#but they do have battle rancors

[redbean-nom]

the contrast between elsbeth's tribe (nightsister... commoners? peasants? villagers?) fighting grievous vs talzin's clan (nightsister royalty) is so funny like.

elsbeth's clan: probably-Mother Selena dueling grievous with two fire sickles that melt/short out when hit by lightsabers (grievous didn't even split his arms! it's literally a leisurely spar for him). approximately three archers in the background. one single unit of B1s and B2s plus possibly a handful of commando droids. elsbeth hiding in a tree and falling out.

talzin's clan: Mother Talzin voodooing Dooku from the castle basement and then levitating in a giant electric sphere and zapping the entire droid army for like five minutes straight. Ventress dueling four-arms grievous for equally long. An entire army of archers casually force-speed/force-jumping over entire trees. Grievous' full fleet, a bomber squad, a unit of commando droids, magnaguards, state of the art experimental tanks, more regular tanks, and a full army of B1s/B2s. Daka long-distance-necromancing the entire clan and resurrecting every single dead nightsister in the entire region. Talzin finally not-surrending by turning herself into a force ghost and then promptly going to start a cult to revive herself/the dead nightsisters.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

This.

This is the moment Din finally realizes Grogu is ready to be taught the Way of the Mandalore.

When the Armorer first told Din the foundling was officially in his care, the following exchange took place:

Din: "You wish me to train this thing?"

Armorer: "It is too weak. It would die."

So Din continues on as he had before, protecting Grogu as he spends months searching for a Jedi to train the kid. We see Grogu closing his pram as if it's become standard operating procedure the moment he notices Din gearing up for a fight, and Din makes it a point to keep Grogu close because that's still the best way to ensure the child's safety while Din takes the brunt of the danger and runs into the line of fire.

After meeting Ahsoka, Din does acknowledge that Grogu is "too powerful" (after all, he has seen the kid do things like heal Greef and float a Mudhorn and hold back a flamethrower), and that he, Din, would be unable to train him in the ways of the Force, so he tells Grogu on more than one occasion to go with the Jedi if they find one.

Still, despite how awe-inducing and inexplicable this power is, all Din has ever seen of the Force when Grogu uses it in any significant capacity is that it's a one-shot trick that knocks the kid out cold. (Actually, Grogu ends up being most vulnerable after using the Force and therefore still requires protection even when he does use his "powers.")

Then, while Luke Skywalker definitely gives an impressive display of the potential power of the Force, the last Din sees of Grogu before a months-long separation is Grogu being withdrawn and quiet after having been held captive by Gideon, certainly in no frame of mind to use his powers.

And then suddenly Grogu shows up while Din is smack dab in the middle of a battle against the Pyke syndicate.

Din, of course, still has no idea what Grogu has been taught, so he defaults to protecting Grogu the way he always has: he asks Peli to look after him while Din takes on a battle droid, specifically telling Grogu "Don't move, let me handle this."

But Grogu is more confident now, and he saves Din from the scorpenek droid even while staying out of the way himself. However, it isn't until Grogu calmly confronts a rampaging Rancor and puts it to sleep that Din is visibly stunned (even with the helmet on) and seems to realize - hey, the kid really has learned a lot from the Jedi training, maybe he is strong enough now to be trained in the Way of the Mandalore.

And we see this to be the case in season 3. Din will still protect Grogu with his life, but he will go a step farther and start teaching Grogu -in the Mandalorian way - how to protect himself too.

[lady-harrowhark]

I promise I’m going somewhere with this but I am currently fixating on how seeing Naberius’s trident knife in the beginning of HtN gives Harrow the Gideon Memory Migraine™, despite no clear connection to Gideon:

Ianthe considered this. She nudged the confection basket hilt of the rapier at her hip aside, and took out a long knife that, again, ran a hot rill of pain down your temporal bone. It was—though you had never bothered to learn—Tern’s main-gauche, his trident knife, a long blade from which two other blades would spring at the press of some hidden mechanism; she flicked that mechanism now, and with a snickt they burst out like a firework, two hard points of gleaming steel. She flicked it again, and the blades went snickt back into their housing.

Is it simply that it’s something from the Canaan House era in general? Or is there more going on? Stick with me here.

One of my pet theories I’ve been harboring since Kiriona’s wounds were revealed is that Harrow herself wounded Gideon after she threw herself on the fence, paralleling Jesus’s side wound from being speared after his crucifixion. They needed to ensure Jesus was truly dead, and presumably Harrow also needed to be well and truly sure that Gideon was dead before proceeding. Ianthe says she put a sword through Naberius’s heart to pin his soul in place for her ascension, and we see his body run through with the sword. Harrow needing to do the same to Gideon would certainly be some very juicy angst fuel.

The other crucial component here is one of my other favorite pet theories: that Harrow knew Gideon’s sword was haunted, likely before even coming to Canaan House. I’ve seen a few people do some more detailed explanations about that, but I’ll do a brief rundown here. 

Harrow says as far back as GtN about the sword “I never liked that cursed thing anyway; I always felt like it was judging me.” After the events of HtN with the River and Canaan House 2.0, we know she has an innate and potentially subconscious talent with spirit magic; it seems likely she was able to sense what was in the sword whether she knew exactly what was going on or not.

In HtN, Guideline #3 in her her pre-lobotomy letters to her post-lobotomy self has several stipulations (wipe it down with arterial blood nightly, coat it in regenerating ash, don’t cut flesh or bone with it) that sound a lot like precautions one would take to keep a soul from hopping out of it.

When discussing the sword with Abigail in Canaan House 2.0, we get some very specific qualifiers around how much information Harrow is able to provide about the sword. Directly before remembering that the sword was Gideon’s we have: “Harrow’s brain, though still a jumble, was no longer a mess in a darkened room. Memory had gifted her a small torch she could light the disarray with.”

After that, she struggles to recall further details, her own brain providing obstacles: “The light was not proving helpful enough: she was, in desperation, kicking over piles of the rubble in her own brain.” In the end, she’s able to tell Abigail: “I hated that damned sword for years. I don’t know why; it just felt strange - rancorous. I cannot deny that I often assumed its edge would be the last thing I saw. I don’t know.”

Circling back to the final battle of GtN, we get my favorite little nugget of support for this: Harrow is described as looking “affrighted” when Gideon tells her to go get her two-hander. I’d initially taken that to mean she was startled (and maybe a bit annoyed) to find out that Gideon had brought it at all, or freaked out at the situation in general. But I’ve begun to wonder if she specifically didn’t want Gideon to bring that sword with her to Canaan House because she knew, or at least suspected, what it contained.

Which brings us to the trident knife. If Harrow needed to fix Gideon’s soul in place by impaling her herself, and she knew there was a malevolent soul in the two-hander that could conceivably hitch a ride in another body that it came into contact with, she would have needed a different tool for the job… Which may very well have been the trident knife. Seeing the weapon she used to mutilate her cavalier’s body with seems like exactly the sort of thing that would bring on one of Harrow’s Gideon-induced headaches, no? It’s also notable that when Harrow sees this knife, it’s directly before Ianthe stabs her through the hand, again analogous to crucifixion wounds. I gotta say, if this holds water, there’s a certain poetry to both Harrow and Gideon receiving versions of the Holy Wounds on the blade of the same knife.

(Edit to add: further theorizing prompted by @camilla-rekt‘s fab addition can be found on this reblog)

[howtofightwrite]

Just a casual question: What lightsaber style do you prefer out of one-handed, two-handed, double-bladed or dual wielding?

We’ll leave out the Lightsaber Forms from the EU, because they are inconsistently defined between sources.

No, no, no. You ask me what my favorite lightsaber is, you get the answer whether you want it or not. The answer may surprise you. It’s (probably) considered the second dumbest lightsaber weapon ever invented in the extended universe with the exception of the lightsaber nunchaku.

Are you ready? Do you have your guesses?

The Lightwhip.

The chosen weapon of Dark Ladies of the Sith and the Nightsisters of Dathomir back when the Sisters weren’t all dark side practitioners and rode rancors.

(This is my favorite. For reference, Starke’s favorite is single blade Form IV: Ataru. He’s boring.)

Now, I agree with the general fandom that the lightwhip is a dumb, impractical weapon that’s more likely to dismember its wielder than it is their opponent. Only someone with a high level of skill, prescience, and telekinesis could make effective use of a lightwhip’s dismemberment murder frenzy without killing themselves. Fortunately, that’s exactly the base level of skills most Force sensitives possess. Probably most important, the lightwhip is the exact sort of dumb we see with real weapons in the real world. This includes the more wild examples like the urumi, the chain whip, and the three-section staff. And, it should be said, I have watched living black belts concuss themselves with the three-section staff while trying to figure out how to use it. All for the Rule of Cool. So, while I accept its impracticality, I refuse the argument that the lightwhip being any more unrealistic in use or invention than the rest of the lightsaber weapon family. Does it have a high skill floor? Absolutely. Is it a safe weapon compared to the rest of its very dangerous family? Absolutely not. Would a student potentially dismember or murder themselves learning to use it? Yes, and that’s why it’s fun. (I’ll add a small caveat that the average student could also dismember themselves with a normal lightsaber, so this isn’t just a danger posed by the lightwhip.)

The lightwhip is a weapon of the Dark Side. Its battle style would be (and should be) wild, chaotic, and nigh uncontrollable. There’s no way to use it safely and it belongs in the hands of a wielder who is straight up thrilled to cut down both their allies and enemies in equal measure. This is the weapon of a murderous lunatic in black leather, and gets even more wild when it switches to a Cat o’ Nine to bring on nine weaving laser tendrils instead of just one. The lightwhip is the sexy Catwoman reference that transcends its genre when we really start to think about how intimidating it’d be to see that thing on the battlefield in the hands of a novice and, especially, an expert.

The standard use for a whip in the real world is as a support tool for your primary weapon, such as a rapier. The whip doesn’t do much damage on its own, leaving only small, painful cuts and lacerations so it transitions into a means of harassment. The advantage of the whip is that it attacks at odd, circular angles which are difficult (if not impossible) to block and will curve into a strike around the opposing weapon. The rippling movement makes it difficult to see and even more difficult to predict. If kept in constant motion, this difficulty triples because the disparate movements blend together.

Now, take this setup and add the lightshow. Instead of a weapon that does light lacerations, we have a weapon that deals massive burns if it doesn’t straight up dismember. It will cut through everything and everyone. Conventional fighting styles fall apart against it. More importantly, because it is a burning plasma ribbon, it doesn’t need to follow the standard rules of physics. The lightwhip is beautiful in its raw, chaotic brutality, it’s high risk, high reward nature, and I love the way it hard counters the standard philosophy of lightsaber combat with a literal curveball. Any opponent who faces it is forced into new, creative approaches for their very survival.

Lastly, I love what the lightwhip says about its wielder as an expression of their vicious, ferocious, highly aggressive personality. This weapon requires commitment and dedication. It’s absolutely fair to say the person who wields a lightwhip has a fanatical, if not suicidal, bent. After all, they’d willingly risk death to master it. They love destruction. They don’t care about outside consequences or property destruction. They go it alone.

I’ll admit the lightwhip’s true potential is too violent for most of Star Wars and, like most Star Wars weapons, it very much lives on the Rule of Cool. One of the sadder aspects with the lightwhip is that, while I love the weapon and its potential, any discussion of it gets mired in sexism. Every appearance of the lightwhip comes with the sexy NSFW Dark Side Dominatrix bent and leads to the lightwhip not being given the consideration it’s potential deserves.

My favorite saber is Darth Maul’s saber staff from The Phantom Menace, because versatility allows for use of both one and two. My favorite lightsaber form (which should now surprise no one) is Form VII: Vaapad.

All that said, I do enjoy a good Dark Side Dominatrix as much as I enjoy a moody and hooded Dark Side Goth. And I genuinely love dumb and, seemingly, impractical weapons when the reward justifies their risk. If there’s a general writing advice takeaway here, always consider the practicality of an impractical but cool weapon, address i’s rewards as well as its risks, and pair it with a suitable personality. The lightwhip is not a weapon that belongs in the hands of a Jedi or, really, any individual who possesses any degree of restraint. It’s for a character who merrily expresses raw, raging power at every opportunity and willing to risk destroying themselves along with everyone else for victory.

