#star wars headcannon

[stringchheez]

A deep dive into the clones' ability to lie

Because I've had this sitting around in my head for way too long.

So, it's pretty clear from what we see in the clone wars (and the bad batch) that the clones absolutely SUCK at lying. My favourite example of course being when Rex has to cover for Padme when the pair are having a conversation in the barracks- but some other examples include (but are not limited to) Wrecker lying to the guards on Kamino when the Batchers get captured, Fives trying to cover for the others when they are testing the Umbaran ships out in the Umbara ark, and a couple smaller examples here and there.

Now, obviously this can be written off as being added 'because it's funny' or 'for the plot', but that's no fun, and I like to over-analyse things, so here's my little theory.

So the examples I've given are examples of some seriously lack lustre lying, but we also have some examples of good lying here and there, like Omega in the bad batch for example, who funnily enough, isn't a bad liar- although she does break the facade on occasion, but I feel like that can be excused because, you know, she's a kid.

Anyway- though I will say, the basis of this little 'theory/head cannon/whatever' is a little shaky- I have some thoughts.

The Inhibitor chips. They have all of the pre-programmed orders on them, as well as inhibiting the clone's abilities to disobey orders- making them more compliant. But what other things do they inhibit? Surely if they have the ability to inhibit certain personality-centric things, making them more docile/compliant, they'd also be able to inhibit the ability to lie, right? Also, we only really see proper lying from clones without an inhibitor chip. Even Slick, the traitor from season 1 episode 16 isn't able to hold his facade for very long- and when you really look at his body language it is VERY clear he's up to something. It would also make sense, given that- as sad as it is- the more inhumane of the people in charge of the GAR probably would want soldiers who are unable to lie. It would prevent mutinies, and other plots, and the withholding of possibly important information. On that point- perhaps it is that inhibiting of disobedience that causes the inability to lie.

TL;DR: clones bad at lying- possibly a cause of the chips? And I repeat- this is not a super solid/canon supported theory, just a thought. Let me know what you think!!

More at 6 (or when I remember I have tumblr)

[you-need-not-apply]

Luke once gave Han a model of the millennium falcon as a gift and nothing can convince me otherwise

[zhakyria]

My headcanon is that the ears Kahl has are the ears for all male twi'lek. Which does mean I need to have new art of Xhai'tan made, but that will come eventually.

[levi-venn]

When CT-9904, the clone that would one day become "Crosshair", was first pulled from his birthing tank, he did not cry.  

This was by design.

Engineered to become a “stealth soldier”, 04's vocal cords were shaped so that he could not raise his voice above a frustrated rasp. It was often muted by his incubator.

CT-9902, who would one day adopt the moniker "Tech", was also silent, but this was always a cause for concern. When 02 was quiet, he was most likely attempting his next escape. He had kicked the latch off his first incubator. He had poked the hinges off his second. By the third, Nala Se had nowhere to put the baby escape artist.

Putting 02 in 04's incubator was supposed to be a temporary solution.

A week later, when the new, reinforced incubator arrived, she picked up 02, and found his hand locked with 04's with an iron grip. 

CT-9902 cried. 

CT-9904 hissed.

And so, the ever patient Nala Se left 02 where he was there.  There were no more escape attempts after that.

One day, CT-9902 began to cry.

Nala Se was in the middle of calming 03 who was trying to wreck the changing table with tiny, but mighty fists.

"Omega, see to 02, please, he needs to be changed."

Omega slid off her stool and without looking up from her datapad she said. "It's 04 who needs changing."

"How do you know?" Nala Se asked.

"02 cries louder when 04 needs help."

- Excerpt from Cross and Crow (Read series on AO3)

[viivenn]

have you ever wondered what captain phasma looks like without her helm? perhaps i have an answer to your burning curiosity…

in this i’d like to also discuss some headcannons for miss phasma because cappie phazzie is just so… 🥰😍🙏✨✨

- the scar on her eye is both a cut and a burn. when she fell in all that fire the only spot unprotected by her armor was the break in her helm, and now it's a patch of burned skin. the harsher scar pictured here is present as well because that scar comes from the initial blow from finn.

- i'm also willing to bet phasma doesn't wear makeup either. "there's no time for it nor is there a need". however she would, on free time/when she's training, wear industrial/cargo pants, thick military/combat boots, and a gray tee tucked in neatly with a simple black belt. the logo to accompany that shirt is a small first order sigil near the collarbone and on her pants she would wear patches with her name, rank, and perhaps home flag on it as well as the first order's sigil as a patch.

- she's not offended by the assumption of masculinity, because she takes on the role of forceful and brutal commander whilst maintaining a strong reputation amongst the ranks of the first order. secretly, though she sees him as freakish and only tolerates him for his status, she's quite amused by kylo ren and wouldn't have it any other way. “the first order is not the same without him." she would also quietly tease him for his inability to find the map to skywalker.

- she would also probably take great pride in how shiny her armor is and routinely keep it clean on her free time, desperate to keep scuffs and marks out of it. she doesn't like deformalities, especially when it comes to her personal items.

- in terms of where her loyalties lie , she is ultimately loyal to herself despite her position and rank amongst her fellows. she would never admit it out loud though, and keep to herself about that opinion, but if it came down to her or a few members of her troops, she'd be fine with the sacrifice.

- phasma would probably pretend her baton is a lightsaber on occasion, side training with saber combat on either opponents or training dummies. if she is caught doing so, she would most certainly threaten the life of whoever caught her playing pretend. "you won't tell a soul if you value your life. now get back to work.”

- she probably secretly drinks tea in her quarters as well because she's british and it's natural.

in my humble opinion , she is most certainly , “gaslight , gatekeep , girlboss”.

[ana-cantskywalker]

Ok but imagine Hera on Lothal, still on maternal leave from having Jacen, doing whatever she can to help rebuild the city while she can't be out fighting.

