#sniff sniff i smell jedi

[deathofacupid]

dude (blurb) | jake peralta

summary: "dude" but romantically.

warnings: none.

pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta (friends to lovers)

word count: 0.8k+ words

"okay, but i'm serious! you have to try it, it's literally amazing."

"i was gonna take your word for it, but i remembered it's you... so, no."

"dude," he whined, a soft smile adorning his lips.

"dude," you say back, same tone.

"fine, fine, what if i make you one? that's, like, no work required. y'know minus chewing."

"jacob jeffrey peralta, i am not, not even on my deathbed, trying pickles with ice cream. that's just a new level of gross."

"but charles approved it!"

"why on earth would that affect whether or not i try it?"

"y'know, i have no clue. i'm getting desperate."

"i can see that."

"dudeeee," he kicks his feet on the floor as he's sitting next to you on the couch. die hard is playing on the tv in his apartment, but the two of you have seen it so many times, you practically have it memorized by heart.

and why would you ever watch die hard when jake's sitting right there?

between you and yourself, you know which you'd rather watch. okay, "watch" sounded creepy.

you're laying on his lap as he's looking down at you, pouting.

you roll your eyes, but it's all fun. "dudeeee."

truth be told, you're sure you can handle the odd food combo, but teasing him and drawing this out is so much more fun. god, you really are in love with him.

"pretty, pretty, please? with- with, like, seven cherries on top?"

"just seven?" you pretend to be offended.

"i'm a brokie, the best i can do is eight." jake runs a hand through your hair, it's so comforting.

you sigh, "all right."

"to the cherries or the pream?"

"the- the what now?"

"pickles. ice cream. pickles and ice cream. pream? yeah, you know what, that's... that's not it. doesn't roll of the tongue great."

"oh, yeah. that, and it sounds like an std."

"good point. i'm gonna assume you meant the... cream... pi... creampi-"

"i'm gonna stop you right there."

he nods quickly. "right. what about cream-"

"not if it starts with 'cream', dude."

"icickles?"

"n-"

"piccream!"

"if i try your 'dish'," you air quote, "will you stop trying to come up with names."

"maybe."

you give him a look, and he amends, "yes. maybe. i pledge to do my best." jake salutes you, then pokes your check. you scowl, swatting him away and sitting up.

"lead me to your kitchen."

"sure. it's five steps that-a-way," he says, pointing to the kitchen that is quite exactly five steps away. like a true gentleman, jake scoops you - through which you protest ("dude!") - and then (after six steps, actually [wow, his apartment is slightly bigger than hypothesized]) sets you on the counter.

"i feel like you should know that i'm perfectly capable of walking on my own."

"but why would you when i'm here?"

"dude."

"dude," he replies, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer.

"how are you even supposed to eat this? like... spread it? o-or dip?"

jake grabs a spoon and scoops some ice cream onto it. "watch, young jedi."

"i don't-"

"shh, i'm yoda-ing." he spreads it on the pickle and shoves it in your face. slowly, you sniff it. it doesn't smell... like anything bad, really.

it doesn't look great though. "is it too late to go back?"

"yes." after a second, he groans, "gah, i'll go first." he takes a bite, and you make a face.

"mmm... you shouf knodis is-"

"jake, swallow."

he grins and you furrow your brows. "what- oh. oh! jake!" your cheeks heat up so quickly, for a number of reason. because, yeah, obviously the second one sounds better.

also, of course that's what he instantly goes to.

"oh, my god. are you twelve or thirty-three? because i honestly can't tell."

"dude, i'm well-versed. you wouldn't understand."

"i'm... twenty-five. wo-wouldn't i-?"

"schematics."

"yeah, okay, bud."

"dude," he corrects.

"right," you murmur, "dude."

you don't really realize how he's leaning in, the way if you do too, your lips would touch. you falter, and you can feel warm breath minglingwith yours.

jake cups your cheek and you lean into it. you aren't sure what's about to happen, though it should be obvious. but with jake, you're nervous, afraid that this isn't really happening.

you have no clue what he's done with the pickle, and you have no clue why that's what's on your mind right now.

he squeezes your waist gently, a way of asking for permission. you nod, and at first, it's just a brush. just a brush of his lips against yours, feeling for some type of sense that this is happening. that it's reality.

you press back against him, your hand on top of his, the one on your face. your other hand blindly feels for his hair, tugging against his soft, brown curls.

when you pull away, you're breathing hard. not because of the kiss, because it wasn't aggressive or any longer than twenty seconds, but because of the adrenaline of it all.

"dude," he breathes, and you giggle.

"y'taste like pickles. and ice cream. it's actually not that bad," you admit. "at least not on you."

"dude," jake repeats, dumb-founded at what just happened.

you peck him again, right on the lips, "dude."

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Family Video

steddie, omegaverse, mdni 🔞

Eddie’s putzing around in the horror section at Family Video when the bell over the door jingles. He glances without thinking, shocked to see Robin Buckley lead Steve Harrington inside.

He’s nosy, wants to know what the hell is up with that. But he also doesn’t want to attract Keith’s attention. Eddie’s taking his time to hang in the A/C as long as possible, nearly an hour already.

Not that Buckley is capable of being quiet, so he hears plenty.

How they’re job hunting and how Robin probably knows more about film than Keith does. How Steve Fuckin’ Harrington likes Return of the Jedi! Even if he can’t remember the title and calls ewoks teddy bears. 

Color Eddie surprised.

Add in Steve’s bright, colorblocked outfit and his swoopy hair, the way he absolutely takes out the Fast Times promotional standee and hurries to fix it, resume in his mouth like an enthusiastic labrador retriever.

Embarrassingly, Eddie realizes he’s been pumping out his campfire and marshmallow scent, too charmed to lock down his sudden interest, subconsciously trying to draw in the stupidly endearing omega.

He figures he should go before he actually catches any attention, dipping around the counter and out the door, but not before he hears Buckley and Harrington get hired on the spot.

It’s easy enough for Eddie to memorize Steve’s schedule, only going to rent movies while he’s working. Sometimes he drags the guys with him, or maybe just Jeff, giving more cover to surreptitiously stare at the moles on Steve’s neck.

“You aren’t being nearly as sneaky as you think,” Jeff mutters on more than one occasion . “Just go talk to him.”

“Can’t.” Eddie keeps Jeff between himself and the counter, eyes on the slasher movies like he’s agonizing over his decision.

“Why not?”

“Cuz I’ll say something stupid like, ‘Please, sit on my face, I wanna drown in your pussy.’ That’s why,” Eddie whispers, risking a glance towards Steve.

“What? Seriously!”

“Have you seen what a mess he is now? And add in that apple pie scent—my mouth is watering and my dick is—”

“Christ! I’m sorry I asked. But I still think you should talk to him.” Jeff turns his attention to the shelf in front of them. “Nightmare on Elm Street?” he asks, reaching for the case.

“Yeah…” Then Eddie stares as Jeff brings the tape up to the counter, his best friend effortlessly making small talk and laughing as he rents the movie. Like a coward, Eddie hurries out of the video store, waiting for Jeff in his van.

When Eddie goes to return the tape the next day, he’s surprised when Steve looks at Robin and says, “I’m going on my break,” even as he accepts the tape from Eddie, their fingers brushing.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin answers, flipping through a magazine.

Broad fingers wrap around Eddie’s wrist and drag him back to the Family Video break room past the “Employees Only” sign.

Steve smiles at him as he closes the door behind them. “Sorry. Just got tired of waiting for you to make a move.”

“What?” Eddie has never known Steve Harrington to be the kind of omega who waits for an alpha.

“You aren’t doing a very good job of controlling your scent.”

Eddie gulps, cheeks heating.

“And your friend said you were super into me, which… Yeah, definitely picked up on that.”

Nodding, Eddie waits for his tongue to untie, pretty sure he’s gonna die first when Steve steps closer, presses his hand to Eddie’s chest. “You surprised me,” he manages to say.

“Sorry about that.” Steve doesn’t look sorry at all as he leans in, sniffs at Eddie’s neck. “I’m too used to Robin, bad at personal space with pack.”

“Not what I meant—the ewoks—I mean. Shit. Wait.” Eddie closes his eyes, Steve’s scent filling his nose and making him warm. He smells safe. Familiar.

“Yes?” Steve murmurs, hand moving up to touch the skin above the collar of Eddie’s shirt.

“Not pack, what do you mean bad at personal space with pack?”

“Can tell you should be pack.” He nuzzles at Eddie’s cheek and whispers, “Want to be your pack.”

Eddie gives into his instincts then, whining and holding Steve’s face still, bringing their mouths together. He has no idea what he’s doing, but Steve clearly does as he gentles the kiss, grinning as he pulls away.

“My shift ends at seven. Meet me at my place at seven-thirty.”

Eddie nods. “Uh-huh, yep, whatever you say.”

Steve glances up at the clock. “But we’ve still got six minutes before my break ends, and you need to practice,” he teases, pulling Eddie back in for another kiss.

