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inkformyblood · 1 year ago

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i lose all (but not him) #2 CWW2023

Codywan, slowburn, canon-verse with some divergence @codywanweek Prompt: Tea, Caf and Flimsiwork (Day 6) Ao3 link here

The war is, perhaps, the easiest part of Cody’s job.

And he is Cody now, truly and properly, no longer having to tuck the name he has chosen for himself in the hidden compartment of his vambrace along with a scrap of dark fabric stiff with dried blood and a nearly full tube of paint used to mark the corridors bolted on Kamino. He would tap his fingers against it now to reassure himself that it is still closed and he hasn’t wandered away from the quartermaster with the equivalent of his spine hollowed out and exposed, but his arms are currently full. The training simulations had never covered the intricacies of carrying Jedi robes (slippery), a packet of tea (it kept crinkling) and a datapad (liable to be classed as a projectile). Obi-Wan’s lightsaber is the least worrying thing on Cody’s tray at that moment.

The lightsaber bumps against his leg as he walks, holding onto his belt through a combination of emergency tape, which is quickly becoming routine tape, and sheer willpower.

Cody doesn’t think about it.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Cody pauses, feeling the sharp stab of tension between his shoulder blades, and presses his shoulder against the metal wall to try and alleviate the pressure from his armour. They were all based on the same template so their armour is similarly fashioned and shipped out from four clone-manned facilities on various satellite stations tucked on the wrong sides of planets orbits, and then two others that Cody technically doesn’t know about.

Query: order status?

Answer: on track for fulfilment in two weeks.

In the factories, Cody wonders, are they lonely? He had seen one of the factory squads from a distance, noted the perpetual stoop to their shoulders from the ceilings built to be manned by droids three-quarters of their height, the easy way they pitched into each other as if their shoulders had been made to be held instead of holding. Fox had been standing next to him, his helmet resting on his hip, fanning at the fresh paint with one hand to try and stop it from smearing. They had been so close but the act of reaching out, of leaning his head against Fox’s shoulder, was impossible. It hadn’t ever been meant for them.

His fingers ache as if he’s cold, trapped inside the treated fabric of his gloves. It doesn’t rustle when he moves like the earlier versions, but Cody finds himself missing the sound. Everything rings hollow inside the maw of a spaceship in a way Kamino never had.

(He is tired.)

First, he needs to return Obi-Wan’s possessions to him. It isn’t a strict part of his role as if he follows the chain of command as it is laid out in Form 44.949 which had only gone into effect a week after their deployment — and that is its own issue that Cody can’t dwell on, can only cut his teeth into fresh points arguing about it. According to the protocol, Cody should give the items to a lower-ranked shiny and direct him to return them to Obi-Wan, with no contact necessary. But he wants to. And he can.

Cody presses his shoulder further against the wall, scraping the plastoid against metal. It still doesn’t sit quite right, pinching at the joint where his altered patch had slipped over the past few hours of battle. He’d likely have a bruise there, an exploitable weakness, a crack for sunlight to spill through.

Footsteps.

Cody is alert in an instant, not moving, barely breathing. Sound carries strangely in a starship, echoing off of the enclosed walls and carried by the pipes tucked just behind the thin plating. They had made use of it, knocking out messages against the exposed metal and waiting for a response with their hands pressed against the chill, waiting for the reverberations that meant an answer rather than the shivers that the temperature drop would bring. Everything is cold, all the time.

He knows the sound of those footsteps specifically, the almost graceful dancelike quality to them despite the scuff of a heel used to brace more often than it is used for anything else.

“Sir?” Cody calls and hears Obi-Wan’s footsteps pause and then continue, moving sideways with purpose rather than the careful creep sideways.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan answers, warmth brewed with every syllable of the name, meticulously flavoured and treasured because it is Cody’s. It is indescribable and it takes Cody’s breath away each and every time. He isn’t wearing his helmet to hide the sudden flush to his cheeks so, instead, he busies himself with tucking the trailing sleeve of Obi-Wan’s robe back into his hold.

Obi-Wan looks battle-worn, his inner layer of robes scorched along one edge and it still carries with it the heady iron scent of the battlefield, blood and anticipation twined together until one cannot be parted from the other. There’s not going to be an end to this, there will always be another battle. But, Cody can help in the quiet moments in between.

“I looked for you earlier, sir.” Cody doesn’t look at Obi-Wan fully, stealing glances out of the haze of his peripheral vision as he keeps his gaze fixed past Obi-Wan, boring through the hull into the void beyond. He can’t study the other man to the extent he would like, not like the first moments on Kamino or the rush after that, so he makes do with fragments. He doesn’t know why.

(We were made for them.)

Obi-Wan blinks, breaking into a grin. He’s slightly off balance, dignified despite that or maybe, because of it, a network of carefully applied bacta patches peeking out from beneath his sleeve. Cody should take him to see a medic. He’s within his training to do so.

“My apologies, Cody.” Obi-Wan bows slightly, his grin never wavering and only growing fonder, building upon a well-worn foundation. “I was just on my way back to my room. Would you like to join me?”

A thrill flickers up Cody’s spine and he thinks of the simulations, of information burning into his neutron pathways and rearranging him from the inside out until he cannot remember who he had been before, only what he had always been. Obi-Wan’s invitations feel similar and, at the same time, like nothing Cody has experienced before. It’s a choice he wants to make just because he can.

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

“Here, let me.” Obi-Wan’s voice isn’t aligned with his mouth, the sound arriving a handful of seconds before his mouth moves (three seconds exactly, the count inside Cody’s head still ticking down and down and down just as it has been all along). It’s still off-putting, a whisper of the universe leaning forward, head propped on their fists and an unknowable look in their eyes as if this is a test Cody is undertaking and he isn’t aware of the parameters just yet. He swallows against it and squares his shoulders. He isn’t about to kneel for anyone, universe or not.

“I can manage, sir.”

Obi-Wan is unperturbed, reaching for the bundle in Cody’s arms and plucking the hang of his robes free, folding them into his own arms with practised ease that spoke to years of habit. Cody knows the slant of shinies, limbs too long and decorated with bruises instead of paint, but it doesn’t seem to fit Obi-Wan correctly like he’s trying to pilot a command module with an engineering base. He must have been shorter at some point, bare-faced and delicate like the little Commander allocated to Rex’s squadron, but Cody can’t picture it. Obi-Wan’s fingers brush Cody’s, his skin warm and a little sticky from the bacta residue on his palm. There’s a ragged edge to one of his nails, the skin torn and protruding and something in Cody snaps into sharp relief, a knowing that he cannot explain.

“There.” Obi-Wan smooths his hands over the robe once more and Cody keeps his gaze lowered, watching the other man out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the datapad under his arm and holds the roughly folded packet of tea on the same side. He straightens up, settling back into the easy position that feels like his bones have been reshaped to fit. His elbow bumps against Obi-Wan’s saber and he draws it free with his other hand, pulling the tape free.

It’s warm, clinging to the remnants of Obi-Wan’s touch, and still heavier than Cody expects, each and every time. “I believe this is yours, sir?”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan brightens, his smile rueful. There’s a faint flush of colour to his cheeks, more noticeable thanks to his pale complexion, and he covers it by smoothing his fingers over his robe once more. “You truly are a wonder, Cody. I knew my saber would be safe with you watching out for me.”

Compliments had been few and far between on Kamino for the command track clones, limited to a dull glow of satisfaction at a posted score or an envious glance at their other brothers who could grin like it was easy because it was for them. Cody keeps his breathing even, hoping the flare of colour in his cheeks isn’t as noticeable as he feels it is despite the chill that permeates every inch of the ship. “I’m just doing my job, sir.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head slowly, reaching up to run his fingers over the side of his neck, his grip curling over something that is no longer there before he lowers his hand once more. When he speaks, his voice is heavy with a gravity that could tear a planet in two. “Even so, Cody, thank you.”

Obi-Wan takes his saber, his fingers brushing against Cody’s, his hold casual for a weapon that still gives Cody pause despite the number of times he has handled it. He spins it over his palm, a flash of darker calluses bisecting the base of his fingers and the pad of his thumb, a rough touch that Cody knows and he wishes he doesn’t and craves it all at once.

(They were made for us.)

Cody nods, sharp enough to cut, his gaze lingering on the pale green cast of bacta over the gap at Obi-Wan’s wrist. The air hangs heavy, the fans above and below thrumming through a circulation cycle and the scent of iron clings to the back of Cody’s teeth. He wants to suggest that they continue forwards, down the corridor and around the corner that would open to the solid door that blockaded Obi-Wan’s rooms, but he can’t. It’s too close to an order, his mind too tired to work around the logic jumps that would let him justify it as a suggestion. He stands, silent, his breath catching on every ragged piece of the scars on his chest, his gaze fixed on a single distant point.

Query: help

Answer: This is temporary. Wait for orders.

Cody is a good soldier. He waits.

“Shall we continue, my dear?” Obi-Wan says. There’s something about his voice that reminds Cody of the incubation rooms, cast in dull blue light and necessitating hushed voices just because.

Cody nods, exhaustion adding several pounds to his armour as he waits for Obi-Wan to begin walking and he falls in place next to him. There’s an itch at the nape of his neck, a wisp of hair caught between the fabric of his blacks and his armour, and sweat pooling in the divots of his spine and beneath his arms. Over the rest of him, he can still feel the grit of the battlefield and he knows he will never be able to be free of it. Yet another thing that had never been covered in the simulations.