Imagine her, dead on her feet from having a baby but still helping the relief work to those most affected by the Empire. Helping the elderly who had been displaced for being less useful to the empire.

Imagine her meeting an elderly woman with teal-blue eyes that almost look familiar, and immediately feels a connection with her. The woman is kind and asks Hera why she is so weary, Hera tells her about Jacen. She gives her advice on how too get him to sleep through the night.

Imagine her talking about her own son, born all those years ago before the Empire even existed, with her eyes and his father's dark hair. Her little boy who she'd known was special since the day he was born, who had been chosen by the then respected Jedi to train among them. Her little boy who she missed dearly and worried about daily, especially when the Jedi were marked as terrorists.

Imagine Hera sharing stories of the Jedi that were apart of her family, and how much she missed them daily, about how she both worried and wished that Jacen had the same abilities as his father.

Imagine Hera asking her what her son's name was, on the miniscule chance one of her contacts might be able to find intel on what his fate was, and the woman responds

Caleb Dume

[ireadwithmyears]

How each member of the bad batch would be with a visually impaired significant other (short imagine’s/headcannons

Part two|visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: 5.4K

Pairings: the bad batch ex female reader (individual)

Tags/warnings: some are suggestive, mostly domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries

note: look, it’s the epitome of self indulgence. I wrote this solely because I’m blind, and have never seen these ideas discussed when it comes to our beloved boys. However, I recognize that the majority of people reading this will not have shared this experience, so this is why I am adding a disclaimer/reminder to tell you that blindness is a spectrum, and the majority of us have at least a degree of useable vision left, so that is why I continue to use visual language/descriptors like look or watching. That being said, I hope you enjoy these, I had so much fun writing them, and if you have an idea for a specific scenario so I can do more of these, or another particular clone who isn’t a member of the batch, please let me know, and I would be happy to write more

Hunter🩷 

Hunter is the best at planning dates when it comes to keeping your accessibility and comfort in mind. 

If he wants to take you out somewhere, he’ll always go and scope it out beforehand, analyzing things that might not make it an enjoyable experience for you. I.e. if the lighting is too low and will obscure any of your remaining vision. If the music is too loud and will make it hard for you to effectively communicate with him. He knows that both of these things, especially when they’re working in tandem, can make you feel on edge and anxious, and that’s the last thing he wants you to feel when he’s taking you out on a date.

He will always ask the establishment about things like accessible or braille menus, or, if you happen to have a guide dog, seating that will have the space to accommodate and be comfortable for all of you.

If the menu isn’t accessible for you, he will always give you a heads up beforehand, using his datapad to pull up the menu on the holonet so that he can help you familiarize yourself with it, and you can decide what you want before you get there, taking a lot of the stress and pressure off of you because you don’t have to rush.

He wants you to feel cherished, loved, and safe when you’re out and about with him. So if you are going somewhere that’s particularly busy or crowded, he will also adapt himself. 

He’ll keep you close, whether it’s with your arm tucked securely in the crook of his elbow to guide you around, or his hand gently placed on the small of your back, letting it rest there so that you know he’s right there with you.

He never plans on getting separated from you, but if, by some unforeseen circumstance, it happens by accident, he has a plan for that too. 

If you’ve got remaining vision that is useable, he will intentionally wear bright, contrasting colours to make him easier to spot, even when he’s a distance away. 

If you don’t have any remaining vision, he’ll wear something like keys that jingle, or an article of jewellery that makes a distinct sound as he walks so that you can tell when he’s approaching. 

Regardless, every time you go on a night out, he will take the time to describe his appearance to you in detail, his general physical description, what he’s wearing, so that if, for some reason, you do get separated, you know how best to describe him to someone, so that they can locate him for you and help you make your way back to him

His enhanced senses have become innately attuned to your normal patterns and rhythms, and if he notices any rapid fluctuation or change be it with your breathing or heart rate, indicating that the environment you’re in is causing you stress, he’s whisking you away, taking you back home, despite any of your protests. He knows you’re just fighting him because you feel guilty about potentially messing up the night, which you absolutely are not.

He will not let you feel that way for long, because when you’re home, he is determined to make you feel like the beautiful, treasured, and wanted human being that you are.

He orders your favourite takeout food. He’ll lie you down on your bed, surrounding you with soft blankets and pillows, gently and tenderly beginning to caress and massage the tension from your tensed up shoulders and back, partly because he feels like he might have inadvertently been the cause of it being there in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you try to apologize. “I know you really wanted to...”

“Shh,” he quiets your apology, a hand coming up to softly brush a finger against your lips, resting his forehead against yours gently. “Meshla,” he breathes, unable to help the small smirk of amusement that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he observes, taking note of your breath audibly catching in the back of your throat as his finger, slow and slightly teasing, begins to lightly trace the edge of your bottom lip.

He presses his lips to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss as he affirms, “this is all I want,” he breathes in a whisper close to your ear that immediately has your whole body erupting in goosebumps.

“You,” he continues, his voice a low, husky rumble against your neck as his lips press, warm and deliberate, directly where your pulse flutters beneath them, pulling a soft, yet audible gasp out of you, that makes his lips curve up into a smile that you can feel against the skin of your neck.  “Are all I want.” 

He spends the rest of the night taking his time to prove that to you, in every way that he knows how.

*

Tech🩷

He takes note of every single bruise you get on your legs from bumping into shit all the time. 

You’re blind, it’s just an occupational hazard. You might not even notice that you have one, but he certainly does, and he’ll take care to notify you of every time you accumulate a new mark in your collection.

“There is a bruise directly above your left knee,” he observes, gentle fingers tracing over the mark with a soft frown marring his features. 

He naturally has picked up on using the language that is most helpful to describe the location of something visual to you. You didn’t even have to ask the first time you were on hands and knees on the floor, feeling around for one of your shoes. He didn’t point, and say “it’s over there,” which is just instinctive habit for most people. Instead, he had a used more specific directives like “behind you, on a slight diagonal to your right.”

