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[scrapratsoldier]

[scrapratsoldier]

reposted censored to get around tumblrs annoying ass nsfw rules

full thing on pillowfort

[scrapratsoldier]

bode got a little bitey there but eho can blame him

[scrapratsoldier]

"Not my clothes," Cal deadpans, walking up to her. You don't pop out of the marshes of Dagu smelling like Selabbian roses.

"My ear." He controls his voice from squirming like his insides are, turning his face to the side. He lifts a hand and aims with his pointer and middle finger at the target he intends for her.

"I need to know if you smell anything… weird."

[scrapratsoldier]

"WHAT?" FISH? CAL'S HALF-BLIND, thick, warm gel running down his face and over his lips, now that he's gone and yanked the mask off. He tries to blow the cloying, sour-tasting liquid away from his tongue. "Yuck." He clings to the edge of the tank and lets go of the mask to wipe his face and look down, blinking, through the wavy coating on his eyeballs. He gives the harness around his shoulders a tug. "Full treatment. Must'a been fun."

                                       " You know, you're supposed to stay in the bacta tank. Not the other way around. This is a medical facility not an aquarium. It ain't nothing t'look at with no fish. "

@scrapratsoldier

[scrapratsoldier]

CAL SWERVES A DUBIOUS glance over his shoulder at the explorer droid curiously turning his head this way and that, but BD takes a moment to share it. "Bwap-bwap-bwap." This is the part where they tack on the microtransactions. "I think you're right," Cal murmurs. Why would a little metal droid who barely walks on his own, doesn't use any utilities, or consume any food count as two? Sounds like he's about to pay 10 credits for a waterbottle. "As long as we get to Faro, I'm good for it."

Because he really needs to get off this planet. Now.

Jim doesn’t bother to look. His eyes are out of the port helm, fingers twitching at buttons as the Enterprise growls to life. He’s not for the company; there are digits burning in his pocket, “ Why, you wanna barter? It’s fifty. I might be cheap, but the fuel isn’t. ”

He rigs the bay doors closed.

“ And your droid counts as two. ”

[scrapratsoldier]

"I’m restless and harsh and despairing," he says. "And I want to be held down." (from Cal to Simon)

@jedisurviivor

DO NOT GO GENTLE, Simon's mind provides, a whisper which serves as a reminder of the battles they've fought through gritted teeth, do not go gentle into that good night. Cal's presence wanes tiredly, and he sees that in his eyes. Like an overcast sky, or dug soil, waiting to become a cemetery for his tired body. Pulling Simon in so he may become his tombstone on this bed almost too small for the both of them.

There is no ghost in his arms, just a man trying to be one.

He won't let him.

In place of rage, he guides Cal's hand into his, slipping calloused fingers between one another and beneath his mask. They graze his day-old stubble, warmed by the heat of his breath. Simon presses them against his lips.

Perfectly hidden in the sanctuary of their shared space.

"I'll make you forget about it," he promises, a soft gravel-rasp sifting past his exhale as he pushes the mask halfway up his nose. Simon leans his weight into Cal, boring down a lidded gaze before planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "No more of that, Cal. It's just you and me now."

Where it's safe.

[scrapratsoldier]

[ from cal ] admiring them from afar

blossoming romance writing prompts.

SPOCK SITS WITH HIS BACK to the wall, knelt down against the deck. The ship’s lights are dim, warring against the shadows that have thrown Cal’s features into sharp relief across the room, unable to tame the red flame of the Force.

It is likely he can feel Spock’s presence, ever-watchful despite the quiet slip of breath Spock makes, eyelids slow and just emerging from the depths of meditation.

It is their first moment of peace since Spock arrived.

The Jedi has been true to his word, collected and so still despite the horrors thriving in the other corners of the ship. They live alongside a monster, a black wisp with rotting teeth that disguises itself as gold incandescence, tries to blot out their eyes.

                                    Earlier, in the furthest reaches of the ship, Cal had told Spock that he was a afraid, fearful and dwindled to nothing but a shade of the guiding light that he had been. But right now, Spock sees only fire, crimson lines that cut into him, green eyes like life itself; Cal has merely forgotten, buried it — courage and flames — deeply within himself.