There’s a weird angle with the Star Wars EU where they tried to establish the lightwhip as weaker than the lightsaber (*cough* woman’s weapon *cough*) with less cutting power even when it doesn’t use a physical cord, which makes absolutely no sense. The lightsaber is the more versatile weapon, while the lightwhip is more specialized and circumstantial. Which fits with the patterns of real world weapons technology.

This a long circle round to saying that the weapons we choose for our characters act as personality tells. Which is why it’s important to give a lot of thought and consideration to any weapon’s historic use and purpose before attaching it. Weapons communicate more than we might expect, both via their situational viability and associated cultural myths. It’s important to choose whether you’ll address this, especially if you’re not planning to intentionally communicate that message or make those personality traits part of the character’s identity. Weapons are tools and, like with all tools, different tools attract different personalities. In fiction, we the authors often decide this from an external perspective. Once a choice has been made, always give yourself a chance to think about it from a character’s internal perspective. Why did Character X choose this weapon? Why do they want to use it? What does this weapon do for them that another weapon doesn’t? Or, what makes that other weapon less attractive?

You might find yourself with an answer or story beat you hadn’t previously considered.

Food for thought.

-Michi

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[wanderer-six]

In Need

NSFW (MINORS DNI)

AN:  hey im so sorry i was possessed by a Dark Entity and therefore cannot be held liable for the Sin beneath the cut (reader be advised this was written under DEMONIC INFLUENCE, god is NOT present in this text!!!!!!!!!) i genuinely do not know what happened but I hope u all enjoy nonetheless GHSDJF ♥ (also HUGE THANK U TO @starrylothcat for being exposed to this early, u are a hero and a star!!!!)

Relationships: Hunter x Fem Jedi!Reader

Summary: While travelling with the Bad Batch, you find yourself overwhelmed by a certain need. Unable to deal with it, you try to wait it out in hopes it will pass. But you come to find that your arousal has been unintentionally torturing your poor sergeant.

Warnings: scent kink(?)(Hunter Advanced Senses fuckery); oral (f! receiving); dirty talk; unprotected PiV sex; praise kinda; overstimulation; choking; outdoor sex; y/n and hunter are both Extremely thirsty, minimal plot mostly smut

Word Count: 4k

You don’t know how you’ll survive another night.

The Havoc Marauder had come to rest in the pleasant evening air of some forest world after a long day of battle. Rarely do you and the boys get to enjoy such a beautiful night during this war; you sit in the ship’s cockpit, the gangplank open to allow the cool air into the vessel, and you chat about whatever comes to mind. As usual, Wrecker and Tech are the most talkative, and you’re happy to listen.

Although, admittedly, you don’t listen as closely as you normally would. As has been the case for a few days now, you find yourself… distracted. Years of training at the Jedi Temple have pushed you to overcome your baser instincts, and though such a feat never came easily, you’ve managed for so long. But every now and then, it would become too much to bear.

Try as you might to ignore it, to focus instead on the bright smiles and warm laughter of your friends, your mind fixes solely on the burning heat between your thighs.

When Wrecker smacks the back of your chair hard, you’re ripped from your thoughts and back to reality. Something has gotten your traveling companions in a fit of amusement—though what, you haven’t a clue.

“What do you think, General?” Wrecker’s gruff voice booms. “I say Tech’s got his goggles on too tight if he thinks I can’t wrestle a rancor!”

“I did not say you would be unable to,” Tech quickly interjects. “I merely noted that the odds of us encountering a situation that would require wrestling a rancor are slim, to put it generously.”

A wide grin spreads on your lips, and you pray they can’t see the heat beneath your face.

“If the Republic isn’t assigning us missions where wrestling rancors is a requirement, I’m not sure why we’re even fighting this war,” you tease, eliciting a roar of laughter from Wrecker.

“You got that right!” he chimes.

From across the cockpit, Echo scoffs.

“You’d better hope the Seppies don’t add rancors to their ranks,” he mutters. “The droids are already bad enough…”

“If Wrecker thinks he can handle it, why not?” Crosshair smirks.

As the men begin to chatter, you find your thoughts turning inward once more—or downward, more specifically. This tension has been building within you for days now, and no amount of meditating or distraction has offered reprieve. Your body aches, begging to be touched, and all you can do is wait. Sharing a cramped ship with five men has never been your ideal living condition, but you could tolerate it. When you felt like this though—when you neared the brink of insanity from how desperately you craved something to fill you—life on the Havoc Marauder turned from tolerable to torturous.

Again, the men erupt in laughter over some remark you missed entirely. Awkwardly, you cross your legs, the friction from your movement causing your body to tense up. A shaky sigh passes your lips. Maybe tonight, you could find the courage to do something. With the state you’re in, you haven’t been getting much sleep, anyhow. Perhaps in the dark of night, while everyone else got their rest, you could have your release…

Abruptly, the movement of one of your men catches your eye. It’s Hunter—he shoots to his feet, startling you out of your thoughts. He had been so quiet all night that you’ve nearly forgotten his presence—not helped by the way he seemed to brood in the darker corners of the ship. He treads wordlessly through the ship, suiting up with a few scant pieces of gear over his blacks.

“Something wrong, Hunter?” Echo asks.

Hunter can’t even meet his brother’s eyes, shaking his head with a stern frown.

“Just need to clear my head,” he mutters. He passes through the cockpit, not dignifying any of you with his gaze he heads to the gangplank. “I’ll be back.”

With that, he descends into the night, leaving the rest of you utterly perplexed.

The conversation takes a moment to start again, leaving Wrecker to break the odd silence.

“...what’s with him?” he asks, earning a collective shrug from the room.

“I don’t know,” Echo mutters, “but he seems… testy, these past few rotations.”

Tech tilts his head, already back to his datapad. “This is not entirely unusual. Hunter’s heightened senses often lead him to seek isolation. I’d say the only one of us worse is Crosshair.”

The sniper in question growls, plucking the toothpick he holds in his mouth to flick at his brother.

Standing to your feet and ignoring your aching core, you smile.

“I can go check on him,” you offer. “I think I could use the fresh air, anyway. But don’t stop having fun on our account, okay?”

You flash Wrecker a smile as you head to the door, and he obliges you with a laugh.

“We won’t! Trust me!”

With a final wave goodbye, you head out into the night. The chill in the deep forest does wonders to calm you, though the heat nagging in your stomach does not entirely abate. Gently, you reach out into the Force, finding Hunter’s signature with ease. You meander along the trail he left, taking your time in hopes of giving him whatever space he seeks. You have no interest in troubling him; just ensuring that he doesn’t have something else on his mind that he’s reluctant to reveal.

Though maybe you’re just projecting, you think bitterly to yourself.

You emerge into a beautiful clearing, more picturesque than any holo you’d ever seen in the Temple. A lake expands over the horizon, waves rippling and glittering in the light of the moons above. From the treeline to the lakebed, a myriad of wildflowers dance on the breeze.

It all looks so perfect, leading a very sour Hunter to stand out more than you ever thought possible.

Your sergeant leans against a tree trunk, body tense as he spins his vibroblade around and around in his hand. When you approach him, he stiffens, despite his best efforts to appear casual.

“Hey,” you smile, voice soft to match the quiet of the night. “I thought you might want some company.”

Hunter manages a half smirk, tilting his head to acknowledge you wordlessly. With every step closer to him, you feel his heart rate spike in the Force. What is going on with him?

“I just figured I should check in on you. You seem really tense these past few days…” you note. 

Only when you look up at him, finding him awkwardly avoiding your gaze, do you realize you’d come to a stop far closer to him than you intended to. The nearness you share does little to quell the heat throbbing inside of you, but you stifle it down as best you can.

Hunter struggles for a moment, lips parting and closing as he searches for what to say. After a long silence, he sighs, meeting your gaze at last.

“It, er… it’s you,” he confesses.

Worried, you tilt your head.

“What about me?” you ask. “Did I do something?”

Your ignorance of the matter seems to work Hunter up even further. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, awkwardly tapping the armor on his thigh to shake off his nerves. You can’t say you’ve ever seen him so out of his element.

“I… know what you’ve been going through these past few days,” he explains. He gestures awkwardly up and down your body. “I can sense it. It’s, well…” He huffs. “...distracting.”

You think for a moment, still unsure of what he means. But something in the way his eyes find yours conveys exactly what he’s trying to say.

He knows about the way you’ve been feeling lately. He knows…

Immediately, your face burns. Your eyes fall to the ground, and shame rises in your throat. You think about just how many hours you’ve spent these past few days, thinking the filthiest thoughts and riling yourself up without any hope of reprieve—and knowing now that Hunter could sense every second of it…

“...oh,” you breathe, quiet as a mouse droid.

You meekly catch Hunter’s gaze one more time, but the grimace he wears drives your eyes away immediately. Stars, you just want to run and hide… How could you have been so stupid? Hunter can sense a disturbance entire klicks away; you really thought he couldn’t smell your desperation?

A million thoughts race through your mind—a million different ways to apologize. Should you apologize? What if that just makes the situation even more awkward? Maybe you should forget you ever asked, but you don’t want him to think you don’t care about his feelings…

Before you can fully spiral into hypotheticals, you hear a sharp sigh from Hunter’s lips. Your eyes land on him again. His eyes are shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Do you… need… help?”

If your heart had been racing before, it’s jumped to lightspeed now. 

“...what?” you ask.

“Look,” Hunter grunts, “until you’re… taken care of… I won’t be able to focus. I’ve barely gotten any sleep these past nights; it’s… overwhelming.”

He tucks away his vibroblade, the hilt snapping against the sheathe with a satisfying click. When he takes a step closer, now looming over you, the need deep within you flares like a star. Judging by the way his body tenses—how his hands ball into tight fists—you know he can tell. 

He raises a shaky hand, setting it on your cheek. His touch burns on your skin. You want nothing more than for him to ignite you.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” he growls.

His gaze has you paralyzed. You fear to even breathe, worrying that the wrong move might shatter this illusion and leave you embarrassed and alone. But you know he would never do such a thing. You trust Hunter with your life… how could you not trust him with this?

Besides—judging by the way he stares at you, hunger in his piercing eyes, you suspect he has a need all of his own.

You nod, and before you can breathe, his lips are on yours.

Hunter’s rough hands explore your body, not at all timid in their desires. They tug at your shirt as his tongue presses against your lips, and you readily grant both of his wishes. His tongue toys with yours while his hands grope at your chest, drawing a pathetic whimper from your lips. So little of his attention already has your head reeling, drowning in delight. The need in your core overwhelms you now, and it seems to spur him on, all the same.

Abruptly, Hunter spins you around, pressing your back against the firm tree trunk. He deftly strips you of your top, tossing it into the dirt. You didn’t care—couldn’t care. You were far more concerned with working his thigh between your legs, desperate for something to relieve the agonizing tension there. Hunter comes to your aid, pressing his thigh against you before he moves his lips to your chest.

Whining his name, you grind your hips against his leg, over and over with no will to stop yourself. When Hunter’s teeth clasp onto your nipple, you gasp, biting your lip to cope with the sensation. He’s quick to release you, though, instead sucking you into his mouth as his hand gropes the other side of your chest.

When he’s had his fill, he pulls away, treating you to another hungry kiss—one that soon parts from your lips and trails down your frame. You stare in awe as he kisses along your sternum, your stomach, before reaching the waistband of your pants and settling onto his knees. With little regard, he tugs your pants down. You help by hurriedly kicking them off, unwilling to waste a moment when the release you crave is so near.

Standing above Hunter in nothing but your panties leaves you vulnerable in a way you’ve never known. But that vulnerability only worsens the throbbing tension inside you. Your body begs you to give in to him, and the overwhelming pleasure mounting in your stomach has you in no mood to disobey.

Hunter’s piercing gaze hangs on you for a moment, before moving to your still-clothed cunt. Your face burns; by now, your panties are completely soaked through, and you have no doubt he can tell. He wraps his hands around your thighs, gently prying them open. When he presses his face between your legs, his mouth and nose just barely putting pressure against your sex, you nearly pass out.

“H-Hunter…” you whimper.

