#sunken gar

[starilicious]

mere haath mein (echo x gn!reader)

》 summary: reader and echo's love story from strangers to friends to lovers throughout the clone wars (a 4+1 type of story)

》 series masterlist: (please read the masterlist before continuing on!)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 📍 (you are here!) | part +1

click here to read on AO3

》 part 4.5.2 word count: ~1.9k

》 part 4.5.2 warnings: none

》 part 4.5.2 spoilers: bad batch citadel episode

》 a/n: so sorry i disappeared! college took over my life like a storm but the semester is over now which means back to posting! i hope you all enjoyed the last season of our favs... it was such a bittersweet ending and i'm going to miss watching the show. :(( but in other news, here is the original a/n i had of this part of the fic sitting in my drafts: i lied, 4.5.2 is a longer part than i thought it would originally be LOL but enjoy!!! also, instead of fives dying, i had him disappear off the face of the galaxy. he tells anakin and rex about the chips, but he’s able to get out of that warehouse place alive because i truly despise the fact that echo is the only one left of domino squad… it makes me sad ksdfhgksdf

४.५.१ (4.5.2)

Your personal commlink crackles to life. A staticky voice comes through as you struggle to hear the message. You swiftly link it to your monitor, boosting the long-range signal the best you can.

“–stro? It’s Rex. Can you hear me? We… –und him. Come to dock...–bay six at 1600.”

The channel closes, and the static disappears into silence. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you glance at your chronometer. 0900, it reads.

After Fives disappeared, you became especially close with Rex, often accompanying him on missions where your skills as an engineer were needed. Times were getting rough and the GAR needed all the help they could get out in the field. You were first to volunteer.

For the rest of the day, you’re distracted. Even Arjun, one of the newest engineers on your team as a replacement for Prauf and Sonia, notices it. Dropping tools, tripping over supplies, forgetting your train of thought. You’re just so baffled. Rex has never done this before. And what in the galaxy could he possibly need you for right after a mission?

You’re at the hanger ten minutes early, the anxiety of just wanting to know eating away at your sanity. You tap your foot incessantly when you stand still and pace frequently from one side of the bay to another when you’re in motion, still attempting to decipher Rex’s cryptic message.

And finally (right on time, you vaguely register), two ships dock and disembark. One of them you don’t recognize as being a standard GAR ship–rather, it’s an Omicron-class attack shuttle. Is that what Rex wanted you here for? Some starship? A flash of irritation crosses through your mind as you strain to see the people getting off.

You recognize the Generals facing away from you: Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Windu. But they’re blocking your view of anyone else. You drop your gaze and see Rex’s legs in their classic blue armor as well as someone standing next to him, but you can’t tell who.

The Jedi turn to walk away and finally you can see who they were talking to. You make your way to them quickly. You don’t recognize any of the men but Rex, making you even more confused as to why he called you here.

“Rex?” you call tentatively and he turns around from his conversation to acknowledge you.

Your jaw drops as you take in the sight. The cybernetic legs instead of skin and bone, the scomp link as a replacement for a right hand, the red skull on his armor, the implants dotting his head, his face tired and haggard. His face is exactly like the clones you see everyday, but something about the recognition that lights up in his sunken eyes tells you that it’s still him.

“It’s you,” you whisper in shock, staring blatantly at the man you fell in love with during the midst of a galactic war. The man who found you, the man you lost.

The man you couldn’t save.

Echo gapes at you in surprise, clearly not expecting you to have turned up. He glances behind you at Rex in question before meeting your eyes, seemingly finding his answer.

“Hi, Astro,” he murmurs, voice deep and unused as if he just awoke from a restful night of sleep. For a moment, everything is at a standstill. No one dares to even say a word as you stand in front of each other, unsaid conversations hanging in the air. The wind breezes across your face, a gentle caress as if to say it’s okay. He’s real.

“Echo,” you breathe and throw your arms around him tightly, the shellshocked tears finally streaming down your face. You don’t give a damn about who’s watching, too wrapped in the fact that he’s home, Echo’s home, with me, in my arms.

I will never let you go again.

Echo curls his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, burying his face into your neck as he mumbles your name in what sounds like relief. You hear a choking sob, but whether it’s ripped out of you or out of Echo, you don't care.

“I’m back, I’m here. I’m here,” Echo chants it religiously, pressing his quiet promises into your searing skin and engraving it within. Whether he’s reassuring you or himself, you can’t tell. The plastoid armor cuts uncomfortably into your arms as you hug him, but the pain grounds you from cloud nine.

When Echo died, you and Fives became inseparable, always accompanying each other in quiet support. Both of you were your closest connection to Echo. And then when Fives disappeared, you felt like you lost your fragile tether completely, just floating along like broken space debris. No purpose, no happiness. Just existing within a vacuum void with no life, no resolve, no motivation.

You gently push him away then, taking his gaunt face into your hands to examine him. Your fingers hesitantly touch the implants in his head, and you let out a pained sigh at the slight frown his mouth curves into. Echo’s eyes are sullen, exhausted, but you see his determination as clear as day.

“What have they done to you, Echo?”

He doesn’t respond, instead observing you himself, noticing the darkness under your eyes and your slightly unkempt look, very unlike the prim and proper person he left behind. The brightness in your eyes has dulled, and he sees his own fatigue mirrored in your soul. Echo’s heart aches at the thought.

You take a step back from him, and he loosens his hold on you. You look behind him to see four men–clones, you realize in surprise as you peer closer.

“This is Clone Force 99,” Rex introduces you to them as Echo steps to your right to let you see them fully. “They helped rescue Echo.”

You study each one of them in curiosity as they introduce themselves to you. Clearly, there’s something different about them–you can see it in the way they carry themselves. You shake each one of their hands, reiterating your gratitude again and again.

“Thank you, all of you. I wish I could repay you in some way for rescuing him. You really don’t know how much this means to me,” you say, genuine appreciation coloring your voice. Hunter gives you a knowing smile.

“Anytime! Busting those clankers up is our speciality,” he grins and you can’t help but laugh at his happy demeanor. It kind of reminded you of Fives. A shadow of sadness passes over you, but you push it away quickly.

“Actually, there is something you may be able to do for us,” Tech pipes up. Your eyebrows raise and you gesture for him to continue, noticing Crosshair’s smirk that he makes no effort in suppressing. You weren’t exactly expecting a request at this very moment, but you don’t mind fulfilling it. It’s the least I can do. You hear Rex and Echo quietly laugh behind you.

“You’re an engineer, yes?” Tech inquires, adjusting his goggles to study you. You nod in affirmation.

“Good. I am in need of your services. We seem to be having a slight problem with the suspension support system…” he moves towards the Omicron-class attack shuttle and you follow in his footsteps, leaving the rest of Clone Force 99 and Echo and Rex slightly behind to talk amongst themselves.

You examine the blueprints on the datapad he hands you as he talks at what feels like breakneck speed. “When I pilot the Marauder–” ah, so that’s what it’s called. “–the steering feels quite sluggish and is difficult to handle when we’re in the midst of battle. I deduced it’s due to the suspension, but I can’t seem to pinpoint the exact location nor the nature of the problem even after looking over these schematics for a few hours.”

You hum in response as you scan the diagnostics before finding the issue easily in a matter of a few moments.

“Ah! Don’t worry Tech, this is a very simple fix. You need to realign the thrusters and make sure they’re properly connected to the steering shaft. I suggest taking a look at the control arms too–the thruster hinges that connect to the frame look like they’ve been through a lot, so maybe consider replacing them? I think I’ve got a couple of spare ones in my shop if you want,” you advise, handing the datapad back to him. Tech stares at you, mouth agape as he absentmindedly accepts the datapad.

You simply smile and turn around to see everyone else losing it after watching the exchange. Even Crosshair has cracked a smile, something clearly rare based on his aloof attitude. Puzzled, you ask, “What’s so funny?”

Hunter, bless him, takes mercy on you and explains dutifully. “Tech has been trying to fix that for at least two hours and you figured out the problem in thirty seconds. No one has ever been able to beat Tech at something he knows practically everything about.”

You huff out a light laugh of surprise. “Well, it is my job to fix and repair starships. It would be pretty bad if I wasn’t able to diagnose issues as soon as I got them,” you point out. Hunter nods in agreement as the laughter slowly begins to die down.

“So, I’m assuming you all are getting medals, right? I mean you’ve clearly pulled off an amazing and incredibly difficult mission,” you ask, glancing from one clone to the next, your gaze landing on Echo.

“Not… really our thing,” Tech shrugs.

“Accolades,” Crosshair concurs, mouth moving around the toothpick that seems to be permanently present.

"Yeah, we're just in it for the thrill. Yo!" Wrecker grins, pumping his fist into the air.

Hunter turns to Echo. "You sure it's… your thing?"

You steal a glance at Echo as the confusion dances across his face. "What do you mean?"

"Your path is different," Hunter elaborates before letting out a chuckle. "Like ours."

You can practically see the gears turning in Echo's head as he processes Hunter's underlying message. You stay silent.

"If you ever feel like you don't fit in with them, well… find us.” Hunter inclines his head to the team, and Tech, Crosshair, and Wrecker give you all a nod of goodbye. And with that, you watch Clone Force 99 retire back to their ship, leaving you, Echo, and Rex behind to watch.

“Those are some of the finest troopers I’ve ever fought alongside,” Rex states. He pauses for a moment before placing his hand on Echo’s shoulder, shaking him out of his train of thought.

“Echo.”

He turns to look at him.

“You and I go way back. If that’s where you feel your place is… then that’s where you belong,” Rex asserts, eyes roaming Echo’s conflicted face. You can’t fight the sad smile that appears on your lips. Even through all the pain he’s gone through, Rex always puts his friends–his brothers–first.

Rex rotates slightly to face you. “And if you would like to accompany him, Astro… I can make it happen.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, not believing your ears. Is he serious? You and Echo glance at each other then, an instantaneous unspoken agreement settling into the space between you. Rex pats both of your shoulders and departs.

You and Echo follow Clone Force 99’s path, each step of yours carrying you closer and closer to the unknown. You’re about to leave behind everything.

Your right hand brushes against Echo’s left one.

Well, not quite everything.

And when you all turn around to see Rex one last time and salute to him, you know that no matter what, it will be okay because Echo’s beside you. Right where he should be.

---

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 📍 (you are here!) | part +1

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

[bbraefairy]

only for you ✰ BBRAE

an erotic snapshot of raven (rachel roth), and garfield logan in the story thereof.

45k+ ⭒ full story wc ⭒

⭒ warnings / tags ⭒ 18+ characters, praise kink, rough sex, cussing, dirty talk.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

“Put your head in the pillow so you can scream as loud as you want to.” Garfield growled, bringing his hand down on Rachel’s behind, and grasping her hip.

And just when Rachel thought she’d maxed him out, got him to go his deepest, his toughest, his fastest, his hardest, and his nastiest, he did even more. Her hair was wisping between her out-crying lips and grabbed in his hand, her cheek and chest was sunken into the pillow, and her hands seized the linen sheets.

Garfield, still piercing his phallus through nectarine depths, bent over a length to track a sequence of kisses on Rachel’s lower back.

He felt her body convulse and a cascade began to rush between her legs.

“Keep it in.” Garfield unceremoniously demanded.

This was enough sexual torment to make the tears of pleasure return to her eyes.

“Gar, please. Let me finish.”

“Not until you tell me who it belongs to.”

read the full story on ao3 & ffnet, at the links embedded.

[positivelyqueer]

[ID: colourful painting alligator gar fish. Swimming creek in front of bright green aquatic plant life, sunken logs and stones. /end ID]

i have got to paint more fish........... alligator gar piece from a few years ago

[tpc-tangled-au]

Chapter 8: The Lighthouse

The Othryan guard tried to catch them, but it was too late. Old Salome had stolen the child, and she vanished with him into the dark.

