#macrobinoculars

[mothinasweater]

star wars macrobinoculars from the original trilogy era that are made out of almost 100% recycled trash

[sw5w]

OOM-9 Scans the Gungan Army

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:46:09

[dragon-subway]

May the fourth be with you 🎉 Took a while but the phase two base is done. please feel free to use

here's the folder with the transparent images and .csp file which has more addons than i could do with the transparent images and the colours blocked in to make things easier

addons include:

kama

pisol holster

extra pouches (belt only)

arc pauldrons (left, right, both)

extra armour (chest, legs)

range finder

visor shade

headfin

macrobinoculars

comms tech

cody-like antennas

backpack

please keep in mind while i tried my best not everything is compatible

[jastervhett]

Mandalorian Din Djarin's Helmet T-Visor Heads-Up-Display (HUD) Concept Art

This is Concept Art for The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) Helmet's T-Visor HUD (Heads-Up Display). It was shown in The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian book. Unfortunately, Din's helmet Heads-Up Display wasn't showcased in the 1st episode of The Mandalorian. Instead, the show had Din use the scope of his Amban Phase-Pulse Blaster (AKA Amban Sniper Rifle) to scan the hideout of the Nikto mercs that were keeping Grogu.

The series has presented some very cool features of Din's Mandalorian helmet. Like when Din eavesdropped on Imperial Officer "The Client" & Clone Engineer Dr. Pershing by: A) Scomp-linking his helmet to his scope to enhance its vison mode, allowing Din to lock in on their position inside their Imperial safehouse and: B) Adjusting the scopes controls to listen in on the Client & the Doctor's conversation concerning Grogu's fate.

Since Mandalorian Helmet T-Visors are known to possess many features (Heads-Up Display, Macrobinocular Viewplate, Enhanced Vision) I hope we'll see something close or similar to the afore mentioned T-Visor concept art pic being utilized by Din Djarin & other Mandalorians. Because frankly, with all of the other Mandos that appeared in The Mandalorian, it was odd that, except for a few rare occasions, any of them ever used their T-Visor's Heads-Up Displays to target an enemy, scan an area for hostiles, etc. (And if someone did use their Helmet's HUD, it would just look like a plain video camera shot instead of a view similar to the T-Visor concept art pic shown below.)

Hopefully we'll get to see a Mando use their helmet HUD's featuring a T-Visor POV (with accompanying data read-out graphics) someday on-screen. Maybe even in the upcoming The Mandalorian & Grogu film.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Uncalculated Variables”

Tech x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Clone Wars-era op with the Bad Batch. Jedi reader + Quinlan Vos bestie assisting the op.

⸻

If Tech had known he’d be spending the mission with two unorthodox Jedi, he might have requested recalibration for his brain implant.

Vos was already a variable he’d accounted for—reckless, talented, infuriatingly good, unpredictable. But you?

You were something else entirely.

You strolled off the gunship like the war was a camping trip, a lightsaber strapped to your hip and a ridiculous grin on your face as you greeted Wrecker with a high five mid-jump.

“Miss me, big guy?”

Wrecker beamed. “You always make it more fun!”

Vos followed close behind, flipping a thermal detonator in one hand like it was a toy. “They let you off Coruscant without me? I’m hurt.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Please. You’d just get jealous when I steal all the glory.”

Vos grinned. “You wish.”

Tech stared. “I fail to see how this level of casualness is appropriate for a battlefield.”

You turned to him with a slow smile. “Ah, you must be Tech.”

He straightened instinctively. “Yes. You are correct.”

You offered a hand—not stiff or formal, but open, easy. There was mischief in your eyes. “I’ve read your file. You’re the one with the brains and the dry commentary.”

He hesitated before taking your hand. “That is… not inaccurate.”

You leaned in, voice low. “I like brains.”

He blinked. “As do most species. It is vital for survival.”

Vos coughed loudly behind you—possibly to hide a laugh.

Wrecker elbowed Hunter. “I like this Jedi.”

Tech ignored them, adjusting his goggles. “We are operating on a strict schedule. I’d prefer we keep distractions—”

“Lighten up, Tech,” you teased, falling into step beside him. “If you smiled any less, we’d have to start checking for signs of carbon freezing.”

“I assure you, I am functioning within optimal emotional parameters.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds lonely.”

He shot you a side glance, but your tone was playful, not unkind.

“I don’t understand you,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Most don’t. That’s half the fun.”

⸻

Later, during recon, Vos and Wrecker were off chasing a “weird energy reading,” Crosshair was perched up somewhere, and Hunter had gone ahead to secure the route. That left you and Tech crouched behind cover, scanning a Separatist outpost through the macrobinoculars.

“Y’know,” you said casually, “if you ever wanted to break all your rules and do something reckless, I’m very available.”

Tech frowned. “I don’t require your availability. This mission is already well underway.”

You stifled a laugh. “Not what I meant.”

He blinked, confused. “Was it a code? I didn’t detect one.”

You turned to him, resting your chin on your hand. “You’re cute when you’re confused.”

His ears turned slightly pink.

“I’m not confused,” he replied quickly. “Merely… recalibrating.”