[lovelybucky1]

a little gross drabble inspired by @hanasnx’s most recent hayden thirsts

warnings: gender neutral!reader, armpit kink, scent kink, teasing, playful bullying, fwb, mentions of sex, dont like dont read, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

you and anakin have been friends for almost half your life, ever since he came to the temple to begin his jedi training. you’ve grown up together, and while your friendship was innocent and nothing more as children, as you got older, your eyes started to wander.

being as close as you two are, it was only natural that your sexual experimentation was done together. you swear you and anakin have tried everything, and you feel there isn’t much left to experience.

now in your early twenties with the innocence of childhood long gone, you would describe your relationship with anakin as friends with benefits. you love him, of course, but the idea of dating him makes you want to gag. you’re best friends who just so happen to fuck, because they just so happen to know everything the other likes in bed.

seeing as you’re just friends, anakin has no qualms about bullying you. he’ll play pranks on you, flip you on your back during sparring, use the force to hide objects and move chairs out from under you. you try to give as good as you get, but with his size and strength, he does have an advantage over you.

you’re pretty open with anakin, he is your best friend after all. you don’t have many secrets, and he knows you very intimately. what he doesn’t know, however, is how much you like it when he stinks. every time you train with him, or even stand next to him, you try to get a whiff. he smells so masculine and strong and it makes your knees weak.

you know it’s gross and embarrassing and abnormal.you know you could never tell him because he’ll never let you live it down. he’d constantly be riling you up just to leave you hanging, aching. that’s why you’ve kept it a secret… up until now.

you were in the training room practicing your hand to hand, nothing out of the ordinary. you almost had the upper hand until anakin wrapped his arm around your neck. the crook of his elbow cradled your head and he pulled you in, effectively preventing you from going anywhere.

the issue was, your nose was pressed right into his armpit. his musk was strong, having accumulated after hours of fighting. the shirt he wore was wet with sweat and the scent filled your nose. it smelled good; anakin always smelled so good. it smelled like sex, like pleasure, and you wanted all of it. combined with him physically restraining you, using all those muscles against you, your head started to spin.

“are you sniffin’ my pits?” he asked after he heard you take a deep inhale.

immediately you began to stammer, trying to come up with an explanation.

“no, i just-” you started, voice muffled by his arm.

“nah, you are. how’s that smell, huh? you like that?” he said, voice teasing.

mercifully, he gave you some slack to pull your head back and look up at him. your eyes were glassy and lust blown, even after something as simple as that.

“what’s that look for?” he asked

“nothin’”

“nothing? then why do you look like you’re about to cum in your pants just from smelling me?”

you couldn’t meet his eyes. “smells good.”

he let out a chuckle. “don’t get shy on me. i know you have a thing for it.” you looked up at him with wide, worried eyes. “you’re so fuckin’ obvious. i haven’t worn deodorant in months just so your slutty ass could get off on it.”

“h-how did you find out?”

you want to evaporate, melt right through the floor to escape this humiliating conversation.

“i know my workout clothes don’t magically disappear from my room and end up in yours,” he rolls his eyes. “and you always stand right next to me, especially when it’s hot out, and… you’re always more desperate for me when i’m sweaty.”

“anakin i’m-”

“shut up.”

“what?”

“shut up. i don’t care what you’re into. honestly i think it’s hot that you want me so bad you’d sniff my dirty clothes just to get off.”

anakin let you go and stepped away from you so he had enough room to take off his shirt. he tossed it to the floor and let you admire him in all of his tanned, muscular glory. he raised his arms and clasped his hands behind his neck, putting both of his hairy armpits on display.

he smirks at you, “go ahead, it’s all yours.”

[tbnrpotato]

Our Own Choices

Chapter 15

Warnings: Violence, swearing, possibly blood

When we all return to the Marauder, Tech takes a look at the lightsaber wound on my arm, applying some cooling burn cream and injecting some sort of medicine into the wound, before bandaging it up.

"Thanks," I sigh as the cream numbs the burning feeling.

"You do not need to thank me. It is standard protocol that wounds are tended to after a mission," Tech replies without even looking at me, typing away at his datapad, before heading to the pilot's seat.

I sit at the back seat with Echo, Tech and Wrecker had them installed when we went for a quick supply run shortly after I joined them. 

Gonky waddles over to me from the back, making some "gonk" sounds, which I understand as "Is your arm okay?" I smile and pat Gonky on the head. "I'm fine."

He seems to enjoy the gesture as he nudges me a little with his metal body. I take off my helmet and pat Gonky on the head again, breathing in the scent of the ship as I lean back in my chair. I can never get sick of the smell. The familiarity of Echo's scent, that minty one from Crosshair, the dirt from Hunter because he always sniffs it like it's cocaine, gunpowder for Wrecker, and Tech smells like the 501st barracks if the air was sour. Hunter says I smell like chlorine. I love the smell, it feels so welcoming, almost like the 501st, but in a different way.

I put my helmet back on as I remember that I'm supposed to act like a "good soldier" who "follows orders" to gain Crosshair's trust and maybe help him remove his chip like how Fives did.

I sigh as we take off for Kamino. If order 66 was issued, most Jedi would be dead by now.

Even General Skywalker.

At least Commander Tano left the order, so she should be safe.

How's Rex? Will he be back on Kamino? Is he okay? Should I comm him?

Echo puts a hand on my shoulder, noticing my worry. As much as I try to hide it, he's known me long enough to notice the little habits I do when I'm worried.

"Ad'ika, everything's going to okay," he says, looking at me with a slight smile.

"I'm just worried about Rex. Maybe I should comm him-"

"You can do it when we get back to Kamino."

I sigh at the mention of our home planet. I never wanted to go back there. Never wanted to go back to the white, sterile prison I escaped from just before the war started. But hey, it's not like I have much of a choice.

I keep my helmet on throughout the journey. It's more comfortable, really. No one gets to see my face in case I commit a war crime or something. Crosshair and Hunter fall asleep on their seats while I turn on the music from my datapad and connect it to the earpiece in my helmet, listening to Avicii music.

After a few hours of finding a bunch of music to listen to, I hear Tech say, "We are coming up on Kamino." 

I switch off the music, still keeping my helmet on.

"It's good to be home. How long has it been?" Wrecker asks.

Not good to be home. And 180 rotations based on their schedule. 

"180 rotations in a standard cycle, but galactic zone changes but the adjusted figure at around 205."

Oh. Damn.

"Wut?" Wrecker asks.

Are you that stupid?

Echo sighs. "A long time." He sounds so fed up, rolling his eyes when Wrecker agrees.

I sit behind Hunter and Crosshair, listening in on every conversation. I notice Crosshair turning to look at Hunter, who responds, eyes closed, with a "What?"

"You sure that Padawan died when he fell?"

"Sure I'm sure. Why?" Hunter opens his eyes as he talks.

"Well, usually when someone falls you look down, not across."

"Well some of us don't like to watch," Hunter replies as he stands up and walks to where Echo, Tech and Wrecker are. Crosshair and I remain at the back, I silently observe as he crosses his arms. 

I hear thunder crashing from outside the ship, and it shakes me to my core. Only Kamino thunder sounds like that. I remember hiding in my bunk every night, trying to drown out the sounds of waves crashing against the supports. My squadmates laughing at me for being a coward, saying it was because I was defective.

One of the days the storms were much worse than usual. The thunder too loud for my liking, I could almost feel the waves reaching to the platform. I was sneaking out of my barracks, when I saw 99 carrying blasters to the weapon storage area.

"Hey Aris," he called out when he noticed me. "What're you doing still up?"

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted. "Thunder was too loud."

99 puts the blasters he was carrying to the side and puts his arm around my shoulder, guiding me into the barracks where the rest of my sleeping squadmates are.

"Cmon kid, let's get you to bed."

I climb into my bunk as another crash of thunder startles me, and I curl up into a ball in my bunk.

"Everything's going to be okay kid. Just relax and think of something else," 99 says as he puts the blanket over me, tucking me into bed. I smile up at him. "Thanks 99."

He gives me a short nod, his half-smile making the wrinkles on his face even more pronounced as he walks out.

That night I had the best sleep of my life.

And now 99's dead. And I'm all grown up. I sigh as I push the urge to cry down and focus on the present.

"Unidentified transport, transmit your clearance code," A voice from the front of the ship says.

"Clearance code? Don't they know who we are?" Echo asks.

"Must be a protocol drill," Tech replies. "Transmitting clearance code."

"Authorization confirmed. Proceed to landing bay one-tac-one."

Tech pilots the ship into the landing bay. The door of the ship opens and Hunter and Tech walk out first, with me following behind them. If I'm in the middle, hopefully no one will notice the new addition to the squad. Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair walk out behind me, all of their helmets off except me and Crosshair's.

Clones patrol the landing bay, and I spot the familiar crimson armor of the Coruscant Guard troopers. I scoff at the sight.

Fucking Coruscant Guard. Murdered a good soldier who just tried to do his duty. I would kill them any day.

"Shock troopers? What's the Coruscant Guard doing here?" Hunter's voice interrupts my silent trash talking of the Coruscant Guard. 

Oh. Right. Forgot they were supposed to be on Coruscant.

"Level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams, report to the command center." A voice on the speakers says.

Lockdown? For what? Kamino doesn't look like it's in any danger.

"This isn't a drill," Tech observes.

How perceptive.

"Aw man. What did we miss now?" Wrecker sounds disappointed.

"The end of the war," a random shock trooper answers. 

"Say that again, trooper?" Hunter asks.

"General Grievous was defeated on Utapau. The separatist leadership has collapsed. The war is over."

"Just like I said," Tech says. 

Of course. He's usually right.

Wrecker gasps dramatically. "It is just like you said."

I roll my eyes at Wrecker's comment as I watch troopers carry a body laid out on a stretcher covered by a piece of cloth.

A body? On Kamino? No battles happened recently...

A lightsaber falls out from under the cloth and onto the floor.

A Jedi.

So I was right. Most of the Jedi are dead.

The shock trooper picks the lightsaber up from the floor as the rest of the batch look at each other with a look that says, "something's not right".

"Is there a problem?" The shock trooper asks.

"No...problem. We'll just head to our barracks then," Hunter says, looking back at the rest of us for a moment before walking off, with the rest of us following.

"Best hurry. There's a mandatory general assembly at 1500," the shock trooper says.

We walk through the sterile, almost blinding white hallways of Kamino. I instinctively stay close to Echo, not to the point of looking like a clingy child, but still within half a meter radius of him.

Echo looks back at me. "You okay?"

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. "Yeah. I just...never thought I'd find myself back here. Again." It's my way of saying, "I don't want to be back here. I'm so scared." 