Just like that, gone. Dia gar cuideachadh, it was a terrible night.

They searched and searched, but they could not find the prince. His light had been hidden from them. But little did they know that, beyond a deep thicket, in a hidden valley by the sea, stood a tower.

Not just a tower, dear Baron: a LIGHTHOUSE! And a kindly sort too, if rather melancholy. But I suppose that was to be expected.

Who?

The lighthouse, of course!

Lighthouse? Do you mean there was a keeper of that place that I never—

No, no, I could never have met the keeper. It was the lighthouse itself, I tell you! It was the lighthouse ghost…

The first time the Lighthouse Ghost heard them, he was almost too faded to notice.

His lighthouse tower was not on a cliff now. His repeated efforts to undo what had been done had sunken it into its own valley, where the sea only came in through a little broken channel. He had stood alone for so long now he hardly existed. Only the lingering magic of the place kept him…

Well, perhaps not alive.

He had heard noises in the valley before. Men or beasts, neither or both. They mattered little. But that night, a cry came from the sky. The haze in his empty eyes vanished, and he looked to see the source of the cry.

The Ghost did not see. Not really. He barely caught a glimpse of a dark form descending before it vanished into the undergrowth. But soon enough, he heard. First, a yelp, a little distance away. A rustling pause. Another shout followed, quickly silenced. Then there was nothing, for many, many minutes.

Eventually, slowly, the Ghost became aware of a light, down about the foot of his tower. There was never any light in that valley but his own and the sky’s. Yet even so, he almost ignored it. He hardly had strength for anything else. But then there were sounds from the light. Voices.

The Lighthouse Ghost always paid attention to voices.

Shifting to peer down, he found no candle nor lantern, but a crooked pane, revealing nothing. Dark was its glow, barely enough to see. It was not meant for illumination, like his lamp, and it neither flickered like flame nor shone like a beam. It only spread a chill and unliving green over a handful of withered leaves.

With this unlight came a noise, cruel and cracked as withered stone. Its sound moved, up and down, like some creature’s deathly call. But it was no animal. There was something in it too wicked and clever for a mere beast.

Suddenly, the Lighthouse Ghost realized what he was hearing. Though he had not strength enough to take shape, all that he was trembled at the thought.

There were words in it.

And this horrible thing, this Unvoice, continued them. Whatever its words, they were not ones that any voice should speak, if speaking was what it was doing. The Ghost could barely endure hearing it. He nearly turned away, retreated to his lamp.

Yet all of a sudden, the Unvoice ceased. Then, in its place, came something small. A real voice this time. Haltingly, it repeated the same, awful words. In that voice, the words revealed themselves—they were a song. Or rather, an unsong. The phantom of a song. A hateful caricature of song. The Ghost listened in horror.

But the vile words broke off. Then the Unvoice, not singing. The little Voice spoke. Then the Unvoice, sharp and angry.

“No!”

A hard noise that came from no voice. Weeping followed it.

The Lighthouse Ghost could hardly bear existence that night. The Voice and the Unvoice went on through the dark, quieting and rousing, over and over. Sometimes the Voice cried. Oh, that was worse almost than the Unvoice and its Unsong. The Ghost had heard weeping before, and the memory alone was pain.

But the sound did not belong in this Voice. It was too small for this weeping.

On it went, and on, round and round like the whirling beam, never ending, always continuing. The Ghost could not stop it. The Ghost could not even come near to them. Oh, if he could only cross the bounds of his tower! If only he could cry out to the Voice! But he could not even stop hearing.

Even now, when quiet had come, he heard. The Unvoice made no noise, but hovered silent as a vulture. The small Voice only snuffled and sobbed softly, as it had for some time. The Ghost heard each faint whimper.

But then, deep in the dark, the Voice did something else.

It sang.

The Lighthouse Ghost lifted his head. It was song. Tune and words and voice, real and true. Though muffled and broken, the Song crept forth steadily into the silence of the night. Slowly, the little Voice steadied with it.

And—unseen, unheard, unliving, undying—the Lighthouse Ghost gasped the first breath he had taken in he knew not how long.

Below, the unlight was replaced by a golden glow, almost like fire.

Then came the Unvoice again. But… not the same. It spoke more hushed, less angered. The Song again. The light burned brighter, and its comfort burned deeper. The Unvoice, little more than a word’s length. And a small thing gasped below.

There was no more weeping that night.

~*~

In the weeks since she’d brought him here, Salome had never once lost track of the boy. She had tools to aid her in that. So the moment the boy began to cross the threshold, she pinched the glistening thread between her fingers, sharply.

Across the room, she heard him catch his breath.

“Where go you, boy?” she asked slowly, lazily, letting her smirk leak through her words.

“To the tower, Mistress,” the boy replied quickly.

A tighter pinch. “Wherefore?”

“Only to see it,” he hastened further, holding himself stiff and straight. “I like to see things.”

“Would you like to see them without eyes?” Salome rose suddenly, startlingly smooth. The thread, she gripped still between her fingers.

The boy froze in place. He said nothing more.

Silently, Salome glided toward him, until she stood just behind him. A moment’s pause, hovering. Then, she lifted her fingers. The tautness in the thread eased. But before he could release the breath he’d held, she hissed in his ear:

“Cross this threshold again ere a half-hour’s time is run, or you shall smart for it.”

The boy jumped, and she almost heard his heart against his ribs. “Y-yes, Mistress,” he stammered, nodding without turning. Then, he took off.

Salome watched him run. Her pretty grin cut cruel across her face. Time was hers to wield upon him. Oh, she had work she could tend with him gone. But it was twenty-nine minutes she would give him to return. And after that?

She fingered the thread, her fey chain.

After that, she would do more than pinch.

~*~

There was no snow to whiten the valley, and all was wet from the melting of it. All was dreary and dull grey and dead brown. All was damp and chill with no promise of spring.

But gold flashed through the valley, and every tree was touched as it passed.

As soon as the gold reached the foot of the tower, it looked back. Its gaze angled along the path it had taken. Its bright head bobbed a nod.

“Straight,” the golden thing whispered. “No branches to tangle it this time.” It looked forward again. “And less than ten minutes to get here too!”

Watching for branches and brambles, the gold began picking its way round the tower.

The tower, though tainted by time, had once been white. But faded splotches on the sides told also of stripes worn away. Gleaming black and bright red, once upon a time. Its walls smelled of lost seas.

The little gold thing made a half-circle, tracing along the tower’s side. Then it stopped. It returned to the side where it had first arrived, and started back the other way. Furrows scratched into its face as it roamed. But no questions came aloud.

The stairs, facing the north westerward, were gilded at last. The gold thing scrambled up readily through the ivy. But it found no greeting. No cracked boards, no rusted knobs, no gaping hole into which it could creep. Only blank.

The furrows scratched deeper. “What sort of tower hasn’t any door?”

Suddenly, even as it stood staring, there was a shift of air, of matter. Against the old pale, a new pale appeared. Or, more properly, another old pale. The valley had never known one without the other.

Where gold stared, empty white stared back.

A gasped smile, the first in weeks. “Hullo there!”

All the menace of a scowl fizzled out in a moment. Shock replaced it.

“Oh! Sorry, is it rude to not be frightened when you first meet a ghost? All the ones I’ve met were servants.”

A flicker like a blink. A shaken head.

“Oh, splendid! It’s been a time since I made a new friend.” A proffered hand. “What’s your name, good ghost?”

Long staring, dropping into emptiness again.

“Haven’t you got any name?”

A heavier headshake.

“Oh.” The hand retracted. “That’s all right, I suppose. I’ve not got one either. At least, not now. I used to have two names, don’t you know, and I liked ‘Naphtali’ best, but I’d even be happy to be called Prometheus now, because I’ve not got any name anymore. I’m… I’m not allowed to.”

Silence fell. Gold and white stood. And suddenly, they were boy and ghost. Young and old, living and not. Tangled hair and tangled beard. Hand-bruised cheeks and tear-scarred eyes. Nameless, bound, alone.

Boy and Ghost. Gold and white.

After a moment, the Boy’s grey eyes sharpened, glancing up. He frowned. “Why’s your tower have stripes?”

The Ghost did not open his mouth to answer.

“I mean, most towers are just stone, or else they’re painted all white and shining. Why does yours have stripes?”

The Ghost lifted a hand, hesitant.

“Yes? Say on!”

Decision crossed the hoary face. The Ghost stepped out to the edge of the stairs. The Boy followed him, creeping close in what might have otherwise been his shadow. The Ghost turned and pointed upward. The Boy peered his face after the transparent finger.

It pointed at the top of the tower. No battlements stood there in ruins. Only a strange room, with gaping holes in its walls. No, not holes—windows. It was paneled all round with windows.

The Boy screwed his face, as if thinking or remembering very hard.

A tall tower, a windowed room at its top, salt-scented walls, and stripes.

Stripes.

“AHA!” He sprang up. “A lighthouse! You’re a lighthouse, aren’t you?”

The Ghost nodded.

Delighted, the Boy clapped and started dancing round. “A lighthouse! Oh, I ought to have guessed it! Standing right by the loch and everything! Is it a loch? I always wondered if it was off the sea.”

The Ghost watched him dance. Even more, he listened to him speak.

The golden smile toward the white form again. “So you’re the… the Lighthouse Ghost, then?”

Another nod, lighter.

“Are you the ghost of a sailor, or a pirate? Maybe you’re an old merman, if those have ghosts. I’ve heard they don’t. Oh, or perhaps you’re the lighthouse-keeper!”

At those words, a sudden sorrow seared the ancient features. Indeed, the face seemed almost to age further as he stood.

“What’s this?!” The Boy jumped up, startled. “Oh, do pardon me, good ghost! I didn’t mean to say anything wrong…” Worry curled his face, and his eyes crept upward. “Did… did you die badly?”

A head shaken.

“Then what’s wrong? What…” Pause. “What are you ghost of?”

The same pointed finger, and the same destination.

“The… the lighthouse?”

Nod.

“Not the keeper?”

Age, heavy on his brow.

The Boy stared, as if trying to understand. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh. He’s your friend, isn’t he? The keeper?”

Sorrow, weighing his shoulders.

“Oh.”

Silence.

The lighthouse’s tale, hovering unspoken in the air, breathed two sets of thoughts with colours. Black and red, murky and mysterious, faded and forgotten. But not fully forgotten. Nor fully mysterious, either.

The Boy took in a breath and let it out. “I don’t think I shall see my friend again either.”

The Ghost turned empty eyes down upon the little golden head, widened. But this time, there was a tinge to the emptiness. Something of understanding.

Suddenly, the golden head jerked. With a sharp cry, the Boy clutched at his hair, stumbling. A coldness brushed his arm like a touchless hand, and white crossed gold. The Boy’s eyes darted up. The Ghost’s stared back, alarmed.

“I-I must run back, good ghost,” the Boy stammered hurriedly, “before she is angry. I’ll return when I can.”

Another jerk, like to rip out his skull. The Boy practically hurled himself from the stairs and scurried through the dead leaves, leaving the Ghost to follow if he would. But he could not follow. Not past that threshold.

A glance, dared back. White stood still on the stair. Gold lifted a hand to wave. Then a pull, and they were parted. Both vanished into the dead shades of wet winter.

But the valley would not soon forget those colours.

~*~

The Lighthouse Ghost knew it was the Voice that he met that day. That was why he began to fear when the Boy did not return the next day. Nor the next. In fact, it was a full week’s time before he returned.

But return he did. The Unvoice had not stolen his words away, sealed them in silence forever. Indeed, the Boy seemed more eager than ever to speak. He may as well have saved up all his talk the entire week for that one day. For that one listener.

And oh, how long it had been since the Ghost had anyone to whom he could listen.

So the pattern formed. The Boy’s absence, the Boy’s return, the Boy’s ready talk. The Ghost’s ready ear. It went thus for weeks into months, and months into years. Winter into spring, summer into autumn.