“How did this happen,” he asks softly now, placing your hand directly on top of the blossoming mark on your leg.

You give him a half shrug and a rueful smile. “I don’t know,” you admit, honestly puzzled. “It happens all the time.”

From then on, he observes you closely, quickly coming to the realization that there are things that are just harder for you to look out for, and, just as quickly, doing his best to rectify each one. He’s easily able to identify a pattern of cause and effect that lead to your many bruises, bumps, and small every day accidents, and rather than being over bearing and cautious with you, he just figures out a way to remove the root of each problem entirely.

Each step on the Marauder’s gangway is suddenly marked with a long strip of brightly coloured tape at each edge, so that you can more confidently move down the steps without having to fumble to find the edge with your foot.

Low sitting caf tables in the middle of the living room, with sharp, jagged corners jutting out are suddenly pushed up against the wall, so that you don’t have to be careful while stepping around them, trying not to hit your leg off of one of them.

He makes sure that any overhead cupboards in the kitchen that are hard for you to notice until your head is colliding with their open doors, are kept securely shut, recalling a particular incident when, whilst putting away dishes, your head had caught on one of the cupboard doors, large bump blossoming on your forehead, just barely missing your eye. He had frowned, gently holding an ice pack to the swelling bump, deciding that from now then on, he would put any of the dishes away that needed to go on the top shelves. He wouldn’t budge on this, even when you tried to argue.

“Cyar,” he had said, voice stern, even as he gently took you by both of your shoulders. “I understand your need to be able to do things independently, and I respect it greatly. But, as much as you can make a light about getting bruises on your legs from these little incidents. Your head is much too important to apply that same lightness to, and I will not compromise on that so please, let me do this for you.” he had leaned down, barely brushing his lips over the bump on your head in a caring, affectionate gesture, and that had made your resolve completely crumble.

He’s also hyper aware of your systems and ways of organizing things, and it has become a habit for him to make sure that it is maintained. 

Shampoo and conditioner bottles that look almost identical with exception to the labels that isn’t much help to you are always set in a specific order for you to find in the shower. You always leave things like your wallet and your cane in the same place, and if anyone messes with these orders, it can really throw you off.

If anyone does touch or move any of your things, regardless of how insignificant, without telling you first, Tech will find out, and, especially if it’s one of his brothers, will thoroughly scold them for it, ensuring that they understand why somethings so small could be really frustrating and disorienting for you, and makes sure that they never do it again.

If you read braille, this man learns it for fun one day on a whim, and he doesn’t even tell you about it.

He’ll put away your groceries for you one day, and then you’ll be searching for something like a dinner ingredient, and find that he’s attached a braille label to the box, with completely correct use of the six dots that form the language.

When you confront him with it, he only shrugs, adjusting his goggles with a slightly confused expression.

“You sound surprised,” he observes with one raised eyebrow. “In a practical sense, this was a logical solution,” he continues, clearly unfazed by your display of shock.

“That’s not fair,” you pout, leaning against the counter and folding your arms. “If you’re going to learn braille, then you at least need to teach me some Mandoa,” you challenge.

“I was not aware that you were interested in the subject. But that is an agreeable request. What would you like to know?” He asks, looking at you questioningly.

“Like,” you bite your lip, considering, tilting your head in curiosity. “What’s that word that you always call me?” You ask. “It starts with an S? I think? Or maybe a C...c cyar?” You say, suddenly uncertain and cringing at your own pronunciation.

He straightens, suddenly grateful that you’re unable to see the blush that’s crept into his cheeks as he answers evenly. 

“Ah, yes, the word that you were saying is correct. Cyar... it means, love... or beloved,” he answers, voice going soft as he catches your hand in his, almost absently pressing his lips to the back of your knuckles briefly as you stare at him, surprised.

“You ... you love me?” You ask, hopeful and voice clearly bewildered. The smile that pulls at the corners of your lips lights up the whole room. 

Both eyebrows arch as he looks down at you, because now he’s the one who’s confused. When he responds, his voice is far less confident and sure than it usually is. It holds almost a shy, completely uncharacteristic timidness, which conveys the genuine honesty in his words when he speaks.

“Well ...cyar. of course I do. I thought it was obvious.”

*

Echo🩷 

Echo, unlike most people, understands all the aches and pains, mental and physical, that come with being disabled.

He’s sat with you on the bathroom floor, your head resting against the cool linoleum of one of the tiles on the wall after a concert. You had come home to find your head throbbing from the after affects of being surrounded by a combination of extremely loud music, a screaming crowd, and strobe lights that made you wish that you didn’t have any remaining vision at all. 

Your eyes were shut tightly, and  your heart fluttered with surprise and gratitude when, with his one functioning hand, Echo, movements slow and meticulous, carefully began to undo your hair from the tight updo it had been forced into all night. There he sat, fingers so, so gentle as they ran through your hair, undoing the tangles and soothing away some of the tight ache that had gathered at the back of your head. 

He’s careful to stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt the little bit of peace that you had found. The only thing that fell from his lips were gentle breaths and soft murmurs of “oh, sweetness, s’okay,” lips pressing the lightest kisses to your flushed cheek, the side of your aching forehead, until the painkillers had finally, finally kicked in.

If you’re a cane user, he always has his eyes peeled for the little bumps and cracks along the sidewalk.

He’s seen what happens when the tip gets caught in one of them, when the handle inevitably jabs against your stomach or ribs and the immediate discomfort on your face that follows.

He also sees the bruises that are left there afterwards, and as much as he loves gently pressing his lips to each of them, reassuring you that he’ll kiss them better, he’d rather them just not be there in the first place.

So, he always watches out for them, giving you an ample warning on ones that your cane could get caught in so that you can move it out of the way. 