You laughed again, soft and warm. “You’re fun, Tech. Even if you don’t know it.”

He didn’t reply. Just stared out at the outpost, glasses slightly fogged. Processing. Buffering.

You winked as you stood. “Come on, Brain Boy. Let’s go break some droids.”

And behind you, Tech mumbled—

“…I don’t understand you.”

But oh, he wanted to.

⸻

“Move your pretty brain, Tech!”

Your shout cut through the blaster fire as you Force-shoved a B1 battle droid clean off the ridge. The droid hit the canyon wall with a clang before falling into a satisfying silence.

Tech barely managed to duck behind the rock as two more shots ricocheted past his goggles.

“I’m attempting to calculate the terrain advantages, not—”

You dropped beside him, lightsaber humming with heat. “Flirt later, calculate less. We’re getting spicy out here.”

“I am not flirting—”

“You will be,” you said sweetly, spinning to deflect a bolt. “Just haven’t hit the right button yet.”

“Force help me,” Crosshair muttered over comms. “I’m in hell.”

Vos cackled somewhere on the ridge. “This is why I bring her on ops.”

You winked in Tech’s direction. “Besides, I like it when smart boys get flustered.”

“I am not—” he started, only to cut himself off when you leapt over the boulder and ran directly into blaster fire.

“Wait—don’t—!”

But you were already slicing through droids, movements chaotic and fluid. A little wild, a little beautiful. Vos followed behind you with a war cry and a detonator.

“Stop being reckless in combat!” Tech snapped, ducking as sparks flew overhead.

Wrecker hollered from behind cover. “She’s so cool, right?!”

Tech was still reeling from how your braid moved like a whip when you spun, when a Super Battle Droid on the ridge zeroed in on his location.

He didn’t see it. But you did.

“Tech!”

You moved fast—a leap, a slide down the gravel slope, and then a blinding crack of energy as you shoved him to the ground and blocked the bolt meant for his chest with your saber.

The shockwave sent you both tumbling behind a ledge.

For a second, there was only the buzz of his ears and the hum of your saber still hot in the air.

You looked down at him—arms braced on either side of his shoulders, breathing hard, body pressed against his.

His goggles were crooked. His heart was absolutely not functioning in optimal parameters.

“You good?” you asked, voice low.

“I…” Tech swallowed. “Yes. Thanks to you.”

You leaned a little closer. “That’s two times I’ve saved your life this week. You might owe me.”

“I… suppose I do.”

You smiled. “We’ll figure out the payment plan later.”

Vos dropped beside you, covered in soot and grinning. “I saw that. That was hot. I’d kiss you for that save.”

“Why are they like this,” the sniper muttered and then glanced over to Tech. “Can’t believe I’m third-wheeling a courtship in the middle of a kriffing warzone.”

“Fourth-wheeling,” Vos corrected. “I’m emotionally invested.”

You grinned as you helped Tech up. “Don’t worry, brain boy. They’re only teasing”

You patted his chest, then turned back toward the canyon, saber blazing back to life.

“We’ll talk later. Right now? Droids first. Feelings… maybe after explosives.”

And then you were off again, a whirlwind of Force and fire.

Tech stood frozen, fingers twitching at his belt.

Vos clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the mess, genius.”

⸻

You were sitting cross-legged on the Marauder’s ramp, tossing pebbles at Wrecker’s helmet while he tried to balance a crate on one hand.

Vos was beside you, chewing on dried fruit like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He elbowed you after a particularly impressive throw.

“You ever gonna tell Tech you’re into him?” Vos asked, mouth half-full.

You smirked. “And ruin the comedy of him trying to math his way through courtship? No thanks.”

Wrecker laughed. “He is actin’ weird lately. Said I was being ‘emotionally invasive’ for askin’ if he liked you!”

Vos grinned. “He’s got it bad.”

“And I am loving it,” you replied, spinning a pebble in your fingers. “Every time I flirt, he acts like I just challenged his understanding of gravity.”

Right on cue, Tech walked down the ramp, datapad clutched in hand, goggles slightly askew. He stopped in front of you, cleared his throat.

“I… performed a series of diagnostics regarding interpersonal compatibility,” he said, utterly serious. “According to twenty-seven factors—including personality, adaptability, combat style, and dietary preferences—we are a statistically promising match.”

Vos dropped his fruit.

You blinked. “Did you just… scientifically determine that we should date?”

“I—well—yes,” Tech said. “But only if you’re interested. Which—based on your heart rate and verbal cues—I suspect you might be.”

Vos exploded into laughter, falling back on the ramp.

“Oh my Maker,” he wheezed. “You absolute nerd.”

You grinned at Tech. “That might be the most romantic math I’ve ever heard.”

Tech pushed his glasses up. “I thought you’d appreciate the data.”

“I do,” you said, standing and brushing your hands off. “But next time, try leading with something like: ‘I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to kiss you.’”

Tech turned crimson. “I—yes. Noted.”

“Relax,” you teased, stepping closer. “I’m not gonna kiss you.”

His expression fell a little.

“Yet,” you added.