The Boy had many sorts of words to spend. Songs and poems and chatter about all manner of subjects. But more than anything, the Boy told stories. Fairytales, ghost stories, seafaring fables, and all.

The Ghost had heard a good half of them before. But the Boy walked about as he narrated, gesturing, spinning, leaping. His voice grew bolder with each tale he told. And he smiled, and he laughed, and it had been long since any story was spun in that place.

One of these stories was the very one that kept the Boy there. It was the tale of his abduction. It was the tale of that first winter night, when the Unvoice tried to make him sing what was not a song, and he refused.

And it was the tale of the real song. “My friend’s song,” the Boy said, with a forlorn smile. “It wasn’t the right words, but… but it made me brave afore.”

But the right song with the wrong words did more than make brave. It made his captor—the Unvoice—stare. It made the room turn gold. It made his wounded arm stop hurting completely. And yet he didn’t even notice until the second time he sang it.

“Sharp Eyes said it’s not grand enough to be magic. But it is—it is! When I sang it, it was magic! Can you believe it’s true? Oh, I wish I could tell her! She’d—she’d laugh!”

The Ghost didn’t know how long it was since the Boy had seen his friend. But he knew. As the Boy started to cry, he knew it didn’t matter how long since.

After all, the scars from his own tears had never faded.

~*~

When it had been all but a year since the first night, the Boy did not come in the daytime.

He’d said he would. He’d been coming a little more often, arriving a little faster, staying a little longer. And he almost never missed. He had said he would come the next day, certain sure. But he did not come in the daytime.

It was only when the evening began to dim that the Ghost saw his hair flashing through the trees. He was running.

He was running much faster than usual.

“Stairs,” he gasped out, hardly stopping. “Stairs, and quick now! She’ll be angry when she finds out I’m here tonight, but you’ve got to see!”

Without another word, the Boy stampeded away over brush and bracken. The Ghost betook himself to the top of the stairs and waited. The little fellow was puffing hard, round face red under his golden hair, when he scrambled up at last to join him.

“Sky,” he breathed out. He almost doubled over trying to fill his lungs. “Just over… mountains.”

The Ghost reached out to him, wondering if he should worry. But a smile was on his breath as he glanced up.

“Well, look!”

Empty eyes turned to the rim of the valley they hollowed. At first, sky was the only thing beyond. Purple turning blue turning black. The coming night that his now-faint beam could once pierce.

A turn, questioning.

“Keep looking, fellow! It must be there!”

He turned back. Whatever the Boy was so eager to show him, it seemed important enough to risk the Unvoice’s wrath. So he fixed his sight on the horizon as if watching for a ship to come in.

It was not a ship. But come it did.

Just at the top of the northwest cliffs, a little red light flickered into the black. It might have been a far-off bonfire. But it rose. It escaped the reach of the cliffs. And it multiplied. One, then another, then three, then ten. Green, then blue, then yellow followed. Soon, dozens of these glimmering gleams, in many shades of light, drifted into the sky, piercing the night.

The Lighthouse Ghost had no pupil nor iris. But in the blank pale of his eye, these flickers reflected their every colour.

“They did, they did. They sent it up. Why, I’ve been vanished for a year, and they still sent up the lights for my birthday!”

The Ghost stopped, perfectly frozen.

Birthdays. The Keeper had talked of those. What had he said about them? They were every year. They were… what? What had he said? It was… it was…

‘When men’s bodies finish being made and come out a-shouting to meet the world.’

All of a sudden, the Ghost remembered. He remembered the words. And he remembered the voice that spoke them. He heard it inside of him again, like an echo of joy in this life.

‘That’s what we living folk call being born, now. And our souls don’t forget those days, so we make ‘em merry as we can do, and call ‘em birthdays.’

He almost saw again the Keeper’s face, beaming down broadly.

‘Think I’ll find out the day this old tower of yours got finished being made. Then we’ll call it your birthday! And we’ll make a fine day of it too, won’t we, little fellow?’

“I thought you’d like to see it, old chap.”

He turned from the picture of his past. And he found the Boy’s face, beaming up just the same way.

“Well, for one, it tends to make a good surprise for anybody who’s not seen it afore. Sharp Eyes didn’t remember once. But you’re one for lights, and that’s all the better.” His eyes, round pupils and grey irises, were glad and full as they turned up to meet him. “Why, it even made you smile!”

The Ghost paused. Flickered like a blink. Then, something long-derelict inside him seemed to shift back into place.

He was smiling, wasn’t he?

~*~

[Chapter 1/Writing the Story]

[Chapter 7/Frey ... Chapter 8/you are here! ... Chapter 9/Workings of a Witch]

[Also on AO3, if you want to hop on over!]

[oysiserut]

2017 In Color: Orange 1st Photo: Jill & Pops, Taytay, Rizal 2nd Photo: Shpwing of Ang Manananggal sa Unit 23B, UP Film Center (Cine Adarna), UP Diliman Quezon City 3rd Photo: Junction, Cainta, Rizal 4th Photo: Octopus, UP Fair Elements, Sunken Garden, UP Diliman, Quezon City 5th Photo:  Mama Cat, College of Mass Communication, UP Diliman, Quezon City 6th Photo:  Somewhere near Vito Cruz, Manila (I forgot lol sorry) 7th Photo: Junction, Cainta, Rizal 8th Photo: Cats of Maskom, College of Mass Communication, UP Diliman, Quezon City9th Photo: Female Oblation, Ferdinand Cacnio, University Theater, UP Diliman, Quezon City10th Photo: Pantry, TeleTech Pioneer, Robinsons Cybergate Tower 3, Mandaluyong City

[thegeminisage]

looks for when you’re locked in an eternal battle with a whale and hoping that soon may the wellerman come, i guess. am officially a token gay on that video now, please clap, it was VERY scary

[trixree]

shhh. brain SHHHH. i am THINKING. About Khonshu and the Coruscant Guard because I am mentally ILL because I am DERANGED because I am UNHINGED

what if Commander Fox was Khonshu's avatar?

Like shhhhh what if. shhhhhh just WHAT IF. Thire or one of the other CGs that gets to travel off-world comes back with the smallest, oldest little statue. So old that most of the features have been worn away by time and the elements until all that remains on this palm-sized thing is a distinct beak, sunken eyes, and something that looks just vaguely crescent-moon shaped. It's given to him by a local of some planet that barely anyone knows about - some layover on a Senate diplomatic trip. A local presses the figure into Thire's hands and says, "For justice. For vengence. To protect the travelers of the night." And he keeps it, because clones own so little anyways, and brings it home to the barren CG barracks. Brings it home to his vod'e who are hurt every day by the very people they were created to protect. His vod'e who mourn those that have been disappeared into the Coruscant lowers never to be seen again. His vod'e who are not on the frontlines but are no less Travelers, no less warriors.

And the little figure comes to live in the Commander's office. First as a joke, because who needs vengence more than Fox? "For justice. For vengence. To protect us," the guardsmen say when they pass by to deliver reports, mission briefs, messages. It's the shinies that are the first to leave the little figure offerings because Fox is always kinder with the younger brothers, in his own way. They bring loose seeds, for the weathered old beak. They arrange Fox's moldy caf-cups around it like a shrine. They bring belongings from the vod'e who don't come home after shift - hand-made bracelets and paper crafts and hair ties.

And with each gift, the Commander's office transforms. It's subtely warmer. Warm like it never has been before. Warm like standing in a patch of sun on a desert planet. The air is always clean and clear even when the rest of the Guard HQ smells like mildew and burnt caf, blaster discharge and GAR standard soaps. The bags under the Commander's eyes steadily improve, although they never disappear. And Coruscant's four moons burn brighter than they have in centuries, even despite the light pollution. More brothers come back from their shifts, for the moons have begun to walk the guardsmen home.

And the old, once-forgotten but now remembered god begins to speak with its priest, the one who keeps the shrine. Fox. Fox who has been exposed to the Dark for a while, now. Fox who has been scared by it. Fox who doesn't balk that the little stone bird is speaking to him, now. The walls on Coruscant have eyes, afterall. Fox has learned to listen to the warnings they bring him. What's one more voice, aged beyond all age? Weathered but not worn? Brusque but not cruel? Caring but not kind?

Maybe there's an inciting event. A riot that sees many CGs dead by natborn hands. A senate bill that starves their supplies so dramatically that vod'e begin to fall to once treatable injuries. Or maybe there's not one at all, but rather the steady accumulation of power through belief. Either way (or perhaps both), one night, when Fox is drunk and wounded from something he can't quite remember, staring at the little bird-headed figure and it's shrine, the once-forgotten-now-remembered god introduces itself.

The Commander's armor gains a new marking - a crescent moon in white, wreathed in red. And the Coruscant vod'e no longer walk alone. The Moons walk them home. And the God dines in luxury every night on the hearts of the wicked.

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

Jason is ruining me this season because despite all the bad shit he’s done I just want to hug him & let him know he is wanted 😫

Okay but like what if Crane actually just left Jason at Snowy Cones tied to the chair and the Titans get him back or something like that somehow they get him away from Crane & back and there’s a fight about what to do with him (mainly Gar & reader fighting to like at least get him clean before doing anything else) and idk just something soft with Jason detoxing and reader helping him and showing him people do care about him 🥺

THIS 😭

➣ pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

➣ fluff / angst

➣ word count: 1.2k

come join the titans sleepover!

Jason looked horrible.

You hadn't seen him since he left San Francisco with Rose, and though that was months ago, you hadn't stop thinking about him. You were mad, to say the least, but all of that was pushed aside when you heard the devastating news about him, one that almost broke you.

Redhood was the worst thing to become of Jason. You felt helpless and so aggravated that he was doing such things, but at the same time, you knew it was not his fault. It was Crane's, and everyone knew it too.

Tonight's mission was to take down Crane and 'Redhood's' mission to distribute the anti-fear drug, putting all your energy into fighting the guards. Perhaps it was your anger towards Jason that got you through. He had become the person that he solemnly swore he'd never become. But here he is.

But as your nearly teary eyes gaze sullenly at his sunken face, which is wet with drool and god knows what else, you know the right thing to do.

"Jesus Christ," Gar mumbles as he stands beside you, looking at the mess of a boy Crane left behind.

"We need to get him out of here," you glance over at him. He nods in agreement, unable to peel his eyes away.

"Tell me what we need to do,"

"Guys, stop." Dick cautions, putting his hands on either of your shoulders. Gar and you look at each other before glancing back at Dick. "It could be a trap."

"We can't just leave him here!" You shriek in disbelief.

"We don't know what Crane has up his sleeve right now. The best thing for us to do is to leave him here."

"Absolutely fucking not," Gar grits his teeth, knuckles almost clenching in a fist. "He's coming with us."

Jason coughs himself awake, eyes rolling as he slips in and out of consciousness. You crouch beside him, taking his hand in yours.

"Jason, can you hear me?" You ask softly, ignoring Dick's sigh of discontentment from behind you. Jason groans, eyes slowly dragging up to meet yours.

"[y/n]," he slurs with a raspy voice. You gulp and pull yourself together, knowing that now is not the time to have a breakdown.

"Yes, darling, it's me. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"Hey, buddy, you doing alright?" Gar kneels on the other side of him. You run out to the car, only to return with a wet cloth and further bickering from Gar and Dick.

"We're at least cleaning him up," you snarl at him before crouching beside Jason. In your head, you count to ten, trying to find anything to distract your eyes from pricking with tears. God, he really does look awful up close. You dab his chin, wiping off the drool that drips from the corner of his mouth.

"Uh, what is going here?" Kory asks with Conner and Blackfire behind her. She stops in her tracks when she notices you and Gar, tending to Jason with such care, a sense of fear runs over her.

"I'm trying to warn them, but they're not listening," Dick murmurs to her.

"Guys, no, stop it. We need to go," she tries and pulls you away from Jason.