He takes you to a holofilm, and you both don’t realize that it’s not available with audio description until you’re in your seats and the headset doesn’t work. He immediately turns to you, giving you a reassuring smile and offering his hand, saying “We can leave, if you want. If you’re not going to get anything out of this, we can go, and we’ll find something else to do.”

You decide to stick it out, rationalizing that you’ll still be able to get something out of the film, if not the whole story, and besides, he can catch you up on parts you didn’t understand after it’s over. 

In the end, it’s still worth it for you.  

You finish half of a bag of popcorn before commercials are even over. You’re intrigued by the movie for almost half of it, and then finally, you spend the rest of it passed out with your head resting on Echo’s shoulder, only for him to wake you, slightly chagrined, when the credits are rolling.

When you’re out of the theater, you walk together hand in hand down the street. He apologizes profusely, saying that he should have done more research. You try to laugh it off to reassure him that it was fine, because you just had one of the best naps of your life in that theater. When it’s clear that that doesn’t help, you’re turning to him, sighing with a small frown.

“Echo,” you say with a small shake of your head. “I’m the one who should be sorry, not you, love.” At his look of bewilderment, you continue. “You do so much for me already, and I’m just so, so grateful for that. It’s not always something I feel like I can repay you for.” You look away, ashamed. 

Because it’s true. He has his own set of issues and lingering problems from the injuries he sustained at the citadel. You can encourage him to do things like his physiotherapy exercises that ensures that his cybernetics are working in tandem with his body. But you can’t actually help him with them, whether it be with making modifications or repairs. It sometimes makes you feel a bit useless, because he helps you so much and you feel like you can only help him so little, and you feel like you’re just adding to his already overflowing plate sometimes.

“I know there could be easier people for you to be with,” you confess, voice quiet.

Echo stops dead at the street corner, catching your wrist to stop you from moving forward, and turning to fully face you with his brow creased in a frown.  

“Oh, Cyar’ika,” he says, voice soft, reaching out a hand to tilt your head up so that you’re looking at him. “Now who put that idea in your head, ner kar’ta?” he whispers, gazing down at you with pursed lips.

Unexpected tears spring to your eyes at his gentle tone. The truth is that you can’t place this feeling on a singular person, though people have contributed to it. Family members have made comments in passing, strangers who look at the two of you and immediately begin to judge from there own preconceived notions and outside opinions. It’s society at large, who has made you feel like your blindness is a burden to the ones you love. 

You don’t know how to say that, though. So you remain silent as Echo leans down, dropping a lingering kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “I don’t need you to make my life easier, cyar. You make my life meaningful, and that, to me, is more important. 

He rests his forehead against yours, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. “Your needs don’t make you a burden, cyar’ika. I want you to remember that. I want to make sure that they are always being met. It’s the least I can do, you understand?”

All you can do is nod, your heart in your throat. 

The next time you go see a holofilm with him, and the audio description isn’t available, Echo is prepared this time.

He still offers to leave, but when you refuse, he has a plan. In his own time, and on the occasions when you both have been watching something at home, he always makes sure the described video settings are on, for your benefit, and when he’s alone, for his.

He’s observed closely, listening and carefully paying attention to how the narrator’s go about describing things. So, when the movie starts, he leans over to you, keeping his voice low and quiet, beginning to describe to you what’s happening onscreen, careful to never interrupt any dialogue.

You stare at him, more than a little surprised. “Echo, are you going to do this for the whole film?” You ask, caught off guard and delighted all at once.

He gives you a quick nod. “Yes,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Now, be quiet and let me do it.”

True to his word, he does, staying close to you and keeping his voice quiet, so as not to disturb anyone around you. If someone still tries to shush him or gives him a dirty look for talking in the theater, he glares at them, in only the way that Echo can, until they stop.

This time, you stay awake during the whole film, watching intently, and listening to echos every word as he is meticulous in describing the visual things that you’re missing. In spite of all of the things that are different in comparison to your last date, one thing still remains the same.

You still finish the movie with your head resting on his broad shoulder, and he still looks at you like you’re the centre of his world.

*

Wrecker🩷 

The first time you make a blind joke about yourself in front of him, he’s terrified. 

Instinctively, he starts laughing, but then, registering your words, he immediately cuts himself off, not wanting to offend you, and is concerned that you’re being mean to yourself, which he will not allow. 

When you only snort at his reaction, playfully nudging him and explaining how it’s fine, because you have to make fun of the things that you are unable to change, and how it’s actually a mark of self love if you have the ability to laugh at yourself, slowly, he begins to understand. 

Soon enough, he not only readily laughs at your self deprecating humour and blind jokes, but at one point, he ends up slipping out one of his own before he can stop himself.

Again, he’s immediately apologetic and regretting his words, but when you throw back your head and laugh heartily, he feels a little less insecure and soon enough, you both have the ability to crack blind jokes with each other without missing a beat, to everyone else’s chagrin and fond amusement. 

He decides that having the ability to make you laugh, getting to watch your eyes sparkle with amusement and hearing the sounds of your joy is music to his ears, and is one of his favourite things. 

Wrecker is your number one protector. Not in a toxic, over protective way.

Even though he’s only got one functioning  eye, chances are he’s still got more vision than you, so he’s taking it upon himself to be the working set in this relationship, meaning he’s always watching out for you.

If you’ve got a guide dog, the first time he encounters it, he might have gone to pet it, but, before he did, he sees the do not interact sign, and stops short, quickly pulling back and apologizing. 

He asks questions, just to make sure he understands why it’s important, and after you explain it, he fully respects the boundaries and never forgets them, to which you are immensely thankful.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so grateful for him just doing the decent thing, until you tell him that a lot of people understand that you’re not supposed to pet the dog, but will either do it anyways, thinking that if you can’t see them doing it and they do it silently, you won’t notice, or they’ll talk in a distracting way to the animal, which is sometimes worse, and equally as distracting for the dog to work through.

