#all important

[yeehawknight]

Little comic I'm doing :)

I'll probably have it finished by the time this wip is posted but I'm sure there will plenty edits to do before I show it.

Feat. Pacer and Sergio ;)

[owlsie-hoot]

A war is coming

[izayoichan]

Walking over, River puts an arm around his son's shoulder. 

River: Now, as sunlight is recording late… Rylan: You can stay! Flynn: Well you heard the boss.-they chuckle- You can stay. Liam: Hey dad, we have cookies! Flynn: That we do.

River just chuckled, being pulled in by his grandson, to where his other grandson and son were sitting on the sofa, putting together a quite large puzzle.

River: I do hope that doesn’t have to be finished today? Liam: Nah, we roll it up and then roll it back out the next time I visit, pretty neat right? River: Very. -they smile as Emil comes over with a coffee cup for each of them.- Ah, thanks. Emil: You know, your son is very bright, you two might have to think about advancing him. River: You mean skip ahead? Emil: Yes, he has very little challenge with what he has at school, he is done in a fraction of the time of the others when we do our lessons and then helps everyone else. Liam: Do I have to? River: No, but we can talk about it, with Mom? Liam: Okay, I like my class now, I am happy there, and being put ahead.. Then I would have to be in a new class, right? River: True, nothing we need to decide now.

Beginning - Previous - Next

[cinlat]

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

[troythecatfish]

Continue Escalating

[cowboysmp3]

there’s something sooo sickening about how dunmeshis whole energy is like sometimes something terrible and awful happens to you and it changes you forever and nothing can make you the person you were before but there’s still love and there’s still sharing a meal together and there’s still living

[bamsara]

"youve already written that trope" yesss. i like it a lots. i will be writing it again. 1000 stories of the same trope over and over again for ten million years

[eosofspades]

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

[nikoco11]

there is something horrifically grim to it, but illustrations for gaza and palestinians tend to catch more mass attention that actual photos of people. this made me feel incredibly helpless for a long while, seeing both how people would rather look at a neat drawing of red black green and white than look a human in the eyes, and how online platforms would rather push a viral drawing while suppressing those begging for help at the same time.

a way to cope with this feeling has been taking advantage of it to directly guide people to helping palestinians.

if art gets better traction, then there’s an incredible amount of good that can be done by creating art that immediately links to fundraisers. creating art of the many images of those who are asking for help.

within hours of posting my drawing, there has been jumps in the thousands for bashar from gaza’s fundraiser. it’s a small effort in the grand scheme of things. it’s not a fix it. but it’s something good. please take care of each other and do what you can. i think this could help a lot of people if a lot of people did it.

here is bashar. i’ve drawn him, spoken to him, and known him now for a few months. any shares help, any art helps. draw who you see, draw what you see. thanks all

[kottkrig]

People liking your personal OCs is still such a crazy feeling, I've been doing this for years and ppl asking about them still fills my entire heart with warmth and idk how to handle it

You enjoy this fictional guy I made up for fun?? Whose only content is random artwork or writing made by me and a handful of other artists at most? They have no show/book/game with a large fandom, it's just one person with an art blog?? I love u

[sailermoon]

idk why ppl think megan is faking liking anime she was so right incels mad she’s a weeb and a baddie

[cozylittleartblog]

cant tell you how bad it feels to constantly tell other artists to come to tumblr, because its the last good website that isn't fucked up by spoonfeeding algorithms and AI bullshit and isn't based around meaningless likes

just to watch that all fall apart in the last year or so and especially the last two weeks

there's nowhere good to go anymore for artists.

edit - a lot of people are saying the tags are important so actually, you'll look at my tags.

#please dont delete your accounts because of the AI crap. your art deserves more than being lost like that #if you have a good PC please glaze or nightshade it. if you dont or it doesnt work with your style (like mine) please start watermarking #use a plain-ish font. make it your username. if people can't google what your watermark says and find ur account its not a good watermark #it needs to be central in the image - NOT on the canvas edges - and put it in multiple places if you are compelled #please dont stop posting your art because of this shit. we just have to hope regulations will come slamming down on these shitheads#in the next year or two and you want to have accounts to come back to. the world Needs real art #if we all leave that just makes more room for these scam artists to fill in with their soulless recycled garbage #improvise adapt overcome. it sucks but it is what it is for the moment. safeguard yourself as best you can without making #years of art from thousands of artists lost media. the digital world and art is too temporary to hastily click a Delete button out of spite

[xgoldenlatiasx]

I’m really glad that Aaron’s self-immolation for Palestine is getting attention, but on November 8th there was also a Congolese man who did the same thing for the genocide happening in the DRC. From what I read in the article above, his fate and identity are unknown but I think his story should be getting equal amount of traction and I haven’t really seen anyone talking about it on Tumblr specifically yet.

[morningsaidthemoon]

streamer au ??????? video game au ???

[miametropolis]

Palestinian father Fadi Al-Sharif is trying to help his family escape from Gaza.

They're raising $62,500 to evacuate 11 people. This includes Fadi's 9-month old baby, his parents, and his wife.

Today, they are almost halfway to their goal.

Let's get them all the way.

Will you help?

DONATE NOW

SHARE ✿ LIKE ✿ REBLOG ✿

[troythecatfish]

Of course "God's chosen people" think they own God's rain. Why should anyone be surprised at this LAW in isnotreal. Yes, you read that right. It is law.