Echo gives me a short nod, which is his way of saying, "Everything's going to be okay" in public. We pass rows of troopers marching towards somewhere, in an almost robotic way.

"It's not just the clones on Kaller," Hunter says. "All the regs are acting strange." Tech looks around. "Let's test that theory." He proceeds to walk up to a random clone and asks, "Excuse me, trooper. What division are you from?"

Obviously annoyed, the clone elbows him in the side with his blaster. "Step aside."

"Oh, well they seem the same to me."

"I'm not surprised. I'd be annoyed too," I speak up, trying to lighten the mood. No one replies.

We reach their barracks and the moment the door opens, I'm greeted with the scent of oil, rotting food, and sweat. I scrunch up my nose under my helmet.

Tech walks in first, then Wrecker, who exclaims how it's good to be back while setting his helmet on a crate.

"The smell's getting worse," Echo comments.

"You're still new. You'll get used to it," Hunter reassures him, patting him on the shoulder. Crosshair pushes past the both of them. "Speak for yourself."

I hesitantly walk into the barracks, the smell gets stronger when I enter. I look around, observing my surroundings. It's quite messy, Tech has a bunch of random parts scattered on the table, Echo has a hammock at the side, and Crosshair's bunk has crates in front of it to block people from entering it.

This is the first time I'm entering their barracks. The last time they went back to Kamino I refused to go, and they went to pick me up in a few days. Those few days were the best of my life.

Crosshair goes to sit on the crates blocking his bunk while the rest of them go to sit at the table in the middle of the room. Wrecker marks the board for the number of missions we completed.

Still keeping my helmet on by instinct, I walk over to Crosshair, who's currently chewing on a toothpick, helmet off.

"Um. Can I have one?" I awkwardly gesture to the toothpick in his mouth.

"No," he replies. "Go away."

"Look we need to get you to the medbay right now or as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Because there's an inhibitor chip in your head which basically makes you follow orders blindly and it's working for all the other clones except us but it's working for you and-"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not you carried out Order 66 and-"

"Shut up," he says in a dangerously low tone. My temper starts to flare up.

"Make me."

Crosshair stands up from the crates and cracks his knuckles, ready to draw his knife if things escalate. I draw my knife and get into a fighting stance.

"Woah woah woah. Easy," Hunter says as he pushes us apart. I glare at Crosshair, and he glares back. Not breaking eye contact, I sheathe my knife and shove Crosshair over just for good measure before heading over to sit next to Echo. 

"11 more successful missions," Wrecker says with a grin. "Like there was any doubt." He goes to sit on his bunk, picking up his tooka doll.

"Kaller wasn't a win," Echo says. 

"Says who? We completed our objective."

"Not every objective," Crosshair speaks up, picking up his rifle and examining it. I draw my sword from my back and start sharpening it absentmindedly, just needing something to do with my hands. 

"Hunter let that Jedi kid escape. Or do you want to keep lying to us?"

Hunter stands up and looks out the window. "I don't like to think of executing our commanders as a mission objective."

Crosshair stands up from his position on the crates. 

"An order is an order."

"Since when?"

They glare at each other for a moment before Echo breaks the tension. "None of this makes sense. Those clones served alongside General Bilaba for years. How could they turn on her like that?!"

"Because of the regs' programming," Tech speaks up.

"What programming?" Hunter breaks his death stare at Crosshair to ask.

"It's been well documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the cognitive functions of clones-"

"To engineer them to follow orders without question," I finish. Tech glares at me like I just committed a horrible war crime.

"Ha! We sure don't!" Wrecker shouts, assaulting Crosshair with his tooka doll.

"Obviously we are different. They manipulated pre-existing aberrations in our DNA resulting in your brute strength, Crosshair's sharpshooting skills..." Lucky son of a bitch. "...Hunter's enhanced senses and my exceptional mind. My guess is we are immune to the effects of the programming. Though I can't be 100% certain of it.

"Well Crosshair isn't and he's in fucking denial," I say with a sarcastic smile underneath my helmet. Crosshair is walking over to probably punch me in the face when Echo gives him a glare which makes him back off. He knows how protective my ori'vod can be. 

"What about Echo? He was a reg before he joined us. And Aris," Hunter asks.

"Well see guys Echo was probably damaged on Skako Minor because look at him right now no offence ori'vod, and since I'm an actual defect they probably didn't even bother I mean they were gonna terminate me anyways," I laugh under my helmet. Echo pats my shoulder. "Good thing they didn't then."

"All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic," a voice says over the speakers.

"This is one meeting I don't want to miss," Hunter says, walking to the door.

"First time for everything," Tech comments as we all head to the staging area. Troopers stand in neat rows, helmets on as they stare up at the holotransmission of a hooded figure, they look almost robotic. The thought of their individuality...Fives and Echo's chaotic nature, Hardcase's constant urge to shoot something, Uncle Wolffe's sarcasm, Rex's parental instincts, all gone...it gives me chills. I'm hardly paying attention until I hear the word "Jedi".

"...And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated!" The hooded figure says. "The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed."

"You can say that again," Wrecker says. I almost burst out laughing.  

"But I assure you, my resolve has never been stronger! In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the FIRST GALACTIC EMPIRE! For a safe and secure society."

Galactic Empire????? Man the Republic sounded so much better though-

Everyone starts cheering, except me and the batch. What's so exciting about Jedi getting killed? Right. Must be the inhibitor chip.

I look around to try and find any 501st members. None here. I'll comm Rex later. Right now, I need to focus on getting Crosshair's chip out.

I sigh as I glance at Echo, who looks equally confused as me.

"Ori'vod?" I turn to Echo.

"Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you in the barracks later. It's about Fives."

He lets out a sigh. "Okay vod'ika." 

a/n: IM BACK IN THE HOUSE BOISSSSSSS

[sarcastic-sketches]

Umbara Arc: Kitsune Ed.

I am so undecided about how I want to play Umbara in this AU.

On the one hand, it could play out exactly the same because Anakin would trust Rex even more in this AU so when his Captain assures him they’ll all be fine with General Krell (who hasn’t dissed the clones yet, not with Skywalker still around) Anakin listens to him and leaves.

On the other hand, however, we have the option of Anakin making to leave and maybe his heightened senses picks up something off about Krell. Maybe he smells slightly wrong (he’s close to/already fallen) so he might ping on Anakin’s scent-dar as slightly rotten. Maybe Anakin’s willing to give Krell the benefit of the doubt and assume he’s being influenced somehow (irony called), or he’s had a close call with a darksider lately. But it’s enough to make Anakin suspicious and in this AU he’s already dodged the Chancellor’s calls several times. What’s one more? Dragging him all the way to Coruscant right now mid-battle is ridiculous anyway.

He gets about as far as the cruiser before telling the dropship to take him back and leave without him, give his regards to the council blah blah, thank you but no thank you there’s an issue he needs to solve here that’s more imminent. Then he stalks the 501st for a bit as a tiny fox, just to see. Just to check. So he gets to see how Krell treats his men, how he completley ignores the agreed upon plan, and the general disregard he has for all clones. At this point, Anakin doesn’t really care if Krell is darkside influenced or not, it’s clear if nothing else the man’s a prick. A five-tailed Kitsune suddenly bearing down on you would sure get a message across. Run or Die.

and then Anakin eats Krell and the entirity of the 501st help cover up the murder

But seriously, I’m veering more towards Anakin literally sniffs out Krell’s rankness and gets very possessive about his men being led by this absolute waste of space. Then the 501st cover for him because, man, if they couldn’t do it at least someone else could.

Rex: Krell died

Cody: He- What?!

Rex: Yeah, he ... stood on a land mine

Cody: Stood on a- but he’s a Jedi! How?

Rex: Couldn’t see past his own bullshit I guess

Cody: ...

Rex: ...

Cody: Copy that. I’ll inform the General. Proceed as planned.

Rex: Copy.

I am undecided because while it would be satisfying to write, it’s all kind of a Story Arc for the Clones y’know and I don’t wanna seem like I’m taking that away from them by having Anakin come in and merk Krell. But it would also save the Clones a lot of heartbreak. Maybe Rex gets to be his voice of reason and stops his General commiting a murder. Not for them, not over the likes of Krell (Rex himself couldn’t shoot him, even after everything he’d been through - he wouldn’t want Anakin to stoop that low either). Krell lives because of Rex’s mercy to face the judgement of the military tribunal instead.

... Oh Oh. Krell would escape a military tribunal, since it’s all a massive set up and whatnot. Krell comes back later perhaps, probaby attempts to take down Skywalker and/or Rex (in vengeance, or as a proof of his worth to be trained as a Sith who knows) only he gets Skywalker alone. Never a good thing.

Krell: You won’t kill me. Think of what your Captain would say.

Anakin: Oh, I’m sure he’d have some choice words for you. He’s good like that. But you know what else Rex is? Not here.

Then he eats him.

[erikacousland]

Wait, who's the reeked Jedi you talking about?

(My silly head voice.)

Great Mother Aktropaw: "It reeks of Jedi."

(Sabine Wren - a forced audience here.)

Sabine Wren: "Why are you look at me?"

Sabine Wren: "Wait, who's the reeked Jedi you talking about?"

Sabine Wren: "Me? Nonsense, I can't even move my cup with the Force, I'm not Jedi here."

Sabine Wren: "I'm sure it was Shin's dad you smelled."

Shin Hati: "I told him."

Baylan Skoll: (They say it's a mature man's charm…)

Great Mother Klothow: "It is dangerous."

Sabine Wren: "You're really talking about me? (sniff sniff)"

Shin Hati: "You smell wonderful to me."

Baylan Skoll: (What a relief!)

Sabine Wren: "But I took a shower after my last training!"

-- Ahsoka Part Six: Far, Far Away

(Three weeks ago…)

-- Ahsoka Part Three: Time to Fly

[solrika]

Crossposting this to AO3. A less-than-quiet morning on the Ghost, set in the Vampire!Kallus AU.