This angers him, that they would take advantage of your blindness in such a disrespectful manner, and because you’ve explicitly told him that distracting your dog could potentially put you in danger, under the right circumstances.

From then on, he’s always watching.

If someone is petting your dog while it’s working, or trying to distract it, he’s right there, towering over them and glaring with his arms crossed, not so subtly pointing at the do not pet sign until they back away, stuttering and flustered.

If a child runs up to pet it, he’ll much more gently intercept them, crouching down on the ground to quietly explain to them the rules. In your experience, children are often much more respectful than adults, and watching him interact so kindly with them melts your heart every time.

Wrecker is tall. Standing at 6 feet six, it makes him not the most ideal guiding companion.

If he’s guiding you himself, sometimes, unintentionally, his elbow might knock against your head, for which he is immediately aware of, and instantly apologetic. 

He will always stop, large hands gently cradling the sides of your face as he looks you over, worried that even the slightest bump from him could leave a bruise. Regardless of what he finds, though, he’ll always lean down, dropping a kiss to your forehead with a soft, “m sorry, meshla.”

His solution to this problem, however, is a tad bit unconventional. 

When confronted with a situation where it’s just more efficient for him to guide you, for example, a street blocked off by construction, taped off areas and pylons everywhere, instead of offering you something like his hand or his wrist to hold, he simply reaches down, scoops you up into his arms and carries you over his shoulder until you’ve both cleared the obstacles together, you letting out a surprised squeak and giggling all the while.

Wrecker finds you beautiful, every day, all the time, and he is constant with his reminders of that.

As a blind person, it can be more difficult to coordinate a whole outfit, look, hair, and make up. He is so appreciative, and loves if you do that. But, if you’re one of those blind people who never learned how to do make up, who isn’t as confident in their sense of personal style, and you feel a little bit self-conscious about how much, or how little, in your opinion, effort you put into your look when you’re going out on a date with him, he will quickly assuage your fears the minute he catches wind of them.

He’s very good at detecting those days where you’re not feeling good about your appearance, just intuitively sensing when you’re having a bit of an off day, and when you could use a reminder of how beautiful and precious you are to him. He knows he can’t magically change your mind.

But he can  tell you about all the things he finds attractive about you, every day, if you need that reminder.

He’ll tell you of each one, each part of you that he finds beautiful beyond belief, while taking the time to softly caress and kiss each one, with whispered affirmations of “Such a pretty little thing,” and “You’re perfect, cyar, absolutely perfect.”

And if that’s not enough, he’ll keep going, keep moving downwards until he can look up at your beautiful face, watching from in between your parted thighs as your lips form equally beautiful noises for him.

*

Crosshair🩷 

It isn’t that Crosshair doesn’t want to help you. It’s just that, honestly, he’s a little bit hesitant to, in the beginning, fearing that he might overstep, because he places such a high value on choice, and respects your independence and autonomy to much to question you and your abilities.

He trusts that, if you need his help, you’ll come to him and ask. He also trusts that you’ve been living with blindness for a long time, maybe even since birth, and you’re aware enough to know your boundaries and limits, trusting that you’ll advocate when you need him to help with one of those limits.

Just because he doesn’t help you as much in the physical sense, does not mean he isn’t your number one advocate, because he absolutely is. 

For example, if you’re a guide dog user, and you both are going out together using a ride sharing app. If the driver refuses to let you in they’re speeder because of your service dog, he will wait patiently for you to explain, analyzing every micro expression of the driver and knowing when they’re still not listening to you, and he will step in without hesitation.

Wearing his most menacing glare, and in a voice that is deadly calm, he will absolutely read them the riot act. He knows every law regarding your guide dog, and knows just how properly to phrase them in a way that will make the driver scared, usually when he mentions the 5000 credits fine they could be sued for not denying you access 

He’s also keeping his eyes out to make sure that no one distracts your dog, and isn’t afraid to directly confront anyone who tries, saying something snarky like, “You know, maybe you’re the one who needs a guide dog, if you can’t read the don’t pet me sign that’s right in front of your face,” paired with a signature eye roll.

They always back away stuttering, and it always makes you laugh, even as you gently rebuke him, saying “Cross, that was a bit rude.”

He scowls, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him as he responds.

“And you, sweet girl, are too nice,” he purrs lowly against your ear. But, with the way that he begins to nuzzle at your neck, you don’t really think it bothers him that much.

If you’re one of those blind people who feels like asking for help is just burdening other people with your problems, and would rather risk facing the consequences by trying to do something yourself, rather than ask for help, he will find out, and he will not be pleased in the slightest. 

Your stubbornness is something that he loves about you. But if it has a tendency to go too far, especially if you’re putting yourself in harms way, that adoration will quickly turn to frustration.

For example, one time, you both were staying at a place that had a glass topped stove. 

These things are so inaccessible for blind people, it’s not even funny. But rather than admit defeat and let him cook dinner, you decided that you could figure it out, and gave it your best shot. 

Your best shot ended with you trying to line up the pot with the burner, and very quickly, receiving a searing burn on your hand from touching the heat. 

You had not anticipated it getting that hot that fast , and as you quickly pull your hand away, tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you let out a pained hiss.

““what are you doing?”

He had materialized behind you from seemingly out of nowhere, voice a silky, yet tensed coil as he reaches around you carefully, quickly flicking off the burner before long, dextrous fingers wrap  around your wrist, still gentle, even as he insistently pulls your hand away from where you’ve been clutching it to your chest, eyes keenly examining the burn with a soft frown on his face.

Wordlessly, he guides you over to the kitchen sink, hand on the small of your back, turning the water on cold and carefully placing your injured hand beneath the stream. 

Only then does he come to stand in front of you, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, his expression hard as he looks down at you. 

“What were you thinking, cyar?” He grits out, voice almost a growl as he tries to understand. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I could have helped and prevented this,” he gestures to your hand. “From happening.”