"Get off of me!" You almost yell, swatting her away before putting the cloth down. You move behind him and help Gar untie the rope from around Jason's waist.

"Stop and think for a second!" Kory snaps. "He could be a weapon; you don't know that."

"Yeah, and you don't either," your voice slick with venom. You were so sick of everyone blaming Jason for everything when none of them even remotely believed that they had something to do with his meltdown. "We are getting him out of here. End of story."

"[y/n]…" Dick sighs, approaching you and Gar slowly.

"No, enough. I've had it with all of you giving up on Jason like he's some piece of disposable waste. What was your speech a year ago about not giving up on family? You really seem to live up to that, now, don't you," Gar snaps.

"I-"Dick sighs again. "I know, okay. But as I said before, we all know he's working under the guise of Crane. We don't know if Jason is just a ploy, okay? It's safer—"

"For who? You or Jason? Because from the way I see it, Jason is being manipulated. You said it yourself. The best thing we can do is save him now before it's really too late," you sigh. "Now, can we please stop fighting and help him into the car, for fucks sake," you roll your eyes, having enough of this bickering. The sooner you all get out, the better.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Barbara helps you hook Jason up to an IV drip. He lays in his bed, so entirely out of it, you're not even sure if he's ever going to be okay again.

"Are you okay?" Babs consoles, knowing that this has certainly not easy for you. She knew you have been taking this the hardest out of everyone. Being one of Jason's closest friends, your time in Gotham has been spent grieving and wishing you were all in San Francisco and normal again.

Your lip trembled, eyes overflowing with tears that wet your cheeks. You practically collapse on the chair beside the bed, and Babs pulls you into her.

"I hate seeing him like this," you sob, arms stretching around her. She rubs your back, letting out gentle coos to help you calm down.

"You should go join the others," you smile weakly, pulling away and wiping your eyes.

"Are you sure? I can stay here if you need me to?"

"It's okay. Please, go enjoy tonight's successes."

She rubs your arm, apology laced in her touch before she makes her way to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Your head drops onto the mattress beside his body. How could you have let this happen? Was this your fault too?

“[y/n]?” Jason coughs, and you swear you've never lifted your head faster.

"Hey," you smile weakly, taking his hand in yours. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, you know, pretty damn fucking great if you ask me," he scoffs. You don't mean to, but a minor chuckle releases from your throat.

"Here, you should probably have some water," you hand him a glass, and he looks at it with caution. "I haven't done anything to it if that's what you're concerned about."

He hums before gulping it all down.

"Jason," your lips trembles once again. "I'm so sorry."

Jason doesn't say anything. He rests back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

"Why're you doing this? Don't think I'm coming back to you guys because I'm not."

"Because I care."

"Do you?" He turns to look at you.

"You know," you chuckle, looking down at your fingers. "I had the biggest crush on you. Of course, I never had the guts to say anything; you were too special of a friend for me to ruin that."

"How do I know that you're not lying?"

"Because I'm the one who saved you back there. I wasn't going to leave you, I would never to that."

There is a moment of silence that surpasses you both; neither of you knew what to say. Was he to thank you or be mad at you?

"I should probably let you rest," you cough slightly before standing up.

"Wait," Jason takes your hand in his. "Stay. Please?"

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

tag list: (click here to be apart of the tag list!)

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═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

[rivertoasty]

Order 66 ended Squad 99...

After counting the board there are 55 tally marks:successful missions.  Add 11 more and that is a total of 66 tallies... 

When the Batch return to their sunken barracks on Kamino for whatever reason there are still only 55 tallies.  We clearly witnessed Wrecker marking the last 11 in the first episode BUT WHATEVER.  

That last mission together is where everything fell apart.  The Jedi Order, the GAR, and The Bad Batch.  Order 66 ended the Jedi Order, as it ended Clone Force 99.  

[maiz-of-light]

Oh, great.

Exasperation and trepidation in turn claw at the merchant’s already-pounding skull. There’s absolutely no mistaking the green hat and tunic, stark against the wintry background; much less the black hilt protruding from beneath the knight’s fur-lined cloak. The sword itself is not an unusual accomplice to the man in green, but the cinder-skinned demon striding tall by his side…

Well, it’s not exactly a welcome sight. Nevertheless, when it comes to economics, beggars can’t afford to be choosey – and neither, for that matter, can Rupin.

Chords stiff with cold, he musters as cheery a greeting as he can manage.

“Welcome back, gentlemen!”

“You’re looking well, Rupin,” comes Link’s response, surprisingly smooth considering the way the air bites. There’s a subtle ruddiness to his cheeks.

“Thanks abound, dear boy! So tell me, will you two be buying or selling today?”

“Mostly buying, I think.”

A chill seems to catch in the merchant’s lungs, his mind grasping frantically for a tactful reply. While Mother wouldn’t dare deny the demon service so long as he remains in Link’s respected company, Rupin himself is sure to get an earful of her distaste for the creature once the pair have moved on.

“… Right,” is all he can manage. “Follow me, please…”

A bell chimes softly as the door slides inward, stray whisps of snow blowing over the threshold. Immediately beneath the entering humans, a burlap rug sits matted to the floor, its rough surface quick to catch the grime from their shoes. Several other rugs of far more lavish design catch and guide one’s eye towards a series of wooden frames and pedestals – and it’s here that Goselle’s sacred merchandise is lifted up on display, unfettered, ornately threaded glory for all in which to bask.

The woman herself, on the other hand, is somewhat less inviting.

Despite the chill, the windows remain open, and still Goselle fans herself. It’s unbelievably satirical, how someone so thoroughly insulated could exhibit so cold a glare as this shop owner now bestows upon her most recent customers. Boasting a haughty, deep-set frown, Mother glowers at their demonic patron with uninhibited contempt.

“Link,” she spits in icy acknowledgment, sunken eyes never leaving the knight’s companion. “I hope you are doing well.”

“We are,” he answers, though surely he senses the singularity of her blessings.

Goselle persists in her fanning as she speaks, ultimately favoring finance over revulsion.

“Is there something in particular that you are looking for?”

“Blankets.” Link’s boots thud lightly as he approaches the shelves built into the far wall, perusing with feigned interest. “Cushions. Maybe a rug-” he casts a glance towards his accomplice, who nods without nuance, “yes, definitely a rug.”

At the store’s opposite end roams the pale demon in his crimson mantle, perfect shoes soundless against the floorboards. It’s nothing short of eerie, how the creature carries himself. Since the last of his kind were driven out, now nearly four months ago, rumors unnumbered had been passed from ear to ear about the one who still remains, more often than not riddled with dark speculations and unflattering tales of his role in the war. Whether he had, in actuality, attempted to slay the Goddess herself seems a little farfetched, leastwise to Rupin, considering Zelda herself was the first to advocate for the demon. Even so, every time the merchant’s gaze is assaulted with that tall frame; that inhuman flesh; those dark, hate-filled eyes, part of him wonders what the creature truly isn’t capable of.

What really remains unclear, and surely not just to Rupin, is the nature of this being’s relationship with his knightly companion.

Mother’s features grow wary as that crimson-clad figure draws closer towards the doorway of her office, but he remains beyond its boundary, preferring to scrutinize a silver-trimmed tunic made of violet-dyed wool. Steadily, his gaze drifts towards a shelf lined with trousers, lingering on the darker-colored garments before eyeing the fanciful article with its matching cloak.

Arching a golden brow, Link deviates from his mission exploring rugs, hovering instead by the demon’s side.

“I thought you didn’t get cold?” he inflects with genuine curiosity.

Though his features hide behind his mantle, the demon’s tone conveys a solid lack of amusement. “Am I not allowed to look nice?” he retorts.

Link starts like a deer caught in lantern light, hand instinctively rubbing at his neck. “U-um,” he stammers, “I mean, it’s just…,” a shrug and a smile, “you always look nice.”

Almost reluctantly, Goselle emits a sharp laugh.

���That was quite a nice save, young man,” she croons, hiding her grin behind her fan.

*

My rough draft is done; still working on the whole ‘editing’ bit.

Almost there, loves!

Ye Who Enter Here

[floof-ghostie]

So, I DO know enough about Scooby Doo Lore so I think I can explain it:

Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated it's a very important part of Scooby Doo Lore. It's a prequel of sorts to the events of the original series, where the Gang, in high school, solves monster related crimes in their home town of Crystal Cove. The show ends with a timeline reset, their parents stop being abusive, and they start their cross country trip of monster hunting.

What they DON'T know at first, however, is that this is only a mirror, a twisted reflection to an ancient Aztec Group of Monster Hunters with their pet jaguar, that discovered a creature, a monster, the Nibiru Entity, a dread being from across the stars, and trapped him inside a Crystal Coffin, sealed shut with the help of other Gods.

But before the 5 of them could finally strike the sealed god down, the Conquistadores showed up, saw 4 locals and a jaguar about to strike down a coffin filled with pearls, and in their greed they shot them all, and stole the coffins for themselves.

This act of Greed is what kick-starts the Curse, the curse that moves man to take on the guise of a monster to appease their desires, and that greed, just like those 4 monster hunters and their pet jaguar, is then mirrored and twisted with every new loop.

The being within the coffin is the Nibiru Entity. They are Char Gar Gothakon, the Beast that has No Name, they are a trickster and a monster, the real monster, nestled within the center of it all, a creature slowly corrupting the town he was buried beneath, hidden away by the Conquistadores as they slaughtered each other in their greed, hidden behind puzzles and enigmas.

He is part of a race of elder gods, being beyond creation, that come into reality taking the form of animal gods, and then bang with the local Fauna. Every single Hanna and Barbera talking animal is but a descendant of these creatures, their intelligence and speech a result of their dread ancestry, and yes, this includes Scooby Doo.

Scooby Doo descended from an elder god.

The Nibiru Entity is slowly corrupting the town that will one day become Crystal Cove, and in order to do so, he creates mockeries of his enemies, the ones who trapped him in his coffin, influencing the minds of mortals to create, like clockwork, a new gang with 4 archetypes and a talking animal, a descendant of his ilk, the first to feel his corruption.

Every gang will have to face the horror of men's greed, and then "stumble" upon the mystery, the desire to resolve the secret of crystal cove, the sealed coffin hidden behind traps and riddles.

There are 4 monks from the local convent and their Donkey. The Donkey will cause an earthquake in his search for the coffin, sinking his friends with his monastery.

There are 4 cowgirls and their cow.

There are 4 masked Zorros and their Skunk.

There are 4 adventurers and their Orangutan. They dissolve their group in bitterness at the start of world war I. The leader, the Fred, will be devastated by the death of the Orangutan, and will live in seclusion with the relics of their adventures. The Scientist, the Velma, the German, will return to her country after world war I, and will build an army of Robot Automatons, fashioned after a very specific group, which she will then use to mine the ruins of the sunken monastery for pieces of the puzzle, dying old and alone, in her outpost beneath the seas.

There is a family of 4 and their cat. They murder each other as they try to get to a key to get to the coffin, the last survivor, the little kid, living for decades alone in the ruins of his house.

And then there's Mystery Incorporated. 4 friends and their talking animal, the Leader and the Beauty are dating, the Scientist is holding everything together, the Coward is taking care of the Animal, and the Animal is a Nazi Parrot who used to know the German Scientist from the previous group and is engineering the group to do his bidding to get to the coffin for the promise of wretched, terrible power.

The leader and the beauty are Fred's parents. The Scientist (a WOC) will become a local DJ. The Coward will become a morbidly obese business man, one of the richest men in the world, working hard to make money and pollute the planet.

The Parrot will be thrown in a mental asylum, strapped on an Hannibal Lecter mask. He will get out of it. He will murder people. He will get a hold on the Nazi Robots and use them to murder specifically Lesbians (Hot Dog Waters) and Minorities (Angel, the Scientist from his group). He will find the coffin and free the entity and be consumed by it as the Coward watches in horror his friend, the monster responsible for everything he went through, who put a fucking bomb in his spine to detonate if he didn't comply, be erased by the entity.