Around them, the ship groans and settles into an evening cycle, the lights flickering to a darker hue and Cody glances up automatically, searching the ceiling for the tell-tale watchful eye of the security system. He wouldn’t see it, the cameras were something that he had left behind on Kamino and he had scrubbed over every inch of the ship’s systems and every single regulatory form searching for the equivalent that the Jedi would hold over them. He hadn’t found it but the fear is always there. He checks every so often, and he knows Fox does too.

Settling back into an easy pace, Cody thinks over the recent battle, the developing report he is transcribing in his mind for it, the supply list for the ship, anything and everything to not think about the lingering warmth from Obi-Wan’s touch that still burns over the dull fabric of his gloves. He knows what Obi-Wan’s hands feel like on his bare skin and that is somehow worse.

They draw to a halt, Cody stopping half a step behind Obi-Wan before he corrects himself, moving level. A small smile tugs at Obi-Wan’s mouth, fond in a quiet way, and he taps over the control panel to open the door and he steps inside. “Would you mind closing the door after you, Cody? I find there’s a certain chill that comes with the evening cycle.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s a choice to obey, the deliberate phrasing of not an order that Obi-Wan had fallen into whenever he speaks to the clones, the same way he would keep the world stable somehow with nothing more than a gentle word and a smile. Cody taps over the door control and it hisses closed behind him.

Inside, Obi-Wan’s quarters are similar to Cody’s own, one room slightly larger than the standard plan outlined on the ship’s blueprints, the ceiling sloping down towards the bed hollowed out of one wall due to the swell of pipes and wires and Obi-Wan stoops slightly as he moves towards a set of hooks just above an alcove. Against the opposite wall, a desk sits, bolted into place and covered in a mess of datapads and flimsiwork roughly shuffled into piles and bound together with broad straps and a pulse of pain spikes behind Cody’s eyes in sympathy. His own desk looks similar, if more organised. He can’t not. Not yet.

Cody steps forward, watching Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye. His heartbeat is unsteady, a rattle in his chest making his teeth ache. He had told before that he doesn’t have to wait for Obi-Wan, that he can sit down when he wishes, but he can’t here and now. He needs an order.

Obi-Wan keeps his head lowered as he reaches into the alcove, pausing only to throw his robes towards the bed. The angle isn’t right, meaning to land the robes on the edge of the bed, dooming them to pool into a crumpled unregulated mess. But it doesn’t. Because the mystical energy that governs the universe bends itself to Obi-Wan’s commands because it loves him — like Cody thinks he might, a choice he’s making for himself alone — and the robe folds itself neatly on the bed, one sleeve dangling free like it’s waiting to be held.

“Please sit, Cody.” Obi-Wan isn’t looking at him but Cody can feel the easy pressure of his gaze regardless. There’s almost a release, a switch flicking in his brain, and Cody gratefully sinks onto the single chair offset from the low table. His back is still straight, his elbows tucked into his side, and he holds the datapad and the tea on his lap, keeping it level. His back is to the curved corner, the brief scrap of wall between the desk and the door to the private fresher Obi-Wan is allocated. It makes sense, distance to stop familiarity, a layer of separation that the Jedi seem determined to sidestep whenever possible, however they can.

The single bed is a rarity that keeps drawing Cody’s attention like a neon sign flickering out of step with the world around it. He’s used to sleeping alone now, his own separation from his brothers, his world blunted behind thick leather and heavy plastoid to keep him moulded as he was intended, but he can remember the dormitories when he had been barely bigger than a shiny and he was no different than any of his batchmates. He can barely remember their names or numbers now, a deliberate forgetting Cody forced himself through after the first casualty report landed in front of him, his hands bound in bacta from his blaster shattering in his grip, bloodied and yet it hadn’t been enough.

It would never be enough.

“What tea did you select for us, Cody?” Obi-Wan pulls out the kettle from the alcove, his head bowed in quiet contemplation before he rests it in midair, returning to the alcove for two mugs dangling from his crooked fingers before he picks the kettle back up.

Cody doesn’t think about the word ‘us’. He’s getting better at doing that.

“Picked it up last rotation.” Cody’s voice cracks at the final word, stumbles into cowering compliance as his knuckles ache with the desire to do something (ERROR: it isn’t time yet). He swallows, swings his gaze from Obi-Wan’s bed to the rough sheen of the kettle, non-regulation modifications packed beneath the innocuous surface so it has its own transfer form for whenever Obi-Wan brings it onto planet-side with him for the longer campaigns. He’s allowed, as is his right, to bring more items than the standard clone trooper. Cody is similarly allotted a slight increase in his cargo allowance and he has no end of brothers who are willing to pick up a maintenance slot here and there in exchange for some of it.

It’s strange.

He’s a little jealous of them, he thinks. It comes easier for them.

“Oh? What about it caught your eye?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t reach for the package, waits for Cody to offer it. Instead, he watches Cody beneath lowered lashes, ostensibly scooping and re-scooping the same amount of sugar, letting the granules tip back into the rustling packet at each attempt. There are choices to be made, but Cody falls back onto old habits, open-palmed and offered up like a sacrifice to a deity they manufactured themselves out of scrap metal and the scent of salt and the hopes of what the Jedi would be like, their unknown purchasers. It had been old when the Alpha batch were shinies, decaying by the time Cody had grown, but it is still there, still watching.

(Interesting. A side-effect, perhaps?)

“It was the picture at first.” Cody doesn’t shift his gaze as Obi-Wan steps closer, impossible not to watch him in such close quarters but Cody focuses on the delicate embroidery covering a burn mark on Obi-Wan’s tunic, the sharp scent of bacta rising. “Reminds me of Kamino.”

Obi-Wan scoops the packet up, cradling it in his palms as he raises it up to the dull glow of the light. It breaks against the planes of his cheekbones, turns his hair golden at the edges to replace the whisper of silver throughout, and Obi-Wan hums in answer. “Good flavours too, I’m particularly fond of wild cherry, it’s a shame the crop itself will be in short supply this year due to the change in agriculture. Not even just because of the war, but Stewjoni—“

The kettle whistles and Obi-Wan turns back to it, the sound of his scuffed footsteps not aligning with the fall of his boot. He ducks his head and returns to the alcove, still speaking, still animated with a flush to his cheeks.

“—Stewjoni is my home planet originally or, at least, that is what was put into my records. But they are the main exporter of this type of wild cherry and they’ve had a higher-than-expected amount of rain in recent years and a significant number of the trees haven’t produced fruit because of it. We won’t feel the effects for a while, modern food storage being what it is, but there’ll be a shortage in a year or two.”

Cody can’t make out what Obi-Wan is doing, but he can hear the kettle taper off into a low rolling boil, water splash into three cups and the scent of something Cody can’t name fills the air. It’s close to the memory of the market stall at the edge of a decaying town, the flat space loaded with numerous packets and they had smelt slightly sweet behind the industrial tang of the packaging and the lingering ash of battle. It’s a nice smell and Cody breathes in deeply.

“Here you go, Cody.” Obi-Wan balances two cups on the small table in the centre of the room, sweeping the handles round to both face the same direction before he straightens and pulls the desk chair out, sinking into it. One cup is immediately familiar as caf, sweetened to the point of thickness, and something in Cody’s chest twists at the thought of Obi-Wan remembering, of not needing to ask because he knows, and it takes a moment for him to assess the second cup. The liquid inside is paler by a few degrees, tending towards a deep red shade, and it is the source of the new scent.

“Have you any plans for your leave? I believe I’m going to be stuck at the Temple for the duration.” Obi-Wan crosses his legs whenever he sits if he isn’t restrained by the arms of the chair. In those situations, he will often sit sideways, throwing his legs over the arm in order to sprawl. He’s sitting like that now, stance wide and somehow stable despite the deliberate tilt to the chair.

Cody reaches for the cup as he twists his thoughts into an answer. He feels almost like a cadet again, strapped into an armour that’s too big for him, stumbling around in search of something that makes sense. “I picked up some supplies to try knitting,” he offers, his back straightening before he can stop himself. He might as well have carved through the plastoid on his chest and offered Obi-Wan his bleeding heart and it would feel less personal.

But Obi-Wan brightens, turning towards Cody like a flower searching for the sun, and it’s okay, it’s going to be alright.

“That’s wonderful to hear, it truly is a rewarding skill to have.”

Cody nods, wishing in vain for his helmet to hide the flush on his cheeks, and picks up the tea instead, lowering his head to sip at it. It tastes sweet, like the warm sensation of his fingertips brushing against Obi-Wan’s and Cody drinks more, craving something he can’t fully name. Not yet, at least.

#codywan #cody x obi wan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #codywanweek 2023 #codywan week 2023 #my writing #fanfic

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darkladylumiya · 9 months ago

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My thoughts on Tales of the Empire

I'll start with my overall thoughts - the animation is really good, though at this point the contrast between more standard Clone Wars-style models and the more realistic ones who look like they could be from a video game is a bit jarring (though this could easily be a just me thing, I've not seen anyone else talk about this), the Barriss arc was way better than the Morgan Elsbeth one, which I doubt was a surprise to anyone, though I still have some issues with both. My big thing is that, compared to Tales of the Jedi, where we get little excerpts and character moments to fill out the characters and their progression through time, here Tales of the Empire is more or less our only source for info on these characters at this point in time. We know what happens with Dooku and Ahsoka in between their episodes - we have no clue what happened to Morgan to get her from Dathomir to running a planet for example, or how Barriss went from inquisitor to hermit healer (though this example is much less extreme).