From behind the crates, Crosshair exhaled loudly. “Maker, just kiss already or go back to sexually tense banter. This is painful.”

You turned. “Aw, Cross. You jealous you’re not the one I’m throwing pebbles at?”

He scowled. “I’d rather be shot.”

Vos stood and slung an arm around your shoulders. “Honestly, same.”

You nudged him. “You’re just mad you’re not the prettiest Jedi in the room anymore.”

Vos gasped dramatically. “Rude. And false.”

Tech, meanwhile, was still buffering.

“I may need to recalibrate my approach,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“Or,” you said, tapping his datapad, “you could just ask me to spend time with you. No variables required.”

He paused, then looked up at you, eyes suddenly very soft.

“…Would you like to accompany me on a walk through the canyon ridge at 1900 hours? Statistically, it would be—”

You leaned in, smirking. “Careful, Tech. That almost sounded like a date.”

He adjusted his goggles. “I was… hoping it would be.”

Vos made a gagging noise. Crosshair muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “nerds.”

And you?

You just smiled.

⸻

1900 hours hit, and you were waiting by the canyon overlook, robes loose and windswept, arms crossed like you hadn’t just spent twenty minutes trying to decide if you looked “dateable.”

You sensed him before you saw him—Tech’s unique mental frequency, all angles and tension and humming data flow. He approached precisely on time, goggles slightly askew, holding… a field scanner?

“Is that for scanning terrain,” you asked, grinning, “or just a really dramatic way to say you’re nervous?”

“I—” Tech adjusted his grip. “It is a tool for environmental analysis and—possibly—also distraction.”

You snorted. “So yes.”

The two of you walked along the ridge trail, the orange twilight casting soft shadows on the canyon walls. Silence settled, not uncomfortable, just… charged. Like the pause before a storm—or a kiss.

“So,” you said finally, “have you been practicing your flirting?”

Tech looked over, hesitant. “I did… research.”

“Oh no.”

He cleared his throat. “Your presence activates all of my… neurological functions.”

You blinked. “That… was almost sexy.”

“Almost?”

“You lost me at neurological.”

Tech looked disappointed. You reached over, brushing your fingers over his arm. “Don’t worry, I like the weird.”

“I am attempting,” he said, more softly this time, “to understand how to… express what I feel.”

You tilted your head. “And what do you feel?”

He turned toward you fully now. “I feel that your presence both stabilizes and disorients me. That your actions on the battlefield—reckless though they are—captivate me. That your voice lingers in my thoughts long after transmission ends. And that when you saved my life… I was afraid, not of death, but of losing the chance to tell you any of this.”

Your breath caught.

“…Tech,” you said, gently.

“I am aware,” he rushed to add, “that emotions are complex, and Jedi traditionally—”

You stepped forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t long or intense, just a warm press of lips. Steady. Sure.

When you pulled back, his goggles were fogged.

“Shutting up works too,” you whispered.

From somewhere nearby, a stick snapped.

You both turned just in time to hear Vos swear and fall directly out of a bush.

“I WASN’T SPYING,” he yelled.

“Maker above—” Tech muttered.

Crosshair’s voice crackled over the comm: “I told him you’d hear his dumbass breathing.”

Wrecker’s voice came next: “I think it’s sweet! Tech’s got a girlfriend!”

Vos was on his feet, brushing himself off. “Sorry—carry on. Proud of you, Tech. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You groaned. “I am going to murder all of you.”

Tech looked dazed.

“Can we… do that again?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, tugging him close. “Yeah. This time with less audience.”

[skywalkr-nberrie]

There’s a small part in the beginning of the Legends novel Yoda: Dark Rendezvous where it‘s narrated how Padmé was looking out to the distance watching the spaceport landing nearest to the Jedi Temple waiting for someone (Anakin) to land and immediately got her macrobinoculars when a ship landed but disappointedly put them down when she realized that it wasn’t “him.”

(It’s confirmed that Padmé waits by her window, watching the Jedi Temple with macrobinoculars intently waiting for Anakin to come home 🥹 the way she loves this man.)

[isa-moon-man]

Each of the CX troopers from TBB finale mirrors a member of the Bad Batch.

The one on the far left is clearly the muscle, mirroring Wrecker. The design of the helmet looks similar, as well--the same can be said for the other CX troopers, especially in the "eyes".

The one holding the spear seemed most likely to have been the lead, and his build and helmet "eyes" look the most like Hunter. He was also the one to catch Omega.

The one with the blades looks the most like Crosshair--mostly in how lanky he looks.

CX-2... well, we all know who that is.

The last one--the one with the visor--appeared after the others, just like how Echo was the last to join the Batch. This was also the only CX trooper to have a visor, rather than those "eyes", and the shape of it looks like Echo's helmet. This also reminded me of Echo's macrobinoculars from "Rookies".

[tempestswing]

Ranking the Dark Council:

hi! I was writing some notes for a piece of SWTOR fiction I am working on, and decided to create this list as a fun way to share that information.

Dark Council Pre-Shadow of Revan:

12. Darth Aruk - we know nothing about this character, other than that they were head of the Sphere of Sith Philosophy. According to the Wiki, rooting out Revanites was supposed to be their job. What a failure, hopefully they still have a job after Shadow of Revan?