Wordlessly, he breathes you in. Overwhelmed by your desperation, his eyes flutter shut, a ragged exhale crossing his lips.

“Fuck… you’re driving me crazy,” he growls.

Roughly, he hikes one of your thighs onto his shoulder. Before you can even hope to react, he pushes your drenched panties aside and presses himself against your cunt.

Shockwaves rout your entire body, pulsing from your core to your every extremity. Your hands find Hunter’s hair, tugging at his dark locks. He doesn’t mind—that is, if he notices at all. He attends to your aching cunt with unmatched discipline, drinking from you as though you were water after a thousand parched days beneath the Tatooine suns. His lips close around your clit, suckling at it, all the while swirling over it with his tongue.

He laps at you so hungrily that you can barely utter a sound, your whole body tense with the way he works you. Your every mewl catches in your throat, strangled into a breathless whimper. Still, you need more of him, tugging at his scalp and rutting your hips into his face.

“Hunter…!” you gasp. When he groans against you, the vibration sends a shiver up your spine. “Please… I-I need more… please, Hunter…!”

Hunter’s eyes flash up to meet yours. His pupils are blown wide, focused fully on you. Reluctantly, he pries his lips off of you, though not without a parting mark on the soft flesh of your thigh. He wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand before standing up once more. At his full height now, you quickly recall just how imposing his stature is—and just how badly you wish to experience it.

Supporting your neck with his gloved hand, he leans over you, kissing you deeply. You love the taste of yourself on his lips, tongue toying with his in need of more. When he pulls away, he lingers by your ear.

“Turn around,” he demands.

You swallow hard, nodding and obeying. Once you face away from him, he places his palm between your shoulder blades, pressing your top half against the tree while your hips remain close to him. Carelessly, he slips your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to the cold night air. A low rumble reverberates in his chest as he looks you over; you can practically feel the burn of his eyes on your skin, trailing over every inch of your needy body as you present yourself to him.

He grasps your hip firmly, and with his free hand trails his fingers along your cunt. You gasp, body reacting fiercely to even so light a touch.

“Kriff… you’re so wet,” he remarks, his low voice doing little to help matters. “Have you been like this all week?”

You nod, desperation written on your features.

“Mm-hm,” you murmur. “Please, Hunter… I-I need you.”

He smacks your ass, earning a startled moan from you. Taking a step back, he quickly shuffles off his gear and his blacks, with you watching him over your shoulder all the while. When his cock is finally free of his pants, you nearly drool. He’s already so achingly hard… your cunt clenches around nothing, hopeless at the need to be filled by him.

When he spots you staring, an awful smirk forms on his lips. He closes the distance between you, leaning over you and pressing his chest to your back. You arch against him, hips grinding against his with overwhelming need. Stopping briefly to mark your neck, Hunter’s lips settle at your ear.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he growls.

You mewl, utterly and hopelessly his. “Please…”

With one last kiss on your shoulder, Hunter lines himself up with your slick entrance. When he pushes into your aching cunt, your eyes light with stars.

His hips persist, splitting you open until he’s buried to the hilt. His hard cock twitches inside of you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. When you flex around him, he hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck, your little cunt is so tight,” he rasps. “I don’t think you’re ever gonna let go of me…”

Hunter’s thick cock overfills and overwhelms you, straining your walls to their limit as he thrusts deeper into you. His hands keep your hips in a vice grip, not allowing you to challenge his excruciatingly slow pace. He bottoms out inside of you, then pulls out, dragging himself along your walls. When he’s finally free of you, he repeats the process, sheathing himself again. Your wetness engulfs his every thrust, with more than enough to spill down your thighs as he tortures you.

“Hunter!” you beg, voice wavering as he strikes deep inside you again. “Please, go faster…!”

Breathless, Hunter chuckles.

“What, you want more?” he purrs through a smirk. He smacks your ass again, and you cry out. “You want me to fill up this needy little cunt?”

Before you can answer, his hips collide with yours, reducing your words to a moan.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes! F-Fill me up,” you beg. “Fuck… I’m gonna lose my mind…!”

“Heh… now you know how I feel,” he mutters. As he picks up his pace, he groans, biting into the tender flesh on your shoulder. “Ah, kriff… I just might lose my mind, anyway.”

Hunter pounds into you, sending you spiraling with every relentless thrust. Though you had begged for him to take you harder, faster, you feel thoroughly unprepared for the way he fucks you. With how close you’ve grown to him, you find it easy to forget sometimes that he isn’t just a man. He’s a soldier—a supersoldier—and you’ve never been more aware of that than right now.

Hunter leans in close to your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You’re being a bad girl,” he growls. “A Jedi getting fucked by a clone? What would the Council say?”

To your utmost surprise, your face burns like a starship engine. You bite back a whimper, though the way you squeeze around Hunter’s cock does not go unnoticed. Through shaky breaths, he chuckles.

“You like that?” he asks, half inquiring and half observing.

Biting your lip, you nod. “Mm-hm…”

He interrupts his pace with a pointedly rough thrust, forcing a mewl from your lips. One of his hands moves from your hips to your throat, pulling you into him and trapping your back against his chest. You feel so defenseless, so exposed… you can’t say which has your head lighter: the way his fingers put the faintest pressure on your neck, or the shame of your actions. You suppose it doesn’t matter which—both are merely driving you higher and higher.

“Maybe we should call them,” Hunter continues, “let them watch their perfect little Knight getting fucked like a whore on Daiyu.”

Your eyes shoot wide. If he merely hopes to rile you up with such a statement, he succeeds.

“N-No!” you utter, emphatically shaking your head. You hear Hunter’s breathy laughter behind you before he picks up his already breakneck pace, his body smacking against yours so forcefully that the skin on your thighs and ass begins to sting.

“I think you’re right,” he grunts, his labored breath tickling your ear. “I think I’ll keep you all to myself.”

At that moment, you want nothing more. Your eyes are rolling back in your head, mouth agape as the tension mounts inside of you.

“You belong to me,” he growls. “You belong to this cock.”

You can barely form a lucid thought, so very close to reaching euphoria.

“Yes!” you whine. “Yes, Hunter!”

As he forces you over your peak, your vision goes white. Your orgasm thrashes through your body, tearing a moan from your lips. Your cunt shudders around his cock, overflowing with wetness and burning up inside. He reaches deeper inside of you than he ever could before, striking your sweet spot again and again, drawing your ecstasy out to a maddening duration.

“Fuck,” Hunter groans. “Fuck me, you’re so fucking tight!”

Try as you might to call his name, you can only babble, rendered absolutely cock-dumb by the man fucking you. By now, your entire body is covered in a slick of sweat and flush with heat. You struggle to stand, quivering legs barely able to hold your weight. From the way his body trembles around you, Hunter isn’t faring much better. But evidently, he still hasn’t had his fill of you.

Hunter doesn’t let up, thrusting fervently into your abused, throbbing cunt. Your eyes begin to well with tears, head swimming with arousal far too much to bear. Your head lolls back, cheek pressing against Hunter’s. Despite the way he fucks you within an inch of your life, his hand moves from your neck to your face, gently cradling you as he dots a kiss on your lips.

“Think you’ve got one more in you?” he rasps, pressing a lazy kiss on your ear.

Though you hesitate, you eventually answer with a weary nod. With a loud moan, Hunter sinks his fingers into your hip so hard you fear your skin might bruise. The hand he holds on your face slips down between your legs, drawing tight circles around your swollen clit.

“Come on my cock, beautiful,” he breathes. “Come on my cock one more time, and I’ll fill this pretty pussy up with cum.”

Though you can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, his words push you over the edge. With the only pathetic whimper your hoarse throat can manage, you come once more, cunt spasming around Hunter’s length.

Thankfully, Hunter isn’t far behind you this time. Just as he promised, when you finish around him, he spills his hot cum inside of you, filling you so much that it quickly begins to seep from between your legs. He keeps his length inside of you, managing one or two more thrusts before he begins to soften.

The only sounds you hear now are the two of you gasping for air and the gentle lap of the lake against the shore. As all your adrenaline subsides, your legs threaten to give out underneath you. But before you can topple over, Hunter catches you, holding you around your waist.

“Easy there,” he warns, a chuckle buried in his words. You look up at him, finding a flustered smile on his lips—every sign of that dirty-talking casanova gone from his eyes. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he asks, “Are you… feeling better?”

You narrow your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you really asking me that?” you smirk. Though it’s hard to see through his tanned skin, you swear Hunter’s cheeks darken. “Yes. I’m feeling much better… thanks to you.”

Hunter grins, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“Yeah… I’m feeling better, too,” he sighs. “Sorry for being short with you before.”

“Sorry for driving you up a wall all week,” you giggle.

Hunter smirks. Gently, he lifts you up in his embrace, tucking one arm under your legs and the other under your back. When you meet his eyes, he tilts his head towards the beautiful lake illuminated in the moonlight.

“Why don’t we wash up?” he suggests. 

With a heavy sigh of contentment, you nod. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Hunter carries you to the water, you smile softly, closing your eyes and resting your head on his chest.

“By the way… I think we need to have a discussion about your language, Sergeant,” you tease him.

He chuckles, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve been reprimanded for worse,” he shrugs.

AN: im 3/3 hunter smut i dont think i should ever write a normal fic for him at this point. Anyway i hope u liked and/or it sated your demonic possession as well!!! ✨✨ (also im literally not doing my usual 'taglist' for this one cuz im so GD embarrassed sHGHGHS)

[erisweekofficial]

Today we're celebrating @born-to-riot, one of our Azris writers in the Eris community. 🔥🦇

She's the author behind Rancor and Risotto, an Azris fic that dives into Eris's inner world, examining his life and his relationship with his family. Lindsey fleshes out all of Eris's brothers, giving them distinct personalities that really make the world feel alive. And if you're here for Azriel, the Azris set up is so good! R&R is funny, heartfelt, and so much more. Please give it a read! 🧡

If you're looking for more, you can check out the rest of her fics here!

Read on to learn more about Lindsey's thoughts on Eris and how he'd react to the All For the Game Series!

What is your favorite Eris piece that you've made?

That I’ve published? Rancor and Risotto. I essentially wanted to do an Eris character study that wasn’t so thoroughly focused on his mother but instead his brothers and also his internal battle with knowing the man his father could have been vs the sad reality of the monster he developed into. Long story short, I’ve taken a deep dive into a certain version of Eris’ psyche and I’m happy with what’s happened so far.

Give us a name for one of Eris's brothers.

Egon

Give us a name for one of Eris's hounds.

Klaus

What do you think motivates Eris's actions throughout the series?

I think it's pretty clear that Eris has his own agenda that isn't influenced by his father. He has goals and he's willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve them whether that be partnering up with the Night Court or staying silent about the truth about what happened with Mor. I think he is very methodical and very patient, nothing he does is thoughtless. So all in all, I think Eris's actions are motivated by his goals, whatever they may be (take the throne from Beron or create a better Autumn, or maybe a secret third thing lol).

What do you think Eris does to unwind?

To unwind, I think that he takes his dogs for walks or hunts, whatever he does I think it's in nature

If Eris were to mentor someone, what qualities would he look for in a protégé?

If Eris was to mentor someone, I think he'd pick someone who has shown qualities such as perseverance and determination. I also think he'd pick someone who's able to be objective and that he can trust.

Give us a rundown of Eris's opinions on the Foxhole Series

First of all, I am going to assume we're ignoring the fact that AFTG is set in a modern world and Eris is decidedly not, so assuming he understands all the technology and modern-day references I think he would be glued to it. I think Eris would identify with Neil in a way that is almost too close to home and so he'd be invested in his story but at the same time he'd be jealous that Neil has this chance at freedom that Eris has always wanted. Neil's mom was brave enough to break away from their abuser and as a result neil has been on the run, I think Eris would think that Neil is an idiot for messing with his freedom all because of a stupid game but he'd find himself rooting for Neil at the same time. I also think that Eris would despise Riko (because he reminds him of Beron), he would think that Kevin has the right idea (i.e. his terror), and I think he would kind of react to Andrew like Neil did, slowly but surely. Finally I think Eris would be reluctantly but emotionally invested in the foxes. Again, he'd be jealous of Neil because he reveals he's a liar and the foxes still love him and support him. Eris doesn't have anyone on his side, he doesn't have a team, he's alone.