Which leads us to the actual Gang. Scooby, Shaggy, Fred, Daphne and Velma. They live in a town distorted by greed and horror, they want to get to the bottom of it, and they do in the end. They find the entity and strike it down with the same spear the original group failed to use, the entity now erased from existence as this happens, history rewritten so there was never a curse, and all their parents, all the adults in their lives never succumbed to it, none of them abusive or dismissive of them.

And yes, Velma gets her dead girlfriend back.

(Unrelated note, but during the search for the coffin, in tandem with the Parrot and his allies, Scooby Doo visits the Red Room.

This is a MAJOR plot development, and is the dimension between ours and that of the entity, a dimension of dreams and nightmares, where the souls of those corrupted by the curse go to rot, and where the shining beacon of the first monster hunters stands, and with them their spear).

This is wild thank you for sharing this omg

[danger-xylophones]

A New Chapter (Echo x reader)

{masterlist}

Warnings: It’s implied that the reader has depression, some angst sprinkled in

.....................................

When Rex commed you to come to Anaxes on the next medical transport - you’d expected the worst. You were trying to prepare yourself to hear more bad news. You’d expected to be told that Rex had lost another one of his closest brothers and one of your dearest friends. You’d already lost so many...Echo, Hardcase, Tup, Fives..Echo’s death destroyed you first and left room for every following death to slowly chip away at your resolve. You feared that hearing you’d lost Kix, Jesse, or Cody might just do you in before you could begin to be there for Rex.

So, you frantically scrambled to steel yourself before the transport landed - keeping a death grip on the handle by your head to keep your self grounded. You knew that your fellow medics, clone and nat-born alike, were silently questioning you. As the head nurse you were expected to be composed, cool-headed, great under pressure, and a genuine calming presence. For you to be nervous enough for it to be reflected in your shifting stance and death grip was disconcerting. 

As the transport initiated its landing sequence you took in one long steadying breath and braced yourself for whatever news awaited you beyond the doors. They opened with a hiss and your fellow medics immediately sprung into action unloading supplies and gurneys while you waded through the sea of activity in search of a certain captain. He was waiting for you by the entrance to the barracks. With his helmet on, it was harder to discern what he was feeling but for the most part he stood tall and proud in a perfect soldier stance with his hands clasped behind his back. He was busily conversing with someone you couldn’t see. You were confused now - you’d seen Rex after a heavy loss. His shoulders always sagged, his whole form took on a heaviness to it that was only ever abated with time and the comfort of some good wine you’d often smuggle in for him. He was never this...normal. Rounding a few stacked crates revealed to you that the person Rex was talking to was actually three people consisting of Jesse (thank the maker) and two clones you barely recognized as clones. 

After a loud clearing of your throat you called out to him. Rex turned to you and removed his helmet in one fluid motion and you were surprised to see him beaming at you. “Vod’ika!” He chirped and started walking towards you with Jesse in tow whilst ignoring the intrigued looks of the other two clones - one had really long hair and a headband wrapped around his crown and the other, significantly shorter, peered at you with large eyes hidden behind a pair of blocky glasses. You met Rex in the middle and he quickly pulled you into a one armed hug that you barely returned thanks to being caught so off guard. “Glad you’re here.” He muttered next to your ear before retreating so Jesse could also pull you into a quick hug. 

“I’d say I’m glad to be here,” you began as you pulled away from the arc trooper, “but I don’t know why I am.” You finished with a pointed look at Rex that told him to start explaining. 

His smile fell a bit, though it didn’t completely disappear, “It’s...a long story and it’s better to just show you. C’mon.” He swung his arm for you to follow him, already walking towards the barracks. You hesitated, casting a confused look at Jesse who just offered you an impish grin in reply before strutting after the captain. With a steadying sigh you followed after the two kama wearing clones. 

You passed many troopers as the captain and arc trooper led you further inside the barracks, most from the 501st, some from the 212th, a lot from the 187th, and at least two who you couldn’t identify as being from any legion but they were wearing the same armor as the other two who had been talking to Rex and Jesse when you arrived. The taller of the two (the much taller of the two - was he even a clone? Or was he a Natborn that vaguely resembled the millions of brothers?) watched you walk away with his one functioning eye and a poorly hidden whisper to his friend. “’Think that’s the gal he’s been askin’ about?” 

“Looks like ‘er.” The smaller of the duo answered in a grating voice. 

Your brow furrowed - a lot of clones tended to ask about you given your tendency to move between legions and battalions but it was rare that they talked about you to the extent that someone who’d never met you could recognize you. If you were honest, it was a little unnerving. But, despite your best effort to keep the thoughts at bay, you were briefly reminded of a conversation you’d once had with Fives. 

“He talks abou’ you a lot, y’know.” The newly promoted arc trooper slurred as he heavily leaned against you. He vaguely gestured in the direction of his aforementioned brother where he leaned against the bar, armor glinting in the low lighting, after he timidly offered to get you a new drink. You’d protested, telling him it was his big night, you’d get the drinks but he took off before you could even get to your feet. “Just too shy to do anything but that.” 

“What does he say?” You asked the drunken trooper quietly as your pulse began to speed up. You, admittedly, hadn’t taken much interest in Echo at first - you thought him boring and stiff - but recently he’d been challenging your perception of him. And you’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t started to admire the capable, quick-witted, snippy, but kind, sensitive, and charming soldier. 

“Says ‘e likes you, wish he could work up the nerve to talk to you, thinks you’re the prettiest damn medic in the GAR, thinks you’re a kriffin’ genius...and, ‘m pretty sure he’s in love with you.” Fives took another hearty swig of his drink, shutting up for the first time in what seemed like hours, which gave you enough time to consider his words. While you didn’t want to put all your faith in the drunken mess of an explanation Fives had given you - he did know his twin the best and he’d never lied to you. Maybe - you took another good long look at Echo - just maybe, - you saw him take a deep breath as the bartender handed him your drinks, almost like he was trying to psych himself up - you’d take a chance. You met Echo’s gaze as he turned around, sending him a fond smile that he sheepishly returned. 

Rex led you to a separated part of the med bay primarily meant for rehabilitation where he finally came to a halt just before the door. “Now,” he began as he turned to you, Jesse stopped at your side with crossed arms and a strange, conspiring smile on his face, “I want you to walk between Jesse and I.” Rex ordered quietly as if scared of being overheard. 

Your brow furrowed immediately. “Why?” 

“In case ya faint.” Jesse answered back. 

With a roll of your eyes that could rival the likes of Wolffe’s, you turned to the ARC trooper. “Jesse, I’m a field medic whose spent most of her career on the front lines dealing with a menagerie of injuries. I’m sure whatever it is, I can handle it.” 

“Be prepared to eat those words.” Jesse muttered under his breath in retort but you elected not to respond, instead, you turned your attention back to Rex who was staring at you uncertainly. 

“All the same, let me go in first and make sure he’s ready.” Rex offered gently with a softly placed hand on your shoulder. He had an odd look in his eyes - somewhere between apprehensive, compassionate, and elated - as he looked at you. 

“You’re the captain...” You muttered, suddenly feeling on edge. Jesse must have noticed your tense form for he softly grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Rex nodded to Jesse then to you before strolling in to the room. The door slid into place behind him leaving you and Jesse for a few minutes. The ARC trooper didn’t let go of your hand till Rex came back and gestured with a nod of his head for the two of you to come in. Rex went back in first, followed by Jesse, with you taking up the rear. The air was strangely tense as you followed behind the two clone troopers so you couldn’t stop your mind from preparing itself to see the worst. While not uncommon for you to visit patients in the middle of rehabilitation it wasn’t why you were part of the GAR. It was just something you’d started doing after serving with the clone forces for so long. But never before had you been nervous. Without warning, Jesse stopped right in front of you causing you to bump into his back. Instead of laughing at you like you thought he would, Jesse angled his body enough for you step in front of him and gently encouraged you to do so with a hand between your shoulder blades. 

You came to a halt in front of him and the ARC trooper kept his hand where it was as if trying to steady you. Seriously, why were they being so weird? You still couldn’t see very far into the room - only the equipment shoved against the walls closest to the door - thanks to Rex who stood in front of you. There was no talking. Rex dipped his head at whoever was in the room and stepped to the side. 

Before you was a trooper dressed in red fatigues. His frame was thin, cheeks sunken in, and his skin unnaturally pale. And he was missing an arm which had been replaced with a computer interface arm one would expect to see on an R-series. His head had also been shaved which revealed small, port like protrusions out of his skull. And upon glancing your eyes downward, you noticed that the trooper’s legs had been replaced with mechanical ones. Not to be flippant but he looked like he’d been through hell and back. 

With a deep breath, you let a mollifying smile slip onto your lips and a sympathetic look fill your eyes. “Hello,” you kept your voice soft too, just in case the trooper was nervous, “My name is Dr. L/n. What’s yours?” 

His brow furrowed and it was only now, after his expression had changed, that you noticed that it had once been almost hopeful. Now, he looked confused. Or more accurately, conflicted. His pale brown eyes were frantically darting back and forth as if searching your face for an answer to a question that was left unasked. “I-it’s me.” He finally spoke in a frail voice. You cocked your head to the side. That was adimttedly an odd name but who were you to judge? Just as you were opening your mouth to speak, he continued. “Cyare, it’s me.” Your mouth clamped shut as the first word slipped from him as the instinct to snap briefly took over. Only one person got to call you that. 

“Trooper, forgive my bluntness but-” 

“Meshurok.” Hearing that word made it feel as though ice had been injected into your body. Shivers ran up and down your spine and goose bumps formed all over. No one had called you that since...Echo. 

“How...?” You felt your body start to fall back only to be stopped by a hand between your shoulder blades. Jesse was still there and Rex was standing just off to the side. They were both real. But was he...?

“When I first worked up the nerve to ask you out, you were wearing a necklace with a kyanite pendant. I asked you where you’d gotten it and what it was.” The trooper took a careful step forward and you felt your heart begin to speed. “You told me it was gifted to you by a young Twi’lek girl you helped when you were on Ryloth with the 187th.” He took another step. “She’d gifted it to you and told you that it was it represented new beginnings.” You took a step forward, eyes wide. “I asked if I could be a part of your new beginnings.” You took another step forward. 

“And I said ‘only if I get to be a part of yours’.” Your voice was wispy, choked with old ghosts. “Echo...” Before you knew it, you were wrapped in his arms. “Echo.” You didn’t care that your voice trembled with barely restrained sobs or that Jesse and Rex were barely three feet away. All you cared about was how familiar he felt - familiar and safe. Home, your mind supplied. “I-I, but the citadel and the ship - I...you...oh god.” You pulled back, almost giving yourself whiplash in the process as your instincts took over. Your hands reached up to gently hold the sides of his face while you reevaluated his appearance. “How did you survive the ship?” Your fingers were busily skimming all the alterations that had most likely been forced onto your cyar’ika. You noticed that his eyelids fluttered closed at the sensation of your fingers on his skin and it made your heart squeeze in both affection and the need to protect him. 

“I don’t really know, mesh’la. I just remember trying to take the ship, it exploding, and then waking up being dragged.” Echo whispered, keeping his hand stubbornly fixed on your waist. Behind you there was the sound of the door sliding closed which you guessed was Rex and Jesse making their exit. 

“Kriffing droids, how dare they touch you,” At some point in your speedy assessment you started to mutter, “I should go there and tear each one to scraps with my bare hands.” 

Echo chuckled and it was enough to bring tears to your eyes, your hand paused just above the computer interface arm. “Who did this to you?” Although it was whispered, Echo heard you clear as day. 

He sighed and gently rested his head against yours, “Seps, techno union - they don’t matter.” 

“They hurt you - I’m going to find them and kill them myself.” 