11. Darth Rictus - Also kind of a mystery, which is ironic since he was head of the Sphere of Mysteries. Rictus does appear in a novel called 'Annihilation', but that book is mostly about Theron Shan. All we really know about Rictus is that he's (A) old, (B) dislikes aliens, unless they're murderous enough, and (C) founded the Dread Executioners to take down the Dread Masters. Not enough information to rank any higher.

10. Darth Acharon - at least this guy appears in the game. He's kind of a nothing character though. He defended the imperial occupation of Corellia unsuccessfully. He was head of the Sphere of Biotics. Since he died on Corellia, he would presumably have been replaced by Shadow of Revan, but we don't know who by.

9. Darth Arkous - hate this guy, but he's still technically head of the Sphere of Military Offense after the Hutt Cartel plotline. God, what a bag of dicks he is though. The one good thing about this character is that he's technically Lana Beniko's master? Although she's an advisor rather than an apprentice, so he gets no credit for the existence of awesome Sith wife.

8. Darth Decimus - Also found in game on Corellia! Decimus is actually present in the imperial quests, so you get a lot more interaction with him than Acharon. Canonically, he also trained Krovos! Krovos is really cool, so decimus should get a few points by association. Not enough to bump him up the list though. For the head of Military Strategy, he's not a very good commander.

7. Darth Ravage - You can meet Ravage at the end of the Inquisitor and Warrior storylines, and for all imperials he is present during the cutscenes preceding the Emperor Malgus flashpoints (although does nothing to help?). The main reason I'm putting Ravage so low is that he's a little bit inconsistently written. He'll gladly say "good riddance" to Darth Thanaton's death in the inquisitor plotline, but if you kill Baras in the Warrior plotline, he'll show up at Nathema and be all offended that you claimed power by murdering your master... does he know what a Sith is?

6. Darth Mortis - I have a bit of a soft spot for Mortis. He's got a no-nonsense demeanour which is rare amongst Sith, and he's clearly serious enough about their philosophy to join a secret conspiracy against the alliance if you "squander" the power of the Eternal Throne - a petty move, this man is a bitch after my own heart. He also is the one who snaps Darth Thanaton's silly little neck, which definitely earns him a few points in my eyes. As a point, he's involved in the Macrobinocular missions, which I did not enjoy, but he was a highlight of the questline.

5. Darth Acina - WOMEN IN POWER!!! Empress Acina is better than Emperor Vitiate. Unfortunately Acina is kind of bland, I really don't feel strongly about her either way. I've killed her on Iokath in most of my playthroughs, even if I don't intend to defect to the republic later. I might be lesbian but I just don't like her that much. Her reforms to the Empire are interesting though, I do have to give her credit for making the Empire slightly less racist and Sith dominated.

4. Darth Vowrawn - Silly guy!! This man is genuinely quite funny. He's a blast to spend time with at the end of the Warrior story, after dealing with Baras' grumpy ass for close to fifty levels. His choice to help the Wrath with the Hand on Rishi says... something. He's genuinely an interesting character to me, especially since he maintains that joviality when he becomes Emperor. It's tempered, to be sure, but I think it does show it wasn't entirely an act. Vowrawn could be a genuine friend to the Wrath.

3. Darth Jadus - Sue me, I like unapologetically evil characters. Jadus is not just an evil clown, he's an evil circus. Schemer to the core and melodramatic as fuck. I chose to serve him without a second thought in my agent playthrough. I appreciated the name drop on Iokath and I have 1% chance 99% cope that he will return at some point in the story.

2. Darth Occlus/Nox/Imperius - OCs are fun. No further notes. I should probably drop the lore for my verison of this character, huh... maybe in another post.

Darth Marr - Everyone's favourite tired Dad just trying to keep his society from collapsing as his colleagues bicker about inane bullshit. I reckon he drinks coffee straight outta the pot in the Dark Council's break room. I really wish he hadn't died, but his force ghost shenanigans were neat and I liked seeing him find a measure of redemption. Again, I am on a high dose of copium but if Malgus can return after being killed and abandonded on an exploding space station why can't someone scrape Marr off the floor of Zakuul and rebuild him. I do also low-key ship Marr with Satele Shan?

anyway, that's my totally subjective ranking of Dark Council members.

[javier-pena]

permission

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader x Paz Vizsla

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You belong to Paz ... but there's something about Din Djarin. He's on your mind constantly.

Warnings: threesome (m/f/m) | I’m taking great liberty with the Death Watch’s rules (Din takes his helmet off in front of Paz) | Din and Paz have a difficult relationship | mentions of alcohol | semi-public sex | voyeurism kink | oral (f receiving) | use of a blindfold | use of restraints | mentions of breasts (no size though) | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | unprotected p in v sex | masturbation (m) | a bit of spanking | a bit of anal (f receiving) | creampie

Notes: I had the idea for this fic somewhere toward the end of Mandalorian S3 and then it took me a while to find the time to write it but here it is 🤭 shoutout, as always, to Dani @alexturner for reading this in advance even though she definitely isn't a Paz girlie.