It is not the first time that Spock finds himself wondering what the Jedi was like before this, before here, in this place, before Kirk. He imagines it looks something like Cal does now, quiet and thoughtful, that stare just as hard and yet softer somehow simultaneously.

He imagines it looks like it did when Cal drew mercy into his fingers, risking food and water and promises to Spock of the universe without chains. He imagines Cal was magnificent — bold and proud, lit up by the buzzing glow of an ancient Jedi weapon — guided by the will of the Force.

Spock imagines that he is looking upon him as he was — a warrior.

Slowly, his hands unfurl from their places side by side, palm to palm, evicting the layers of meditation from his thoughts. He lays them on the deck, feels the rivulets of this vessel under them. It hums, warp core pulsing through the floor, alive.

“ Nam-tor kyi'i nu'ri trensu, ” be brave, young master, he whispers, his voice carrying into the night. “ The war is not yet finished. ”

@jedisurviivor

[scrapratsoldier]

one last showdown

[scrapratsoldier]

[scrapratsoldier]

[scrapratsoldier]

jedi survivor would've had a much better ending had someone thought to give bode one of these. hed have been ok 🧿🧿🧿

[scrapratsoldier]

IS THIS GUY in his right mind? Or is Cal about to be scammed. Fifty credits flat is insane. It's like new boots and not even a great pair. Cal gives him a look as he drops himself into the cheap seat beside the smuggler. BD hops onto the back, curiosity turning his head this way and that. "Sounds too good to be true," Cal comments in a way that could be earnest, could be sarcastic. "I need to get back to my ship on Faro. Still fifty?"

                                   “ That seat’s fifty credits a ride. ” It’s more actually. But Jim’s feeling a bit generous today. There was breakfast — and the ship’s in one piece, glued together by the grease on Jim’s fingers. And who could forget the cute Andorian who slipped him comm digits at the scrapyard?

“ What’ll it be, Red? ”

@scrapratsoldier

[scrapratsoldier]

"The sinister IMPERIAL PROBE DROID, also known as a Probot, was an exploration and reconnaissance unit deployed by the Galactic Empire. This lightly-armored probe is equipped with six manipulator arms extending from a central pod and several retractable sensor arms for gathering samples. High resolution receivers and sensors cover the central brain core, including motion, acoustic, sonic, and seismic sensors, a radiation meter, magnetic imager, and holocamera. It carries an atmosphere sensor and hovers on a repulsorlift generator capable of maneuvering most terrain. Its primary directive is recon and surveillance of potential threats to the Empire, including insurgents, fugitives, and specialized targets." — Databank: Empire: Tech: Probe Droid (Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order Wiki)

[scrapratsoldier]

it's interesting that in the star wars: propaganda book, the jedi are described as being "hurriedly brevetted" into being military commanders, which technically means that they were promoted to the rank without increase in pay, but it can also mean that the title is given honorarily or as a reward, rather than having the full authority and privileges. tbh giving the jedi flashy and public titles like "high general" was yet another subtle and clever move (god there are so many) from palpatine in order to make the order seem more culpable for all the suffering of the war, anything to tarnish their reputation and make them more unpopular, despite the fact that they had no real choice and were doing their utmost to save lives. he's such a clever bastard you can't help but respect it

[scrapratsoldier]

IT'S THE FIRST DRINK they have together.

The second they have as friends. By the fourth, Cal isn’t so sure. He hasn’t had a lot of close friends or hard liquor. The way their eyes seem to hold longer with every refill could be as common as sand on Tattooine.

Greez glances at them from time to time as he polishes glasses, countertops, and bottles. He throws one or even two elbows into Monk's side vent to encourage the droid to do what you were made for, huh with a gesture. Cal and Bode are never empty, even with Monk, and Zee, too, steering themselves and their conversation clear of the two men sitting at the end of the bar closest to the back access.

None of that is inherently strange. Neither is the way they lean towards each other to hear over the three songs on replay (gotta get on Greez about that) or how the trust between them, between two survivors, makes it easier to talk about the past— they’ve already saved each other's lives and shared grief in the short time they’ve been acquainted. The first time Bode looks at Cal's mouth when Cal smiles isn’t all that exceptional. It’s by the fourth that Cal isn’t so sure.