“I thought your whole thing was ‘do no harm’.” Echo quipped and the smile that followed, though no where near as wide as you were used to, was warm and genuine and enough to pacify you for now. 

“I can make exceptions.” You muttered but the fire had died down. Another puff of air brushed against your face - another reminder that Echo really was here. 

“Later then.” He pressed his lips against your forehead and drew you closer. You sighed and melted against him, the happiest you’d been in a long time as the first few words of another new chapter formed before your very eyes. 

Taglist: @apocalypticwafflekitten / @cherryxcyarika / @pinkiemme / @justalittlecloud 

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi! Could you do whole alphabet for Echo too? I'm so inlove with your Rex one. So soft

A/N: Sorry, I couldn’t find a nicer gif of my boy. Also, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! These take just as much time as a drabble or one-shot to finish. Spread the love.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Echo pre and post-Citadel is a cuddler.  He cuddles, and talks, and tries to stay awake for as long as he can, because he doesn’t want to lose a second with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your legs. King of looking respectfully whenever you wear something with a short hem line. 

Pre-Citadel, he liked his hands.  They’re steady and true.  Not to mention dexterous fingers which you seemed to appreciate.

Post-Citadel, he likes his eyes.  They’re different from before, a bit paler, sunken, but still undeniably human.  He needs to remind himself of that fact every now and again.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Pre-Citadel, he loved cumming inside you. Nothing felt better than the feeling of his cock buried in your cunt as you milked him for all he was worth. He could stay inside you forever. 

Post-Citadel, cumming on his part isn’t really an option, but he be damned if he doesn’t try to make up for it by having you cum again and again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wanted to have a three way with you and Fives.  He wasn’t interested in having sex with Fives, rather he wanted to share you with someone he trusted.  He thought about he and Fives taking turns with you until you were sex drunk and covered in each of their cum.

He’d never dare bring this up with you or Fives.  All the same, even post-Citadel, he still thinks about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not a lot.  He gets nervous around people he’s attracted to and often ends up repeating the last sentence they said on instinct.  Some people find it endearing, but it hasn’t gotten him laid that often.  He’s had sex once, maybe twice before meeting you. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Pre-Citadel, you on top and riding him into the sunset.  Save a horse, ride and ARC Trooper.

Post-Citadel, you laying on your back allowing him a perfect view of your face as he fucks you with a vibrator. Bonus points if you dig your finger nails into his arms until they sting.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s the same both pre and post-Citadel. He puts all his attention on you, but every now something awkward happens. This makes him nervous, which means he rambles and says something that gets you laughing and then him laughing until you’re a mess of giggles. So a sweet balance of tender and silly.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pre-Citadel, pretty close shaven down there.  He generally tries to keep all things neat and titty and that includes his private parts.

Post-Citadel, well there isn’t anything to worry about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Pre-Citadel, a nice balance of sweet and tender to just for fun. He called you beautiful every time you were together and tried to show how much he cared.  But, there were times when it was just for fun.  A pleasurable way to spend what limited time with you he could.

Post-Citadel, he’s still sweet and loving, but there’s more of an edge there.  A quiet desperation, as if he’s trying to prove something when you’re together.  The praises come more raggedly and a storm of unspoken emotion takes over him.  It’s more intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Pre-Citadel, he didn’t do it that often and honestly a little embarrassed when he did. He can’t help but be paranoid he’s brothers will stumble in on him and he knows the ragging he’ll get if they do.  Plus, it feels...well, a little childish when he knows you’re just a phone call away.  At the very least with phone sex, you’re with him in some way.

Post-Citadel, there’s nothing to jack.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Pre-Citadel: Fuck, he loves it when you call him a good boy.  There’s just something about that little endearment that drives him wild especially with you fucking yourself on his cock like you own it.  Add in some hair pulling and biting and he’s lost. 

So, needless to say, total sub.

Post-Citadel: Still likes to be called good boy, but gets a different kind of satisfaction in pinning you to the bed.  Has started experimenting with tying you to the bedpost and finding that he likes it.  Developing some dom tendencies.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Pre-Citadel; your apartment on Courscant.  Just a little home away from his brothers, completely your own with no chance of either of you having to do the walk of shame and getting shit for it.

Post-Citadel: same thing, but has expanded to his room on the Marauder.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Pre and Post Citadel; seeing you in a short tight skirt giving him a perfect view of your legs and proper framing of your ass. Pair this off with a few dirty words in his ear and he’s checking the clock every five seconds for his shift to end.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Pre-Citadel: Pegging.  You tried it once, he wasn’t into it, moving on.

Post-Citadel: No restraints for him.  Nothing to take away his senses or any kind of agency.  He needs a way out at any given moment.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Pre-Citadel: split right down the middle between giving and receiving.  He was an absolute mess every time you went down on him.  His rambled and groaned and begged until his climax hit him like a train.  He’d be a trembling mess once you were done with him. 

On the other hand, he loved giving. If you decided to ride his face, he was a happy man.  Maybe a little too enthusiastic and messy, but damn if it wasn’t satisfying.

Post-Citadel: It’s all about the giving and his technique has improved considerably.  He has learned how to tease it out, make you squirm and even make a smug remark or two before finally letting you cum. This pacing also will keep him down there for hours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pre-Citadel: Fast and enthusiastic.  He wanted to make you feel good, feeling energizing thrill when you were together and that meant wanted to make you cum fast and frequently.

Post-Citadel: He’s more willing to take his time.  He wants to enjoy every second that he can with you and that means slow and steady, absorbing every little twitch and moan your body produces.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pre-Citadel: More often then you’d think.  He wants to give you what you want, but if you guys ever worked together he feels like he needs to be ready to go at a moments notice.  So that means a lot of quickies in supply closets and empty locker rooms.  It was against regulations, obviously, but he did gets a kind of thrill in breaking the rules with you.

Post-Citadel: Not as much his thing.  He really, really wants to take his time with you and he’s more than willing to wait.  Honestly, seeing you so pent up for him sends it’s own kind of trill down his spine.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Pre and Post-Citadel; He’s willing to experiment.  You guys do your research and properly talk about it before hand, setting boundaries and safe words, if needed.  If there is one thing you guys have always been good at, it’s communicating.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Pre-Citadel: The rounds didn’t last so long (10 to 15 minutes), but he had a great recovery time.  Number of rounds averaged about 2 to 3 per night.

Post-Citadel: Literally as long as you can stand, and maybe a little longer.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pre and Post Citadel: Plenty of toys and frequently used; vibrators, dildos, handcuffs, cock rings, the works.  If anything post-citadel, the number has expanded.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Pre-Citadel: Terrible at teasing.  Just the worst. Cannot tease to save his life. Needs to give you everything the moment you ask for it.

Post-Citadel: Has learned how to tease and is an asshole about it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Pre and Post-Citadel: Talks a lot during sex.  Rambles about anything and everything that comes to his mind. It’s like a filter has been removed.  It starts as desperate breathy whispers and end with loud declarations and pleading.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Pre-Citadel: He actually considered turning deserter for you.  He never told you or anyone, besides Fives.  But there were moments with you laying quietly in his arms, he wondered what would happen after the war.  He didn’t know if he would have to say in the GAR or if he would be free to leave.  And if he was forced to stay, would he? He couldn’t imagine keeping this up forever; meeting in dark corners, sneaking out to your apartment, as if what you were doing was wrong. If the war ended and the Senate decided to keep them as soldiers, he would leave.  He would leave for you.

Post-Citadel: He still wonders about the war and how it will end.   He wanted to be your husband.  To give you children and a quiet life somewhere warm and safe.  But, given what he was now, normal would never be an option. It eats at him in the dark with you pressed quietly against him.  If he were a selfless man, he’d let you go.  But he won’t.  He can’t. He doesn’t want to.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Pre-Citadel: Standard issue thick clone dick.  Can and will fill you up until you’re bursting at the seams.

Post-Citadel: The dick is gone and the Techno Union did not deem it necessary to get him a replacement one. Technically they do exist, but they’re ridiculously expensive and most won’t sell to Clones.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pre-Citadel: Surprisingly high.  Before he met you, he was convinced he was the horniest virgin in the GAR. So, when you did get together you guys were going at it like rabbits.  Call it years of repression finally letting loose.

Post-Citadel: The drive isn’t what it was, but he still wants to give you pleasure.  More like 2 to 3 times a week as opposed to every night.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pre and Post-Citadel: Can and will stay awake for as long as he can.  Even if you can see his eyes drooping, he’ll force them open for as long as you’re awake, rambling long into the night.  He wants to be with you as long as he can.

[ranger-lcat]

Mechanic - Part 2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

As the contracted Cybernetic Expert for the GAR, they’ve called me to Kamino to work. Not the first outpost I’ve been stationed at, but this has the most work. Work in one clone named Echo.

Self-Indulgent First-Person Reader Insert

Making friends with the Bad Batch as I help Echo with his cybernetics. Cause I want some soft Batch and hugs for everyone.

Warnings - Blood, mentions of Blood, medical inaccuracies, technical inaccuracies, PTSD, mentions of past torture, mentions of past human experimentation, panic attacks, needles, surgery, mentions of surgery

---

Let's Meet Echo. - Echo's first appointment, and it doesn't go super well. Also a cut to the Batch.

-----

Day3 -

There were no appointments today. The morning is a caf fueled couple of hours where more designs are finished and another list of parts is requested. The first batch of parts was delivered during lunch so the construction began in the afternoon. I was enjoying the soft clink of metals and small sparks of the soldering tool.

Unfortunately my serenity is interrupted by the beeping of a message on a holo pad—the noise so sudden I jump and drop the screw I was lining up. I huff in frustration, but slide away to see what was so important.

It was just the notification for an arrival. Looks like I was doing an appointment today. They had just landed and been informed they were to report to me. Sure, whatever. They’ll turn up in like an hour with how slow medical is. I drop the holo pad and return to the hand I was trying to assemble. I get three more screws in before another interruption. This time from the door. My eye twitches. I have to take a deep breath to remain calm, pushing my protective goggles back and grabbing a rag to wipe my hands as I walk to the door. I bump the control panel with my elbow.

There was a single clone standing at my door. I blinked in confusion. Waiting for him to explain why he had interrupted me.

“Can I help you?” I prompt.

“CT-1409 reporting.” He said, straightening just a smidge.

It takes a second for it to click that this was the next clone for me to see. It was the first time someone had come alone. Also the first time someone had shown up in armor who wasn’t just delivering something. He must have come straight here after landing. I guess he didn’t need medical escort. Or he didn’t even stop at medical. And I’ve been standing here longer than necessary.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Come in.”

I step back to the workbench, pulling off my goggles and throwing the rag on top of them. My apron gets tossed next to them. I wince as it knocks some of the parts around, I’d have to double check alignment later. Using one of the curtains, I close that area off.

Finally, I can turn my full attention to the clone. Giving him a once over. He was definitely one of the more unhealthier looking patients I’d ever helped. His skin looked gray and sunken. The scomp on his arm was obvious, shorter than his arm, metal dull. The cybernetics on his skull were not well done. Wires visible around his implant. If I ever met the person who thought this was acceptable work, I was going to break their hands. One finger at a time.

I give my best ‘I’ve got everything under control’ smile.

“So today is just an assessment meeting. Since I wasn’t the one who designed or built what you’re wearing, this allows me to see what’s up and what’s being a problem.” I inform him.

“That sounds fine, Ma’am.” He’s standing at attention in the middle of the room.

“Still with the ma’am.” I mutter. “Call me Chrys. Ma’am makes me feel old.”

“Of course.”

“You got a name I could call you?”

“Echo.”

“Alright Echo, I’ll need you to remove your armor so I can see what I’m dealing with.” I wave at an empty table for him to put everything on. He takes the panels off, setting them neatly on the table. He’s still efficient, even with one hand. I notice he’s still wearing the black bodysuit.

“Don’t suppose you're wearing anything under that?”

