my little hissy fits about my hair?” She jests.

He answers with full certainty.

”More than you’ll ever know, cyare.”

She sighs delicately.

”Have I ever told you how much I like that nickname?” She asks.

Echo tilts his head, stopping his hand movements for a split second.

”Cyare?”

She nods.

”I remember the first time you called me that like it was yesterday.”

Echo hums under his breath, continuing to brush her hair. He rakes his brain for the memory she seems to remember so well, eyebrows knitting in focus.

”…I’ve forgotten.”

She nods again, void of maliciousness.

“I was completely wasted at 79’s,” She retells the story for him.  “‘Was wobbling and knocking things over. You walked me home and made sure I was okay… and called me that when you were helping me up.”

The image comes to him. Her loopy smile as he attempts to wrap her arm over his shoulder, trying not to enjoy her helplessness too much as he helps her get up and leave 79’s, muttering into her ear softly, ‘Let’s get you home, cyare.’

”…I remember now,” Echo says.

Her hair shifts, head perking up.

”Oh?”

Echo mutters a soft ‘yeah,’ struggling to simultaneously grab all of her hair into a hand and brush it into the palm with the scomp link on his other arm. Even when he tries to do something from his life before, things have changed. Made menially more difficult.

”You asked me to kiss you at your doorstep…” He continues the story, a melancholic tone of recall plaguing him before he can stop himself.

Her head tilts again. It’s making it more difficult for him to brush her hair better, but he doesn’t mind.

”And you said no because I was drunk and not in my right mind…” She fills in the next sentence.

”…And I thought you would regret it the next day," He finishes, running a hand through her hair with finality. She turns her head, wrapping all of her neatly brushed hair to a shoulder and giving him a soft grin.

”I hope you know I wouldn’t have," She says.

He nods, allowing himself to soften further into the bed, borderline beamish.

“Still wouldn’t have kissed a drunk girl.”

The room basks in her sunlit smile. She leans in, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting on his shoulders, and Echo doesn't flinch. He expected to, with how wary and uncertain and unworthy he felt (and still feels) in her mere presence, but he doesn't flinch and it's so damn relieving he wants to cry in a mixture of joy and pain. Kriff, doesn't she look perfect, he dares to think. Isn't everything about her just... perfect. What did I do to deserve her?

She leans in further, pulling him down to meet her in the middle, their foreheads pressing against each other firmly. Her starry eyes carry unrealistic visions but he loves the dream inside them. She smiles, a breathy exhale shared between the little space they share, and she shakes her head without real purpose.

”Ever the gentleman," She mutters.

Echo's the one to make the final motion. He plunges down and captures her bottom lip between his, not even hesitating to embosom her waist with his hand. The upward curl of her lips is so prominent against his mouth; a sickly sweet happiness seeps and exudes off of her and into him. It flows through his veins, seizes his heart for a moment and Echo can't help but gasp. But it's swallowed by her own kiss. They both enrapture each other.

Even then, they revel in the languid motions they can take. Selfishly, Echo decides he wants more of her. All of her, if she'll allow it. He sucks in her bottom lip, parting his and swiping his tongue over hers in the way he always used to do, the way that made her squeak softly in a breathy gasp. She makes the sound again and his life is made in an instant.

The dam waters can’t be held back anymore; worldly anxieties no longer tether him to realism. All that matters is the two of them and the pure love they can have.

Echo squeezes her waist firmly and she breaks away with a smile.

”Didn’t think you’d do that,” She says lowly into his mouth. He only shrugs because her assumption may have been correct; he wasn’t expecting to kiss her.

“Me neither,” He admits aloud. She chuckles silently before kissing him again, making him crane his back to fully reach her the way he wants to. Something in him has been carnally ignited when she lets him hold her and kiss her like this; a feeling he hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity since he last saw her is unearthed. He needs all of it; needs all of her again.