You blame the trembling in your voice on the lingering throbbing ache in your hand.

“I’m s sorry. I I thought that I could figure it out. You were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you B because I’m scared that I burden you with all the help I need sometimes and.”

“Stop,” he cuts you off in one quick, decisive syllable, and you instantly fall silent.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, guiding your eyes to look at him. His lips form a thin line when he sees the glimmer of unshed tears there. When he next speaks, his voice is still firm, but there is an underlying gentleness and softening in his tone. It has lost its hard edge, and it’s protective bite.

“You are not a burden, to anyone, but especially to me.”

“But,” you try to interject, but he easily silences you, taking your face in both of his hands and cradling it gently.

“Shh, cyar, listen to me,” he says, his voice a quiet command.

“If you are a burden, then you are my burden. In the same way that I am yours.” He takes your uninjured hand in his, relaxing his fingers against yours,  allowing you to feel it’s tremors.

Oh.

It’s been so long since his hand has shaken like this. He’s worked so hard to try and work through this particular trauma, and though it hasn’t completely gone away, it only begins to tremble during moments of high stress. You flush with shame, realizing that this moment of high stress is completely on you.

“I know what you’re doing, and stop it,” he says, voice stern, squeezing your hand in a silent warning. “Look at me, cyar’ika,” he continues, voice softening.

When you do, he continues. “If we are each other’s burdens, then we take care of each other, together. Do you understand me?”

You nod, actually stunned into complete silence at his proclamation.

“Good,” he says, voice softening further. He leans forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, fingers gently caressing the side of your neck as he pulls back.

He gives you a playful nudge as he smirks.

“Don’t ever try something like that again, cyar,” he quips with a scowl. “Your eyes already don’t work, and if you lose one of your hands, you’re completely fucked.”

All the levity of the moment vanishes, and it ends with your face pulling into a smile, a soft laugh falling from your parted lips as he watches you, eyes filled with adoration.

[skyguys-princess]

Lorenzo Di Lamberti is the type to pull out just so he can paint your tits and face with his cum...

Then he'd thrust back in and continue fucking you.

Sorry it had to be said.

[luxtrys]

sunshine reader and grumpy ani hc's

i am back with my fav troupe AHH! let me know if you want a blurb with this bc i would lovee to write it. sorry for being a bit mia, school has been kicking a girls ass but my anakin phase is slowly coming back to me so i might be lurking around on your home page a bit more. love, rosie xxx

✩ you were always a sweet girl. from the moment your parents laid eyes on you, they knew that you were going to give nothing but happiness and serenity to the world.

✩ you smiled to everyone who passed you on the street, helped your neighbours with chores, made people baked home goods when they were feeling down. all just to see someone smile

✩ anakin knew how different the two of you were. you were like a ray of sunshine, and he was well... not.

✩ you couldn't have asked for a more perfect man for you than anakin. even though you two were polar oppisties.

✩ it almost looked amusing when you were together on the street or at a party. a beaming radiant girl, with a brooding stone faced man looming behind her at all times.

✩ anakin tried not to let how naive you were bother him to much, because he knew you couldn't control it. and he was not about to taint your happiness, because thats the last thing he'll ever do.

✩ you try not to dwell on why people suddenly were so much nicer to you after you started dating anakin, because you didn't notice how when anyone wouldn't listen to what you were babbling about, or was about to say something rude, anakin would give them a look that made them shiver.

✩ he always had that affect on people, one that made them scared for there life. but not you, no, never you.

✩ anakin knew from the moment he met you, he was going to be the kindest person he could be infront of you. and it was surprisingly. but what wasn't easy, was containing his cool to other people infront of you.

✩ you like to think that you're the one taking care of anakin, when that could not be further from the truth. because you're just so oblivious to when he kicks a rock out of your path so you won't trip, or when he wraps his hand around sharp surfaces of counter's your under so you wont come up and bump your head.

✩ but he likes to let you think you are. especially when you bring sunscreen to the beach to rub on his face about 5 times an hour, or when you clean up his knuckles and cuts after hours of jedi training he'll never let you watch.

✩ another thing about anakin, is that he just loves braiding your hair.

✩ he had to get use to it for a while because he hadn't done it since his mother had taught him on tatooine. which resulted in your hair being only knots and matting for a couple of days.

✩ but after that, you had never seen your hair so beautiful, and we all know anakin skywalker is good with his hands.

✩ whenever you notice anakin in more of a mood than he normally is (which you thought was impossible) you always like to shower him with loves and kisses. which he defenitly pretends to hate.

✩ you hold his face in your hands, placing one hand on each cheek while kissing all over his face. he tries to contain himself as he turns a bright red and smiles unconsentually. he loves you so much.

✩ and thats why when you're around anakin lessens his grumpy mood by a tiny bit. but that soft spot is only for you.

[im-here-and-im-confused]

Obi-wan - we've been conducting an ongoing study to see what Anakin will and will not eat.

Cody - Grass? yes!

Obi-wan - Moss? yes!

Cody - Leaves? Oh yes!

Obi-wan - Shoelaces? strangely enough yes!

Cody - Worms? sometimes!

Obi-wan - Rocks? usually no!

Cody - Twigs? usually yeah!

Obi-wan - Ahsoka's cooking? Inconclusive!

Rex - Right, and how...how did you test this?

Obi-wan - oh well we just handed him things, and said 'hey eat this'.

Cody - and if he ate it, he ate it.

Rex - Right okay, i don't know how im supposed to feel about this.

Ahsoka - WAIT SO IS THAT WHERE ALL OF MY SHOE LACES WENT!?

[ledeni-tm]

I'd like to think that Quinlan Vos helped Cal understand his psychometry when he was a youngling and/or a padawan, during quiet times, to Jaro Tapal complete dismay who wouldn't want any bad influence on his padawan. (no weapons involved, only nice things, with sweet echoes. Quinlan is not THAT irresponsible. I think. Aayla turned out okay after all) With all the banter involving links with other characters like Greez interest in Yaddle or even Qui-Gon friendship with Cordova, I think it would have been cute to learn more form Cal and his childhood at the Temple.