[warsamongthestars]

( image is taken from Wookiepedia; Rancor Battalion page )

Alright, these are three of the four known members of Rancor Battalion, stationed on Kamino. (As a battallion is a 1000 soldiers roughly, that means we've got several hundred implied to exist. These ones in particular are just the Commanders of the battalion )

Commander Havoc, is the far right in the Blue. Far Left? That's Commander Blitz

But the one in the middle is Commander Colt. You'll know him from Early TCWs, where he was the Commander who graded Domino Squad's performance on their graduation test of the Citadel, and as the poor bastard who got skewered and kissed by Asaaj Ventress.

Now the reason I'm bringing them up because they are CF99 related.

( CF99 "Clone Force 99". Unfortunately I cannae separate my views of the Bad Batch without immediately running into "The Bad Batch" TV Show... which I fucking hate. So this is a case of me just, trying [key word] to focus on the thing I love without having to deal with the published fanfiction about it [by too much], and maybe inspire some folks along the way as once again I scream "I FOUND A THING AGAIN" )

TCWshow is the origin show of the Bad Batch, and that's clear from the cut material of their season 6 arc. (Yes, it was meant to be season 6 in production order. What we got from released Season 6 were actually stuff made for Seasons 5 and Seasons 4 respectively )

That means, to find the backstory we need to move forward, we go through TCWs first.

Let's start.

Commander Colt, on the right, has a full one skull painted face and he primarily favors dark gray and deep red trim.

As we know, the jawless skull is a prime symbol of the Bad Batchers, and most of paint used by Colt are also used by CF99.

This suggests that Commander Colt was actually a prime, if not main, influence over the Bad Batcher's lives. Particularly, Hunter, who has clearly painted half a stylized skull on his helmet. While the CF99 skull is more stylized than Colt's--the Skull motif had to be inspired by something.

And since we're provided with no obvious alternative (and could probably fanfic plenty of alternatives instead)--the most clear connection here, in show, is with Commander Colt.

( This also helps the slow developed parallel between Domino Squad and CF99. Both are "bad batches", both were given a helping hand by Maintenance Clone 99, and were influenced by Commander Colt. Though its pretty obvious that Commander Colt had more hand with CF99 than Domino ever received. )

[ Side Tangent: This also means that the Bad Batch's association with Ventress is out of character and out of place. She murdered their favored Commander from cadethood, and assaulted him as he died via her kiss. ]

It should be noted that most of Rancor Battallion Commanders (nearly) all have gray faceplates, which makes the helmet appear to be or have a "skull".

This is Commander Havoc, wearing the Blue that was been adopted as 501st colors.

( Its pretty clear that Rancor Battalion does not, in fact, follow the paint cultures of deployed legions. They are either semi-following the now defuncted paint-rank system from "Attack of the Clones", or they have decided "Fuck it, we do what we want"... Either works, hell, both can work simultaneously )

The reason I bring Commander Havoc up, is that the CF99 ship is (was) known as the "Havoc Marauder". And it can be just as easily inferred that its not just the act of causing havoc and chaos, but that it was named in honor of Commander Havoc.

( This is, of course, mere speculation... But fuck it, its fun speculation.)

Commander Havoc's most significant story contributions, before being killed during the (third) Battle of Kamino, was defending 99; and that small contribution could've been enough to name a ship after him.

So y'know, more fun to be had.

ADDENDUM:

I know I did a whole a thing about Clone Names, and I'm still kinda confused but also find it really fun, about Commander Colt's name. Like, is he named after the horse? Are there horses in Star Wars? Is there an anime call a colt? Is the baby form of a rancor called a colt? Or is it the colt single action army revolver? I mean, star wars having combustible revolver weapons with projectiles and gunpowder wouldn't shock me... But Colt Revolvers are named after American Gun Manufacturer Samuel Colt. So uh, does--does this mean Mr. Colt was in Star Wars at some point? Is there a planet called Connecticut where he comes from. Maybe its the swedish origin of colt, which means "half grown animal" or "young boy". Is... Is Sweden in star wars. Is there a planet called Swedish. Its stuff like this, which both makes it both confusing and so fucking funny. Cos now we gotta ask some serious questions, that may or may not result in a parody. ( Name things what you want in your fantasy, so that it can absolutely result in confusing sets of questions like this. Simple Confusion is the best part. )

[aaaaawolfquarters]

Tech and Omega Swap AU : EPISODE 5

s1ep5 changes/notes

(baby boi Tech doesn't have his name yet, but I'm using his name for simplicity)

Similar to the show, Tech is given Crosshair's old comlink. He fiddles around with the buttons and settings and Echo tells him it is not a toy, to which he replies, that of course it is not a toy, and lists some of the specs

When the Batch get to Ord Mantell, and go to find Cid, Omega comments on the less-than-sanitary conditions of the bar. Tech stares at Cid for a while before stating that she is who they are looking for. The batch bargain with Cid, like in cannon, and when Cid says Tech is the brains of the operation, Tech responds that he is quite intelligent, but is by no means the leader of the team

While on the mission, Tech asks about the slave traders, and Omega explains that slave traders treat people like property. Tech is confused, as it neither legal nor morally correct. Omega and Echo try to comfort Tech, promising that they're going to rescue Muchi. Omega and Hunter survey the terrain, noting the entry points and lookouts. Tech is upset when he is told to return to the ship

On the ship, Tech modifies the trooper doll (like Omega does in cannon) and it looks similar to Tech's s1 armor from cannon. He mentions to Gonky that he would like to modify some actual armor for himself, but this was good practice. Tech hides and then slips out of the ship (like Omega does in cannon). He sneaks over to look for his siblings

When Hunter says they need to contact Tech, and when Echo is grumpy about not having their comlinks, Omega replies that the won't need a comm, gesturing to Tech. Hunter tries to signal to Tech to escape, but Tech cocks his head to the side and throws out some hand signals. "He... just signed [plan #]**?" Hunter is confused. Omega laughs, "That would work here. When did he learn our plans?"

Tech successfully makes it to the crate and unlocks it before being captured. He does state "I wasn't sneaking, I was unlocking."

Tech and Omega help the slaves escape before returning towards the battle. A slaver or two jump out at them, and after dealing with them, Omega offers Tech her D-17 blasters for protection, saying they were a good size for him. He asks what she will do, and she responds that she'll find something. As Tech runs ahead to the squad, Omega smiles and takes a bow from one of the slavers

It is Echo who tells Wrecker that rancors have a hierarchy, and maybe challenging Muchi would work. After Wrecker tames Muchi, Tech states that the creature is fascinating

They return to Cid and the rest of the episode would be pretty similar to cannon

**whatever number, this plan means release the cargo

[homestuckreplay]

if EOA1 is so good how come there's no EOA2??

(page 533-541)

8/24/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: Child Bad (Destroying House)

8/25/2009 Wheel Spin: Dramatic Irony Verdict: We, The Audience, Know Nothing

The bathtub returns! The imp/bathtub comedy routine is fun (and this is my favorite color palette I’ve seen for an imp yet) and I’m delighted to finally see the RANCOROUS mood put to use. Some of these pages have very cool visuals – p.535 is very well animated, where we see through the wall x-ray vision style with a fuzzy view of the study, and then when the bathtub smashes through the wall, the inside of the hole comes into focus. John gazing up through the ceiling holes at the first gate far above on p.539 is also great. And Rose and John’s radically different ideas of what might be in Dad’s room nicely highlights their different view of parental figures. John goes for the simplest explanation, tied to the one personality trait he most associated with his dad, while Rose is second guessing everything, and assumes that parents are keeping sinister secrets.

I’m still enjoying Homestuck, there’s still a lot to love, but Act 2 is feeling very directionless right now. This past week or so is the clearest it’s ever been that this story is written by reader suggestions, a large group of people who all have different goals concerning the characters and plot. It’s very much the session of a D&D campaign where the players get distracted roleplaying with every shopkeep in town and the DM does nothing to guide them forward on their party’s quest. It is easy to forgive Act 1 for this or even not notice it, because it’s doing the hard work of setting up the world, and we learn new things every page even when nothing is ‘happening.’ I have less patience with it in Act 2, now that we have a bunch of lore and mechanics setting up what looks to be an incredible story.

The Act 2 thumbnails have gone onto a second line on the adventure map, so it seems like this act is not coming to its end any time soon. Act 1 kicked into high gear at around the 70-75% mark with the Cruxtruder’s countdown, and I’m hoping something similar will happen soon with Act 2. Even if it continues to meander along the way, I think having a Clearly Defined Goal for the act would improve the story a lot.

Some possible ideas for what this endpoint could be:

The nebulous danger surrounding Rose’s house becomes more pronounced, causing the generator or mausoleum to catch fire, making her entry into the game more urgent

Dave successfully installs the game, and Rose now has to navigate the alchemy process outdoors while battling the elements

John hits another ‘plot tunnel’ in Sburb where his progression towards the First Gate is now immediately necessary or else he risks losing the game, possibly an advance by the forces of darkness against the forces of light

John finds something in the safe in the study and/or in his dad’s room that either puts more urgency on finding his dad, or gives John a different quest unrelated to the game, causing his and Rose’s goals to be at odds

Some potential obstacles that could show up on the way to these goals:

Dave’s brother shows up and tries to prevent him from getting the Sburb Beta, similar to Dad blocking John on p.90

GG is introduced and impacts the story in some way, perhaps trying to get their friends to quit Sburb due to foreseeing its dangers to them

The Vagabond gets John seriously hurt by giving him irrelevant commands while Rose isn’t able to save him from dangerous

The damage Rose is causing to John’s house from throwing furniture through the walls causes its foundations to become unstable, threatening to topple all the building work done so far

A new and more dangerous enemy type, such as a rook, spawns in John’s house

John himself is unable to access his dad’s room, due to the same field of static Sburb has set up, until he completes a different quest

I’ll stay patient, and I definitely won’t stop reading just because the story is taking its time, but I am keeping an eye out for these moments that there’s no coming back from.

[kybercrystals94]

Sick Day

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 29 | Prompt 29: Not Allowed to Die || Bad Things Happen Bingo: Hallucinations

Rated: G | Words: 516 | Summary: Echo is sick with a fever.

“Echo, I’m going to help you sit up.”

Everything hurts, even the soft weight of the blanket over his body. “Ugh, what’s wrong with me?” Echo groans.

An arm wraps around his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, and he is guided upright. “You're sick.”

“How? Clones don’t get sick.”

“Most clones don’t get sick. Clones with compromised immune systems on the other hand…” The arm and hand leave him, and something presses to his lips. “Here, drink this.”

The cool water feels like swallowing glass, but Echo dutifully takes several gulps before pushing the canteen away. “I don’t have a compromised immune system,” Echo protests, leaning back against the headboard of his bunk. He finally opens his eyes and glances at his brother sitting next to him.

Fives shrugs. “I’m not a medic, that’s just what I was told. Either way, you’re sick. You’ve got a fever.”

“I feel like I got hit by a speeder and then trampled by a rancor,” Echo grumbles.

“You’re so dramatic,” Fives huffs.

“I prefer poetic,” Echo says, letting his eyes slip shut again.

“Hey now,” Fives says, giving Echo a small shake. “No falling asleep yet. Tech still needs to run diagnostics. He wanted to wait until you were awake.”

Echo’s eyes snap open and he looks at his brother. “Who?”

Confusion and concern battle for dominance across Fives’ expression. “Tech,” he says, slowly. “You know who Tech is.”

Echo shakes his head, not because he doesn’t but because…Fives doesn’t. Fives can’t know who Tech is because they’ve never met.

“Echo, do you know who I am?” Fives asks, leaning forward.

“Of course I know who you are, Fives.” Echo tries to laugh, but it comes out strangled of any humor.

Fives’ face falls. “Oh, Echo,” he breathes. “I think…I think the fever is messing with your head.”

“No it’s not. I can see you. You’re right here.” Echo reaches out to grab Fives’ arm, but Fives pulls back, narrowly escaping being struck by Echo’s scomp.

That’s not right.

Echo’s takes a shuddering breath.

“Easy, Echo,” Fives soothes, moving closer again, hands up in a pacifying way. “I need you to stay calm.”