Anyway, into the arcs proper. Get excited everyone, other force witch clans are back! Like the... checks notes Mountain clan. Not Singing Mountain. Just... Mountain. Cool, thanks Filoni. A decade later you finally make other Dathomiri clans canon, but you just shave a word off a name and now it's totally your own original idea, right? And don't worry, we'll have more totally original ideas from Filoni later, but first. Okay, the first episode is kinda like... a nothing episode. We end the episode with Morgan in the same position as she was halfway through, with a strange plot where Morgan immediately tries to seduce people to the Dark Side because... I don't know, she can? And again, we have no clue how she made it off planet. Dathomir doesn't exactly get a lot of space traffic, and apparently there are droid gunships still scouring the planet looking to kill literally any Nightsister left. Surely the first episode should have dealt with her getting off-planet? And not her sowing some dissent in a clan we've never met before and never see again? Some dissent which immediately ends and goes nowhere because most of them are now dead.

Anyway, next episode, she's in charge of a planet now because she has to be for The Mandalorian to still work - surely her getting to be in charge of a planet should have been an episode? Have the first one be her family getting killed and then her getting off-planet with some scavengers or pirates or whatever, the second episode is her rise to power over this planet and then the last is her meeting Thrawn? But sure, whatever, she's in charge already, cool. She's the designer of the TIE Defender, because they love beating my boy down. I'm not even going to ask how a Nightsister who has probably never even seen a starship before her clan got murdered figured out in the however many years it's been now knows how to design one of the best starfighters out there. Let's actually address that though - how many years has it been? The Battle of Dathomir was 20 BBY. The episode starts with a shot of Coruscant, where we see six Venators before finally an Imperial-class Star Destroyer appears. This implies to me that this has to be early on in the Empire, right? The first five years or so maybe? But then in Rebels season four there's an episode where they steal a TIE Defender prototype. So it took the Empire, or I guess Thrawn more specifically, at least seven years to go from design to a single test model? That's just strange to me, but who knows, it's been forever since I've seen that Rebels episode so maybe I'm just misremembering how they talked about it there. Anyway, the thing that truly got me was Pellaeon and Rukh. Fucking Rukh. But yeah, why was Eli Vanto not here but Pellaeon was? New canon more or less replaced Pellaeon's role with Vanto, so why is he not here now but Pellaeon is? My guess - because Filoni wanted to cover all the Thrawn bases. He read a brief summary of people and things associated with Thrawn in Legends and he put them all in one episode. We have Pellaeon, we have TIE Defenders, we have fUCKINg Rukh. I genuinely do not know why the FUCK Rukh is here.

Okay, let me explain. In the original Thrawn trilogy from the 90s, Rukh is Thrawn's personal bodyguard. Rukh is a Noghri, a species who regard Darth Vader as the savior of their people because their planet got nuked during the Clone Wars (it was an accident) and Vader came in and promised to help rebuild the planet, which he did. Very slowly, so the Noghri would always be indebted to him, because as it turns out they're very good assassins and commandos. But the important thing to note is that they're sworn to Vader, and serve him. Now in the books they work for Thrawn because they're more broadly sworn to the Empire, and after Vader is dead they end up working for Thrawn once he's in charge of the Empire. But Filoni doesn't care, the Noghri are associated with Thrawn and so here Rukh is as his bodyguard testing whether Morgan can fight. As soon as she got attacked, I immediately guessed it was going to be a Noghri, but once I saw the face of her attacker I was much less sure, because the head is completely wrong for a Noghri by the way, their head looks nothing like that. But anyway I lost it when Pellaeon said Rukh's name, because I knew I was fucking right. We're just pulling out all the sick Thrawn trilogy references, but not actually using these characters in any meaningful way - Rukh is here so his character page on Wookieepedia can have a canon tab now and so Filoni can show off his cred of pretending to have read a single book in his life. Oh yes, there is another thing Rukh is famous for by the way. KILLING THRAWN. I'm sure Filoni just forgot that little detail. Or who knows, maybe he'll just recreate it word for word at some point because he cannot do anything but steal from other people's work but do it in a worse and more amateurish way. I was so upset with Rukh being here with no explanation or justification I really did not care about anything else that happened in the rest of the arc. Thrawn shows up and recruits Elsbeth and then the third episode is just her killing a diplomat and burning a forest for no reason, yeah sure whatever who cares. I simply wish at some point there would be a notable character from Legends who is just... left there, and doesn't get dragged by cowboy hat man into whatever nostalgia bait ploy or attempt to pretend he has ever read a book, because the nostalgia bait doesn't work anymore. It just doesn't - it simply pisses me off. You're reminding me of better stories while I watch your lame shows, Filoni. Is that really what you want?

Ugh. Anyway, Barriss. I have a lot less to say because it's actually pretty good. I think it's way too short and she deserved way more screentime, or at the least not having to share an equal amount with Morgan Elsbeth (who I honestly forgot was even in the Mandalorian, I genuinely thought she was made up for the Ahsoka tv show for a while she's so forgettable). Anyway, the fundamental flaw is still that Barriss's massive heel-turn change of heart came out of nowhere and makes little sense with her character as established, so while this does a decent job at building upon that, it doesn't change that her arc in The Clone Wars makes no sense and was obviously chosen so that Ahsoka could be emotionally devastated by her best friend betraying her. A different complaint I then have is like... when did Barriss, woman who killed over a dozen people in a terrorist bombing, at least one of whom was someone she knew and liked, Barriss who murdered a woman in cold blood and purposefully framed her best friend so she could get away with this bombing, Barriss who convinces a wife to make her husband into a living bomb, Barriss who kills three clones with her friend's lightsabers to set her up even further and leads her purposefully where she has stashed more of the same bomb material, and indeed Barriss who kills someone who seemed to be her friend with the same technique she used to kill the woman who was about to rat her out - you want me to believe she suddenly has an issue with killing a village full of people? I'm sorry, but you have to actually explain how she sees this as different. Because you don't actually address at any point how she might feel about her terrorism now, or even what exactly her moral compass is. Killing innocents is good when she does it bad bad when it doesn't make the political statement she wants to make? I just don't get it. Anyway, final episode is the best of the series because it does the most to actually have a moral and message and actually does something pretty interesting? Whether she dies or not (I doubt she does personally), it's still an interesting setup for something else, either another season of this or a comic or book or whatever, to come back to and follow what the hell Lyn (and probably Barriss too) does now. I'm also glad Filoni finally remembered Barriss's specialty was healing actually, and not terrorism, even though we don't actually get to see her do any healing, with the Force or otherwise. Oh also, why does she look so old? It's like she aged 50 years over the course of 10? Like Lyn looks exactly the same but Barriss looks like she's 80. Idk, that was weird. Anyway I've rambled long enough, Filoni is still a hack who's never read a book in his life, but the Barriss stuff here was pretty good, at least somewhat enjoyable throughout. If you watch anything, watch that - all the Morgan Elsbeth stuff is terribly forgettable or outright frustrating.

5/6 edit: I’ve fixed Eli’s name (sorry Eli) and while it’s been pointed out to me that Rukh is in Rebels, a fact I was unaware of, I’m going to maintain the rant as it stands with this disclaimer here at the end - Rukh was in Rebels and was not originally added in this show. However, I still think his design sucks.

#star wars #star wars legends #tales of the empire #thrawn #morgan elsbeth #barriss offee #sw #I really wish Filoni would get out of the executive chair at this point he's so clearly up his own ass #it's to the detriment of every project he works on #also like holy shit almost every show that's come out in the last two decades has been by him #the two main exceptions being Visions and Andor #And guess what! Andor was good! While Ahsoka was mediocre at best #Each season of the Mandalorian gets worse and worse #I guess also maybe Resistance? That probably wasn't him but I genuinely don't know #Did anyone watch Resistance?#But anyway like please for the love of all that is holy let someone else cook I'm begging you #If Filoni ever had it he sure as fuck doesn't now

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snapmite1998 · 4 months ago

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Crimson Dawn’s Use of Smugglers: Evading Republic and Law Enforcement

Overview

In their pursuit of dominance and expansion, Crimson Dawn consistently engages in illegal activities requiring discreet and secure transportation. To evade the Republic and law enforcement, they hire experienced smugglers who excel in navigating dangerous routes and avoiding detection. These smugglers play a crucial role in transporting illicit cargo, which includes weapons, spice, stolen goods, rare artifacts, and more, ensuring that Crimson Dawn’s operations remain uninterrupted and profitable.

The Role of Smugglers

1. Expertise and Skills

- Navigational Mastery: Smugglers are skilled pilots capable of navigating the galaxy’s most treacherous routes. Their knowledge of lesser-known hyperlanes and hidden pathways allows them to avoid heavily patrolled areas and checkpoints.

- Stealth and Evasion: These operatives are adept at using stealth technology and evasive maneuvers to avoid detection by Republic forces and law enforcement. They utilize jamming devices, cloaking fields, and other advanced technologies to stay off the radar.

2. Discreet Operations

- Covert Cargo: Smugglers specialize in transporting illegal cargo without drawing attention. This includes using false compartments, hidden storage spaces, and other deceptive measures to conceal their illicit payload.

- False Manifesting: To cover their tracks, smugglers often use falsified documents and manifests. These forgeries ensure that any inspections or scans performed by authorities don’t reveal the true nature of their cargo.

Types of Illegal Cargo

1. Weapons and Armaments

- Advanced Weaponry: Smugglers transport an array of advanced weaponry for Crimson Dawn, including blaster rifles, disruptors, thermal detonators, and heavy ordinance. These weapons are destined for use by Crimson Dawn forces or for sale to allied factions.