***

The air in the private booth is stuffy, filled with laughter, with cries and music, with the sounds of metal jugs hitting wooden surfaces, spilling their contents over tables and hands. The only thing separating you from the commotion beyond is a thin curtain, only there to give the occupants of the room a semblance of privacy.

It’s just you and Paz tonight – he sits perched on a wooden stool that groans under his massive body every time he shifts. You sit on his lap, cool beskar steel pressing into your thighs through your thin pants. And then there’s Din Djarin, whom you have known for as long as you’ve known Paz, maybe even longer. Memories begin to blur when you hop from planet to planet, from system to system.

With one hand, Din lifts his helmet so his chin and bottom lip are exposed, and takes a sip from his drink. Paz mirrors him, shifting his weight and you with it. You lean closer to him for some purchase against his hard chest, looking at a spot just behind Din’s head, at a brown stain on a gray wall, at a lamp barely bright enough to illuminate a little corner, at a small bug scurrying down from the ceiling. You look anywhere but at Din’s visor, anywhere but at the macrobinocular viewplate that hides his piercing eyes, those eyes he can’t keep off you, that have been on you ever since you all sat down. As long as you find other things to focus on, his gaze doesn’t hold any power over you.

“Are you’re sure they’re on this planet?” you attempt to make conversation, to distract Din and yourself.

Both men grunt, but that’s the only response they grant you.

You shift on Paz’s lap, you squirm, and he slings an arm around your waist, gloved hand coming to rest on your stomach. His other hand holds onto his jug while his eyes pin down the man opposite him.

“If I was running from the law, I’d try to hide somewhere warm, preferably with a beach,” you try to strike up a conversation for a second time.

“They’re not running from the law,” Paz answers, his thumb brushing against your stomach.

“No, I know,” you say. “I was just saying, there are nicer places to hi-”

The rest of the sentence is lost somewhere in the stuffy air as Paz’s hand glides lower, two fingers coming to rest at the apex of your thighs, pressing down. You can’t be sure, but you think Din’s gaze follows Paz’s motions … at least he lowers his helmet slightly. He could also be staring at your chest, you realize, your face hot with embarrassment.

“Where would you hide then?” Din asks, a metallic undertone in his voice, distorted by the modulator in his helmet.

“Niamos, maybe,” you answer. “I’ve heard Spira is nice –”

An insistent pull low in your abdomen makes you leave the sentence hovering unfinished in the air above the table. Two of Paz’s fingers are massaging you through your pants, the pressure enough to light up your core, not really enough for anything else. You grip the edge of the table, pretend you’re trying to get more comfortable on Paz’s lap, while Din raises his head, his gaze settling on the man behind you. There is a wordless exchange – you can see it in the way Din shifts his shoulders, hear it in the harsh exhale of breath coming through Paz’s modulator.

Suddenly, Paz slings his arm around your chest and grips your shoulder with his free hand. “Do you really think you’d be able to outrun us?”

Your vision blurs as you see yourself cowering in a dark air vent, as you imagine yourself crouching behind the trunk of a sturdy tree, laying low in a run-down motel, scraping together some credits to bribe an official to let you off a planet without papers. All the while, you’re looking over your shoulder, you scan every crowd for a flash of beskar, blue or brown, for the glint of a visor reflecting sunlight. You see them kick down the door to your room, tie you up, drag you back to their ship … No, you wouldn’t be able to outrun them.

You shake your head.

“No, you’re right,” Paz agrees, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, even with the helmet covering his face.

He slips his hand past the waistband of your pants then, the coarse leather of his glove rough against the soft skin of your thighs and belly. He reaches down to where wet heat has begun to moisten your underwear, and holds you, his palm resting against your clit. Din’s chest is rising and falling so fast you notice it in spite of the strong armor covering him. You force yourself to stare directly at his visor, to imagine his hidden eyes on you, his mouth hanging open. Your own mouth is dry, you can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“I think you’d like that,” Paz goes on. “I think you’d like being at our mercy like that.”

You nod, because he’s right. You nod, because the thought has crossed your mind once or twice, when you watched them bring someone in, when you watched them handle their bounty as if they weighed nothing, their captive’s pleas falling on deaf ears. You nod, because Din’s hand closes harder around his jug, the leather of his glove groaning.

Paz notices too, and you can hear the gloating in his voice when he speaks next. “Would you like to touch her?”

You belong to Paz, but Din – it’s complicated. It’s an open secret there’s tension between the two men, between these two brothers by creed, because Paz got to you first. It’s a well-guarded secret, hidden in a deep, dark corner of your heart, that you sometimes wish Din had been first, that you sometimes lie awake, imagining his hands on you instead of Paz’s. And it’s a fact that Paz likes to tease both of you because of that.

Paz’s question is followed by a shift of his palm, by increased pressure against your clit. You bite your lip to contain a whimper.

“Paz …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning. Or a plea.

“You know what to say,” Paz responds, and a shiver runs down your spine at the commanding tone in his voice.

Your eyes are glued to Din’s visor, a silent plea written all over your face. Say yes, say yes, say yes. But Din only has eyes for his brother, his rival, purposefully avoiding your gaze. And then he speaks.