Cal is more than a lightsaber, Greez said, but Cal isn't so sure about that either. All he knows is war. He knows how to survive. When you let loose, how loose? He has to be ready for anything. Just not this type of anything. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do with a look or even four. He doesn't know what to do about the hand on his thigh when they laugh so hard he almost chokes on his Slippery Monk (which was part of the joke, what an awful name for a cocktail). He doesn't know what it means when Bode, with something encrypted behind his stare, casually asks, "Show me your workbench?"

Cal almost doesn't want to show him his workbench. He knows how to say no, yes, and maybe, but Cal is a survivor. His instincts are sharp. He knows when he's being backed into a corner, and that's why he almost doesn't lead him down the stairs, past the storage and the kitchen, to the little room Greez had set up for him over five years ago with the hope that, someday, the Jedi would rest in it. He could take the stairs back up to the bar; he could dive down the smuggler's tunnel; or burst out the last door into the street; even with all of these exits, Cal does not have an exit strategy.

Cal is a survivor, and letting Bode back him into the corner of the room feels like it goes against everything he's ever learned.

"I'm not twice shy once bitten, Kestis," Bode's thick arms pen him, his head lulled nonthreateningly, his dark, glossy hair dusting the shoulder pad of his armor; eyes lazily closed; smile rosy from drink and anticipation. "Either way you wanna take that." He does not touch Cal, but his breath does, tickling Cal's crop of violent red hair; and his intent does. "You just let me know."

"I," Cal breathes, his eyes at half mast, the buckles tinking on his vest as his chest quietly heaves, and he fights, he fights the fight in himself. His arms are rigid at his sides, tied up as tightly as they've ever been.

"I don't know. What I'm supposed to say."

"What do you want to say?" Bode prompts. He smells like sweat, oil, and alcohol, and if any of that should be a deterrent, it is not. He smells like hot metal and hard work.

"I don't know," Cal says stiffly.

"The only wrong answer," Bode says, lifting his head and examining Cal's pink, freckled face up close. "Is the one you'll hate yourself for. Or me. I'm your friend, Cal. That can extend past the battlefield."

Cal's jaw knots. He looks down. His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "The type of friend you're talking about. I've mixed the two before," Cal says. Merrin. Never again. "It…complicates things."

Bode chuckles. Shakes his head.

Cal looks up at him quizzically.

"It's already complicated," Bode says. His eyes shine bittersweetly. "It's always complicated. I'm just trying to survive. War…"

Bode lifts his hand from the wall, and after a short stall of hesitation, he slides it against the side of Cal's neck. A warm, heavy weight. Encouraged, when Cal's lashes flutter and his mouth parts.

"War," Bode says again, his thumb stroking the deep scar on Cal's cheek. "Hardens you. I want to stay soft. For my daughter. For Tayala's memory of me."

Cal leans in with a shiver like Bode's is the first hand that has ever touched him, his own hands reaching up to cusp the sides of Bode's face. Bode presses their foreheads together and steps closer. He turns his face in and, in a husky whisper, murmurs, "Let me soften you, Cal."

Cal is a survivor.

Bode is too.

Cal knows he's not alone, but when Bode lifts him off the floor, wraps Cal's legs around his slim waist, and carries him. When they both tuck into the tiny bed cubby and laugh because Bode bumps his head. When they shed their armor and clothes. When their hands and mouths cannot still, and Bode moves in him, and, after, they take turns talking about their scars… He really feels it.

Not alone.

And he wants to be soft, too.

[scrapratsoldier]

"BRACCA is a poor Mid Rim world dominated by rocky plains. It was the site of a fierce campaign during the Clone Wars. Battles in orbit and on the surface raged as the Separatists attempted to wrest away Republic control of the system. The Separatists were aided by sympathizers from within the Scrapper Guild, nearly leading to their victory over the planet. In retaliation, the newly formed Empire cut wages and lowered safety standards within Bracca's scrapyard."

— Databank: Planets: Bracca (Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order Wiki)