“No,” Echo cries, “You’re not dead! Fives, you’re here. You’re not dead.”

Fives looks heartbroken. “Echo…Fives has been dead for a long time.”

Tech steps up behind Fives, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe it would be best if we sedate him…just until his fever is under control.”

Fives stands and steps to the side, letting Tech take his place at Echo’s bedside. “Tech,” Echo pleads, “Tell Fives he’s not dead. He’s right there. You see him, don’t you?”

Tech shakes his head. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Echo.”

Echo tries to pull away when Tech lifts the hypo to his neck, but it is like his energy has evaporated, and he can do nothing but weakly protest as the needle pricks his skin. “No…He can’t be dead.”

Before the world around him melts into darkness, Echo thinks he hears Fives whisper, “I am so sorry, brother.”

END

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[redbean-nom]

fascinated by the implied fennec-ventress-phee friend group in tbb. even more interesting (funny) when you add boba in there during the tbobf era.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 11

Between the Motion and the Act

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff; a sneaky OT reference (literally wrote a whole scene just so I could make that joke); some angst; SMUT; oral sex; Echo x Riyo is GO!!!

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The team plans for Balmorra; Echo commences diplomatic negotiations with the senator from Pantora.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

Between the idea and the reality

Between the motion and the act

Falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

cerulean-senator: Would you rather fight one rancor-sized tooka or ten tooka-sized rancors?

Echo grinned as he typed a response. 

ur-fav-cyborg:That’s easy. I’ve already encountered a rancor-sized rancor, so I know the secret to defeating them. They’re hierarchical by nature, so I would rather fight the ten tooka-sized rancors and set them against each other. When they established which one was the alpha, I would challenge it for supremacy. My turn: would you rather eat nothing but dessert for a week, or no dessert for a year?

There was a pause as he waited for Riyo to respond. Rex and Cerra were debating the technical specifications they needed in their ship for the Balmorra mission. Echo and Rex had determined that their best chance of success was to extract Howzer when he was being transported. Rex’s mysterious contact hadn’t known exactly when that would happen, but had said it was inevitable. They’d pored over blueprints of the Gozanti-class cruisers that were being used as prisoner transports as they’d formulated a battle plan.

“What about a leech vessel?” Cerra asked. “Two points of entry.”

“That… could work,” Echo said. “Dock with the main vessel as a diversion, and then breach the hull with the leech.”

“We’d have to divide our forces,” Rex said.

“The pilot would have to stay with the ship anyway,” Echo pointed out. “Gregor can keep their troops occupied at the docking port while the extraction team boards from the leech.”

“Flank ‘em and spank ‘em,” Cerra said, tapping her beer bottle against Rex’s.

“Always so eloquent,” Rex teased as he took a swig.

“I learned from the best, and he learned from you,” she said with a grin. “You’re like my tactical granddaddy.”

“I thought you said I was a youngling,” Rex said.

“Granddaddy is a state of mind,” Cerra shrugged.

She slouched on the sofa with her boot-clad feet propped on the holotable, and Echo had the brief, tangential thought that Tech would have an aneurysm if he could witness it. 

His comm chirped, and he checked the message immediately. 

cerulean-senator: Wait, when did you fight a rancor? That sounds like a story worth hearing.

ur-fav-cyborg: I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. Now quit stalling and answer the question, Riyo.

The reply was immediate and indignant. 

cerulean-senator: I wasn’t stalling! I was thinking. I do like dessert, but a week of nothing but sugar might put me in a coma. I’ll have to say I’d rather go a year without desserts. Would you rather kiss a Gungan or a Wookiee?

ur-fav-cyborg: That depends. Are we talking a mouth kiss, or just a quick peck on the cheek?

cerulean-senator: Full-on mouth kiss, with tongue.

ur-fav-cyborg: In that case, I’d rather kiss a Pantoran.

cerulean-senator: You’re not going to charm your way out of answering the question, trooper.

ur-fav-cyborg: Worth a shot. Fine. Assuming consent from all parties involved, and given the knowledge that Gungan tongues are nearly a meter in length—which would present a high probability of death by choking—and considering that I’ve met some very nice Wookiees who almost certainly wouldn’t rip off my one remaining arm, I would rather kiss a Wookiee. But only if the Pantoran is unavailable.

“Care to share the joke, Echo?” Rex asked.

“Sorry, sir,” Echo said, stashing his commlink away.

“You know, we’re not in the GAR any more,” Cerra said. “He’s allowed to check his comm in meetings.”

Echo glanced quickly at Cerra, surprised that she had defended him. Rex sighed, and Echo immediately felt guilty.

“You're right,” Rex admitted. “Old habits are hard to break, but what are we fighting for if not the right to live our lives as we choose?”

Echo wasn’t sure what to say. Freedom was a complex thing to navigate when he’d been trained his entire life to follow orders. It was different with the Batch; they had always had a more relaxed dynamic, and all the members were accustomed to speaking their minds freely, even if the ultimate command decision defaulted to Hunter. But this was Rex, who’d saved Echo’s life more times than he could count, who’d been his longest-standing commanding officer, who’d hand picked him to join the 501st, who’d recommended him for ARC training, who’d believed in him against all odds, who’d fought to bring him back from Skako Minor when everyone else had written him off. Every instinct Echo possessed screamed for him to obey the captain.

Suddenly, he recalled something he’d overheard Cerra tell Rex. “He trusts you so much that he’ll do whatever you order.” Gregor had said something similar when he confronted Rex after the disastrous mission to 79’s. There was something about Rex that inspired absolute loyalty in his soldiers. The problem was, they weren’t just soldiers any more. Perhaps Riyo was right, and they had always been more than that.

Cerra stood and stretched. “I don’t know about you boys, but I could use some food.”

“Good luck finding anything,” Rex said as she dug through the kitchen cabinets. “I cleared out the conservator last night.”

“We have ration bars,” Cerra said. “I can’t wait ‘til Gregor gets back so we can eat some decent food again. Want anything, Echo?”

“I could eat,” Echo admitted. “Are we finished here?”

“I’ve got what I need to start looking for a ship,” Cerra said. “Rex?”

“We’ve done as much as we can with our current intel,” Rex replied.

Cerra tossed them each a ration bar, and when Echo’s comm chirped again, he checked it, careful to maintain a neutral expression.

cerulean-senator: Solid reasoning all around, but now I have blackmail material in the form of written proof that you want to kiss a Wookiee. 

ur-fav-cyborg: Only under duress. Now it’s my turn: would you rather be too hot or too cold?

cerulean-senator: That’s easy! I would rather be too cold. You can do all sorts of fun things to warm up.

ur-fav-cyborg: Such as?

cerulean-senator: Drinking caf, wearing cozy sweaters, snuggling in front of a fireplace—and other things.

ur-fav-cyborg: What kinds of other things?

cerulean-senator: That’s for me to know and you to find out. My turn: would you rather have dinner with me or breakfast with me?”

ur-fav-cyborg: Both.

cerulean-senator: Great! When is a good day for you?

Echo choked on his ration bar and dropped his comlink. It skittered across the floor and came to rest against Rex’s boot. The captain arched one eyebrow and handed the comlink back to Echo without a word. Echo took it and sent a quick response.

ur-fav-cyborg: After the next mission?

cerulean-senator: Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there and we’ll see where the night takes us.

Echo smiled and tucked his comlink away. Turning to Cerra, he asked, “Is your hand healed enough to spar?”

She nodded. “I’ve been wanting to practice those moves you showed me. Would you rather be my partner or my coach?”

“I’ll coach if Rex will partner with you,” Echo said. “Sparring is a little tricky with my prosthetics.”

“Rex?” Cerra asked.

“Only if you go easy on me,” Rex replied. “Remember, I’m a grandfather.”

Cerra snorted. “Sure, grandpa. When I fail to land a single hit on you, it’ll be because I’m going easy on an old man.”

Despite her self-deprecation, Echo found that Cerra was a decently competent fighter. It was true that she was far outmatched by Rex, but most opponents she was likely to face would not be genetically engineered supersoldiers with years of combat experience. She had good form and technique, and she took direction well. With a blaster and a few modifications to her armor, Echo suspected that she would be able to hold her own against a wide range of adversaries.

Just as Echo was contemplating the best armor mods to augment Cerra’s reach and upper body strength, Rex took her to the ground and pinned her. She tapped out immediately, contradicting Rex’s claim that she didn’t know how to back down from a fight. Rex stood and pulled her to her feet.

“Again,” Echo ordered. “And Cerra, remember what I showed you.”

She nodded and snapped into a fighting stance at once. Rex tested her defenses a few times, light punches to see how well she could block. He moved with rigid control, never taking it too far and risking hurting her. It was very different from the way Echo had been trained. ARC trooper training had been brutal and no-holds-barred. There was a very good reason that so few clones successfully passed, and that was that the training was extreme even by the Kaminoans’ standards. A nat-born wouldn’t just fail; they would very likely be killed or permanently debilitated.

“Attack, Cerra,” Echo ordered. “You can’t just dance around him all day.”

She hesitated, and Rex saw his opening. His fist darted past her block and tapped her jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just to get her attention. She tightened her stance and returned the hit, albeit too slowly. Rex blocked her effortlessly.

“Like I showed you, Cerra,” Echo said. “Do it.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she panted.

Rex smirked. “You won’t.”

“That’s not Rex,” Echo snapped sternly. “That’s an enemy. Take him down, now. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to hurt Tup.”

Cerra gasped and dropped her fists. Rex struck just as Cerra turned, his blow connecting much harder than he’d intended. Cerra staggered backward.

“Kark!” Rex exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Cerra’s large, wounded eyes weren’t looking at Rex, though. She stared at Echo instead. A trickle of blood dripped from her lip, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“How do you know that name?” she asked, her voice shaken.

“You called Fireball Tup the other night,” Echo said, taken aback. “I thought it was a friend of yours.”

Cerra spun and stalked out of the sparring ring, not stopping until the barracks door slid closed behind her. Echo turned to Rex, whose mouth was set in a grim line.

“Tup was Fives’s best friend after Umbara,” Rex said quietly. “The three of them were more than close. They were inseparable. Cerra thought of Tup as her little brother, and he was the first she lost. And a few days later, she lost Fives, too.”

“Kriff,” Echo breathed. “I had no idea.”

“She keeps to herself,” Rex said. “Probably more than she should.”

“Why?” Echo asked bluntly.

Rex sighed. “Cerra is a soldier, but she’s not like us clones. We’ve always had each other, even when we didn’t have anyone else. But Cerra’s family turned on her when she needed them most. It’s not easy for her to trust.”

“I thought she told Gregor everything,” Echo said.

“She doesn’t even tell me everything,” Rex replied enigmatically.

Echo remembered now that even Gregor had not recognized Tup’s name the night that Cerra mistakenly called Fireball by it. 

“Kriff,” he said again. “I need to apologize.”

“Better give her some space,” Rex counseled. “If I know Cerra, she’d rather just pretend none of this happened. She’ll be all right.”

“That doesn’t seem like the healthiest way of dealing with it,” Echo said.

“Do you want to be the one who tells her that?” Rex asked.

“Fair point,” Echo acknowledged. “Maybe I’ll take the speeder bike and get some air.”

Echo strode out of the garage and hopped onto the speeder bike, riding without paying much attention to where he was going. He avoided the Federal District, and after a while, he piloted the bike to the top of a ramshackle skyscraper. Maybe sometime long ago it had been a beautiful and prestigious edifice like 500 Republica, but now it was crumbling. Still, it had an expansive view of the city and the setting sun, and he parked the speeder on the roof after a quick recon determined it to be abandoned.

He stared out across the city of trillions, hating how alone he felt. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Fives’s death than Rex had told him. They were soldiers. Cerra was a soldier. They were accustomed to losing people—it hurt like hell, but they knew the risks. What had happened to carve that deep well of pain in Cerra’s eyes? What was Rex not telling him? On impulse, he holocommed Riyo.

“Hello, Echo,” she said with a smile. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Is this a good time?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m done with work for the day, and I’ve just finished eating dinner. I’m all yours for as long as you want me. Is everything all right?”

Kriff, she was pretty. Her full lips curved in an alluring smile, and the sparkle in her golden eyes was visible even through the shaky hologram.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to see you.”