- Black Market Arms: Access to black market weapons also means that smugglers often transport highly restricted or experimental technology, ensuring Crimson Dawn maintains a technological edge over its rivals.

2. Spice and Illicit Substances

- Spice Trade: The lucrative spice trade requires discreet and reliable transportation. Smugglers haul valuable spice from production sites to distribution points, evading customs and law enforcement along the way.

- Recreational Drugs: In addition to spice, other recreational and controlled substances are smuggled across the galaxy. These shipments generate substantial profit, funding Crimson Dawn’s operations.

3. Stolen Goods and Artifacts

- Rare Artifacts: Smugglers transport stolen relics, artworks, and valuable cultural items. These treasures are either sold to collectors or used to bolster Crimson Dawn’s dark side research.

- Pilfered Technology: Advanced technologies, including droid components, starship parts, and scientific equipment, are frequently stolen and smuggled. These items enhance Crimson Dawn’s capabilities and resource pool.

4. Sentient Cargo

- Human Trafficking: Tragically, smugglers are also involved in transporting slaves and trafficked individuals. These sentient beings are often bound for Zygerrian slave markets or directly to Crimson Dawn’s labor camps.

- Prisoners of War: During conflicts, captured enemy combatants, political prisoners, and notable figures are smuggled to secure locations for interrogation, ransom, or forced labor.

Hiring Process and Contracting

1. Selection Criteria

- Reputation and Reliability: Crimson Dawn hires smugglers based on their reputation for reliability and discretion. Only those with proven records in successfully completing missions without detection are considered.

- Network and Connections: Smugglers with extensive networks and connections within the underworld are highly valued. These connections facilitate smoother operations and provide additional layers of protection.

2. Contractual Agreements

- Payment and Incentives: Smugglers are well-compensated for their services, with payment structures that include upfront fees, hazard bonuses, and percentages of profits from the cargo they transport.

- Secrecy Clauses: Contracts often include strict confidentiality agreements, ensuring that all information regarding the nature of the cargo and the specifics of the mission remains undisclosed.

Methods and Tactics

1. Stealth Ships and Modified Freighters

- Custom Modifications: Smugglers frequently use heavily modified freighters and stealth ships. These modifications include advanced propulsion systems, reinforced hulls, and state-of-the-art cloaking devices.

- Hidden Compartments: Ships are equipped with hidden compartments and false panels to store illicit goods, making it nearly impossible for authorities to uncover the true cargo without extensive searches.

2. Diversion and Deception

- Decoy Ships: To further avoid detection, smugglers sometimes employ decoy ships. These ships lead law enforcement on wild chases, allowing the true cargo to pass through unnoticed.

- Transport Convoys: Smugglers might also travel in convoys, blending in with legitimate trading vessels to avoid raising suspicion. These convoys use coordinated flight paths and communications to maintain cover.

The Smuggler’s Journey

1. Pre-Mission Preparations

- Route Planning: Before embarking on a mission, smugglers meticulously plan their routes, identifying potential hazards, checkpoints, and safe havens. This preparation minimizes the risk of exposure.

- Coordination with Contacts: Smugglers communicate with their contacts within Crimson Dawn to ensure all aspects of the mission are understood and that contingency plans are in place.

2. Execution

- Real-Time Adaptation: During transport, smugglers remain adaptable, ready to alter their course in response to unforeseen challenges. Their ability to think on their feet is essential for evading patrols and navigating dangerous territories.

- Delivery and Handover: Upon reaching their destination, smugglers execute a discreet handover of the cargo, ensuring all items are securely transferred to Crimson Dawn operatives without attracting attention.

Impact on Crimson Dawn Operations

1. Sustained Illegal Activities

- Continuous Supply: The efficient and discreet transport of illegal cargo keeps Crimson Dawn’s operations running smoothly. This continuous supply line is critical for maintaining the organization’s power and influence.

- Expansion of Reach: The use of expert smugglers allows Crimson Dawn to extend its reach into new territories without alerting law enforcement or rival factions, facilitating further expansion and consolidation of power.

2. Financial Gains

- Revenue Generation: The illicit cargo transported by smugglers represents significant financial value. This revenue funds various aspects of Crimson Dawn’s enterprise, including weapon procurement, bribes, and the construction of projects like the Blood Star.

- Economic Control: By dominating the illegal trade through these smuggling operations, Crimson Dawn exerts considerable economic control over the black market, reinforcing its position in the criminal underworld.

Conclusion

Crimson Dawn’s strategic use of experienced smugglers for the transport of illegal cargo highlights the organization’s adaptability and cunning. By hiring skilled operatives from the galaxy’s most dangerous and discreet circles, they ensure the seamless execution of their illicit activities while avoiding the scrutiny of the Republic and law enforcement.

This reliance on smugglers not only sustains their illegal operations but also enables them to expand their influence and control within the galaxy’s underworld. As long as Crimson Dawn and its network of smugglers remain in place, the organization’s power and reach will continue to grow, unimpeded by the watchful eyes of the authorities.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars what if #darth maul #savage opress #feral opress #dryden vos #crime syndicate #crimson dawn #criminal activities #smugglers #Darth Maul: A New Dawn #check out my fanfic #my fanfiction #my story

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limey-self-inserts · 4 months ago

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First Day Alive

Word Count: 3.8k words F/Os: The 501st (familial) Summary: Ajax's first meeting with the 501st and Domino Squad, before they even have a name. Content warnings: canon is a sandpit and we are building castles here

Tag list: @lavenoon @mikealys-ael @rexscanonwife @space-sweetheart @bugsband @ssunnybee @avenships @faerie-circle-ships

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As ever it did, a storm rolled over the surface of Kamino. It rained more than it shone sunlight out here, but the weather was as much deterrent to those who wanted to reach the secrets on the surface as much as the fleet of starships that floated in space above the planet. Within the clone factory and training base, it was usually impossible to hear any of the storm’s sounds. To do that, you needed to find the quiet spaces in the corridors where the vents drew close, and the thunder could sneak down the metal veins to rumble in the distance. Or you could head to the hangar bay.

“How goes it?” Rex called out to the other trooper who stood to the side of the hangar doors, just barely touched by the rain that lashed the metal floors and roof tops of the smooth domed buildings. Neither of them could see the ocean from here, but it roared louder than the wind.

“Miserable, but a good light show,” Fox replied, gesturing up towards the skies. Thick clouds were intermittently split by lightning, turning the grey-green sky to hues of blue. And somewhere beyond that, roiling red and orange sparks could be seen descending towards the ocean horizon, far from their reach. Although the sparks were certainly not natural, neither clone trooper reacted with surprise.

“General Shaak Ti had mentioned a Separatist cruiser coming in too close for comfort. Looks like that’s not going to be an issue for us,” Rex commented, folding his arms as he watched the shreds of debris cascade down past the lightning storm.

“Mmm. Someone too bold or too stupid,” Fox agreed. “But that’s their problem now.”

“Was their problem.”

Both clones shared a small smile of amusement, silently laughing over some hapless droids that had been left to burn up in the atmosphere on the orders of someone who hadn’t put their head on straight. Anything that could be a victory, even the destruction of a Separatist cruiser without needing to lift a blaster, was taken as one.

There wasn’t time to celebrate, of course.

“You’re expected in the training facility with the rest of the boys soon,” Rex said. “We might be here on medical but we still need to keep sharp. I’ve got to track down Jesse, so I’ll see you there.”

“Right you are, Captain.” Fox snapped a quick salute before marching back inside alongside Rex, leaving the rolling storm, far away falling debris, and the very close hungry ocean behind the hangar doors.

Ninety-Nine knew the corridors of the Tipoca City facility well. So well in fact he could easily have navigated it blind. Not that he ever had to - the facility was constantly bathed in white light, as if the darkened sky of storm clouds didn’t exist. But he knew each corridor and each store room and every maintenance hatch’s location, a little helping hand for his janitorial duties.

Shuffling along to the next store room along, he ducked aside for a squad of clone infantrymen - freshly graduated from the look and sounds of them, their high spirits and eagerness as they chatted amongst themselves. Ninety-Nine would never count in one of their number on the battlefield, but he took great pride in being a clone still. Important duties needed to be done here at home as much as at war.

The store room door slid open and he pushed the hov-trolley inside. This room was mostly medical supplies, boxes of mediscan units and painkillers alongside huge tanks of bacta, mostly to be shipped off to the front line alongside medic squads. Picking a data-pad off the trolley, Ninety-Nine began to scan over the crates and tanks surrounding him, ticking off what he saw. Anything they needed he would be able to bring to the Kaminoans attention, and then they would ensure the shipments arrived. Although not always in good time, as he noted that the supplies here had already been flagged as needing restocking.

“War’s tough on everyone and everything,” he muttered, holstering the data-pad back on the trolley and beginning to load up a supply run for the medical wing.

Wait.

What was thudding?

Turning around, his eyes skimmed over the store room. There it was again, that low metal beating sound. The waves were too far below to be able to strike against the sides of the facility, and the storms rarely got so bad as to physically impact the city. So then…

His eyes turned to the maintenance hatch in the floor.

THUNK THUNK

Turning on his heel, Ninety-Nine shuffle-ran for the store room door, grateful for the automation to fling it open fast enough for him to exit. Further gratitude arose as he spotted familiar faces of Domino Squad in the corridor, Fives and Hevy both catching sight of him and rapidly going from delight to concern.