~

Zeb was peacefully making himself a cup of caf when Ezra ran past him, giggling madly. The little Jedi was going so fast, the wind from his passing ruffled Zeb’s fur. 

“So much for a quiet morning,” Zeb muttered. He took a fortifying sniff of caf, and was just about to holler after Ezra when Kallus’ enraged roar echoed through the Ghost. 

“Jabba, I am going to eat you!” 

Ashla preserve us, what has that little brat done now? Groaning, Zeb turned just in time to see Kallus launch himself through the kitchen after Ezra, fangs on full display. Ordinarily, he’d leave them to it, but—

Once, Kallus had compared Ezra to a particularly frustrating sandwich. “Imagine,” he grumped to a laughing Zeb, “imagine being constantly thwarted by one of the best-smelling meals of your life. It’s a wonder I haven’t gone mad.” 

Now, Zeb couldn’t help but feel a little shiver of anxiety. Kallus hadn’t eaten in days, and if Ezra was truly such a tempting (and irritating) target… 

He set down his caf, and hurried after Jedi and agent. 

Luckily, they hadn’t gone far; Zeb was just in time to watch Kallus make an impressive leap from the top of the Ghost’s ramp to tackle Ezra into the undergrowth. They popped up a moment later, Ezra squealing and wriggling in Kallus’ headlock. Kallus hissed, and gave Ezra a little shake, like a mother tooka scolding her kit. Ezra, of course, looked utterly unrepentant. 

Kallus groaned theatrically, and started dragging Ezra back towards the Ghost (presumably so he could find Hera to give Ezra a scolding that would actually stick). Spotting Zeb at the top of the ramp, he growled, “Look! Look at what this little ingrate did to my face.” 

Zeb looked, and had to bite back a bark of laughter. Ezra had managed to shave a stripe right through Kallus’ beard–there was no way to fix it save shaving off the whole thing and trying again. Snickering, Zeb replied, “Karabast, if he’d done that to me, I’d eat him too.” 

“Hey!”

“You,” Kallus told Ezra, “don’t get a vote.” 

Ezra launched another attempt at an escape; Kallus considered him, and let go at just the right moment to send him stumbling into one of Yavin’s many mud puddles. Ignoring Ezra’s indignant sputters, he turned back to Zeb. “I smell caf.”

Grinning, Zeb beckoned him up the ramp. “I’ll make you a cup. C’mon.” 

They left Ezra to his mud puddle. In the kitchen, Zeb returned to his cooling mug, and started another. Rather than sitting down at the table, Kallus came to stand besides him at the counter. Bumping his hip against Zeb’s (Zeb did his best not to fluff up like a pleased kit), he said quietly, “I wasn’t really going to eat him, you know.”

“I know,” Zeb replied, the not-quite-truth sitting wrong on his tongue.

Kallus slanted him a knowing smile. “You followed us out to check.” As the kettle beeped, he reached over Zeb to grab the sugar. “What blend is this?”

As usual, Zeb replied, “Not sure,” and as usual, Kallus replied, “You Rebels and your disorganization.” The everyday dance of hot-water-and-caf-into-mug and more-sugar-than-Zeb-thought-necessary followed. 

It was only once Kallus had taken his first sip, lips curling up in pleasure, that Zeb said, “I’m sorry.” 

Kallus snorted. “Oh, believe me, I do very much want to take a bite out of Bridger.” He took another sip. “I wouldn’t, but—I understand your concern. I am hungry.” 

Coming from Kallus, that was tantamount to a declaration of starvation. Ears flicking back, Zeb muttered, “Oh, you are going to eat today.” 

“After this caf,” Kallus retorted. He felt his face, and amended, “After this caf, and after I shave.” 

“I’ll be holding you to that,” Zeb warned. 

“I know.” Kallus’ eyes curved up in a warm smile; Zeb felt himself fluff up despite all his best efforts. “You always do.”

[isaut]

51!

star wars au. jedi!yuki x twi'lek!reader. you thought i'd get future nostalgia and NOT have to do star wars au? think again.

song

The club is heady. Packed with visitors from across the galaxy, drinks pouring freely from the multiple bars, fog machines adding to the mysterious atmosphere. The visitors all have glazed over eyes, and a few are aging prematurely.

A pretty humanoid with purple skin bumps up against Yuki, giggling happily with two drinks in her hand. She passes one of the steaming beverages to Yuki, squeezing her bicep as she passes.

Yuki takes a sniff of the beverage. It turns her stomach with how sugary sweet it smells. Hibiscus and cherry. She keeps it in her hand, however, to prevent another from being given to her.

Had Yuki not been here on business, perhaps she would have enjoyed the scene. Everyone moving in perfect rhythm, perfectly in sync with the music. Too in sync with the music.

A human woman with the same glazed over eyes and wrinkles on his face begins to dance on Yuki. She grabs her arm and leans in, close enough to breathe against her ear. Gentle energy pushes from her fingertips, pulsing through the woman's body to remove some of the fog. "I'm looking for the High Priestess. Know where she is?"

The woman blinks, then points up to a balcony, illuminated by humming purple lights. Yuki follows her finger, and ends up meeting the gaze of a twi'lek with crystal clear eyes and adorned with pearls.

"You should leave," Yuki urges the woman. She points towards the door. "There's the exit."

The fog had already returned to the woman's eyes. She smiles at Yuki, resting her hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you should stay with me, instead?"

"Sorry, gorgeous. I have a date." Yuki slips out from her grasp. She watches as another twi'lek slips behind a beaded curtain, arms laden with beverages and finger foods, and follows.

The balcony is well furnished. With low, long seating that allows for guests to sprawl long limbs out. As she enters, the weight of her lightsaber rings against her hip. A few scantily clad, attentive twi'leks perch around the pearl-adorned one, who lounges with her legs spread out over cushions.

You reach towards the platter that had just been set down before you, picking up one of the peeled fruits and popping it in your mouth. You look over at Yuki, eyes raking over her figure, or at least what you could see of it. Her tight clothes were covered by a long, black robe.

"This is a no-weapons allowed facility," You say, plucking up one of the bits of fruit and holding it out to Yuki, "Jiruusi fruit?"

"Your hospitality never fails to amaze me," Yuki says. She hovers above you, eyeing the fruit.

You bite half of it, fruit pooling around your lips. Once you've swallowed, you offer the other half to Yuki. Good faith that it wasn't poisoned.

Yuki plucks the fruit from your fingers and pops it into her mouth. "How'd you get Jiruusi goods in through the blockade?"

"And why would I tell a jedi that?" You hum. "Then I'd never get anything nice ever again."

"I'm hurt, Ophie. I thought we were friends."

"Really? I thought we were more than friends."

Yuki pulls a chair over, sitting down in it. It's almost too large for her, as you preferred to decorate to your needs instead of the standard humanoid.

"Let's start over," You suggest. "It's good to see you again, Yuki. I've missed you, you should come around more often."

Yuki leans forward, elbows resting on her knees and hands hanging. "And you're still as beautiful as the last time I saw you."

"Much better," You hum. You pick up another fruit, taking a bite of half of it and offering the other part to Yuki. She takes it from you. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, the usual. The council wants you to return, or they want you dead. Want me to kill you again?" She pops the fruit in her mouth.''

You sigh, a smile on your lips. "I'd rather it be you than anyone else, gorgeous."

[fanfoolishness]

from the desert comes a song (Jedi: Survivor)

A spamel heeds the call from a wounded wanderer in the desert, and bears him on a difficult journey. Spoilers for Jedi: Survivor. Spamel POV (yes, really!), ANGST (yes, really!), Jedha, Cal needs all the hugs and the spamel needs them too. ~2000 words.

--

She and her brethren hid, sheltered in a stony cove held back rom the drifting sands.  They had long used this cloistered waypoint as a place to hide from predators, from the beasts that crawled and scuttled in the sands, to the two-legs in white armor with their blank staring eyes and their terrible weapons.  Now the smell of smoke drifted across the cold desert winds, and she bowed her head, hoping it would pass soon.

There was… something… nagging at her.  Something… calling.  She grunted, shaking her head.  Fear coiled deep within her, in her long legs, in her beating hearts.  The call grew louder, and she raised her head, listening not with her ears but with something deeper.  

The voice of the True Desert stirred within her.  All spamel knew it, the sense and spirit that lived in the singing winds and the shifting sands, in the beasts that walked and the beasts that flew, in the lichens and the desert scrub.  It connected them all, bound them together.  She had never sensed it so clearly as she did now, and it called in a desperate voice, a song that begged for aid.  The singer was in the greatest of need.  This she knew instinctively.

She nuzzled the neck of her mate, a low hum deep in her breast.  I must go, she whispered with scent and gentle huff of breath, and her herd understood.

---

The sands flowed beneath her steady hooves.  A storm raged, but she wove her way through destruction and fire and flame.  The desert was burning in a terrible battle, the white two-legs’ war.  She scented fear on the winds, and hatred, but she turned her muzzle from them.  She focused on the song stirring in her hearts, the need, woven deep into her spirit with a warmth unfamiliar in her land of cold and stone.  She quickened her pace, her legs lengthening into a speeding stride, and she stretched out her neck and she ran.

The song pulsed, carried deep in her veins.  She would find the singer.  She would help them.  It was the will of the True Desert, and she could not deny it, nor would she want to.

She stopped, suddenly uncertain.  There was wreckage here.  She made her way gingerly around it, one of the flying machines the two-legs used, both the desert-walkers and the white ones.  She bent to sniff the machine, and her muzzle twitched at the foul smell of fuel and raw metal, mingled with human scents of pain.  She raised her vast head and turned, the song growing clearer.

She passed the fallen in the sands, white ones with their weapons still warm beside them.  The scorched rock and glassed sand seared her nostrils, and she squinted, trying to see her way through the lingering smoke.