“I didn’t think you got many opportunities to be alone,” she said.

“I don’t, but I needed some air. Cerra and Rex are back at the garage.”

“And where are you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he frowned. “On top of some abandoned building in a part of the city where I would never bring you.”

“Is that safe?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“I’m a little worried,” she said. “Why don’t you come to my flat?”

Echo was startled. “Are you sure?”

“There’s a private landing platform that accesses my suite at the Pantoran embassy. I’m sending the coordinates and access code now.”

“In that case, I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Riyo paced in her suite, unaccountably nervous. It was strange; she could easily give a speech to tens of thousands of senators and dignitaries, but as she checked and rechecked her reflection to make sure her hair wasn’t doing anything strange and she didn’t have anything stuck in her teeth, her body filled with jittery energy. She smoothed her hands over her blouse, trying to brush away some of the wrinkles it had accumulated after a long day of committee sessions and meetings with constituents.

The door chimed. Not the main door; the private entrance at the back of her suite. A quick glance at the security holocams revealed Echo, helmeted and in full armor. Riyo’s heart lodged in her throat as she hurried to admit him. The door slid open, and Echo removed his helmet. 

“Hello,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.

“Ma’am,” he said with a formal nod, and she realized this was just as awkward for him. Somehow, that eased her nerves.

“Please come in,” she said. 

He glanced quickly around the room as he entered, and she wondered if he was looking for threats. It must be practically instinctive for him by now. His eyes came to rest on her, and he gave her a small, gentle smile that sent warmth tingling through her.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said.

“Of—of course!” she stammered. “You seemed like you might need to talk to a friend.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked. “Friends?”

“I hope so,” she said.

“I hope so, too,” he replied. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope we could also be more. Is that something you want?”

There was something refreshing about his directness, accustomed as she was to the doublespeak and prevarication of her fellow politicians. 

“I think you know the answer,” she said.

“I need to hear you say it,” he replied, taking a step closer to her. 

Oh, stars, he smells amazing.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He raised his hand to her face, trailing his fingers along her jaw, brushing his thumb over her lips. She swallowed thickly as her breath became shallow and fast. She closed the space between them, tilting her head back to meet his gaze.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” she said softly.

He slid his hand to the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, and then he kissed her. His lips were soft and warm, and Riyo let out a quiet, involuntary moan as his tongue brushed against hers. She felt as though she were drowning in him—his taste, his scent, his touch. When their lips parted, she gradually became aware that her arms had wrapped around him, seemingly of their own volition, as she had explored his armored body with her hands. He was holding her, too, his prosthetic arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and he traced a path down her throat with his thumb.

His gaze roamed over her, taking in the way her lips parted and her breasts rose and fell with each quick breath, the way her wide eyes gave away too many of her thoughts, and she felt vulnerable, exposed, as though he had laid bare her entire soul. Look away, her mind begged. Don’t let him see. It’s too soon for you to feel this way. What if he thinks you’re a pathetic little girl with a silly crush? He could destroy you, grind your heart beneath his heel and leave you a mangled, bloody mess.

But somehow, as she looked deeply into his eyes, she knew that he would never, ever do that. That he would carry her heart as carefully and securely as he did his own. And so, she traced her hands lightly down his chest plate until she reached the belt that held up his heavy kama and unbuckled it with a deft movement. Next, she slipped her fingers beneath the shoulder straps of his cuirass until she found the clips that held the two pieces together, and one by one, she teased them open. She removed the plates carefully, setting them aside, and then stroked her palms down his chest and abdomen, feeling the firm, wiry muscles beneath the dark red fabric of his jacket.

He watched her with undisguised hunger, and when she stood on her tiptoes to lick the bit of exposed skin at the top of his neck, he snapped, pulling her body tightly against his and crushing his lips to hers in a ravenous kiss. He walked her backward until she pressed against the wall, and when he rocked his hips against her, she could feel the rigid length of his cock through their clothing.

“Oh, stars,” she panted, breaking away from his lips. But he didn’t end the kiss; he worked his mouth across her jaw and down her throat, licking and biting and sucking gently on her skin, and the sounds she made would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been so aroused. “Don’t stop, Echo, please don’t stop.”

She felt his hand cup her breast and dimly wondered when he’d unbuttoned and slipped her blouse off her arms, but it didn’t matter, because he was making his way down her chest with that incredible, talented mouth of his, and then he was kneeling in front of her, and when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her legs nearly gave out. She tugged at his pauldrons until they clattered to the floor, and then she felt the waistband of her trousers loosen and the fabric slide down her hips, leaving her utterly exposed.

Echo paused long enough to bite down on the fingertip of his glove and yank it off, and then Riyo felt the smooth, glorious slide of his skin against hers as he grasped her inner thigh and glided his hand upwards. She cradled his head in her hands as he sucked on her breasts, and when his fingertips brushed over her sex and felt her slippery arousal, he groaned against her.

“Fuck, Riyo,” he said, sitting back on his heels to take in the sight of her. “Look how beautiful you are. So, so kriffing beautiful.”

He leaned forward until he was nearly pressed against her, but before he touched her, he raised his eyes to her face.

“Is this all right?” he asked, his honey-gold eyes wide and serious.

“Yes, please yes,” she said. “Please, Echo, I need you to—oohh—”

Her brain skidded to a halt and took her power of speech with it as Echo slid his tongue into her, latching his lips over her cunt.

“Fuck!” she gasped, her voice barely a breath. “Gods, fuck, I can’t—”

He dropped lower and leaned forward, stroking his scomplink up the inside of her calf and encouraging her to drape her leg over him. His height made it a little difficult for her to reach, but once Riyo rested her thigh on his shoulder, he moved in between her legs, his tongue diving deep inside her as his thumb traced firm circles around her clit, not pressing directly on the sensitive flesh, but finding the perfect rhythm to drive all the thoughts from her head. Quiet grunts of pleasure escaped him, as though he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life.

Riyo was less controlled than Echo. She tried to keep her voice down so as not to draw the attention of the guards outside the doors of her suite, but she couldn’t suppress her whimpers and gasps as Echo devoured her like a man starved. Her leg trembled as pleasure swirled tightly through her body. Echo flattened his palm against her belly and slid up her body to cup her breast, squeezing gently and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He gazed worshipfully up at her from between her thighs, and she locked eyes with him as the pressure in her abdomen finally snapped and sent her hurtling into ecstasy.

Her body crumpled, but Echo caught her, clamping his hand firmly over her mouth to muffle her cries, even as he wrecked her over and over with his mouth. At last, when he had wrung every last shuddering drop of pleasure out of her body, he lowered her onto his lap and wrapped her comfortingly in his arms, stroking his hand gently across her skin.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s my lovely girl. You look so beautiful like this. You make such pretty sounds when you come. I hated to stop you. I wanted to hear every little moan and gasp and scream. Next time, love.”

Riyo shook her head. “Bedroom,” she gasped. “Soundproof.”

Echo smiled. “Lead the way.”

Cerra didn’t look up when the barracks door opened. The mattress shifted as Rex sat next to her on the bunk. He leaned close to peer at the holo she held.

“Was that at 79’s?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

In the picture, Tup’s long hair tumbled around his shoulders as Cerra hugged him close. They were both laughing uproariously as Fives made a crude gesture at the holocam. She remembered the night with crystal clarity, even though they’d all just done a round of shots with Jesse and Kix when Kix snapped the holo. Jesse had been teasing Tup about his non-regulation hair and had threatened to shave it off next time Tup fell asleep.

“Never!” Cerra had exclaimed, shrieking with laughter as she wrapped her arms around Tup’s head. “I’ll protect you, Tup!”

“Kix took this about five minutes before we all got bounced for being too loud,” Cerra said. “I’m honestly surprised we didn’t end up in the Corrie drunk tank.”

Rex cupped Cerra’s chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him. “Do you need bacta?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned in to confirm that she wasn’t seriously injured then stroked along her jaw. “You’re going to have a nice bruise. Gregor is going to kick my ass when he finds out how you got it.”

“I’ll tell him I had an argument with the speeder, and the speeder won,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dropped a vehicle on myself.”

“I’m sorry I hit you,” he said.

“No need to apologize, Rex. I know it was an accident.”

“Echo didn’t mean to hurt you, either,” Rex said in a low voice.

“I know,” she said. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ll talk to him in a bit.”

“He took the bike out for a spin,” he said. “It’s just us for now.”

“Just like the bad old days,” she said with the faintest flicker of humor. “Maker forbid.”

Rex had slept like the dead for more than half a day, but he still looked exhausted: the kind of bone-deep weariness that could never be cured by a mere few hours of extra rest. She wondered if she looked like that, too. His thigh felt reassuringly warm and solid as it pressed along her leg, and she shifted a little, seeking the comfort of his touch.

His breath ghosted softly across her skin, and she swayed unconsciously closer to him, close enough to see the individual hairs of the stubble on his jaw, close enough to smell the soap they all shared on his skin. His thumb traced back down her cheek, and when she raised her eyes, his gaze was riveted to her mouth.

“I’m not him, Cerra,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m not her.”

At last, Rex dragged his eyes away from her mouth and shot her a rueful smile. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

She tried and failed to return his smile, then closed her eyes as he dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

“Rex?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about giving up?”

“Every day,” he said. “You?”

“Every day.”

“Do you think you will?” he asked.

“Never.”

---

Next chapter

A/N: Want to read about the night from Cerra's hologram? It's from the first half of this one-shot: "Do It Again."

[eriexplosion]

FASTER <3 An episode I liked the first time that I have a new and powerful appreciation for

Wrecker and Omega playing strategy games is so cute. He loses a lot, but I think it's not because he's bad at them, she is just. Better than most people. She's great to play with though because eventually she learns that Wrecker just needs a little extra time to think on his turns, he only makes questionable moves if he's rushed.

Tech is SO unimpressed with the uber eats mission Hunter and Echo went on. It's so funny that they apparently needed to use the buddy system for nerf nuggets delivery. Just in case.

Tech is used to Cid's shit he is the only one like 'security detail needs elaboration' because he's apparently the ONLY ONE that remembers when important details like "target is a rancor" got left out

I just love the Star Wars tradition of 'you know what high speed racing needs? extra ways to kill each other.'

Cid explaining everything to Omega is so cute actually she adores this kid.

TAKE A SEAT SPECTACLED SPECTATOR. TAY-0 is so fucking funny. It's time he prepares for the next race. Which he's going to win. TAY-0!

CIDDARIN SCALEBACK. Top Tier Star Wars Name

I love the moment when Tech and Wrecker both move in to protect Omega instantly. And Cid pushing Omega back behind her when she steps forward. She WILL come through for that girl in season 3 I know it.

Wrecker: "What's he saying?" Tech: [REDACTED]

I adore the red painted battle droid we get glimpses of. Top tier design.

SAFA TOMA SPEEDWAY IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY INJURY, DEATH, OR DISINTEGRATION. THANK YOU!

love to take my little sister to the local 'get shot in the stands' race

That is definitely not MOST of TAY-0 Wrecker my dear.

Omega immediately speaking up like I have an extremely impulsive plan to suggest that may get us all killed or worse

"I am ready to... WHEREAREMYARMSANDLEGS?" The delivery on this line is amazing

LET TAY-0 INSTRUCT YOU HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY

Tech looks like the most beleaguered customer service person alive right now

INSTEAD OF REPAIRING HIM WE SHOULD BE MURDERING THE GANGSTER <- Wrecker plans in action

"Hustlers like us never change" "I might surprise you." "I doubt that."

Come on you can't have an exchange like that and not have her immediately take her money and try to get Omega back and find Tech somehow

Love TAY-0's face flipping entirely around while walking away to continue talking to Wrecker.

TAY-0 BEING TAKEN OUT IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. THEY ASSASSINATED HIM.

Cid telling TAY-0 to snap out of it and he's literally just a torso... I don't think it's going to work...

DRAMATIC LEAD UP MUSIC TO "I WILL BE THE RACER"

Wrecker's face falling and "He's not joking" he is SO worried about Tech right now (anyway this parallels his calculated decision to shoot out the cable connector in Plan 99 and shows why it is not going to be as simple as him falling to his death, in this essay I will-)

OBSESSED WITH THE GRATUITOUS TECH CROTCH SHOT OF HIM GETTING INTO THE RACER.