“May I touch her, please?”

The strain in his voice does make you whimper this time. Paz hears it, and so does Din. A big hand is grabbing one of your breasts now, squeezing it, rolling your nipple. You find purchase between the table and Paz’s thigh, but you can already feel the sizzling edges of an orgasm making its way toward you with greedy hands. Din watches, shifts in his seat, adjusts himself in his pants. And somewhere, far away, a man shouts, a glass bursts.

“Go on, then,” Paz says, letting go of your breast to spread your thighs with a sure motion.

Here? is your first thought. The second, much louder one, is Fuck …! as Din stands up, shaking hands balled into fists at his side, a visible bulge in his dark pants.

Paz pushes you off his lap, pulls down your pants and underwear in one quick motion, then pulls you back toward his chest. He spreads you open with both hands, an offering for Din to do with as he pleases. Or maybe not quite. Because when Din gets to work on pulling his cock out of his pants, Paz snaps, “No. Get on your knees.”

Din stops, uncoils his fingers, then balls them into fists again, a quick succession of small movements. His shoulders tense as he looks at you, spread open for him, as he wonders if the price might be too high after all. You know him well enough to know he’s weighing getting to touch you against following Paz’s rules. He can’t have one without the other. You want to whisper his name, you want to call out for him, but one wrong move, one wrong word, and Paz is going to take this away from the both of you.

Din stills his hands eventually, presses the open palms against his thighs, and makes up his mind. You feel the ground shake as he falls to his knees in front of you, then raises his helmet to seek out your eyes. The visor is too dark for you to be able to tell what lies beyond it, and you wish you’d be allowed to see his face, his eyes, just once, but before you can even ask for something as ridiculous as that, your vision turns dark.

“Take off your helmet,” Paz commands as he ties a piece of dark fabric tightly over your eyes. You squirm as your heart begins to race, but Paz presses you tightly against his body. “Stay still,” he whispers into your ear. “We’re going to take care of you.”

You feel a pounding between your legs at the hissing sound you hear next. Your breathing is too hard, too shallow, but with your eyesight gone, you have to rely on your other senses. The shouts from behind the curtain are louder than before – you can make out individual voices, certain words and phrases – and you are keenly aware of the fact that any second now someone could burst into the room to see you spread open like this with a man kneeling between your legs while another one holds you down.

That doesn’t stop your chest from vibrating with a deep moan when Din tentatively licks across the wet heat between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue is a relief, the second kindles something within you, the third one and all the others following are torture. Paz starts to massage your breast again and your head falls back against his chest, relying on him and Din to make sure you won’t slide to the floor. Din’s licks become faster, more eager, as he buries his face between your legs, drinking you down like he’s starving and the taste of you is the only thing that can save him. His hands find their way to your thighs and he digs his fingers into your soft skin, spreading you even further, licking deeper and deeper.

“Don’t touch her,” Paz growls.

Din squeezes your thighs, but lets go quickly. You miss his touch, but know better than to say something. Instead, you twine your legs around his shoulders, caging him in with your thighs. He moans against your clit, and you shiver, pressing yourself harder against his chin and tongue and nose. Then his hands are on the back of your thighs, massaging your ass, pressing you even closer as he starts to feast on you, barely coming up for air.

“I said don’t fucking touch her.” Paz pulls you off Din’s shoulders, away from him, and stands while dropping you onto his stool.

It’s pathetic, really, the way you whimper, “Please,” but neither man hears you. You just hear sounds, a whirr, the sound of Din’s angry grunts of protest, armor clanging against armor. And then Paz says, “That’ll teach you”.

He picks you up again and places you back on his lap, and then Din’s face is pushed against you. He grunts his surprise and you hiss at the sudden return of his tongue. You hear the sound of leather tightening, and then Din’s head moves as if he has been shoved. A second later, both of Paz’ hands are on your body again, while Din’s remain absent.

Your entire body hums with the sensation of Din licking into you, each stroke hungrier than the last, while Paz holds you against him, watches over you, makes sure you’re okay. Sometimes, there are orders, “Not too fast. More pressure. Take your time with her,” other times there are questions, “Do you like how wet she is for you? Do you see how her legs are shaking?” and sometimes there are encouragements, “Yes, that’s it. You’re doing so well. Beautiful.” You’re not quite sure who the recipient of those is.

You come once with a surprised shout, spilling down Din’s chin, and hear all the sounds become wetter. Din doesn’t stop though, and Paz doesn’t tell him to either, and when you try to squirm away, raw and overstimulated, Paz makes sure you stay in place. You come a second time, moaning and panting so loudly Paz clamps a hand over your mouth until all you can taste is leather. Even after you’ve stopped shaking, even when you can’t do anything but hang limply between their bodies, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, blood rushing in your ears and pounding through your body, Paz still doesn’t let go, only says, “Another one.” Your feeble protest is lost between his thick fingers covered in hard leather.