The soaring mesa loomed beyond her in the hazy air.  The song called, and for a moment she was lost; her kind could not ascend those jagged steppes.  Then she realized that the song was loudest here, among the mesa’s tumbled rocks and spikes at its mighty base.  She stepped precisely, mindful of her bulk; she did not want to harm the singer, even by mistake.

She stopped.  

There.

A small figure, facedown in the sand, dark clothing and red hair.  She stepped toward him purposefully, scenting blood and burnt flesh.  Compassion filled her.  He was wounded, then; surely that was the desperate note that she had heard within the song.

He did not stir, though she sensed he could feel her approaching.  She was so close now.  She reached out one spindled leg and gently, so gently, rolled him over.

He rolled limply with the weight of her hoof.  A scorch mark marred his chest, though she was relieved to see that still it rose and fell.  He was a human two-legs, perhaps one that had joined with the desert-walkers in their journeys through the wastes.  

She bent down, as low as her kind could, and huffed a breath across his face.

He woke.  His eyes opened, and he slowly sat up, taking deep, pained breaths.  He reached out a hand to her, and a shadow passed over his pale face.  

“Cere,” he gasped suddenly.  “Cere!”

She wondered at the word.  It meant nothing to her, but the song within her jangled, suddenly painful.  She nudged him again with her leg, and he staggered to his feet, swaying.

“Help me,” he whispered.  She held her leg against him, a brace that he could lean upon.  He shivered, then closed his eyes and leapt into the air, an impossible leap for one so small.  Yet he lit upon her back, light as a canyon bat, and rested his hands against her hide.  

She saw a place with eyes that were not her eyes, a shelter hidden in the crags and jutting stone, where the desert-walkers dwelled in peace and safety.  Where they had, until the white two-legs brought fire. She saw confused flashes of a weapon, of a human falling to the ground, of screams and a speeding flier.  She did not understand.  The singer’s song was garbled within her, spiking with a sharpness that made her flinch.  She roared her confusion, and the singer held on tighter, brushing her neck with his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he cried aloud into the wind.  “Just take me there, please.  I have to save them -- please, please -- GO!”

He did not try to speak in his own language again.  It was too hard.  She sensed a desperate hope, an aching loss, a need to make things better.  To help fix what had been lost.  To protect.  

She roared again, but this time with renewed purpose.  The vision coalesced once more into the hidden sanctuary.  That she could understand: a herd hiding with each other, trying to stay safe within the harshness of the desert.  Somehow this small human was a protector, one who fought against the predators, who helped his kind as the spamels helped each other.  She would not fail him; this she promised the True Desert.

She loped into a gallop, the human on her back jostling with every stride, and she swore she would bear him there in the greatest haste.  The voice of the True Desert welled within her, mingling with the human’s song, and for a moment, the music was something beautiful.

She would tell her young of this, someday; she would carry the memory of this journey with pride, all the days of her life.

Her feet flew across the sands, deftly staying to solid ground, avoiding the lairs of skriton and the pits of softsand.  She would follow her purpose, carrying the singer to his people, to where he could be safe and whole once more.  The wind rushed past them, and she galloped onward.

She galloped past the smoking hulks of machines, twisted and burning in the sand.  She galloped past white two-legs being pawed and set upon by scavengers as they lay broken.  She galloped even though her lungs burned, even though her legs ached.  She galloped with hope.  

She opened herself to the True Desert, and upon her back, she could feel the human do the same.  The song pulsed with purpose --

And then there was a shrieking, discordant wail, and the song went sour.

She faltered in a quiet canyon, her chest heaving.  The song jarred and stuttered within her, lashes of pain shivering from her neck to her withers.  She grunted in confusion.  What was happening?  This was not the pain of a predator attacking, nor the pain of a twisted hock, nor the pain of hunger or thirst.  She realized that it was not her pain at all.

The human slumped over onto her neck, burying his face in her hide.  He shivered on her back, his hands clawing against her skin, a feeble, broken feeling.  She stiffened.

It was… raining?

She had heard of rain, long, long ago, in songs still whuffed and hummed and rumbled by her kin.  It was nothing she had ever believed she would feel herself.  Could that really be what she felt, those soft droplets landing against her skin?

But something was wrong.  This was not rain from the old songs; they held memories of water falling from the sky, clean and fresh and everywhere, droplets on their heads and necks and backs.  

She smelled salt instead of fresh.  She felt water, but only where the human’s face rested against her hide.  And there was a sound no song of her people had described, a sound of keening, a sound of agony.  

The human wept against her, shattered with a terrible grief.  The song wailed, and she lowered her head and moaned into the wind.  

No more was there the desperate hope, woven in amongst the melody.  More images came to her, a woman with a weapon of light, a soul of light -- a light snuffed out.  She could sense the voice of the True Desert reverberating deep in the heart of the human on her back, a conduit that showed him visions, visions that flowed into her eyes, too.  And she understood.  

The True Desert had spoken to him.  His hope had crumbled.  

He already knew what he was going to find.

---

She did not run anymore.

She still carried the human, clinging to her back, careful not to unseat him.  While his chest still heaved, the rain he had brought had faded.  He did not push her to her greatest speed again, for that need had ended.  

They were already too late.

She crested the final hill, coming to the cleft in the canyon walls where the song had told her to go.  The dead littered the sand, white ones and desert-walkers both.  The fires had burned the detritus to ash.  She breathed deep of the smoldering rubble, though it scorched her nostrils and her throat with its foulness.  

She carried him, smoothly, past the wreckage to the secret entrance set within the rock.  For a moment, they gazed at the door.  Through the song she understood that part of him wished to flee.  To not face the truth that lay within.  They could turn back to the desert, to the temples rising among the rocky spires, to the empty lands beyond.  If he asked it of her, she would take him. 

But she knew, now, what he would choose.  She slowly lowered herself down as far she could, waiting for him to take the leap.

He shuddered.  Then he slid down, landing hard in the sand and stumbling.  She braced her leg against him, and he clung to it, sagging against her.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a broken sound she heard more in the song than in her ears.  “I -- I know you did everything you could.  Thank you.”

And the song vanished, leaving her hollow and bereft.

She bowed her great head, nudging the human’s shoulder.  He leaned against her, reaching up to stroke her muzzle with a soft, trembling hand.  

Then he limped forward, raised his hands, and opened the door.

---

She did not reach the herd until nightfall.

She was too exhausted to help them understand, to share her journey.  Instead she made her way carefully to her mate, nuzzling him.  She gazed out at her mother, her grandmother, her sisters, the young ones.  

They were safe.  The True Desert had protected them, and the storm and battle had passed them by. 

They were safe, and the desert-walkers were not.

She twined her neck with her mate’s, seeking comfort, and she brayed with a sorrow she knew was not her own.

[dumfanting]

Lost and Found, ch 2

Chapter 1

Inspired by: Still Life

AO3 Link

Rating: M, mature

Warnings: makeouts, foreplay, panic attacks, homelessness

Notes: F Jedi reader, present tense, pov second person

2523 words

(I don’t know if that’s how armor and promotions work, but I also don’t really care that much.)

F Reader/ Nax (the clone veteran)

You hand the comm back to Estree, confused. Who else in the galaxy would you recognize on this planet? Moreover, why does he need your help specifically?

The door closes, and when you turn around, the silent room feels like it’s spinning. You lean back onto the door and slide into a heap on the floor, trying to control your heavy breathing and fight off the panic attack that is threatening to overwhelm you. You tilt your head back and close your eyes, attempting to clear your mind the way you had less than an hour ago, but you have no luck. All you can think about is Nax. You drop your head back down, stare into your open hands, and only realize that you’re finally crying when you notice the wet droplets landing onto your palms. You wipe your eyes with a sniff and get to your feet, deciding that you don’t want to deal with anything else today. After relocking your door, you quickly wash up the two used mugs, then trudge your way to bed. Once you undress and settle under the duvet, you’re asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

You’re back in your quarters on Coruscant, meditating. As the sound of soft rain comes in through the slightly opened window, you take a deep breath, breathing in the oddly comforting smell and feeling connected to the Force and the galaxy at large. It’s peaceful.

Peace doesn’t seem to last long around you though, and a sudden, excited sounding knock on your door breaks the silence. You get to your feet, and once you step closer, you can Sense Nax before you hear him. I guess the mission was a success, you think, if he’s back this soon. You unlock your door and slide it open to find Nax standing in the hallway outside, grinning at you. You quickly poke your head out, look in both directions but see nobody nearby, then grab his hand and pull him inside. His lips are on yours before the door has closed completely. You allow this for a few seconds, then playfully push him off of you.

“Not even a ‘hello’, huh?” you say, smirking at him.

“Nope,” Nax says, smirking back at you.

“The mission went well then?” you ask.

“You could say that,” he says, gesturing to his upgraded armor. You stand back and take a look, not so subtly eyeing him up at the same time.

“It looks good, right?” he says, showing off. You take a few steps forward and run your hands along his smooth, unmarred chest plate, humming appreciatively.

“Yes, it suits you,” you say. You then hook your fingers into the gap between his armor and collarbone and pull him closer to you.

“But you know where this would look best?” you ask, your voice dropping an octave. Nax looks at you, curious. You giggle and kiss him, hard.

“In a pile at the foot of my bed,” you purr. “Don’t you think so, Lieutenant?” you continue, calling him by his new rank, and you don’t miss the way his demeanor shifts when you do. He kisses you with even more fervor than he had only minutes ago, and when he breaks away, his breathing is heavy and his pupils are blown with desire.

“That can be arranged, Commander,” he says, his husky voice rumbling directly into your ear and making you shiver.