The announcer going through every single name is such a great set up to them just ROASTING TECH'S NAME AT LENGTH WHILE THE CROWD MUTTERS DUBIOUSLY. BE NICE TO TECH.

Haxxon "The War Gnome" Trajanix is the red battle droid and I'm obsessed with him.

The other battle droid and the tricked out protocol droids are fantastic too honestly.

TECH YOU GOTTA BE IN FRONT TO WIN

It's called strategy NO it's called LOSING

I'm sorry their banter is so fucking good this episode. I cannot understand filler complaints on this one it's a breather episode and it's a fantastic one that sets up several things including Cid at the end of this season and like into season 3, as well as providing ample evidence of how Tech thinks and evaluates risk.

Cid looking away from the screen when she sees Tech take the death trap route is it because she's scared for herself or doesn't want to see him die right on screen

"You sound surprised" is another good possible callback line

"Well, I guess I owe you one." "Yes. I agree." "I'll make it up to ya!"

If this doesn't come back I will eat a hat. I don't own any so it won't be mine but I will find and eat one.

I still think the best ending to this would have been Hunter abruptly calling and going TECHHHHHH?

[illuminatedquill]

Sabine Wren

A Song for Two

Story Summary: Mandalorian tradition dictates that a song be sung for their fallen. As the war between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance rages on, tensions simmer between Ursa Wren and her daughter, Sabine, who is unwilling to finish her own song before the worst comes to pass. It falls to Alrich, her husband and Sabine’s father, to keep the peace and find the reason why his daughter refuses to complete the task.

“No?” Ursa Wren asked, her voice cracking like thunder. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

The leader of Clan Wren stared down at the holographic image of her daughter, Sabine Wren, emanating from the war table in their ancestral home’s main hall. The image was slightly hazy; an unfortunate side-effect of the long distance call between Krownest and Lothal, but there was no mistaking the defiant look on Sabine’s face.

Sabine was wearing a flight uniform, as opposed to her usual Mandalorian armor. It was a new development that rankled Ursa constantly.

So similar to your mother, observed Alrich Wren, husband to Ursa and Sabine’s father. Just like she was at your age.

The thought made him smile a little, despite the circumstances. Hearing the two bickering like this - like in the old times before the Empire came - assured him that the war hadn’t taken away everything important to him.

At least, not yet. Which was something that he and Ursa were increasingly aware of with each passing day.

Sabine crossed her arms and replied in a terse tone. "I don't see what the big deal is, Mother."

Ursa exhaled sharply through her nose. Alrich barely repressed a chuckle.

His wife threw a death glare at him before replying through gritted teeth, "It is Mandalorian tradition, Sabine. We all must have our own song ready to be sung in case we fall in battle."

Sabine shrugged. "Is there a deadline for this or something?"

"Preferably before you die," Alrich said, dryly.

His daughter glanced at him with a small smile. Ursa rubbed at her temples.

"Sabine," she said, after a long moment to regain her composure. "Please give us the song at your earliest opportunity."

"I'm not exactly overflowing with free time at the moment, Mother. I'm busy with the defense of Lothal and my training with Ahsoka."

Alrich winced. The two subjects that Ursa were touchy about and Sabine had just dropped them both in the same sentence. Especially after the bickering she had just endured.

Ursa straightened her back and glared at Sabine with a new fire raging in her eyes. "Lothal. Remind me again why you're there and not here on your home world."

Sabine narrowed her eyes. "I made a promise to Ezra. Mandalorians keep their promises, if I recall. We stake our honor on it."

"Your Jedi friend has been gone for how many years now? Did he give a time limit on this burden he handed to you?"

Alrich watched his daughter's eyes blaze with a fire equal to her mother's. "It is not a burden," she snarled.

Ursa slammed the table, causing the hologram to sputter for a brief moment. "You should be here! With your family."

"Ezra is family. He and everyone else on the Ghost were more of a family to me than anyone on Krownest ever was," Sabine said, coldly.

"Everyone here is still alive, Sabine. We have that over your beloved Jedi, at least."

Alrich wilted at Ursa's remark. He closed his eyes and waited for Sabine to go nuclear.

She didn't disappoint. "He's not dead, Mother. But you are - to me." Her voice was empty of any rancor, any sign of outrage. Sabine spoke as if she was stating a fact, nothing more.

The hologram fizzled out. Sabine had cut the call.

Ursa stared at the spot where her daughter had been and then swore viciously.

Alrich sighed. "You went too far with that last one, Ursa. You know how much Ezra means to her."

Ursa turned to her husband, her eyes still simmering with rage. "The war with the Empire is raging and she sits safe on another planet. Doing what, Alrich? Playing Jedi? Upholding a promise to a dead friend?"

Alrich studied his wife. "You think she's running away from her problems again."

Ursa snorted. "Think? No, I know she is."

He stepped closer to his wife and held her hand. The physical contact shook Ursa out of her mood; she gripped back with a tight, affectionate squeeze.

"I don't think that's true," he replied, quietly. "She's changed. Sabine is trying to be better than she was before."

Ursa sighed, some of the tension releasing from her shoulders. "Training to be a Jedi? What is she thinking? As if she doesn't have a big enough target on her back."

Alrich smiled. "Our daughter always loved a good challenge."

Ursa eyed him, amused. "Wonder where she got that from," she said.

He snorted. "You, obviously. I seem to recall you butting heads with your own mother, more than once."

Alrich thought for a moment. "Actually, you butted heads with pretty much everyone you met."

Ursa grinned at him, and Alrich felt his heart skip a beat. Despite the wear and tear of the past civil wars, he still saw the fierce young woman he fell in love with at first sight burning at the core of Ursa Wren.

"I was talking about you, actually," Ursa remarked.

Alrich blinked at her. "Me? I was just a simple artist. I never did anything too crazy, last I remember."

"You were the only one bold enough to court me," she pointed out with a sly smile.

"Ah, true. Although 'bold' might not be the right word for how it was viewed at the time. Especially by your family."

Ursa said, "I thought of you as being brave. Especially since it worked." She reached out and stroked her husband's cheek fondly. "Either way you look at it, it doesn't matter since I liked it."

Alrich kissed his wife's hand. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Ursa nodded. "Your charm worked, as always. Thank you."

She looked at the war table with a sigh. "What will we do about Sabine?"

Alrich looked at his chronometer. "Sleep on it. It's late, my dear. We'll have a solution in the morning."

After ensuring that his wife was dead asleep, Alrich returned to the main hall and keyed in Sabine's call code into the console.

After a few seconds, the holo-projector lit up to reveal his daughter again. She was dressed in casual sleep wear this time, having ditched the flight uniform in preparation for bed.

"What?" she asked.

Alrich sighed. "Hello to you, too, Sabine."

His daughter was sitting on what appeared to be a cot, holding a fresh brewed cup of caf. She looked tired.

"Your mother was out of line earlier with the comment about Ezra," he said.

"Stating the obvious," replied Sabine. "She send you to apologize?"

"No," said Alrich, firmly. "She doesn't know I'm doing this."

Sabine's look sharpened at him. "Doing what? You still want that damn song?"

"It's important, Sabine," Alrich said. "I don't understand why you won't do it."

His daughter leaned back against a wall and sipped at her caf. "First, explain to me why you and Mother are so insistent upon it all of a sudden. You've had ample time to ask me for it before."

"Okay," Alrich said. "That's fair."

He took a breath and said, "The Empire is withdrawing from Mandalore."

That got Sabine's full attention. "They've stopped the attacks?"

Alrich nodded. "Yes. We haven't had a sighting of their forces in over a month."

He watched his daughter's eyes, seeing the gears in her mind run through the calculations. "That's not good," she replied. "Could mean a major offensive is about to take place."

"Your mother and Bo-Katan are in agreement with you on that," said Alrich. "Rumors are swirling that the Empire has personally chosen Moff Gideon to lead a new campaign against all of Mandalore."

Sabine's eyebrows rose in amazement. "I've heard of him."

Alrich shuddered. "Yes. A reputation for brutality and cruelty - even within the Empire, he's infamous."

Sabine shrugged. "I'm sure you all will be just fine. You've swatted down all the previous Moffs and Admirals who came your way."

"True," Alrich agreed. "But this time could be different."

"It won't," Sabine said. "You'll beat him. Mandalore will stand."

She sipped more at her caf. "Still haven't told me why you want my funeral song."

"Because this is a war, Sabine!" Alrich shouted.

Sabine flinched. Alrich rarely raised his voice. He decided to press on, while he had his daughter off-balance.

"Nothing is for certain, do you hear me? We want the damn song because should the worst happen to you, your mother and I want something - anything - to remember you by! Not just an empty suit of armor!"

Sabine stared at him. After a long moment, she said, slowly, "I know it's a war, Father. I know that."

"Do you?" he asked. "Your mother thinks you're playing Jedi and running away from your problems."

"I'm training, not playing. I'm serious about it. And defending Lothal is important to me."

"It's important to Ezra, you mean," he pointed out. "I know you made a promise but, Sabine, don't you think it's time to move on? There are other worlds that need defending. First and foremost, your own home being one of them?"

Sabine was silent. Alrich studied her.

"You consider Lothal to be your home," he said, quietly. "More than Krownest."

Sabine just looked at him. After a long moment, she nodded.

Alrich blew out a breath. "Honestly, I'm not surprised. Or even upset."

"You're not?" asked Sabine, surprised.

"No," he replied. "I'm just relieved that you have someplace that you can call that."

Sabine considered his words before replying, quietly, "You and Mother and Tristan are still my family, you know. I still love you all."

Alrich felt his heart tighten at her words. "I appreciate you saying that, Sabine. But a family should always stick together, no matter what. How we treated you back then - yes, we were doing it in your best interests, but it doesn't excuse our actions."

He looked at her, feeling his eyes begin to water. "We made you feel alone. And I will always regret that."

Sabine looked away for a moment, before saying, "It wasn't all bad. I met Kanan and Hera. Then Zeb, Chopper, and then . . ."

His daughter refrained from saying the last name, Alrich noted.

"Is that why you're training to be a Jedi?" he asked. "For your friend, Ezra?"

Sabine stared into her cup of caf. "He did a lot, you know," she whispered. "Not just for me; he saved a lot of other people."

Alrich nodded. "That's what Jedi do."

"No," said Sabine, suddenly. "That's what he did. It wasn't because he was a Jedi."

She looked up at her father with a bright smile. "It's because he was Ezra."

Alrich blinked at Sabine's smile; throughout his life, he had rarely seen a smile so pure and bright from her. Not since she was a small child, barely taller than his knee.

Feeling his fatherly instincts start to kick in, he wondered: Ezra Bridger - just how important were you to my daughter?

Something must have shown on his face because Sabine's expression turned into a frown. "What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He coughed, hastily, to cover up his sudden suspicion. "Nothing, nothing. So - you're training to be a Jedi because, what, you want to be like Ezra?"

Sabine smirked and said, "Maybe I was just bored and wanted to try something new."

Alrich groaned. "Sabine, please."

His daughter just shrugged and took another sip of caf. "Hey, gotta have some secrets. It keeps life interesting."

Alrich snorted and then said, "So - about the song."

Sabine grimaced. "Fine. I actually did write it." She reached out of the picture and grabbed a datapad. After a moment of typing on it, she said, "There. Just sent it. Happy now?"

In a deadpan tone, Alrich responded, "Oh, absolutely." His personal datapad dinged with the arrival of Sabine's song. He opened it up and started to read through the verses.

"It's not finished," Sabine said, sounding frustrated. "At least I don't feel like it is. It's missing something."

Alrich, still reading through the verses, began to feel his eyebrows furrow; realization began to grow in his mind, slowly but surely.

Oh, I see what's missing, he thought, sourly. And my suspicions were correct.

Intuition suddenly sparked in his mind and Alrich looked up the first time Sabine had opened the file and the last time she had updated the file.

When he finished, he looked up to find Sabine staring at him, impatient. "Well?" she asked.

He considered her for a moment and then said, simply, "It's fine. I'll attach some notes and send it back to you."