You’re not sure you can come a third time, even though you can feel yourself flutter against Din’s tongue from time to time, even though there is an insistent throbbing there every time he sucks your clit into his mouth. Too weak to push him off, even if Paz would let you, all you can do is lie there and take it until they’re both satisfied. Paz squeezes your nipple again, but finally releases your jaw, and you breathe in deeply, gulp down air. The sweat running down from your brow mingles with a few stray tears pushing past the blindfold.

“Come on, girl, you can take it,” Paz whispers somewhere above you, and you nod, licking your dry lips.

The next thing you feel is Paz’s naked finger against your lips, tasting of Revnog. You lick it eagerly, tasting the sharp sting of the drink and the rich flavor of leather. As a reward, he grants you two fingers next, both coated in Revnog. As you suck them into your mouth, Din shifts between your legs, changing the angle slightly, and you’re pulled forward by a third orgasm, one that’s been building for a while now, one that catches you by surprise and refuses to let you go once it has you in its grasp. Your moans are choked by Paz’s fingers in your mouth; when you get too loud, he presses down against your tongue, making you choke. When you’re too quiet, he lessens his hold so he can hear you better.

Once you’re spent, ears ringing so loudly the sounds beyond the curtain seem muffled, far away, like you’re listening to them through a thick wall of water, Paz lifts you off his lap and places you on the stool where you slump, unable to keep yourself upright. A noise much closer to you, one that penetrates your exhausted mind, is the sound of Din trying to catch his breath, his shallow pants, his groans as he shifts on the floor in front of you. And finally, you can make out the hum of a vibroblade as Paz cuts him loose.

When Paz takes off your blindfold, he does it gently, careful not to touch you more than necessary. He strokes your cheek, his fingers cool and coarse against your heated skin. You blink a few times, waiting for your vision to become less blurry, and then look up at him hovering above you, taller than usual, his shoulders tense, his stance wide. You know what comes next.

Paz hands you his jug, lets you take a swig from it, then pulls you off that stool and pushes you against the table. You grunt as your chest hits the wood, try to push yourself up, but Paz pushes you back down, one hand sprawled across your back, kicking your legs apart with his foot.

“Hold her down,” he grunts.

When you look up, you see Din stand in front of you, his face already hidden behind his helmet again. The pang of disappointment you feel at that sight is quickly replaced by seething lust as he grabs both your wrists with one hand and holds them down against the wood. Between this and Paz’s hold on your hips, there is no chance of escape for you.

Behind you, the rustle of clothes cuts through the suddenly still atmosphere, laden with expectation. Then you feel Paz’s cock against your backside as he drags himself over your exposed skin before pushing into you with one quick stroke. You scream, nails digging into the wood – he’s so big, so heavy … you’re not sure you can take it. Paz gives you a moment to breathe, strokes down your back to calm you, even whispers, “Shhh,” (a hissing sound through the modulator). But then he pulls out and slams back into you so hard you see stars.

“Please,” you whimper, but he only tightens his hold on your hips.

You try to move but you can’t. Din, who feels you struggle against his hold, circles one of your wrists with his thumb in a soothing motion and you swallow hard as you try to relax. Paz’s palm lands against your bare ass with a slap and you’re being pushed forward, up the table. The sound you make is closer to pleasure than pain now.

“Do it, pretty boy,” Paz grunts between thrusts, and you glance back up at Din, watch as he pulls himself out of his pants, hope you don’t imagine the slight tremor in his hand. Your mouth turns painfully dry at the sight of his cock, completely hard, a dark red on the verge of becoming purple, its tip glistening invitingly. He begins to stroke himself fast, eyes fixed on you as he groans with relief, and you feel his hold on you become less hard.

Escape is now the last thing on your mind. You lick your lips eagerly as you imagine what it would feel like to have Din’s cock press against your tongue, spilling down your throat. And you hope Din has similar thoughts as he stares at you, chest heaving. Paz slaps you again. Then he closes his fingers around the back of your neck, pushing your head down. You push back against him in defiance, but he only slaps you a third time.

“You’re mine,” he growls.

Your fingers scrape against a bit of exposed skin on Din’s wrist.

“Come on, say it,” Paz orders, between three particularly vicious thrusts.

For a brief moment, you consider defying him, but there is something about the whimper you think you hear from Din’s direction that tells you he likes seeing you be used like this.

“I’m yours,” you give in.

“Good girl,” Paz praises. Then you feel a pressure between your cheeks, followed by a burning sensation as he pushes a finger past your muscles, taut with pleasure.

You don’t come, at least you don’t think you do, but you can feel yourself clench around Paz so hard his movements become erratic. Before you feel his hot release spilling into you, you hear Din hiss, “Fuck!” and feel him coat your bare arms, your cheeks, and the table beneath you in thick, white ropes.

While Paz fucks his seed into you with a few final, deep thrusts, you lick Din’s cum from the corner of your mouth, savoring its heady taste. And Din strokes your cheek, softly, like he’s savoring nothing more than this moment.

***

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[dapurinthos]

maul: i'm gonna watch the jedi get their asses KICKED by the yinchorri.