(Close up under the cut !)

[tragedy-for-sale]

Bedrock Headcannons: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Bedrock headcannons are headcannons that I regard as a fact in the personality of a character I write about. They range from small details to a huge part of a character's backstory. These headcannons are a constant underlayer in all of my fics that involve these characters.

﹄『❝ Obi-Wan ❞』﹃

He cut his hair shortly after the war begun because Anakin made a comment he looked like Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan couldn't handle it.

Obi-Wan is very quiet and not just in the sense of him not talking a whole lot. But his steps, the swoosh of his robe, the smile in his eyes. He moves with grace which results in many people being taken off guard when he's in the room, as if he just appears. But he's also quiet in the way that you'd never know he was crying if you couldn't see his face, quiet in the way of showing love through always having snacks on him for Anakin, Ahsoka or any of his men. Whoever asks him first. He's quiet in pain and agony, in love and passion.

Obi-Wan feels extremely bittersweet about Dooku. He remembered how highly Qui-Gon regarded him, how they'd go catch up at a diner and how Obi-Wan always begged to go. He never knew the Dooku that Qui-Gon did and Obi-Wan has a hard time understanding how his master was trained by someone so vile. Everytime he faces the Count, he remembers Qui-Gon, and he remembers how much his master cared for this man that is trying to kill him.

He loves Coruscant in the rain. When he was younger, Qui-Gon would take him up to the roof of the temple and they'd talk until they could see stars. But if it was raining, they'd be outside splashing each other until they were soaked.

He doesn't go up there as often anymore, but the first year after Qui-Gon's death, Obi-Wan was missing all day. It was Quinlan Vos who found him, he was the only person still alive that knew about his hiding place.

Obi-Wan's 18th birthday was spent out on the streets of Coruscant. He snuck out with Quinlan Vos and Kit Fisto. The three ran into trouble and at the stroke of midnight, Obi-Wan was in tears, desperately hoping his friends would find him.

He was sent to Mandalore with Qui-Gon soon after.

Obi-Wan will go get tea with Padme when Anakin is still out in space. He doesn't say he checks on Padme to Anakin, but he'll say he caught Padme and they chatted for a while and that she's doing well.

During down time, he wears heavy robes because Obi-Wan is cold all the time. Especially when on the Negotiatior. If he's able, he'll always go sit in the sun, feeling the warmth on his face.

As the war progresses, the toll of it starts to affect him more and more. He starts to feel things more deeply then he ever had and he finds himself drowning constantly. Fear he's never known paralyzes him and he can't talk to anyone because there's nothing anyone can do. He's going to drown and he can see all the people he loves playing in the water not noticing he's been swept up by the tide.

Dex's Diner has been Obi-Wan's place for years, he brings only the most important people in his life there. Dex basically watched Obi-Wan grow up, he knows his favorite book, his deepest pain and insecurities, and how many times he's fallen in love.

Obi-Wan takes Cody anytime they're on Coruscant for leave. One night, it was late and after close, but it was in that little worn down diner that Obi-Wan and Cody celebrated their marriage, slow dancing to whatever jukebox tune was playing and holding each other tight.

After Order 66 happens, Cody feels drawn to the diner, he sits there for hours. Dex knows better to assume the identity of this helmeted man, but he always sits in Obi-Wan's booth and watches the door, expecting the love of his life to walk right in and apologize for being late. But Obi-Wan never comes, and there is never an apology.

﹄『❝ Obi-Wan ❞』﹃

[iburnedmyselfalive]

sorry not sorry but im getting professor!ani vibes from this pic LIKE HELLO????? HAVE MY BABIES???? why is he dressed like this.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕤/𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 + 𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕩

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴꜰꜱᴡ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟ ɪᴍ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ.

⋆ ★ ɪ ꜰᴇᴇʟ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴏʙʟɪɢᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴀᴍ 4’11 ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ꜰᴜɴɴʏ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ꜱᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴀᴛᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴄʜ+ʀᴇx ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ/ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ꜱ/ᴏ! ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

Despite being the only one out of clone force 99 who’s the average clone trooper height, he still is immensely taller (and broader, to be frank, excluding that little slutty waist) compared to you.

It strokes his ego quite a bit

Maybe a bit more if you like to point it out.

It ties into any sort of praise you shower onto him, really. If you tell him all about how tall and big and strong he is, you’re practically begging for him to pounce on you.

Hunter’s just whipped for you like that.

Despite that, he finds your height to be really cute.

It’s not everything he likes about you, of course, but it just ties it all in; it's just an aspect he adores sometimes.

He tries not to do it anymore because he wants to be helpful, but occasionally he’ll sit back and watch you struggle to reach something high up. The grin that spreads across his face could lift the entire galaxy’s spirits.

If you realize, you put a hand on your hip and pout.

“Really?”

He hides his red face and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la. You just looked so cute.”

When you huff again he reaches for the object you were trying to reach and hands it to you like it was a delicacy on a silver platter.

Whenever you're in a position like that, where your chests almost touched and he looked down at you, you enjoyed going on your tip toes and pecking his chin affectionately.

“I’m adorable, aren’t I?”

Tech

At first, even as you start a relationship with him, it is simply an objective fact about you.

He’ll make slightly offhanded comments about it, but you know he doesn't mean any harm when he says them.

“I should probably handle this instead since it would be easier for me to complete. Considering our heights.”

“Please don’t climb over the shelves, dear. You might hurt yourself.”

Eventually, the comments stop, you don’t really know why.

You do realize though he will always offer help in a situation where you are vertically challenged and his comments aren’t meant to be demeaning.

The height difference between you two, however, shifts from a focus on your height to his.