You step back and turn to close the window, making sure that you two couldn’t be heard too easily. When you turn back, Nax already has his gauntlets, pauldron, and chest plate stripped off. You bite your lip and excitedly paw at his codpiece. At the same time, the both of you move automatically sideways toward your bed. Your knees bump the side of the mattress at the same moment his codpiece hits the floor. He bends to start unclipping the remaining pieces around his legs, but you boldly palm him through his blacks, and he stops with a loud groan.

“Don’t bother,” you say, pulling your hand back and quickly sliding your leggings down. “I need you, now,” you say, panting.

Nax groans your name and cups your groin, sending a shockwave of need through your core. He kisses you again, leading you onto the bed behind you. You lie back and spread your legs, and just before he’s able to join you, there’s a persistent, loud knock at your door.

You sit up straight in your bed, groaning in irritation at being woken up just before ‘the good part’ of your dream. You’re about to flop back down and try to go back to sleep, but the knocking happens again. You glance at the chrono nearby and notice that it’s only been about four or five hours since Master Kenobi left. The mere idea that something may have happened to him, and so soon, prompts you to practically leap out of bed and yank your robe back on before stepping out of your room and in front of the apartment entry door.

You switch on the intercom camera, and find, to your simultaneous relief and annoyance, that it’s Estree again.

“What is it?” you say, talking to him through the intercom speaker.

“It’s Ben,” Estree says, seeming to confirm your fears. Your door is unlocked and opened as soon as he says this.

“Is he okay? What happened to him?” you ask, trying to hold off the rising anxiety in your chest. Estree holds his hands up with his palms out.

“He’s alright, I promise you. He has a message for you, and asked me to bring it here,” he says. You make a ‘what are you waiting for’ sound at him, and he digs through his pockets before handing you a holo-comm device. There’s a red light blinking on the side, which stops after you activate the device.

It’s Master Kenobi. He has the hood of his robes up and despite the noise of the crowd around him, he keeps his voice low. He looks shaken, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“I found someone, and he needs help that I cannot give, so it must come from you,” Master Kenobi says in the recording, before he quickly gives you a location. “I don’t know for sure if he’ll still be here, but if he is, you’ll know when you see him. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but I must focus on getting Leia back.” The recording distorts into static, then ends entirely.

You hand the comm back to Estree, confused. Who else in the galaxy would you recognize on this planet? Moreover, why does he need your help specifically?

“He didn’t say anything about who this is to you, did he?” you ask him. He shakes his head.

“No, I only have that message,” he says, sounding unusually somber. You repeat the location Master Kenobi had given under your breath, then curse.

“Dammit, that’s miles from here…” you mutter to yourself. Estree speaks up.

“It’s actually not that far from where I came, I can take you there on my speeder bike on the way back,” he says.

You pause for a moment, surprised by his earnest offer of help. Even if Estree didn’t know who this person was, Master Kenobi had clearly convinced him of how important the matter is. You don’t like him, and you certainly don’t trust him, but you do trust Master Kenobi.

“Yeah, okay, just- just give me a second to actually get dressed, and I’ll go with you,” you say, trying to convince yourself as you speak. Estree simply nods and says that he’ll give you a few minutes.

With that, you shut the door, dash back into your room and quickly change into the ‘street clothes’ you wear to blend in. As you pull your boots on, you stop and stare at a long, thin wooden box with a heavy lock on it. You debate fiercely with yourself. After a second, Estree sneezes outside and reminds you that you’re in a hurry, so you grit your teeth, use the Force to unlock the box, and gingerly pick the item inside out of it. You secure it tightly inside a hidden pocket of your long coat, and as you return to the hallway where Estree is, you pray to the Maker that you won’t need it.

After around half an hour, Estree stops his speeder bike near the location Master Kenobi had given you. You hop off, then turn back to Estree. You say nothing but give him a single, firm nod. He does the same before quickly getting out of there. You watch him go, and a small part of you wonders if Master Kenobi knows what he’s up to. Someone bumps into you, drawing your attention back to your surroundings. You flip your hood up and look around.

You dimly recognize the crowded street and nearby square, but can’t recall when you were last here. You glance around, looking for a better vantage point to examine your surroundings. After a few seconds, you spot a place, then slip through the crowd and take a set of steps up to the doorway of a bar that sits higher above the ground level. You stand to the side, trying not to be conspicuous as you glance around at all the faces surrounding you, but you don’t recognize anyone. You unconsciously grip the item in your pocket, then retreat back downwards.

You duck under the steps and into the shadows, then close your eyes and try to Sense something, anything. You furrow your brow in concentration, but find nothing.

You keep your hand in your pocket and decide to skirt around the perimeter of the square; you’ll move out further if you don't find anything. You pause to adjust the mask you wear to hide your nose and mouth, then begin to move.

You’re about two thirds of the way around the area before you feel it. Whoever you’re looking for, you can faintly Sense him. You concentrate, then head down a wide street, keeping near the sidewalks. As you move, the feeling of familiarity grows stronger and unsettles you. This is similar to when you had sensed Master Kenobi, but there’s a strong feeling of loss and even fear attached to it that you didn’t experience with him. You fight back the returning anxiety and keep moving.

“Spare a credit?” is said nearby, and you immediately freeze. You know that voice. Your heart pounding hard against your breast bone, you move backward a few steps, turn your head to the side, and find someone at your feet.

“Help a veteran get a warm meal.”

You’re hit with the feeling of familiarity and intense loss so hard when you meet the homeless clone’s eyes that you stumble backward, catching yourself on a streetlight.

Nax watches you in a sad, hopelessly detached way, as if he’s expecting you to just ignore him the way everyone else does. He doesn’t recognize you, and you barely recognize him.

His armor was filthy, scuffed, and even deeply cracked in some places. The once bright white plastoid and sapphire blue paint having turned grey and black under almost a decade of dirt, damage, and Maker knows what else. His helmet is off and upturned at his feet. There’s a glint of two or three credits resting inside, and the shine of the metal exaggerates the pitiful condition of what contains them. He had been so proud of that armor.

His hair, so neatly cut before, has grown out, streaks of grey standing out against the dark black, and it’s matted in several places. His face is unshaven, a beard having also grown out, giving him a wild, untamed look, and his skin is dull and pockmarked. It’s obvious that he hasn’t been able to bathe in a very long time, and even from this distance you could faintly smell him. His face is thin and his cheekbones are prominent.

Even his eyes are different. They’re also dull, appear sunken, and are filled with a deep pain that makes you wonder what he’d been through. Only the dark, rich brown is unchanged.

After a few seconds in which you don’t move, he looks away, and you feel a gust of dejection and humiliation blow off of him. Your heart shatters as you realize that he’s probably gotten used to being gawked at, just like you’re doing now, and you tear your eyes away from him.

You lean heavily against the streetlight, your head spinning, as panic is quickly setting in. Despite the dark, chilly night, it’s suddenly too bright, too hot, too loud. Before you can stop it, you suddenly flash back to the last time you had ever seen him. You grasp at the sides of your head and fall into an odd crouch as the memory echoes around your mind.

Whether it was from exertion or emotion, tears were streaming down Nax’s face and fear filled his eyes. Panting, he told you to run in a shaky whisper before firing at you again, aiming for your chest. You barely deflected the shot, and he roared for you to get the hell out of there.

It’s hard to breathe, so you yank your mask down past your chin without thinking about it and gasp for air, your heated breaths coming out in clouds and dissipating quickly. Your entire body trembles while sweat beads onto your forehead, and it feels like your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

You were so sure he was dead. You told yourself years ago that he’d probably been ‘decommissioned’ by a cruel Empire or slaughtered on a distant battlefield just like countless numbers of his brothers. Whether you were aware of it or not, you mourned him every single day. How did he wind up here? How long ago had he arrived? Did you ever pass him by before, so consumed by your own fear and grief that you’d simply never noticed him?

You growl and wrench your hands off of your head, then grip your lightsaber in your pocket. As you do, your stomach churns and you wonder how many other Jedi he’d attacked. You cut that thought off immediately and force yourself to regain control of your breathing. It takes a lot of effort, but the past decade of practice you’ve had at fighting away panic attacks ensures that it doesn’t take long to do it.

With your breaths fairly steady, and the full body shakes having cooled down to an occasional twitch, you stand up straight, pushing through the residual dizziness. You hesitate, then face Nax again.

This time, when your eyes meet his, there’s a flash of recognition there before it’s quickly overshadowed by something else. What exactly that something else is, you don’t get a chance to see, as only a second later, Nax is on his feet and pushing his way through the crowd as quickly as he can in an effort to get away from you. He’d left so quickly that he’d completely abandoned his helmet. You quickly snatch it up before someone else does and rush after him.

Taglist: @rain-on-kamino @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina @jedi-hawkins

[saltsprite]

ohoho you posted an ask meme

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it? 🌪️

Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

I should have fucking known LOL <3

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet.

[oleander fools, Red Dead Redemption 2] Charles Smith (having loved and lost one Arthur Morgan) encounters Arthur's past love, Mary Linton, at Arthur's grave. Lonely, they fall into bed in a hotel in the nearest town. The next morning she asks for his hand in a marriage of convenience that turns sweeter.

I'm actually gonna do another one here, because I think these are both galaxy-brain ideas

[tentative title: seedlings, Jedi Survivor, gen fic] Boba Fett, for once in his 23-year-old life, has let a Jedi walk free. On top of that, today's bounty (Caij Vanda, a rival bounty hunter that'd been helping said karking Jedi) won't shut the hell up. Needing a drink before heading into the black, Boba takes Caij's advice to visit Pyloon's Saloon... only to find the same Jedi, again. To get away from him Boba heads to the rooftop gardens-- and there, finds a child who reminds him eerily of himself.

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

[untitled WIP, RDR2 Charthur] God, Arthur's stupid.