“Ninety-Nine! What’s wrong?” Fives called out, leading the squad to hurry across. Other eyes spotted the attention. Other passing troopers paused to watch. It was a soldier’s instinct - to see the disturbance before it could begin. And Jesse, one of the elite 501st, was the closest to be drawn over with a frown.

“Someone’s below the maintenance hatch,” Ninety-Nine replied breathlessly. “We’ve got a security breach.”

“Shouldn’t we alert the system?” Echo asked quickly.

“Not if we deal with the intruder ourselves,” Heavy replied, hand squeezing on the grip of his blaster pistol. But Jesse stepped in, pushing his hand down and away.

“Are they actively breaking in?” he asked Ninety-Nine, who shook his head.

“They’re…knocking.”

“Alright. You open the hatch. Domino, you provide cover. I’ll alert the system the moment we start shooting.”

Domino Squad were still fresh from graduating, waiting for their first assignment, but they moved like a squadron that had been fighting together for years. They filed into the store room as one, flanking around Ninety-Nine as he took position at the entrance hatch. The knocking was beginning to get more rapid, as if the entity below knew that there were people in the room. Briefly the clones all glanced to each other, before Cutup nodded towards Ninety-Nine. He reached down and twisted at the locking system. The hatch hissed. Locks fell back from sockets. The hinge swung upwards. Four blaster pistols readied themselves at the open hole where the storm and wind began to howl from.

A sodden human stared back. Possibly a youngling. They gripped to the emergency escape ladder like it was the only thing keeping them alive, wet hair plastered to their face. Bright blue eyes looked up at the squad and Ninety-Nine, wide and scared and exhausted.

For a moment, no-one moved. The clones waited. The human stared.

“Sorry,” they murmured. “I-I couldn’t find the front door.”

“Kriff’s sake, what’s this supposed to be?” Hevy snapped.

“Could be a spy?” Fives raised.

“We won’t find out leaving them out in the cold, will we?” Droidbait looked over his shoulder to Jesse, who was also caught staring. “Alert General Shaak Ti. Let her know an intruder got into the facility but we have them secured.”

As Jesse turned to speak rapidly into a comms device, Echo holstered his pistol, kneeling down to extend a hand to the human. They took it quickly, a foot slipping from the ladder, but Echo’s strength and their arm pulling onto the room flooring overhead kept both from tumbling back down to the ocean below. He hauled them through, Hevy reaching over to hook a hand under the human’s other arm and help pull them fully into the store room, allowing Ninety-Nine to seal the hatch once more. They lay on the floor, more beached fish than human, gulping down deep breaths as their eyes tried to focus on the figures around them.

“C’mon, get up,” Hevy said firmly.

“I don’t think they can.” Ninety-Nine approached, kneeling down and taking the human’s pulse. “Heart rate is going too fast.”

“You might need to call in a med-bay,” Echo called over to Jesse. “Looks like they really did climb all the way up from the ocean.”

As the squad continued to discuss over their heads, Ninety-Nine felt fingers catch on the edge of his uniform sleeve. The human caught his eye, and the faintest of smiles slipped past their lips. A faint “Thank you” formed but was not spoken.

He was a good soldier. He hadn’t seen the enemy but knew them well. It seemed wrong that the enemy would come directly to the clone force’s doorstep with a face that was so exhausted.

He held their hand until the medics came in with the gravstretcher.

“Human, planetary origin unknown. Biological age, around twenty six standard years. Anatomically female, although signs of past surgery suggest alternative designation. Much more recent signs of surgeries show the subject to have experienced numerous incisions across the front and sides of the torso, although our medical scans have not picked up on any foreign objects present in the body.”

Nala Se read the results from the data pad in her hands, although her eyes frequently flickered to the individual that lay within the medibed. Shaak Ti also rarely looked away, her face creased by a firm frown, the humming of electrical equipment punctuated by the soft rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

“Closer examination of the subject found broken fingernails and bruised pads from impact or attempts to open an object; a near hypothermic state from exposure to cold temperatures; trace amounts of seawater in the lungs; and severe muscle fatigue.” Nala Se now glanced across to Shaak Ti. “Tying in from the Separatist medical robes they were first found in, it would seem that it was not only shipwreck debris that has been falling on Kamino.”

“If escape pods managed to get past the blockade then anything else could have made it past,” Shaak Ti muttered. “This isn’t good.”

“The prime minister will need to be informed,” Nala Se agreed, nodding her head slowly. “Defences must be fortified.”

“Have you managed to identify them?”

“It is….proving to be difficult.”

Something about Nala Se’s hesitancy and body posture carried the tone of embarrassment more than evasiveness. Shaak Ti’s head tilted, her gaze turning to fix upon the Kaminoan scientist. Caught under scrutiny, Nala Se ducked her head down further.

“With our biometric scanners, we are normally well capable of identifying any individual. However, it is reliant on using live tissue. The subject’s tissue….is not live.”

But then - both scientist and general looked back to the medibed. To the heart monitor that beeped steadily away.

“They are living, are they not?” Shaak Ti questioned.

“They are indeed, general. It is possible there is a technological fault at hand. I will speak to one of the facility technicians to have the subject scanned elsewhere.”

And just like that, the thought was pushed to the back of their minds, where it would remain unwilling to be considered. Far easier to fault the highest state of technology on the planet, than to take into truth the possibility of something that could be alive and dead at the same time.

“I will go to speak with Lama Su,” Shaak Ti says, pulling away towards the exit of the medical room. “I have instructed Domino Squad to guard the intruder until a decision is made as to what will be done with them.”

“I must accompany you, to provide the prime minister with information on the subject’s state,” Nala Se commented, her steps gliding along beside the jedi. “Once we have concluded whether the subject is a threat or not, we will want to take steps to interrogate them as to how they escaped the transport ship, whether before or after the cruiser was brought down by the blockade.”

The room emptied, door sliding closed behind the pair.

Silence. A steady beep. Blue highlights across a still body.

Eyes opened. Head turning to glance towards the door, a steady breath escaping before they lay back again. Eyes closed.

The door slid open again, allowing the tail of a conversation to spill into the quiet space.

“- delaying us from taking proper assignments.”

“This is our assignment now. It’s important for the safety of the facility, for the city, for the rest of our brothers,” Droidbait returned fire to Cutup, who folded his arms.

“I do reckon we don’t need everyone in this room,” he said. “I’d rather keep guard on the front door.”

“That’s a fair call. Who wants front door and who wants inside the room?”

The squad split relatively evenly, Fives and Echo settling on chairs inside the room as the rest of the troopers filed out to the front door. Another silence returned, although this one accompanied by an air of….impatience. Curiosity. Thoughts rotated in the space between.

“Do you think they’re actually a spy?” Echo asked.

“Anyone could be a spy. Could be they put themselves in this condition as a way for us to lower our guard, or they’re just a….” Fives waved a hand through the air. “Bad spy.”

“Guess you’re right about that.” More silence. More thoughts. “It seems risky though. They could’ve been blown up with the Separatist cruiser. If they came down with an escape pod, it might’ve sunk with them inside. Too many holes in that sort of a plan.”

“Who’s to say it wasn’t ejected before the cruiser was blown up?”

“But then the system would’ve flagged it. Instead it was hidden with the debris fall. That’s why no-one was alerted until they were quite literally knocking at the front door.”

“So it was risky, but still perfectly timed to be hidden?”

Echo went silent, and Fives folded his arms as he looked back to the resting figure.

More silence. But fewer thoughts now.

Boredom was easy to slip through the edges. Even good soldiers got bored, and guarding a sleeping body was a sure-fire way to go about it.

“Where do you think we’ll go first?” Echo asked.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s a seventy-thirty shot of being sent straight to the frontlines or posted up on active guard duty. There’s some talk of a new push being made for Hypori. And although Christophsis was cleared up, there’s still skirmishes happening on the planet’s surface that’ll need reinforcements.”

“There’s a lot of talk about Ryloth. Seems risky leaving the Separatists to establish a base there without sending in troops to counter-.”

“Orders are orders. We wait for the command to come as to where to go.”

The chatter eased through, back and forth, falling and rising through periods of quiet to moments of casual discussion. There was more silence than talk - the reason for their presence wasn’t forgotten.

But it meant the room, for a while, was disconnected from the rest of the facility. So when the blue lighting switched to emergency red, it jolted Fives and Echo into action immediately.

“What’s happening?” Fives called out to the rest of the squad, opening the door to look outside. The corridors, normally so bright and clear, were now also bathed in red lighting. Troopers ran to their stations, calling out to one another. Domino Squad bristled in their posts, watching as others hurried to where they might be needed.

“Security breach. A proper one this time,” Droidbait replied. “Comm chatter says it’s Separatist droids, stealth bots.”

“Looks like something did come down with the debris fall,” Echo muttered. “The intruder hasn’t done anything over here, so the droids are something separate.”

“We need to gear up and get moving,” Cutup said, Hevy nodding in agreement. But Droidbait shook his head.

“We have our orders to guard this intruder.”

“They’re not doing anything, look at-”

All eyes focused on the human that was very much sat up in the medibed, tentatively shifting over the edge with feet dangling towards the floor. They froze at the sound of no further talking, meeting their gaze.

“I can help.”

Cutup snorted in amusement.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.”

“I’m not demanding I just…I can help,” the human replied, voice shaking. “You said it was droids.”

“How long have you been awake?” Fives questioned, beginning to prickle. How much had been listened to, eavesdropped on.

“Just for the important bit.” They dropped down the short distance off the medibed and their knees buckled immediately, forcing them to cling to the handles of the bed-frame. Despite the hesitation, despite the tension, Echo took the few steps forward. Slinging an arm under their shoulders, he hoisted them upright.