“Umm… No?” I go to the wall of drawers where the medical supplies had been stored. Two wrong drawers later I found the medical clothes and give him the loose pants.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” I slip behind the curtain that hides the desk. I shuffle through the data pad pile, picking up his so I can go over the schematics briefly. This was the experimental file. The one I’d told myself to get to later. And hadn’t in the face of the rest of the pile. Well, this was going to be fun…

“Done.” Echo calls. I take the schematics with me.

“So I haven’t gone over your file in detail—“ I break off. Echo is standing near the table, the full extent of his condition now visible. It was one thing to see it on paper, it was another to see the expanse of metal in person. The alterations to his body were abundant. There were some that could be removed entirely but most of it needed improvement. Replaced and modified. His thin frame looks frail, like it’s being held up by the cybernetics rather than the other way around. He needs more than my technical help. Maker I hadn’t felt the need to hug a patient so bad.

Echo is obviously uncomfortable. Rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Well, this isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen.” I tell him. He scowls.

“There’s no need to lie. I’m not an idiot. I’m aware of my— state.” Obviously he’s not one who cares for minced words. I snort at his claim.

“You underestimate the things I’ve seen.” I tell him, sitting down on my rolling stool. I let my elbow rest on the examination table, supporting my chin with my hand. “You must be full of yourself to think this even ranks in my top ten. You’re not even bleeding.” I shudder a bit at that memory. “But yes, it’s a lot and a bit of a mess. But more doesn’t mean worse, it just means long.” I give him my honest assessment. Echo seems a little taken aback, but at least the anger has faded. “So shall we get started?” I tap the examination table. “If you’ll sit, I’ll see what I'm dealing with.” The trooper looks nervous as he limps to the bench. He sits gingerly. I cock my head. “Pain?”

“It’s fine.” I roll my eyes.

“I need to know if there’s pain, it’s usually the first indicator that something needs fixing.”

“Left side hurts a little.” his hand squeezes his thigh. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I’m aware of how tough clones are. Just the limping is enough to clue me in. But the actual admittance of pain, with such little coercion, is concerning. It must hurt a lot.

“New pain?” I inquire.

“Heh. It’s all kinda new.” I roll the chair over to get a look at the prosthetic attached to the hurting limb.

“Well, it’s as good a place to start as any. I’ll see if it’s something I can fix. Would you like it on or off while I examine it?”

“What?”

“Well, some don’t like me poking at things while they’re on, others think the trouble of reattaching is too much.”

“I am kinda attached.” A hint of humor in the statement.

“Not a problem then.” I pull the rolling tray of examination tools closer. “Alright, I’m gonna move your leg around, let me know when the pain increases.”

After a few minutes of Echo saying more or less. I have him stand to pinpoint the pain. He winces saying that’s when the pain spiked.

“Looks like something’s not calibrated or finished properly, that’s why standing hurts.” I pick up the measuring tools. It takes a few tries to see the problem. “No wonder it hurts, they’re uneven.”

“Uneven? My legs?”

“Yeah. Just enough to cause strain. Left alone, it will cause problems with your joints in the long run.” I look down the sides to see if there’s an easy way to adjust them. Nothing stood out, so I grab the data pad to look at the schematics available. It doesn’t look like they were designed to be adjusted, I’d have to make it. There’s some suspension that could be adjusted to compensate. It would work for the short term. Unfortunately, it was only accessible from the back of the knee.

“Ok, l’m gonna need you to take it off to fix it.”

“I don’t think they come off.” His hands tighten on the edge of the table.

“Ah. That’s only a small set back.” I pick up the data pad again, “I’m sure I can figure it out.” I zoom in on different parts of the diagrams. I’m realizing that he’s right. They were bolted and wired and fused to his body in a way that was not pleasant. Putting down the data, I look at what I’m working with. Muttering softly as I list the many, many things wrong and try to develop the best course of action.

Echo shifting breaks the spiral. My gaze snaps to his face, taking in the uncomfortable stance he’s taken. He doesn’t like being scrutinized like this. If I’m being overwhelmed, I can’t imagine what he’s dealing with. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Sorry, this isn’t standard and honestly there’s a lot.” Deep breath. “Look, I get called in when the droids aren’t up to snuff. And looking at your file, I can see why.”

“You’ve read my file?”

“I’ve read a file.” I pass him the data pad to see. “It’s got the history of your implants. Although, I use the word ‘history’ loosely. Usually something described as experimental has better records.”

He’s obviously not listening. Hand tightening, eyes frantically looking at everything.

“Echo. Echo~.” He was looking pale and his gaze unfocused. “Echo!” He finally jolted and looked at me. It looked like he was still having problems focusing. I take the data pad and guide his head down to be level with his knees. “You need to breathe, soldier.” I say firmly, mirroring the medics I’ve seen handle the other clones. It works as Echo gasps. “Good. In… Out…” I coax. It’s not the first panic attack I’ve witnessed, nor the last I’m sure. He comes back to himself, breathing returning to normal.

“First time seeing the schematics?” He nods. I squeeze his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a bit overwhelming.” I guide him back to sitting up. “Ok. I’m gonna recommend we continue this tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.” He insists.

“Yes, and you’ll be more fine tomorrow.” I pick up my holopad to look at the schedule. “Same time, or would you prefer mornings?”

“It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

“Ten hundred hours then.” Marking it down. I hover over the send option. Traditionally, I’d send a copy to the medical wing so they would be aware of their patients. Which brings up another problem.

“Are you here with your squad? Or have you been processed by medical?”

“My squad… Why?” Echo answers cautiously.

“Usually, people come to me through medical. And normally, they come to me with an escort. But you came in by yourself. So I’m assuming you didn’t go to medical, and I want to know who’s escorting you out of here.” Echo scowled at me.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You almost passed out, you are being escorted. Either contact a squad mate to come get you, or I can walk you.” Echo sighs heavily and takes the comlink I’m holding out to him.

“Hunter.”

“What is it?”

“The medic—“

“Mechanic.” I correct.

“The mechanic's not letting me leave without an escort, can you spare someone?”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks.”

Echo puts the com down. Huffing angrily.

“Just so you know, I require an escort after all my appointments. Just in case something happens.”

“And what do you expect to happen.”

“Usually, nothing. But sometimes the calibration isn’t quite right so limbs fall off. Those with replacement legs that are overconfident with their walking abilities, and trip. I’ve had people pass out.” I pause for a moment. “And I’m sure this isn’t giving you confidence in my abilities.”

“Are problems normal?”

“No. There’s usually other things going on.” I glance towards the table with his armor. “You should get dressed.” Taking the schematic data pad, I go back behind the curtain. I take a minute to restack the data pads. Organizing the piles again. Echo’s sits on its own. Waiting for me to get back to it. Taunting me.

“Are you decent?” I call.

“Decent at what?”

“No. Are you dressed?”

“Yeah, you can come out.”

I leave the desk and start tidying. Wiping off my measuring equipment and putting it back on the tray. Echo is putting his armor back on huffily. Struggling a bit with only one hand. It’s clear that his sparse armor is less a fashion choice and more a practicality. Between his thinner frame and one hand, traditional armor wasn’t an option.

“Do you want some help—“

“No.” I shrug, trying not to take the sharp tone to heart.

It does leave room for silence to build as Echo fights with his armor and I keep cleaning. It gets more awkward as Echo finishes and the sounds of him moving stop. I can’t take it much longer.

“In the future, one of your team could just come with you. Then you’re not waiting around.”

“They have other things to do…”

“Or we could interrupt them every time. I don’t care either way.” I put the last tool down. Letting the quiet consume the room again. This stretch of silence isn’t as long as the door is knocked on. I open the door to a clone with long hair tied back with a bandana and half his face tattooed black.

“I’m here for Echo.” He growls. I gesture for Echo to leave.

“You’re free to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tell him.

Echo leaves, Hunter briefly squeezing his shoulder as they walk away. The dynamic for them was different than the medics and injured clones that usually come to me. I hope that someone on his squad will come with him next time.

I go back inside. Returning to Echo’s file. I have to make notes. Letting all my observations be written down so I didn’t forget. Of course, there was something that I forgot...

“… Kark, I never fixed his leg!”

---

It’s late and I’m still staring at Echo’s file. I’d been looking at it ever since I’d gotten back from dinner.

The list of cybernetics for Echo was extensive, and if the scarring and diagrams were to be believed, all added at the same time.

What had happened to this guy? I close my eyes, trying to map out what sort of injuries he would have sustained. It’s like he was held together by all the metal panels.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to break things. Like my own teeth from how hard my jaw is clenched.

If I ever met the doctor who decided to put this man back together like a droid, they were going to be torn to shreds. Leaving them in a small room with a rancor seemed appropriate.

---

*With the Batch after Echo’s Appointment*

Hunter guided Echo back through the halls, meeting up with the rest of the Batch at the exit of the medical wing. Echo didn’t comment as the rest of the group formed around him. A protective barrier he was thankful for. It kept the stares and whispers he’d experienced on the way in, to a minimum. The walk to the Bad Batch’s quarters was mercifully uneventful.

It was nice to have their own private room. Echo took the opportunity to sit at the table, slumping down as the exhaustion of the day hit him. Tech and Wrecker were working on rearranging the space. Hunter sits across from him. He can’t see Crosshair, but assumes he’s taken up residence in his bunk.

Echo stretches and winces.

“Still hurting.” Hunter states.

“Apparently I’m uneven…” Echo rubs the ache. One of many. “Says she can fix it.”

“Well, that is her job.” Hunter sighs and looks very intently at Echo. “Are you ok? She didn’t hurt you or anything?” The noise in the room drops as Wrecker and Tech pause. Waiting for him to answer.

“No, no. It wasn’t her.” Echo answers. He draws a shaky breath. “There’s a lot of metal in my body. A lot more than I thought there was. I think I’m more machine than person.”

“Yes. The ratio of organic to cybernetic is thirty-six: sixty-four by weight.” Tech informs.

“That is a lot.” Wrecker comments, Echo grimaces.

“More droid than reg.” Crosshair interjected.

“Alright, lay off.” Hunter snaps.

“That ratio will go down with modifications and the regaining of body mass.” Tech assures.

“What?”

“He’s too thin.” Crosshair translates.

“Says the toothpick.” Echo argues, smirking over his shoulder. Crosshair rolls his eyes and flicks his toothpick in Echo’s direction.

Hunter’s holopad dings. When he checks it he can see the appointment for Echo.

“Just got a notification for you.”

“Sorry, I’ll ask her to not—“

“It is standard protocol to notify a superior officer when a trooper is scheduled for medical appointments.” Tech interjects.

“It stresses the reminder of an escort.” Hunter raises an eyebrow.

“She want’s a babysitter in case something goes wrong.” Echo’s hand tightens. It was now or never. “She says my escort can join me in the appointment. If— if one of you want to come.” He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t— can't watch whatever silent argument is going on. Who gets to babysit the broken reg.

“I’ll go.” Tech says almost immediately. Echo can’t stop his look of surprise. “It’s only logical as the one who both knows your current state and the one who will be assisting in your maintenance.”

“You hate medical.” Wrecker comments.

“We all dislike going to medical. That’s why we don’t let each other go alone.” Tech shifts his attention back to rearranging the room. Echo pauses at that. Thinking back to when they had landed.

As soon as they’d entered Kamino airspace he’d received notification for him to report to the ‘mechanic’. He’d opted to go get the appointment over with, leaving as the rest of the Batch went to drop their gear in the room. With nothing except the armor on his back, there was no need for him to go.

“That’s why you wanted me to wait.”

“We prefer having someone to watch our back.” Hunter explains.

“Thanks.”

---

---

I was having a heart attack during the Batch arc when Echo was running around without the proper armor. Echo you're only wearing shin guards... That Part Of You Is Metal!

Fun Fact: I'd written Echo leaving, and realized later that I'd never written me actually fixing his leg. So that response is a little genuine.