(yes i do think im funny, yes i will post another snippet because i like to post snippets)

[untitled WIP, Jedi Survivor, Cal/Bode] “Bode?”  Looking up, Bode finds Cal sitting on the cliff’s ledge above him, feet dangling over the edge. BD-1 chirrups something at him from Bode’s shoulder; Cal flashes a smile that doesn’t smell right to Bode. “Greez said I’d find you brooding out here.”  “Oh. Is that how he phrased it.” And— well, he had, but in much the same way as Cal had just smiled at him: The same way a damaged shield generator will cough and sputter before doing its damn job. Bode plants his hands on his hips. “What are you up to, then?”  Cal sniffs, before a crooked, sheepish grin appears. “Brooding.”

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

[oleander fools, RDR2] “What’re you lookin’ at?” Charles asks.  Arthur slaps on his dumbest grin, the besotted one he hides until they can be alone. “You, my flower.”  Laughing around a groan, Charles decides to play this one out. If Arthur’s going to open his big dumb mouth to say big dumb things, Charles can at least get some kind of entertainment out of it. “What kind?”  “Oleander.” Arthur’s answer is immediate, confident. Like he’s thought about it. A lot.  Crinkling his nose, Charles frowns. “Small and pink?”  Again, Arthur smiles— but it’s softer, sweeter. Missing his hat, some of his hair falls into his eyes as he dips to take Charles’s hand. He presses his thumbs into the pads and cushions of Charles’s calloused palm. “I handle you wrong, you’ll kill me real quick.” Arthur drops a warm kiss to palm center, then glances up at Charles looking almost shy and oozing boyish charm. “And that’s kinda the entire appeal.”

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

[meet me halfway, Boba Fett/Cobb Vanth] Put your softness in my hands, Cobb had said before, those words so carefully chosen, his aim as true and unwavering as his desire. Nothing comes to mind, now. Nothing but the wretchedly tender truth that chokes him from the inside, clumping in his throat like he swallowed sand. There’s too much to say. He should say it. He needs to say it. There’s no fucking point in saying it now because he waited too long, it might kill him to say it, but he will try. He can try.  “If this all goes tits-up,” Cobb starts, wetting his lips — but Boba stops him, gently bumping a knuckle under his chin.  “Have you so little faith in me?” Boba scoffs, attempting lightheartedness despite the worry and grief already carved into the canyon bedrock of his face. He can't say it.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

[faith, freedom (RDR2, Charthur)] As he settles against Arthur’s chest Charles grunts in protest, but Arthur feels him smile. Combs fingers through Charles’s hair, made soft with some oil he’s begun using that smells of vanilla, its gentle perfume warmed and sharpened to a point with tobacco and camp smoke. Arthur breathes deep.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

[faith, freedom (RDR2, Charthur)] “Beautiful.”  Charles snorts, ducking his head. “Now who’s sayin’ shit he don’t mean?”  “Aw, Charles,” Arthur tuts. He lets go in favor of running the flat of his nail up the fractal scar along Charles’s cheek. “Ought to know by now, I don’t suffer liars in my bed.”

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

[oleander fools] John Marston: ah, the Morgan widows Charles: …one widow J: Aw but you and Arthur were— y’know. So that’d be you and Mary together, I mean. C: no, no, a widow is a woman, widower is the man— J: yeah but it’s a man who died, so you’re his widow too C: DOUBT [x]

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

idk what pairing, but i know there's a good Hades (game) AU in me somewhere, i KNOW IT. I feel like I can make it work best in SW, using planet names for each region (like... Naboo for Elysium, obvs Mustafar for Asphodel). If it's DinCobb, then Cobb is fighting through the underworld ruled by Boba Fett with Djarin in the Thanatos role. If it's Cal/Bode, then it's Cal fighting through, with Bode maybe posing as a helpful NPC... at first. >:3

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

Red Dead Redemption 2, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Camping, First Time, Recreational Drug Use, And There Was Only One Tent

[soclonely]

OC-Tober Day 5: Midnight Strolls and a Full Moon

Link to OC-Tober Prompts List

Summary: Padawan Roo and her Master, Pong Krell, have a quick late night lesson in the gardens