It was like the first breath before a lightning strike. Hair over his body standing on end, the edges of his armour buzzing just barely to be noticeable, a metallic taste across his tongue.

“I can help,” the human repeated, insistently, looking up towards Echo. And he believed them.

“I think they can help,” he said, glancing back to his squad, who all recoiled in various levels of disbelief and confusion.

“Echo, now is not the time to be acting a di’kut,” Droidbait muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We just managed to pull through graduation, we cannot be spoiling that by assisting an intruder in doing goodness only knows.”

“Look at them, they can barely stand, do you think they’re a threat to us?”

“That makes this worse, you realise? How can they help if they can’t even walk?”

The lights above them flickered. Somewhere deeper in the facility came the echoes of blaster fire. Somewhere in the red there was a haze of blue.

“We managed to conquer the Citadel by trusting each other,” Fives said, slowly, picking through the words. “I can’t see what Echo sees, but we are all brothers, aren’t we? Maybe this will prove us well too.”

That seemed to bring a shift in the squad. Cutup still looked reluctant, but Hevy was beginning to glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the blaster fire.

“Wouldn’t this count as keeping our post? We’re still guarding the intruder, just…not in the med-bay,” he raised. Droidbait’s gaze flickered madly from him, to Fives, to Echo, to the human.

“If we get court-martialed for this, I’m putting all the blame on you lot,” Droidbait muttered, as he unholstered his pistol and activated it.

“If we get court-martialed.”

“What’s your plan?” Echo asked the human, who’d been steadily leaving more of their weight in his hands. He could hold it at least.

“I need to see one of the droids. I can take care of them from there.”

“You heard the civvie. Let’s go droid hunting,” Hevy commented, beginning to head further down the corridor.

Boots and bare feet fell against the metal flooring, footsteps swallowed behind the background of the alarm blaring. Blaster fire rattled like rain on a hollow roof, echoing louder and louder the further and further Domino Squad proceeded. Rounding a corner together, the sound of the fight washed in hard. Hevy and Cutup split to the opposite side of the T-junction’s mouth, giving cover fire for the other clones who had cornered a pair of stealth droids - lanky bastards that, for any other droid, would be pinned down under the heavy fire, but even now were progressing bit-by-bit up the corridor.

Glancing back towards the reinforcements, Kix and Jesse both went from relief to confusion to alarm. Sensing the pause from his fellow brothers, Rex took a quick look over his shoulder and it was only thanks to the cover of Domino Squad that they were able to maintain the blaster pressure.

“Really? You brought a civvie to a firefight?” Rex questioned as Kix hurried back towards the squad, relieving Echo of his cargo for the moment. The human was visibly sweating under the emergency lighting, but their eyes were clear and hands steady as they accepted the new arm to support them.

“They said they can help,” Echo replied, kneeling down to join Jesse’s side with pistol in hand.

“Oh, I’d like to see what that means.” Jesse rolled his eyes.

Kix didn’t speak up. His gaze was firmly on the human’s hands that were lifted into the air. Their focus trained on the stealth droids, further down the corridor.

The smell of the storm warped its way through the ventilation system. Or maybe it came from a different source entirely.

With a harsh crackle, electricity sprung from the human’s fingertips. Arching down the corridor in the blink of an eye, the lightning connected with one droid, then the second. Both froze in place, limbs jerking wildly as their wires and connections were burnt to a crisp.

The human dropped, and Kix dropped with them, but it was on purpose instead of fatigue. Palms flat on the floor, those threads of lightning bounced into the metal of the facility, racing through the maintenance tunnels and cords of wires. They’d dug into the droids, and knew how they felt under the bright blue electricity that rolled off them.

Across the facility, the other stealth droids jolted, electrocuted from the sudden burst of electricity that sprung from the floors and walls. The scrap came to as an abrupt halt as it had started, clone troopers and one jedi staring in disbelief as the droids fell to the ground, smoke wafting from their joints.

The human gritted their teeth together, eyes alight with a glow that was almost white. Steam and smoke rolled off their back and shoulders, curled from under their fingertips. Thinking and acting rapidly, Fives rushed forward and brought the butt of his blaster rifle hard on the back of their head.

Silence. Still bodies on the ground. The creeping smell of ozone and petrichor lingered.

“You alright?” Jesse asked, pulling Kix to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Kix replied, turning his hands over in disbelief. He’d been supporting them up until Fives knocked them out, yet not a single burn or char appeared on his palms, or anywhere on his armour.

Lifting the human back up into his arms, Echo felt very aware of how fast his heart was beating. Adrenaline was a natural thing, and he was swimming in it now, just from proximity to this…person? This thing? They’d nearly burned themselves inside out. Had they even known what they were going to do?

I can help.

“General Shaak Ti will have to be informed,” Jesse said firmly. “Again."

"Get them back to the medical bay, so any damage they dealt to themselves can be treated," Rex added in. "There'll be discussions about your decisions another time. But at the very least...good job, Domino Squad."

“They did help,” Fives muttered, glancing away as he holstered his rifle, unwilling to look back at the human’s face. Domino Squad began to tail away towards the med-bay again, only too aware of the murmurings that were already beginning to snake through those present. That the squad had brought a civvie in, and the civvie had brought the storm indoors.

#writings #world: star wars #self insert #lets goooo I finally write this down after 3 years

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ljones41 · 6 days ago

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Ranking of "STAR WARS: SKELETON CREW" (2024) Episodes

Below is my ranking of the episodes from the Disney Plus/Lucasfilm streaming series, "STAR WARS: SKELETON CREW". Created by Jon Watts and Christopher Ford, the series starred Ravi Cabot-Conyers, Ryan Kiera Armstrong, Kyriana Kratter, Robert Timothy Smith and Jude Law:

RANKING OF "STAR WARS: SKELETON CREW" (2024) EPISODES

(1.05) "You Have a Lot to Learn About Pirates" - The four lost young heroes from At Attim - Wim, Fern, KB and Neel - and their dubious guide, Jod Na Nawood, arrive at the luxury planet Lanupa in search of famed pirate Tak Rennod's former base and the coordinates back to the kids' home planet.

2. (1.03) "Very Interesting as an Astrogation Problem" - After meeting the kids in the previous episode, Jod offers to help them escape from the brig at a pirates outpost; and serve as a guide and protector in their search for the coordinates home.

3. (1.06) "Zero Friends Again" - Following their escape from their treacherous guide, the kids have a fallout before separating into two groups. Wim and KB follow a group of seemingly benevolent trash crabs in hopes the latter will lead to more help. Fern and Neel attempt to ascend a mountain in order to recover their ship, the Oxyn Cinder. And Jod finds himself captured by his former pirates crew.

4. (1.08) "The Real Good Guys" - In the finale, the kids and their parents deal with the onslaught of invading pirates, who are after the mint inside the planet's vaults.

5. (1.01) "This Could Be a Real Adventure" - In the series premiere; Wim, Neel, Fern and KB stumble across what the former believes is a Jedi temple. The latter turns out to be a long-abandoned starship that conveys the kids away from At Attim after Wim accidentally activates it.

6. (1.06) "Can't Say I Remember No At Attin" - Jod and the kids arrive on the war-ravaged planet, At Achrann, that bears some similarities to At Attin. The crew finds themselves in the midst of a feud between two factions.

7. (1.07) "We're Gonna Be in So Much Trouble" - The kids finally arrive at At Attim, only to find themselves captured again by pirates, now bent upon getting their hands on the planet's mint.

8. (1.02) "Way, Way Out Past the Barrier" - Thanks to the starship's aging droid, SM-33, the kids find themselves on an outpost for pirates. After being imprisoned inside the outpost's brig, they meet the mysterious Jod, who offers to help the kids escape in return for allowing him to join them.

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burnwater13 · 1 year ago

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Concept Art by Ryan Church, The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 4, The Siege.

“The Hydian Way”

“The Nothoiian Corridor”

“The Lipsec Run”

“The Corellian Trade Spine”

“The Rimma Trade Route”

Din Djarin said the names of the various hyperspace lanes, routes, paths, ways, corridors, spines, and runs and Grogu pointed to them on a map. It was tiring work, but he knew it was worthy. His dad was trying to teach him how to travel around the galaxy in safety.

“Show me the route you would take to get from Nevarro to Tatooine.”

Hmmmm. That was a good question. Nevarro was in the Nevarro Sector, sort of near the Hydian Way, which was fine if you wanted to go to Corellia and then eventually end up at Cantonica, but it wouldn’t get him to Tatooine directly. Nope. He’d have to take it to Darknell and the switch over to the Triellus Trade Run. That would get him all the way there!

He traced the path for his dad and grinned at him. Take that Din Djarin.

“That’s a good path kid. But it’s kind of slow. What other way could you take?”

Then Grogu noticed that he could take the Corellian Trade Spine to the Corellian Run and go to Tatooine that way. He traced out that path and turned to look at the Mandalorian.

“Good choice. I don’t know what it is about Corellians Grogu, but they find the shortest, fastest path between two points that shouldn’t be possible. It’s what makes them Corellian.”

Grogu filed that little piece of information away for future use as they continued the lesson in astronavigation. That they were doing this lesson in the cabin, with his dad sitting on the floor with the star map projector and Grogu running around to trace the various paths made it seem a little surreal. But at least they weren’t stuck in that classroom in the Nevarro City school.