He adjusts the two of them, moving her knees to spread her legs apart, and places himself between them; he beckons her to the center of the mattress, his scomp link aside and leaning on his elbow. His hand creeps up her neck into the back of her hair, grounding her into place as Echo allows himself to take.

But when she sighs and her eyes flutter close, he pulls away.

”Does it stand?” The words come out so softly and without structure, Echo is sure she didn’t mean for it to come out.

”What do you mean?” He asks after a moment.

”Is… does it stand the test of time?” Her hands hover over his shoulders now, fingers tentatively and timorously resting on thin air. She's gesturing to the two of them, talking about how this feels, how she feels, if it's okay, if he's satisfied; she treads just as carefully as he did just a few moments before. “The- the test of change?”

What test? The question wishes to beg in his mind. But it doesn't because Echo feels the tug as well. The claustrophobic worry that his anxieties inevitably are true; she won't want him the moment their lips meet again. 

"It does for me," He takes a leap into faith. He could carry the same fears and insecurities dear to his chest, or he could look into her eyes and see for himself how she feels. He does; he wants to cry.

She looks so happy. Her eyes crinkling at the corners and her lips spread wide into a blinding smile, she holds her chest softly, as if beckoning for her heart to still. She lets out a small sigh of respite, lifting her arms again to pull him down. When she kisses him, it's drowning in reverence. Drowning in relief.

"Me too," She whispers against his mouth, before seizing his lips again. His eyes scrunch hard against her, as if he’s trying hard to imagine a different world where they can be like this forever. He creates it almost effortlessly. The tenseness in his muscles weaken.

Since Echo was rescued, his chest has ached. His whole body reacted poorly to the prosthetics, each step painful and unworthy of existence. It's slowly subsided, but he feels the ache's hold on him weaken even more. Her simple touch fills empty sockets of his being; so violently stripped of him before, now returned in loving arms.

In the split moments, in their faint beautiful existence, he falls in love again. He kisses her and holds her tight and whispers how damn bad he missed her. The world narrows into a space only the two of them can fit, a galaxy where they can love each other in absolute peace and solitude.

Like real people do.

dividers by @saradika ~ tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch

[annwrites24]

Organized by @dindjarindiaries for December 2024!

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: M, but all my content and my blog are 18+ only

Word count: 360

Tags (All parts): fluff, some angst, developing relationship, mentions of loss of parents, second person POV, no use of y/n, hints of smut if you squint.

Day Eighteen: Home

Din can't believe you said it. He'd given you directions to the market and promised to meet you there after arranging for the repairs to the Razor Crest's heating system, but it had taken far longer than he'd expected. He'd hovered while the droids worked; they were all that was available if he wanted it done quickly, the mechanic had claimed; just to make sure that they were being careful and actually fixing his ship, not making it worse.

Thankfully, you had Grogu with you, so by the time Din is finished and walking to the market, he assumes you're probably almost ready to leave. When he catches up with you, he sees your arms are full of supplies, and Gorgu is riding in your hood, a piece of a pastry clutched in his tiny fist. When you see Din, he watches your eyes brighten as you wave him over. He mumbles an apology for taking so long, and you wave him off, but you do let him take some of your burdens so he can carry them for you. And then you say it, and it makes his heart seize.

Ready to go home?

He nods numbly and follows you back to the shipyard. You're chatting away about what a good deal you'd gotten on some of the food and complaining with a smile about how your idea to share a snack with Grogu had wound up getting pastry crumbs in your hair. Din is trying to listen while you talk, but he can't stop his mind and heart from reeling.

You called his ship home. It's Din's home, and Grogu's home, now, too. But he hadn't expected that you would think of it that way. You could have said, ready to go back to the ship? But you didn't. You'd called his home, your home. And Din is surprised to find that idea makes him happy. He wants you to be comfortable, to settle in and feel free to take up space. A bounty hunter's gunship might not be the perfect place for it, but he wants you to choose the ship, and choose him, as your home.

Find my other fics on AO3! Header art by me. I do not give permission for any of my work, whole or in part, to be fed into any AI generative program under any circumstances.