Character Summary: Roo is my eccentric and colorful Jedi padwan OC who was the student of Pong Krell and knighted right before the events in Attack of the Clones. Once close with her Master, She slowly noticed him slowly slipping into the darkness. Voicing her opinions to the Jedi Council however yielded no results and instead it was suggested that she be sent away because her attachment to her old master- in their opinion- is possibly leading HER down the path to the dark side. When she hears about what her Master had done on Umbara she immediately returns to Coruscant, facing both the Jedi Council, the senate, and the public in an all out legal trial to protect the lives of the clones involved in the taking over of Krells Command and his execution. After winning and offered a seat on the council Roo turns it down and leaves the order, having lost faith in both the jedi and the ways of the force. Roo spends the rebellion in hiding, helping force sensitive children and former members of the order to safehouses across the galaxy until she is found by one of the Inquisitors of the empire and killed.

~~~~

“Master Krell! Wait for me!” Roo the padawan calls, eyes quickly darting the surrounding darkness of the garden. “Its so dark out here! I don’t want to get lost!” She adds, catching up to her teacher.

Krell sighs, shaking his head.“Young one, there is a full moon out and plenty of light for you to see what monsters are lurking in the flowerbeds.” He places a hand on his padawans shoulder, stopping her in the middle of the path. “Now just hold on. I think this is a valuable time for a lesson.” He smiles down at her. “You need to learn to observe with your other senses, Roo.” He reminds her sternly. “You need to feel what is beyond what you can see. Now close your eyes.” He demands, crossing his arms.

“But master I-”

“Roo.”

“Fiiineeeee.” Roo sighs, closing her eyes.”Now what?”

“Now you observe.” The besalisk urges.”What do you hear?”

“The irritation in your voice-OW!” Roo scoffs, feeling a teasing thumb on her head. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry!” She laughs, shifting herself into position once more.

“Use the Force to reach out beyond you. The Force can be useful in observing what you can- and can’t see- using your other senses. Now, what do you smell?”

“The grass and flowers. They smell… wet? The sprinklers were on not too long before we came out. And,” She reaches further, observing a more familiar smell, “Your favorite green tea blend you like to bring with you when we are away from the temple.” She smiles, eyes still closed. “You had your usual cup before coming on our walk, didn’t you master?”

Krell chuckles.“Naturally. Now what do you taste?”

“What am I supposed to do, stick my tongue out like a trandoshian?”

“Use your other senses, Roo. Scent can bring on a taste-like sensation.” He sighs, putting a hand to his forehead. “But if you’d like, stick your tongue out.”

Roo giggles, thinking for a minute. She sniffs a little harder, turning her head toward the direction of the palace they were guests of.”Bread!” She exclaims, opening her eyes and grinning. “Look master! The kitchens are setting out the bread to cool for tomorrows meals!” She looks up at Krell. “Do you think we could-”

“After your lesson, Padawan.” He sighs, spinning her around to face the darkness of the garden once more. “A few more moments of your time if its not too much trouble.”

“Okay, Okay.” Roo nods. She closes her eyes once more.”And next is what do i feel? I can do this.” She screws her eyes shut tighter, taking in the feeling of her surroundings. “Its.. cold?” She finally finds the words. “Cold and.. Scary?” The hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Like there is something watching me. And wants me to be distracted. It’s waiting in the darkness.” She shivers.

“And what do you hear?”

Roo strains her ear. “Rustling.. A-and breathing. Heavy, deep breathing. And-” She is cut off by the sound of lightsabers igniting. “MASTER!” She calls, spinning around with her lightsaber already in hand. “Master, what are you doing?!”

“Excellent job Roo!” Krell calls, spinning to face their oncoming opponents.”It seems like you were able to get past the distractions and sense that we had unwanted company with us in the garden!” He looks over his shoulder, smiling to her before quickly deflecting a shout from a blaster directed at them. “Quickly! Go and protect the princess!” He jerks his head toward the palace.

“Right!” Roo nods, determined to make him proud as she lights her own saber. “You can count on me!”

[mirkwoodsprinceofdoingtoomuch]

Two part 4

“It’s just…” Alex says, and as he’s on the floor of a supply closet, waiting out a security threat with a Prince of England at the end of a weekend that has felt like some very specific ongoing nightmare, censoring himself takes too much effort. “I don’t know. Doing what we do is fucking hard. But it’s harder for me. I’m the son of the first female president. And I’m not white like she is, can’t even pass for it. People will always come down harder on me. And you’re, you know, you, and you were born into all of this, and everyone thinks you’re Prince fucking Charming. You’re basically a living reminder I’ll always be compared to someone else, no matter what I do, even if I work twice as hard.”

“Well,” Henry says when he speaks at last. “I can’t very well do much about the rest. But I can tell you I was, in fact, a prick that day. Not that it’s any excuse, but my father had died fourteen months before, and I was still kind of a prick every day of my life at the time. And I am sorry.”

“To answer your question,” Henry says. “Yes, I do like Star Wars, and my favorite is Return of the Jedi.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “Wow, you’re wrong.”

Henry huffs out the tiniest, most poshly indignant puff of air. It smells minty. Alex resists the urge to throw another elbow. “How can I be wrong about my own favorite? It’s a personal truth.”

“It’s a personal truth that is wrong and bad.”

“Which do you prefer, then? Please show me the error of my ways.”

“Okay, Empire.”

Henry sniffs. “So dark, though.”

“Yeah, which is what makes it good,” Alex says. “It’s the most thematically complex. It’s got the Han and Leia kiss in it, you meet Yoda, Han is at the top of his game, fucking Lando Calrissian, and the best twist in cinematic history. What does Jedi have? Fuckin’ Ewoks.”

“Ewoks are iconic.”

“Ewoks are stupid.”

“But Endor.”

“But Hoth. There’s a reason people always call the best, grittiest installment of a trilogy the Empire of the series.”

“And I can appreciate that. But isn’t there something to be valued in a happy ending as well?”

“Spoken like a true Prince Charming.”

“I’m only saying, I like the resolution of Jedi. It ties everything up nicely. And the overall theme you’re intended to take away from the films is hope and love and … er, you know, all that. Which is what Jedi leaves you with a sense of most of all.”

Henry coughs, and Alex is turning to look at him again when the door opens and Cash’s giant silhouette reappears.

“False alarm,” he says, breathing heavily. “Some dumbass kids brought fireworks for their friend.” He looks down at them, flat on their backs and blinking up in the sudden, harsh light of the hallway. “This looks cozy.”

“Yep, we’re really bonding,” Alex says.

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

Oh I put a twt link in there but it didn't appear. This is what I mean lol

https://twitter.com/anakinhwa/status/1670441788904177665?s=19

Link

So context, a girl gives seonghwa her Jedi robe and he immediately sniffs it and says to her 'you smell really good'.

You know what this means right??

SCENT KINK CONFIRMED!!!

I FFKN KNEW HE WAS A SCENT PLAY KINDA PERSON!!

Thank you for sending me gorgeous!

Omg, my heart is palpitating.

[therapardalis]

[ @thelightsabcr​ from here.]

All Jedi couldn’t be as weird, right? One could hope at least.

Obi-Wan surely wasn’t one of those species that used scent as a polite ‘hello’, nor anything else for that matter. He just thought that whatever perfume or shampoo she had used on her hair this morning (he assumed that it had to be something like that) just had this divine scent to it, and he was simply not able to resist the urge to sniff it. “I.. I suppose I could’ve.” But that would’ve been embarrassing. He furrowed his brows, frustrated with himself. Not as embarrassing as this situation that you’ve very well made for yourself. A low groan fell from his lips, before he drew his breath deeply, and spoke. “My apologies.. I didn’t mean to.. intrude.” He had looked at her as he spoke, though as soon as he had said the last word, his gaze fell. His cheeks carried still that hint of embarrassment, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do anything – and for certain not what to say other than apologizing.

Thera didn’t know enough Jedi to decide if they were all weird or not - beyond, of course, the whole roaming about in robes and moving things with their minds sort of thing. That was all just ... part and parcel. No, the only one she knew personally was Obi-Wan, so like it or not he was her learning curve.

She wasn’t really sure how the rest of the Order would feel about that.

But right now there was colour rising in Kenobi’s cheeks that not even the Force could stop, and a little to her own surprise she wasn’t playfully mean enough to let him suffer. “Yeah, you could’ve.” A gentle nudge with her elbow, even as a grin widened, accepting the apology in ... reasonable grace.

“I’m guessing the smell is rose pheroflower ... I picked up some body-wash on Alderaan the last time I was there. It’s ...” She sniffed absently, guessing she must have grown so accustomed to the scent that she didn’t notice it anymore, “It’s nice, but I didn’t realise it was so strong.”

A shrug, given there were much worse things to smell of after all. “I bought a few extra bottles, if you’d like some for yourself?”

[an-anticlimactic-bass-drop]

Tall

Prompt: Tech is too tall for his own good. Constantly hitting his head on objects and desks as he works on projects. The other bad batchers make fun of him for this but you find it endearing. 

Tech X Reader

Slow Burn/ Angst

Warnings: Mild 1.10 Spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

Part 1/?

This was 100% inspired by this gif from episode 7 of Tech under the main control desk.

You enter the cockpit of the Havoc Marauder late at night slowly and quietly as you try not to disturb the tall man who is working on the wires under the main panel. 

“Tech?” you call softly to him when he doesn’t notice you. 

He abruptly sits up hitting his head on the underside of the panel and laying back down quickly with a loud thunk. 

“Well that was unpleasant.” he says with a grimace of pain as he leans out from under the panel. You try to not look worried when he rubs his head where he had hit it on the panel. 

 “Is there something you need?”

 “Sorry! I just couldn’t sleep. Figured you were still up here.”

 He nods slowly as he leans back down to continue working on the wires. 

“Do not mind me. I am upgrading the general security system of the outer walls. The door has been slow to close recently and I am trying to fix the timing. Feel free to sit in here as long as you want. I could use the company.” 

He becomes absorbed back into his project as the time passes. Mindlessly chatting about the upgrades he's making and the general gossip of the other men and Omega. It is mostly you gossiping honestly. Tech isn’t the biggest gossip in the world but he listens like every detail you talk about is the most important and interesting information he has ever heard. 

“I’m pretty sure Omega thinks we don’t notice when she borrows our blacks to sleep in. I swear every time I turn around I’m missing another shirt out of my basket. I think it must be a comfort thing.” you say with a yawn as you fight back the call of sleep. Tech’s presence is a calming one and you love hearing him talk. He is your favorite of the bad batch and you might have a small crush on him but you would never admit it to him. He is your best friend. Tech nods absently as he pulls another wire from under the panel. 

“I have noticed mine disappearing too but I assumed Echo was doing laundry and got them mixed up with Hunter’s again.” he says slowly. His goggled eyes glance towards you with mirth in his eyes at the joke.

 “If Echo is confusing your black’s with Hunter’s then he really must be bad at laundry. You have at least 5 inches on him and your blacks are much bigger. At least he doesn’t think they are Wrecker’s.”  You chuckle sleepily at the thought. 

Tech crawls slowly out from under the panel, making sure not to hit his head again, apparently done with his upgrades. “I think it is time for you to go to sleep,” he says with a small smile in his voice. You don’t complain as he helps you stand and leads you towards the bunks where the rest of the crew is sleeping. 

“You need sleep too.” you protest as he turns to go back towards the cockpit. He smiles wryly at your pathetic attempts to chastise his insomniac tendencies. “I will be fine. Someone needs to stand guard until morning.” 

You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the Bad Batch moving around and packing up for the rest of the day. Hunter is passing out rations, Wrecker is curling Gonky like a barbell, Echo is slurping what is obviously his 2nd cup of caf of the morning, Omega is still curled up in her little corner with her clone trooper doll and Wrecker’s blacks on looking more like a night tent than a nightgown, and Tech is nowhere to be found but is more than likely in the cockpit still.

 “Any caf left?” you ask in Echo’s general direction. He grunts in the direction of the pot that still has ¾ of the brown liquid in it. You pour 2 cups of the precious drink and head towards the cockpit. Tech is absorbed in his datapad and again doesn’t hear you enter. You wait in the doorway and watch the tall man as he scrolls through the information he has been pouring over all night. The smell of the caf fills the cockpit. Tech sniffs the air and turns towards you as a smile appears on his face. 

“Is that for me?” he asks hopefully. You hand him the cup you prepared for him just the way he likes it. He smells the cup before he takes a sip. “It is perfect. Thank you.”

You fall into the co-pilot seat with your cup and start to examine the new security system that Tech spent the night working on.

  “Looks good to me! Anything I need to know before you all leave for your mission?” 

Tech starts explaining the broad strokes of the new system and how the upgrades make it easier to use. You nod along as you listen to the explanation. The men are headed out on another one of Cid’s bounties. This one is on Raxxus? You think. 

“Isn’t Raxxus the separatist capital? Why are you all headed there?” you ask slowly, not comprehending. 

“A job is a job. We must pay back our debts.” He’s doing the really cute finger thing he does when explaining things.

 Your heart melts at the gesture. He doesn’t realize how cute he is sometimes. Tech gives you a strange look as you realize you have been staring at him for a moment too long. 

“Hey Tech!” Hunter calls from the back of the ship. 

Tech stands up to head back towards the bunks where the other men are gathered around a map of some kind. He hits his head on the top of the doorway as he forgets to duck while walking through it.

  “OW”

 You stifle a laugh as he rubs his forehead and pushes through to the back of the ship. You can hear Echo making a crack at Tech’s mishap with a light laugh. 

“Watch out for the roof Tech. Your head might damage it if you aren’t careful.” 

That man is too tall for his own good. He towers over you when you stand next to him and you won’t deny it makes you feel things. You have had a crush on the nerdy clone pretty much since you joined the merry band of deserted clones. You joined in the aftermath of Order 66 with Omega from Kamino. You were her nanny and you gladly went with the clones when the imperials took over. You never quite trusted Palpatine when he was the Supreme Chancellor and you trusted him even less when he turned the clones against the Jedi and declared himself Emperor. The Bad Batch offered you freedom and you seized the opportunity. Shaking off the memories, you make your way back towards the back of the ship. Omega is awake now but is still sitting in her bunk. Her big eyes are blinking away sleep. You help her down and she immediately goes to stand next to the clone she has claimed as her makeshift father. Her nightshirt is almost dragging the ground with how long it is and you chuckle at the sight. Hunter gently pats her hair, mussed from sleep. Echo hands her a ration bar then turns back towards the map. Tech has an angry red mark on his forehead right above his glasses from where he hit the top of the doorway. 

“So what is the plan?” You ask as you look over the map. It appears to be a blueprint of the palace on Raxxus. Hunter starts explaining the mission in simple terms so that you can understand. Basically they need to rescue the senator from the Imperial clones. Omega and you are to stay on the ship and protect it from patrolling clones. Omega protests this as you frown at the idea. Hunter shuts down the complaints with a wave of his hand. 

“It is safer for you two to stay on the ship than risk losing you to the imperials” He says quietly. “I can’t lose you again.” he says to Omega as he bends down to her level, “This is the best option right now. We don’t know what we are walking into on this planet. We already have 2 at least bounty hunters after you and the last thing we need is the clones to find you too. We still don’t know where Crosshair is or if he is even alive after the last encounter. I can’t lose anymore of you.” 

He finishes slowly and turns back to the men gathered around the blueprints scattered on the table as he rises. Hunter nods to the others and they head towards the ramp. You gather Omega up in your arms and head up to the cockpit to watch as the men depart. She is not happy at the thought of being left behind and her big eyes are shining with anger and hurt. You hold her close as you watch the men disappear into the trees with the droid client. I hope they are going to be okay. You think to yourself.