Grogu could tell, based on the school’s layout, that it had been a cantina or tavern or drinking establishment of some sort before they added the instructor droid, the desks, and the display panels. The place still kind of smelled of sour ferment, at least to him. He supposed it was a sign that the people of Nevarro City were becoming more civilized. Keep the ferment in the new cantina and use the old one for a school. It made a sort of sense.

Unlike his dad, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune dumping Grogu there and then going off on an adventure without him. He had complained to his dad about all that before, but he still didn’t think that Din Djarin took his objections seriously. After all, everything had worked out in the end. His dad hadn’t been injured. An Imp lab had been destroyed. He discovered that he liked those blue treat things. He called them sweet discs, but he knew they had about a thousand names, which was funny.

A starship was a starship. Everything after calling it a starship was really about telling you all it’s little details. Freighter, dreadnought, scout, fighter, yacht, they were all starships first. Same thing with speeders and blasters and footwear for that matter.

But these sweet discs were called all sorts of things. Crisps, rounds, discs, petals, twinkles… it was amazing. And they weren’t different kinds of sweet discs either. They were all the same kind. If they included some special ingredient they were the special ingredient plus disc, petal, twinkle, whatever. If they were stacked with a filling, they were still discs, but they were called stacked filled discs, like the ones he took from the boy at school.

When his dad took him back to Tatooine, he had asked Peli where he could get some of those delicious filled discs and she looked at him like he was babbling in a language she couldn’t understand.

“Listen, Grogu, buddy, we have a lot of things here in Mos Eisley, but I’ve never heard of filled discs as a kind of food. And if I haven’t heard of it, it doesn’t exist.”

“He’s talking about sweet filled twinkles or sweet filled rounds… I forget what you call them here.”

The Mandalorian tried to explain to their favorite mechanic.

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so. What color does he like? I prefer the green ones myself, but everyone has a favorite.” Peli recognized one of the descriptors, although Grogu never figured out which one she used.

His dad said, ‘the blue-green ones’, and Peli told them where they could get some. They had been delicious and at that shop they had called them crisps. Sweet blue filling crisps, to be precise. Grogu had found that very funny.

On their way back to Nevarro, they had spent a day on Corellia. Apparently there was a noodle shop there that his dad liked. The shop was really more of a diner and the Iktotchi woman who ran the place had a voice like gravel, but when Grogu asked her what they called sweet discs on Corellia, she became very serious.

“Well, you know handsome, I call them treadles because that’s what my mom called them. But on Corellia you’ll hear them called almost anything. Crisps, rounds, petals, tiny cakes, and of course twinkles. Only kids call them twinkles here. If an adult did that we’d laugh ourselves sick at them. Except if the adult was your Mandalorian dad. But since your dad is a Mandalorian, I’d ask him if he wanted fire stacks. Have you had them before? We have a great recipe for them. Straight from Ordo.”

Before Grogu could say another word, his dad ordered some fire stacks and asked for a caf.

“Hey hon, I’ve got some rooms designed for Mandos, if you want to eat there. Then you can take off your helmet and eat in comfort. Nice and private and I always knock before I enter.”

“Thanks. This is fine. They call them twinkles on Ac Vetina. Mandalorians call them energy chips.”

Ahh. The things you learn when you travel were far more interesting than what you learned in a classroom on Nevarro.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #cookies

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prahacat · 2 years ago

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Brush, Bend

There are days when healing and hurting are very close for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan x Dooku for the YOTP2023 April prompt “(seemingly) unrequited love” (which turned out to be more of a requited obsession <3). cw: blood, injury, wound care, some suggestive content, all of them pretty mild. 1.5 k words. Continued in Bend, Break.

By the time they reach the stranded ship, it starts to dawn. Blood-red sunlight seeps into the eastern skies and spreads, slow and dark, like the stain on Dooku’s tunic. Obi-Wan’s right shoulder cramps, just below where Dooku’s white-knuckled fingers dig into his muscle. On shaky legs, he drags Dooku up the ramp into the ship. Darkness welcomes them, dotted with countless weak lights that begin to glow as the starship wakes.

Dooku braces himself against the wall, trying to stand straight and take his weight off Obi-Wan. Idiot, Obi-Wan thinks, thrice-damned fucking idiot, and he shoves him over to the cot, where Dooku takes his seat like an impartial theatergoer, unaffected by the dramatics of his pallid face and his tattered side. Comm unit in one hand, Obi-Wan rummages through drawers and cabinets. “Ventress,” he says, “we’re pulling out,” and he holds the comm close to his face, so she won’t see the medpac he’s clutching to his chest. “We ran into a group of Jedi. Get out now.”

She scoffs. “You’re serious? I’m almost in.” The harsh light of her cam sharpens her facial features. There’s an echo in her voice; she must still be underground.

“Get out now,” Obi-Wan repeats. “The droids will return to base now that we’re not here to distract them. You need to leave.” He activates the ship computer and tries to power up the engines. An error message: left thruster damaged. Obi-Wan grits his teeth, swallows a curse. Lovely.

“If we leave now,” Ventress says, “these factories will either stay with the Separatists, or the Jedi will reduce them to ashes. We stand no chance against either of their forces. We need these factories. We need an army of our own.”

“The one who will be ashes is you if you don’t leave now,” Obi-Wan says sharply. And wouldn’t that be convenient for him? You can still choose, he thinks, they would welcome you back, forgive you. “Come pick us up. We’ll retreat to the Outsider.”

“I’m so sick of running.”

“And I’m sick of this discussion.”

Her mouth hardens. “Where’s Dooku?”

Obi-Wan lifts his chin. “I told you: we’re back on ship. I’m hanging up before they locate our signal.” He doesn’t wait for her answer. Her bluish, blurry face dies in a flicker. With each passing day, she becomes more difficult, questions his instructions, goes off on her own. While disinfecting his hands, he calculates how likely their escape is. Maybe they will all die today. Either the Separatists will find them, or the Jedi will. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for anymore.

Thunder, somewhere outside and far away, except that it can’t be thunder because the sky is clear. The first rays of sunlight shyly filter through the windows. Dooku watches Obi-Wan unpack the medpac while he keeps his hand pressed to his wound, almost as if in an afterthought. He likes to pretend the pain doesn’t exist, but he forgets that Obi-Wan was there. That he remembers the blaster shots, the explosion, the bloody shards of debris, how he pushed Dooku’s limp weight off him and stared at the blood pooling from his side, how for a terrible, hopeful second he thought, it’s over, it’s over, it’s finally over.

Why, Obi-Wan wonders, why did you do it? He himself is unharmed. There’s not even a scratch on his skin.

He kneels next to the cot, on eye level with the gash, and gently pulls Dooku’s hand aside. The bleeding has stopped. He opens the front of Dooku’s tunic and carefully plucks the torn, soaked scraps of fabric from the wound, one by one.

“Leave it.” Dooku’s voice is quiet but steady. “Get us out of here.”

“Our left thruster is damaged,” Obi-Wan says. “I told Ventress to pick us up. Don’t talk.” The wound looks ugly, the way healing flesh always does, gaping and caked in black, crusted blood. Obi-Wan cleans it as best as he can. “I don’t think it hit your liver. You’ll live.”

“You know I have little faith in your knowledge of anatomy,” Dooku mutters.

An innuendo? A backhanded reprimand? A joke? Obi-Wan forces a smile, eyes fixed on the torn flesh. He dresses the wound with slimy, Bacta-soaked bandages.

“You have such confident hands,” he hears Dooku mumble.

“I’ve had plenty of practice.” No matter how much Bacta he adds, this will leave a scar; a deep, jagged scar. The thought makes him feel sick. “Years of experience with a reckless Padawan. As a child, he always had torn knees, scrapes on his hands—the Force alone knows how it happened. And later, it was always I who had to bandage him up after missions. He could be rash sometimes, even self-sacrificing. He was always trying to keep me safe even though ... well, that was just the way he was ...” His voice wavers. He takes a deep breath, makes sure his hands are steady before he applies the dry tape that fixes the bandages in place.

Something brushes his head. Dooku’s hand in his hair. Obi-Wan looks up. Dooku slowly combs through his sweaty hair. He uses his clean hand, the one that is not bloody, the one that belongs to his injured side. Sunrays dance through the window, painting a rectangle of light on his neck where pale skin blends into the neatly trimmed edge of his beard. Once again, Obi-Wan considers killing him. Such musings have become rarer with time, and softer, less preoccupied with when and where, and more with a method that spares them both unnecessary pain. It would have been such a relief had he died on the battlefield today. But then again, it’d be too easy, and Obi-Wan is never that lucky. Now, he thinks, now or never, and he bows his head and rests his cheek against the sweat-damp skin of Dooku’s stomach.

Dooku’s hand stills. Obi-Wan presses his lips against the skin, quietly filling his lungs with the dark, coppery smell of a living body, stealing warmth and comfort, all of them so close, always so close, he can almost taste them on his tongue. He trails his mouth upward, following the path of the abdominal aorta. A small half-moon scar shimmers on Dooku’s upper stomach, a bit too high, it’s a matter of millimeters, but Obi-Wan pretends not to see it, acts as if it doesn’t exist, as if it doesn’t remind him of the day when he betrayed everyone: the Republic, his integrity, and Dooku as well. He pushes aside the half-open tunic and brushes the rough skin with his lips, gentle and unhurried, with the weight of Dooku’s hand on his head. Dooku doesn’t move, but the muscles of his stomach twitch beneath Obi-Wan’s touch, and when Obi-Wan lifts his gaze, he finds Dooku staring down at him, eyes wide and expectant. Sunlight drips into his irises, melts and pools at their depths; flakes of pyrite that glow in the black river sand. Obi-Wan wants to sift through them, stir up the quiet darkness. The pain doesn’t seem to affect them; this just might.