Tech knew that you gained a sense of enjoyment from the contrast in appearance, but didn’t realize how much you liked it.

And you liked it a lot.

Something about Tech completely towering over you while ever so slightly asserting his intellectual superiority rubs you in all the right places.

You tell him about it, and he tries his best to nod it off. Emphasis on tries.

He subconsciously begins trying to catch you in positions where he’s physically overwhelming; dwarfing your body into his and enveloping you into him wholly.

He doesn't notice hes doing it, but you do; oh you do.

You won't point it out. Both of you get off on his little power trips.

Wrecker

Let’s be real, this man has a raging size kink.

Of course, even if you’re average height or above, you’re minuscule compared to Wrecker. But man, if you’re short, petite, etc.? Wrecker is GONE. Deceased. Done.

He simply will never be able to get over how cute you are.

And maybe you feed into it as well.

Call him ‘big guy’ or give him that doe-eyed look like you’re in awe of a giant overtop you and you won’t walk for the next week.

He gets just a tad bit feral.

Sometimes, he finds it more comedic.

Like when you topple over trying to reach something on a high-up shelf.

You’ve become quite embarrassed about always needing assistance from Wrecker, especially because of all the teasing you’ve gained from his brothers.

So despite him always being fully willing to help at any time, you get a little too flustered for your liking and try to do the tasks yourself.

And yet, this doesn’t solve your problem. You continue to fall straight on your ass every time.

His laughter fills the entire ship.

“I must’ve turned invisible” he toddles over and opens his arms out wide. “Your footstool is right here!”

You can’t help but facepalm.

Other times, he finds it arousing.

Like when you press up against his stomach and chest, your chin resting up so you stared at him with wide eyes.

His whole body could completely swallow you whole in those moments.

How could he not get a boner?

BONUS: You’re small enough to huddle up on his lap and fit your entire body onto him with your arms loosely wrapped around his neck. Yes, those are the best cuddles. Yes, you both fall asleep instantly.

Crosshair

I'm sorry, but if you didn't think Crosshair was gonna tease you, he’s not your man.

On a day he's being especially pesky, every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is commenting on your height.

Crosshair loves seeing you frustrated, he thinks you look cute like that. He's like a schoolboy in that way, but don't say that. He’ll get all pissy and refuse to talk to you for a few hours.

Yep. Definitely a whiny schoolboy.

Will use the top of your head as an armrest and won’t protest if one of his brothers captures a photo of you two in that position.

Even if you're sitting next to each other he’ll find an opportunity to prop an elbow on your shoulder or head. it never fails to make him chuckle darkly to himself.

But if you ask him to help you reach something high up, he’ll do it wordlessly. Save the teasing for after.

if you blush furiously and scold him, he’ll only smirk and if no one else is around, give you a peck on your forehead.

“Can’t stop myself, doll.”

Won't offer help with any vertical challenges despite him being much taller. He’d like to, but in his head, he still thinks that he’ll come out too soft.

He might do it wordlessly and swiftly, even if you don't ask. Perhaps that's his way of showing love.

Echo

He won’t comment on it. Not for a while at least.

This man has had his fair share of body insecurity, and he isn’t so sure if your height is one of yours. He won’t risk that, he cares far too much about you to hurt your feelings inadvertently, or accidentally trigger any association with bad thoughts about yourself with him.

You’re the one to first bring it up, in fact.

It came out when you had started to get a little tipsy at Cid’s, and were talking about the batch’s physiques.

“And Echo, I know there’s wrecker over there but…” you cradled his face and looked up at him with awe, more adoration than he’d ever felt in his life. “You’re just so big and tall… and strong” with your last word, a small, whimpered moan followed.

Oh, if you were only sober enough to notice how his codpiece rubbed against your stomach harder than usual.

Sure, you got some shit from the boys for it the day after when you sobered up, but you didn’t regret saying it.

Finally, you got out of your head and told Echo how much you loved your height difference.

He stumbles a bit at first with your confession, but once the two of you go to continue doing something else, you notice how his chest puffs out just a little bit more and his shoulders are more squared up.

He always used to help you when trying to reach something high up before, but after that day, every time he does it feels so… purposeful.

It kind of is (he’d never admit it though).

He just can’t get your comment out of his mind.

It’s almost feral how kindred his need gets when you look, feel so much smaller than him.

But he’d never say it.

Actions, however, always speak more than words when it comes to Echo.

Rex

Rex is such an act of service guy, c’mon

He’s the kind of guy to always clean up after himself always if he’s around at your place. Does all the gross, menial tasks in the kitchen. If you fall asleep watching something, he’ll turn it off and carry you to bed.

He’s just such a gentleman, you can’t convince me otherwise.

So of course, if you’re more, ahem, vertically challenged than most, he is there.

He’s not the type to hold off on helping you out, like Hunter or Crosshair, but he might make a couple quips after or just randomly through the day.

“You’re so cute like this.”

“Aw, cyare, ‘m sorry you need my help. Can’t imagine living like this every day.”

It's hard to get mad at his comments, though.

Not when he’s always there the second you need him.

Though, when the two of you are more… intimate, the size difference comes into play more.

He doesn’t really have a size kink like Wrecker does, but Rex would be lying if his dick hasn't throbbed seeing the way his hand completely covered yours while going to town.

But he’s just so sweet about it; you’ve seen the way he looks at you in moments like those, with pure awe and revel, it makes you feel so loved and protected.

He could never make you feel otherwise.wise.

[kryte-col]

Can't convince me that when Din Djarin fucks in full beskar it does not sound like metal pots banging together

When clones fuck still in their plastoid it sounds like smacking tupperware together

[furious-blueberry0]

I'm working on a little project about Togruta biology, but I'm quickly running out of ideas, give me some of your favourite headcannons about this specie!!

I'll try to fit as many as possible into this project (and maybe even borrow some of my fellow artists OCs for the visuals).