Sabine groaned. "Great. More homework. Ahsoka already gives me so much."

Alrich laughed. "Is it alright if I share this with your mother?"

Sabine waved at him in a go-ahead motion. "If it'll get her off my back, then by all means."

"I'll make sure of it," Alrich promised. "I'll leave you be for tonight. Thank you for doing this, Sabine."

Sabine smiled at him. "It's for family. Family is important."

"Yet you gave us so much grief for it," Alrich replied, dryly.

"It's a Clan Wren specialty," Sabine responded.

He was about to cut the call - and then hesitated. "Sabine," he said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Father?"

"You've had this song in the works for some time. I saw the original date you started it."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while. Since I first ran away," she confirmed.

"The last time you updated this was shortly before . . . before the Battle of Lothal." He avoided saying 'before Ezra went missing'.

Sabine's face turned into an expressionless mask. "That's correct," she said. "Things got busy after that. I came back to it when I had free time but . . . I don't know. Couldn't figure out what was missing from the song. It doesn't feel complete."

Her statement was said a little too casually for his liking. "You really don't know why it feels incomplete?" he asked, peering closely at his daughter's expression.

Something stirred in Sabine's eyes - a faint sense of recognition - that she quickly shut down with an irritated look. "No," she insisted. "I keep saying that."

Alrich pursed his lips. "Alright, then. Keep working on it."

Sabine replied, "Great. Can I go to sleep now? Please?"

He rolled his eyes and cut the call.

The next morning, Ursa still found him sitting at the War Table, reading the datapad.

"What are you doing up so early? Did you even sleep?" she asked, worried.

Alrich rubbed at his eyes and showed his wife the datapad with Sabine's song on it. "You're welcome," he said, tiredly.

Ursa's eyes widened in amazement. "You got her song? How?"

"I talked to our daughter, instead of yelling," he replied. "You should try it sometime."

"You're half-asleep, so I'm going to let the sarcasm slide this time, Alrich Wren," Ursa said. She scanned the datapad, frowning.

Smiling a little, he asked, "You see it, too?"

Ursa looked up with a questioning look. "It looks . . . finished."

Alrich snorted. "Not according to our daughter. She's unusually blocked over this."

"Sabine? How so?"

He rubbed at his forehead, feeling the weight of his years. "She feels as though it's missing something."

Although it's not a some 'thing' really, he thought.

Ursa sat next to him and re-read the song verses in silence. After a while she said, confused, "I still don't see it."

Alrich sighed. "Sabine's right: it's missing something. However, you are also right in that it is, indeed, finished."

He paused and then added, "At least, Sabine's part is finished."

Ursa quirked an eyebrow at him in question and Alrich was almost violently reminded of Sabine doing it exactly the same way last night. "Her part? This is her song. It should all be her part."

He gently took the datapad from her and said, "It is. The whole song is Sabine's part. But the verses - look here, love. It's a give and take; a question, waiting for a response." Alrich highlighted some of Sabine's song verses to illustrate his point.

Comprehension began to dawn in Ursa's face. "It's a conversation."

Alrich nodded. "Not the exact term I would use, but close. It's a duet, Ursa."

Ursa looked at him sharply, understanding lighting up her eyes. "It's a song for two," she said, softly.

"Yes," Alrich said. "Two performers. And these verses are Sabine's part. What's missing is the other singer's part."

Ursa considered that for a moment. "She told you this?"

Alrich shook his head. "Sabine doesn't seem to know or understand."

Ursa looked at her husband, seriously. "Who's the other performer? Who does she want to share her song with?"

Alrich gave his wife a knowing look and said, quietly, "Ursa. You know who it is."

Ursa closed her eyes and laid her head in her hands.

He patted his wife on the back, affectionately. "Sabine never likes to make things easy for herself," he said, smiling.

"Or for us," Ursa replied, annoyed.

Alrich laughed. Ursa looked up and couldn't help but join.

When they were finished, Ursa rested her head on Alrich's shoulder for comfort. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Should we tell her?" she asked.

Alrich replied, "No. She wouldn't believe us, anyway. It's something she needs to figure out for herself."

Ursa sighed. "A Mandalorian and a Jedi. What an unexpected pairing."

"Hey, it'll make for an excellent song, at least," Alrich responded. "Clan Wren will definitely be remembered."

Ursa snorted.

She picked up the datapad and read through Sabine's verses again. "It makes sense now. I see how his part is missing."

Alrich nodded. "She needs him to complete her song."

After a long, poignant silence, Ursa said, "It's a love song, Alrich."

"That it is," said Alrich.

Softly, she said, "It could be a sad song."

Alrich took a moment to consider his reply. Finally, he said, "It's her song, Ursa. Sad or not, we will sing it anyway."

Author's Note: So, I'm on a Hadestown kick. It got me thinking about songs, and the power of songs, how they help a story continue to be told throughout history - and then I remembered that Mandalorians also have a thing about songs. Which is how this story came into being. Also, I've been wanting to do a story told from the viewpoint of Sabine's parents - and how they might potentially feel about Sabine having strong feelings for a certain Jedi.

[msweebyness]

Some DC/Marvel AU Headcanons

Have some headcanons for the hero and villain kids from these universes! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

DC:

Chloe is incredibly proud of the fact that her family is Markovian royalty and reminds people of that fact any chance she gets. It profoundly gets on the other villains’ nerves, and they make that known to her. Sabrina still humors her girlfriend by calling her “Princess”. The others have still picked up some Markovian phrases from Chloe though, particularly expletives.

Colussus: *steps on a lamp post that jabs his foot* MOTHER OF GOAT!

Even alien planets aren’t devoid of racism, and Evie has witnessed this throughout her life on M’arzz. While Evie herself, like her mother, is Ga’Runn, the ethnic majority, her father is A’ashenn, and one of her brothers was born such as well. The scorn they received from her mother’s wealthy family and the Ga’Runn population at large was brutal and at times violent, and it left a deep effect on Evie. It was part of the reason she was so hesitant to reveal her true Martian self first to Brecken and then to her fellow heroes, though all accepted her with open arms. (Her telepathy is the main means of communication between the heroes)

Reshma’s Scarab is a part of her consciousness, and that’s not necessarily something she’s happy about. While it’s certainly helpful in battle, it also wakes up and chooses violence every day, with its solution to most problems being “PLASMA CANNON”. Needless to say, this kinda annoys Reshma. Her friends are aware that whenever she seems to be talking to herself, she’s actually arguing with Scarab. …it does have pretty good taste with clothes though.

Reshma: No, it would not have been ‘preferable’ to vaporize them all when they were gathered as a group! Will you please just chill the fuck out?!

Jean and Ondine, as the chief magic users of the heroes and villains respectively, have a fierce rivalry whenever any battle crops up. Neither is willing to let the other show them up, and it can get to the point that Austin T and Kim have to intervene before things can get too crazy or destructive.

Petra will admit that becoming the hero Karma and wielding the power of fate is pretty cool, but the Helmet of Fate does come with a downside, and his name is Nabu. He does nothing but talk down to her and treat her like an ignorant child and they really wish they could just tell him to put a cork in it, almighty lord of order or not.

Being the resident extraterrestrials of the group, Marc, Evie, Mindy and Ismael have a close bond, helping each other out with Earther stuff and just taking the time to talk about how much they miss Tamaran, M’arzz and Thanagar respectively, and also comforting Ismael who never got to experience living on his home planet. They also geek out about cool Earth stuff together.

Missy and Gia have always had a strong friendship and friendly rivalry when it comes to their archery skills and work quite well as a team. They have frequent competitions and are evenly matched in wins and losses. Their friendship is so strong that when they’re older they found a private security company with Rochelle and Zoé. (Anyone who gets this reference, I love you.)

Zoé picked up Dick’s habit of messing with the English language by removing prefixes from words to make new ones. That is all.

Rouge: I am traught, whelmed and feeling the aster! Let’s do this!

Marvel:

Missy has an…entertaining dynamic with her Symbiote, named Rancor. They’re kind of a snarky little shit and frequently get on her nerves with their comments, but the two care for each other nonetheless. Missy protects Rancor from those who wish to exploit them, and they would do anything to keep their host safe. Their friendship has its ups and downs, but is nevertheless strong.

Ivan, as you might suspect, is chronologically a bit older than he looks. The experiment to turn him into a super soldier was conducted several decades before the present day, and he was subsequently frozen in cryostasis until being reawakened in the 21st century. During that time, his parents passed away and his sister lived to old age before doing the same just three years before he was thawed out. He misses them terribly and has a lot of bad days where he’s overwhelmed by the new and unfamiliar world around him. Thankfully, his girlfriend and friends are there to support him. (He also got to meet his sister’s daughter and her two kids, and she told him how much her mother would talk about him, how she would have loved her uncle.)

Adrien and Ondine were childhood best friends who grew up in Asgard together, and she’s always had his back no matter what. If Marc messed with him too much, she would be the first to kick the chaos God’s ass, and Marc respects and fears her for that. Adrien also helped Kim out with winning her over and asking her out.

Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs! Hope you liked these!

[helpinghanikan]

Star Wars: Kinktober

Day 23: DP (Boba Fett and Din Djarin)

Kinktober Masterlist

Mos Espa was still rubble when Boba and Din all but invited themselves into your bedroom. This wasn’t the first time you had them both, it was the first time they seemed to have discussed this without you. Both asked to speak with you away from anyone else after that Rancor got squared away.

“This is the only way to celebrate a battle, Like how old Mandalorians did it,” Din said, his hand in your hair. “Ravishing the willing while enemies still bleed somewhere else. It’s the best way to show the world we’re still alive.”

It was hard to focus on anything Din was saying right now. You’ve been on your hands and knees for the last few minutes. Being a good girl and sucking Din’s cock while Boba fingered your ass open. Every now and then Boba would reward you with a tease to your clit, not enough to get you anywhere but it was still nice.

“You’re making that up,” was all you could think to say. Your voice carries an authority that doesn’t usually come with sucking someone’s cock.

The deep chuckle behind you is followed by a swat to your backside.

“Except he’s not, Little one. Stand up for us.” Boba orders, his hands staying on your hips as you stand.

He turns you around to face him. Still most in his armor with only the codpiece missing. Din was the same behind you. They both knew what their armor did to you, what it did to everyone really. Nothing sexier than a wall of power dressed in metal.

As if to prove that you are a ‘little one’ to him, Boba lifts you from the floor. His gloves are a bit rough on the back of your thighs, pulling your leg around him and positioning you over his cock. He continues to speak as he slowly presses through your lower lips.

“This tradition is found in every kind of clan, it’s as Mandalorian as our helms and weapons. Plenty of willing men and women can be found at the end of battles. It’s not just Mandalorians who want to feel alive after death.” Boba tries to hide it but his voice changes while inside of you.

Din waits for your signal before pushing in your ass. Waiting for you to reach back towards him. He needs you to physically grab at him before being willing to do anything.

“Tell us if it’s too much.” He says, the cool of his helmet pressed into the back of your neck.

Boba had a thick cock that fucked your pussy with slow but deep thrusts. Barely was there any sound from his hips smacking yours. He cared more about the feeling than the showmanship of fucking fast.

Din, on the other hand, had a longer cock than Boba but wasn’t as thick. Instead, he reaches deeply inside of you. Passing by the regular sense of feeling and into the boundary of being almost too much. There’s no point in trying to get used to the feeling of him so far in, you won’t be able to when Boba is also fucking you.

Din and Boba fuck together like how they fight. Not a mirror image of one another but with a series of complimentary movements. When you think that maybe there is a rhythm for you to focus on it suddenly changes. The smacking gets louder and louder as Din forgets his position and can only think about his cock.

It was never spoken in front of you, but they seemed to have their own little rules about these trysts. The most important rule seemed to be that you needed to get off before they were allowed to.

You weren’t going to question this. Their hands seemed to be everywhere, and there seemed to be a million of them. Squeezing your breasts, holding up your thighs, rubbing gentle circles into your clit, and tilting your chin towards the ceiling so Din could nuzzle into your shoulder.

It’s not a growing warmth but a gasping explosion when you cum. Heat through your core escaping out of your mouth in a barking shout. Din groans behind your ear while Boba’s eye-line is locked onto your face.