He holds on tight to Dooku’s bloody hand, almost pulls himself up his body. Dooku’s eyes go even wider and his breath stills, as Obi-Wan leans in, one knee on the mattress, and tilts his head.

A tug at his hair. Obi-Wan keeps still, inches from Dooku’s face. Dust and grime cover Dooku’s skin, except for a spot high on his cheek where he has smeared the dirt with his fingers. Something explodes outside, the shock makes their starship shake, but Dooku doesn’t take his eyes off Obi-Wan.

“There’s no need for this,” he says, voice low and raspy.

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan pulls back. “Does it hurt?”

Dooku loosens his grip on his head and soothes his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. “It will.”

Obi-Wan lowers his eyes. His gaze falls upon the half-moon scar on Dooku’s stomach. He knows it curves right above a rib. A matter of millimeters, was all Dooku said to him; and they act as if that evening never happened except that now their dinner is always served pre-cut so there are no knives at the table. That night, Obi-Wan pretended to be asleep while Dooku sat at his bed and brushed his fingers through his hair. He can still feel the touch: another scar that will remain forever unspoken. It’s always now or never. The surgical tape runs in a zigzag line across Dooku’s skin, up, down, up, down, always changing direction. The truth is, Obi-Wan is lousy at his job and his hands aren’t steady at all. You’ll live, he thinks, but so do I. Why did you do that today? I don’t understand.

Dooku’s thumb grazes his ear. The touch sends a tingle through Obi-Wan’s lower body. “You are unharmed?” Dooku murmurs. The morning sun is now shining directly through the window, enveloping them in a heated, golden haze. It’s getting warm in the starship.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan lies.

#star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #yotp 2023 #obi-wan kenobi #dooku #ventress is here too bc i love her #dooku x obi-wan #obi-wan x dooku #love writing them as misery magnets #can't help it #prahacat writes #my ff

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swtechspecs · 2 months ago

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Rebaxan Columni MSE-6-Series Repair Droid ("Mouse Droid")

Source: The Essential Guide to Droids (Del Rey, 1999)

#star wars #droids #rebaxan columni #droid series #mse-6-series repair droid #mouse droid #repair droids #utility droids #starship-based droids #class five droids #imperial droids #death star #rank cylinder #command cylinder #code cylinder #first appearance a new hope #galactic civil war #essential guide to droids #essential guides

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robertsonskywa1 · 8 months ago

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Starshadow's All-Star team (Movie)

After the events of Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers sets 6 months from the very beginning of Starshadow's All-Stars to the Rescue movie.

Since Starshadow Skystalker is enlisted from Hollywood in Los Angeles, California, went on a three-month filming of Transformers Equestria Girls during the day where Sweet Pete's return. Starshadow needs help to stop Sweet Pete to form an elite team during the Declaration of United Animation of Reality as All-Star team.

They were the first volunteers to help the All-Star who help with:

The Penguins of Madagascar (Skipper, Rico and Private were the helpers of Starshadow for combat fighting. And Kowalski is the science officer of the Delta Shadow)

Sci Twi and Sunset Shimmer from My Little Pony: Equestria Girls (Since they found Starshadow after the Save Equestria Girls' donation at May)

Donkey from Shrek (Based on Sweet Pete's recycable of Shrek's marketing)

Jar Jar Binks and R5-D4 from Star Wars (Since he was on vacation of Dubai during Ugly Sonic at FanCon and Starshadow's new droid ally)

Donatello from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012 Variant) who helps Starshadow to becoming his assistant in the transporter room from Delta Shadow

Kevin Stuart and Bob from Minions (Additional crewmembers)

They were the first teammates to enter the starship, Delta Shadow as Starshadow must stop Sweet Pete as Sci Twi's discovery as she created the cure to heal Sweet Pete's back to normal as Peter Pan himself.

#Starshadow Skystalker #Starshadow's All-Stars to the Rescue!#Sci Twi #Sunset Shimmer #Equestria Girls #The Penguins of Madagascar #DreamWorks #Shrek #Donkey #Star Wars #Jar Jar Binke #R5-D4 #Minions #Donatello #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2012 #Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers

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dameronswife · 4 months ago

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Word Count: 1,052 words Warnings/Tags: ah, not a damn one, besides nerds being nerds about starships. and introducing my new s/i, Evie!!

As far as planets go, D’Qar is surprisingly chilly. Although classified as a jungle planet, the air is frigid and wet, a breeze coming down from the surrounding mountains to blanket the Resistance base in a chill that means that majority of its officers have to bundle in thick uniforms.

Evie is not quite so lucky, her thin tunic not enough to shield her from the elements, although it’s practically a relief from the sweat sticking to her back as she hauls her cargo down the ramp of her XS Stock Light Freighter; a loading droid had meandered away earlier after Evie insisted she could handle it herself, transfer the crates easily to the trolley she’d been given, and now she was regretting turning down the help.

Her lower back aching, Evie heaves a quiet sigh and straightens, wiping her sweaty brow clean with the back of her arm when she hears a low whistle. “Haven’t seen one of these in a few years.”

The voice pulls Evie’s attention away from the remaining crates she still needs to move, and towards the man raking his eyes admiringly over her ship. He seems to be about a decade her senior, maybe a little less, with warm brown skin, dark eyes and tousled midnight black curls that frame his face.

When he turns those dark eyes on her, Evie’s stomach twists pleasantly as she realizes with a jolt just how attractive this man truly is. Worse, the appreciative twinkle hasn’t vanished from his eye now that he’s looking at her, and not her ship. It makes her want to fidget, shift her weight from one foot to the next, protest that gleam in his eye because she’s just…Evie; frizzy light brown hair, skin as light as a moon from decades spent in space, with greasy clothes hanging loose and boxy on her already thick body.

“A freighter or this class specifically?” She asks instead, almost surprised by her own playfulness, but the man seems to appreciate it because he smiles.

“The XS-Stock class specifically,” he clarifies, stepping away from her ship to greet her. Tilting his head back in the direction of it, he continues, “Have you modified it any?”

“Oh now,” Evie tsks, “what kind of smuggler would I be if I didn’t?”

The stranger huffs a laugh at that, and for the first time, Evie is struck by the fact that he’s not wearing an insignia on his battered brown jacket. She has no idea what his rank is, or what his role in the Resistance might be. She also doesn’t think she much cares, when his laugh makes her feel this pleased with herself.

“You've got a point there, I guess.” Without being asked, he grabs one of the crates off the ramp and lifts it onto the trolley. “Are you one of Solo’s contacts?”

Evie doesn't miss the slight hint of wariness rolling off his tongue when he says the surname. Which is reasonable, it’s usually muttered with some level of exasperation, but she’s surprised to hear it here in the Resistance; maybe they’re just protective of their princess, she thinks. “No, I'm an old friend of Snap Wexley’s. You can blame him for me being around.”

At this, the man straightens up, with a look of utter offense on his face. “And he didn't tell me?”

It is very hard not to giggle at the sheer indignance in his tone and Evie doesn't bother trying to stifle it completely. “I take it you know Snap?”

“He's on my squadron. I'm Poe, Poe Dameron,” the man stops, offering his hand out for her to take, wearing a slightly sheepish smile, like he's finally realized he's gone this long without introducing himself.

“Evie Anatares,” she replies, accepting his hand. It's larger than hers, and as warm as a sun-baked starfighter. He withdraws much sooner than she'd like.

“So how do you know Snap?”

She flutters one hand. “Got busted by the New Republic a few years back, when I got in over my head on something. I was looking at being framed for a job I didn't do, that could've landed me in prison. Snap was the responding officer, saw something in me and gave me a second chance — on the condition that I keep an eye out on things going on in the outer rim, and report back.”

Poe’s eyebrows raised. “You fed intelligence to the New Republic?”

Evie shrugs. “It got me credits, and it got sleemos thrown in jail where they couldn’t hurt anyone, so I was glad to do it. Then the New Republic stopped caring so much about what went on in the Outer Rim, patrols started dropping off, my intel began getting stonewalled, so when Snap joined the Resistance, he patched me through to your General, and now -”

“You bring intelligence to us,” Poe finishes. He sounds as impressed with her as he did her ship, and Evie is almost embarrassed by the way it makes her heart glow. “You’re not like most smugglers, y'know that?”

“Well, I might be trying to make a living, but smuggling was never my first career choice. Right now, it gives me the chance to get relief to people who need it, or find out information that might make bad people's lives a lot harder.” She pauses, setting the last crate onto the trolley. “And sometimes, it's giving a paramilitary organization enough blasters to last them the next few months.”

Poe's eyes drift down to the crates. “You found us weapons?”

Evie taps one of the crates with the toe of her boot. “And desserts too. I'm a multitasker, Poe Dameron. Now, can you show me where the hell I’m supposed to bring all this because I forgot to ask the droid that.”

Poe laughs again, “Yeah I’ll show you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll even give you a grand tour of the base.”

“Oh well, you’d be beating Wexley there,” Evie says, pushing the trolley in the direction Poe points, “He hasn’t done that courtesy himself.”

“Hm, no manners on that guy.”

“None at all,” Evie agrees with faux seriousness, before giggling again as they head in the direction of one of the hangars, the chill of D’Qar’s foggy afternoon long forgotten in Poe Dameron’s presence.

#flyboy 🧡#oc evie anatares #myfic #eee look at me new s/i #never mind i've been sitting on this a while!

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