[mortallyclearwonderland]

Star Wars Alien Species - Pau'an

Utapau was a remote and rocky planet in the Outer Rim Territories' Utapau system that was covered with enormous sinkholes. Its native inhabitants were the Pau'ans and the Utai, though tribes of Amani also immigrated to the world. It was the location of the Battle of Utapau during the Clone Wars. The majority of Utapau's Amani lived deep underground. Bands of Sugi also lived on the planet.

It was believed that settlers traveled to Utapau hoping to find a hospitable world to colonize after the destruction of their homeworld. Some created homes in the sinkholes, while others lived on the surface. Over time, the species changed genetically, becoming the Pau'ans and the Utai, two species with many differences but some similarities. Researchers from the University of Sanbra discovered evidence supporting the theory that the two species were related, although exact specifications were not certain. Eventually, a climate change, causing severe winds, forced the Pau'ans underground, into the sinkholes. The Utai welcomed the Pau'ans, and over time, the two societies merged together to live in a mutually beneficial civilization. Timon Medon was the Pau'an responsible for this, and he was held in high esteem by Pau'ans for his actions. Following the merging of the two cultures, they split into several different groups, forming sinkhole cities scattered across Utapau. Tion Medon, Port Administrator in 19 BBY, was named for Timon Medon.

Due to trade restrictions placed on them by the Trade Federation, Pau'ans were unable to import many goods such as weapons or starships, and were forced to create their own technology. As Utapau was located in the distant Outer Rim Territories, few independent traders ventured to their planet; although many ventured there around 49 BBY after hearing rumors that the waters on the planet had miraculous healing properties. There were even claims that Utapau was the original home of the Jedi, although these reports were not new; they had originated millennia before. Though the Pau'ans did not want to draw attention to themselves for fear of meeting more powerful cultures who might try to conquer them, they eagerly welcomed visitors who wished to experience the healing for themselves. However, once the water was proven to be nothing more than ordinary water, most people forgot about Utapau, once again leaving it alone.

During the Clone Wars, the Confederacy of Independent Systems sought the planet. Despite this, the planet remained neutral. Late in the war, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi were sent to investigate the death of Jedi Master Tu-Anh. This led them to locate a massive kyber crystal that the Confederacy was attempting to acquire. They were able to destroy the crystal before it could fall into Separatist hands.

Within months, the Separatists invaded Utapau with thousands of battle droids. Later, a number of key Separatist leaders were stationed on the planet, but were moved to a mining complex on Mustafar prior to the battle on the orders of Darth Sidious. General Grievous remained on Utapau to oversee the battle, but met his end at the hands of Jedi Master Kenobi. Unfortunately for him, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine issued Order 66 shortly thereafter. Because of their behavioral modification biochips,Kenobi's clone troopers turned on their Jedi General and shot him down into a sinkhole. However, Kenobi survived and escaped Utapau. After the end of the Clone Wars, the Galactic Empire occupied the planet.

Following the liberation of their planet by the New Republic, they joined the new galactic government, hoping to avoid further enslavement and poor treatment at the hands of the leaders of the galaxy. Following the Yuuzhan Vong War, the Utapauan Committee elected to join the Galactic Alliance, holding democracy as vital to the preservation of the galaxy. When the Sith Lord Darth Krayt took control of the Galactic Empire, Utapau sheltered Admiral Gar Stazi of the Galactic Alliance Remnant late in the war after having providing the GA fleet shelter throughout the conflict.

Condemning the genocide wrought by the Sith on Dac, Port Administrator Telan Medon of Pau City agreed to harbor Stazi and his wounded men deep in the labyrinthine caves that pocketed the capital. Unbeknownst to the Pau'ans, Sith scientist Vul Isen had established a laboratory on the planet, conducting illegal experiments on the natives. Located within plain sight in one of Pau City's main precincts, the lab's function was to provide Isen a space to concoct a deadly virus that would wipe all life from Utapau indefinitely. Before Isen could unleash the deadly plague, Jedi Knight Cade Skywalker infiltrated the lab and cut Isen down, securing the toxin and saving the Pau'an race from extinction.

Below Utapau's surface was the massive "world-ocean," a huge subterranean body of water. This water contained many powerful currents created by the tidal forces of Utapau's moons. These currents eroded the underside of the planet's crust and caused the formation of Utapau's many sinkholes and chasms, which, when combined with numerous storms, served to make the planet's surface inhospitable. One of Utapau's "continents" was more stable that the rest; for that reason, most Utapauns lived on that stabilized continent.

Because of the lack of timber on the planet, Utapaun architecture was primarily constructed out of the bones of deceased animals. The bones of nearly all of the planet's fauna were used in construction, which later developed into a unique form of architecture known as ossic architecture. The skeletons of the huge animals that roamed the lower sinkholes and ocean had huge enough bones to be used as beams; other fossil bones were mined in caves. The Utapauns' fresh water was extracted from machines that purified the seawater and also separated any valuable minerals from the ocean. Eventually, it was determined that the world-ocean contained a number of valuable substances that the planet began to export.

The Pau'ans fulfilled most of the governmental and administrative duties on Utapau, as the Utai did not desire such work, serving as laborers instead. Most Pau'ans served as leaders early in their lives, often managing teams of Utai laborers. This gave them experience that would be used later in their life. Pau'ans were kind leaders, and sympathetic to their subordinates. Each city on Utapau was controlled by a Master of Port Administration, a hereditary title reserved for Pau'ans. These administrators were assisted by advisory councils for making important decisions about their city, turning to the Utapauan Security Force when necessary. Each Administrator served on the Utapauan Committee and oversaw planetary governance. However, the committee rarely made crucial decisions, as the cities were able to function on their own most of the time.

Despite the many differences between the Pau'ans and the Utai, the two species were able to co-exist peacefully, although inhabitants of the different Utapaun cities often had conflicts due to philosophical differences. Still, these conflicts rarely developed into bloodshed, and it was more common for the cities to ignore each other. Each city had its own culture, and competition was fierce between the groups. However, they were able to cooperate when the situation necessitated it.

Pau'an society was a blend of a variety of styles and cultures, borne from the ancient merger with the Utai. Built into the sinkhole walls, Pau'an settlements such as the Pau City spaceport were divided into different areas, each a mix of architectural styles and other-worldly design. They liked art, and enjoyed studying sculptures and finding ways to incorporate different artistic styles into their architecture. Pau'ans developed an industrial society, despite their seemingly primitive and natural image, though the Utai were the ones who actually did the hard work. The Utai did not mind, however, and collectively much preferred labor to positions of leadership.

They were able to power their city by wind, harnessing it through massive windmills. Over ninety-nine percent of the planet's power came from these windmills.

Most Pau'ans rode living beasts like varactyls and dactillions instead of speeders. Pau'ans, as well as Utai, were known for their love for Podracing.

Pau'ans represented 30% Utapau's total population.

Taller than most Humans, Pau'ans are bald and have gray, wrinkled skin. Their sunken eyes and sharp teeth give them a slightly monstrous appearance. Pau'an, Utapaun or Ancients, as they were sometime called, have sunken black eyes in red eye sockets and jagged, fang-like teeth used for tearing into raw meat, as they were carnivores. Members of the species were able to see well in darkness. Pau'ans had five fingers and toes, but were more mobile than they appeared. They often wore elaborate clothes intended to heighten their impressive stature.

A typical Pau'an stands at 1.9 meters or 6.2 feet tall and weighs 70 kilograms or 154 pounds.

Pau'an age at the following stages:

1 - 16 Child

17 - 30 Young Adult

31 - 400 Adult

401 - 500 Middle Age

501 - 700 Old

Examples of Names: Timon Medon, Tion Medon, Lampay Fay.

Languages: Most Pau'ans spoke both Utapese and Basic. Their native language once had several different dialects.

[cowsaregreat]

More Feather pack!

Feather lost in the wind

Sonic didn’t like to dream, she often avoided sleep so she wouldn’t dream.  But sometimes, she was just to tired, and Alpha had pretty much ordered her to sleep.

Sonic had fell asleep instantly, and sunken into a dream.  She remembered ll her dreams, the nightmares. She didn’t dream anymore.

Sonic was a Cadet again, she hated being a cadet, they were being led by a Kaminoan, none of them knew where they were taking them.

Thankfully they stopped outside a classroom, one they had never been in before.  It had posters about nutrition all over the walls (not all over because they were in a very neat fashion, like everything on Kaminoan) and a skeleton in the corner.

The entered after the Kaminoan, and were told to take a seat.  Sonic looked to Alpha and Beta, to make sure they were going to listen.  Of course they were, what other choice did they have?

They took their seats as silently and quickly as possible.  Tumble accidentally knocked her chair back, it slammed against the ground.  She rushed to pick it up under the Kaminoans glare. If the Kaminoan wasn’t here she would have let out a string of curses, but not now.

They all faced the front, the Kaminoan stayed, which was odd, they never taught clones, that was up to the trainers.  Sonic was beginning to remember how this would play out.

The Kaminoan began, “cadets as you have been told you DNA…” the kaminoans boice droned as it continued, explaining human anatomy and the nervous system.  “Your DNA is different, you were modified for enhancements to better help the GAR be more effective, your DNA was merged with different animals to give you different abilities.”

Sonic glanced at Feather and Hawk, Feather hadn’t died yet, neither had Cutlass.  They looked back in confusion.

Despite their looks of disbelief and breaks of protocol (looking away from the board during the lecture ) the Kaminoan continued. “However this merge cause some unpleasant side effects in your DNA and in one of you has began to become a problem.” The kaminoan said.

Sonic’s eyes began to burn with tears, she looked at Feather, knowing how this would all play out.

Feather was decommissioned, they couldn’t believe it, she was just gone. Sonic didn’t feel like she was gone, it still felt like she would wake up and Feather would be snuggled next to her.  Like at meals Feather would shout something absurd and the mess hall would burst out laughing.  But Feather was gone, almost as if she had been lost in the wind.

Their training scores began to drop, they didn’t care as much.  They were all mourning feather.  But they didn’t know how to, no one told them what to do now.  They were expected to act as if Feather never existed.  It wasn’t fair! Feather was the heart of the group, her name was… her name.

“Alpha!” Sonic shouted across the barracks suddenly excited at her new idea.  “I think I know what to do.”

Alpha made the i-am-listening face. Raising his eyebrows.

“We should ask Ti Sehoa if we could name our pack after Feather.”

Alpha considered it for a long time.  “Ti Sehoa’s not happy with us right now.” He eventually sighed , “I don’t think he’d let us.”

“Come on.” Beta an Alpha waves thee hands in unison.

“Let’s ask.” The mood lifted as their excitement over the idea rushed in.  All of them got up to follow their Alpha and Beta.  Sonic hadn’t felt so excited in weeks.

They hurried down to Ti Sehoa’s office.  Alpha knocked. “Come in, Clone force 102.” The Kaminoans' voice was cold.

They entered, standing at attention infront of him.  They tried not to get the attention of any Kaminoan, ever.  But they had to in order to ask.

“What do you want?” To Sehoa closed his datapad.

“Ti Sehoa, sir.” Alpha started, “we were wondering if.”

“We could use Feather as our.” (Beta)

“Pack name.” Alpha finished.

“Most of the battalions and commando groups have name.” Beta explained quickly before the Kaminoan could say no.

Ti Sehoa was silent for a long time. “Under one condition, your training scores improve, past what they used to be.” He said coldley.

“Yes, sir.” A smile slipped into Alpha’s voice.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now I believe you have training to get to.” Ti Sehoa picked his datapad up, letting them see him input their new name under their squad designation.

Their scores did improve, and exceed everyone’s expectations, even their own.  They still felt the loss. But it was better now.

Sonic woke, it wasn’t a good dream, but it wasn’t a nightmare.  She smiled, looking at Tumble still curled up beside her, just as Feather had.  Sonic ran a comforting hand over her little sister's hair, smiling as she snuggled closer.