I stop. Across the spires, I can see directly into one of the skyscrapers. I press my face forward even though all it gains me is increased pressure around my eyes from the hard plastic of the binocs. Head and shoulders above its surrounds, it looks like a moth-eaten rocket. The pinnacle still holds some glass in its highest windows, where they reflect the glow of a Coruscant night. A grand wreck, in the grand tomb that is the Dacho District. Some of the other buildings are missing huge chunks of their shells, worn down through time and eaten away by acid rain to skeletal structures. I freeze like someone catching their reflection in a mirror they didn’t know was there. My breath catches in my throat. It’s not a reflection. It’s someone standing in a window, whole districts away, holding a pair of what look like markedly better binoculars than my own. I take a step back as I feel that gaze lock onto me, sharp and cold as an icicle piercing my skin. Darth Maul looks back at me through his own binoculars. He does a double-take. Well, that’s both of us surprised, then. I lift one hand from my macrobinoculars and give a hesitant wave. I can practically see the angry question marks above his head. He shifts in place, adjusting his grip on his own binocs. He’s probably imagining killing me. This was, quite possibly, a very bad idea. A culmination of bad ideas, actually, as the result of an adult consciousness shoved into the developing mind of a child. I should probably tell someone about this. Master Si!

[2for1bagels]

Wrenwolf Rainbow Week - Violet🟣

Sabine Wren x Shin Hati

452 words

The crackling of dry wood sings from the campfire a few feet away from Shin, it's warm notes lonely on the gentle Peridian breeze aside from the occational howl over the horizon as the flame's glow outshines the moon above.

Examining the helmet in her hands, turning it around so as to look into its visior, a soft smile graces her lips. Looking up and across to the other side of the fire, she speaks just a little louder than the wood sparks.

"It is formidable... But I still think I prefer you without it on."

Sabine smiles at the words, lowering the macrobinoculars and looking over the shoulder back at Shin from where she is stood facing the darkness.

"I bet you say that to all the girls on Peridia."

"Only you. And I would say the same on Coruscant."

The red that fills the Mandalorian's cheeks is unavoidable as her smile grows tenfold, turning back to continue scanning the horizon to not let the dark Jedi's power over her become too visible in the soft glowing light.

Her smile slipping into a sad one, Shin stands from her seat on the log nearby the fire and makes her way around the dancing flames to the other woman, coming to stand a step away, still holding onto the Mandalorian helmet.

"We will find him... We will. But not this late."

Sabine let's out a heavy sigh, but doesn't stop scanning the horizon for a few moments more, until she knows no one is heading their way. Finally giving up for the night, she looks down for a moment and flexes her hands, sore from holding the viewers up to her eyes.

"Here..." Shin speaks, before ducking to place the helmet on the floor, raising only to take the viewers as well and placing them next to the metal of the armour, the warm light of the fire illuminating the violet of the piece.

Standing to close the gap between the both of them, taking Sabine's hands in her own, she begins to massage them gently. The shorter woman watches, letting her turn each over to work on the knuckles too in silence, the slightly calloused skin showing the wear and tear of surviving on the mostly desolate planet.

"I really need to find him..." She admits quietly, holding down the block in her throat in fear of tears welling in her eyes.

Shin looks up from her work and smiles softly.

"You will. You've already found me, haven't you?"

Sabine nods, letting a little of the tears trickle down her face as the smile easily returns to her lips, pushing forward to press them against them against the white-haired girl's.

[sw5w]

OOM-9 Oversees the Bombardment

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:48:25

[cantsayidont]

April to October 1977. Although the first issue of the Marvel STAR WARS comic has a cover date of July 1977, it appeared on newsstands in early April, about a month before the film debuted, and Lucasfilm first approached Marvel about a comics adaptation before the movie had even started shooting. Lucas was plainly a comics reader — as writer/editor Roy Thomas explains in a text page in the first issue, Lucas had even read Marvel's short-lived UNKNOWN WORLDS OF SCIENCE FICTION magazine — and for all Lucas's talk of Joseph Campbell mythological archetypes, the movies contain some probably non-coincidental similarities to the work of Jack Kirby, both from Marvel and DC. Lucas requested Thomas, whom he'd previously met, to write the comic, and also apparently asked for artist Carmine Infantino, who would later pencil the ongoing series, albeit not until after the adaptation of the movie was complete. The first 10 issues of the series were drawn by Howard Chaykin, who'd previously done some similar space-opera adventures, including his original "Ironwolf" strip in DC's WEIRD WORLDS in 1974–1975.

Thomas says in the text page that spreading the adaptation over six issues was his idea. That was generous for a movie adaptation (a few years later, Marvel adapted a variety of feature films, including BLADE RUNNER, in just two issues apiece), and was a fairly risky commercial move, but it paid off handsomely — I'm reasonably sure that this adaptation was by a healthy margin the most successful book Marvel published in the 1970s, going through multiple printings and being repackaged in an assortment of different ways. Unfortunately, this was before Marvel implemented its "incentive" (royalty) program for writers and artists, so it wasn't the windfall for Thomas and Chaykin that it would've been a few years later.

The adaptation isn't Chaykin's best work, although the addition of Steve Leialoha as inker on issues #2 through #6 tightens up the likenesses and gives the line art a greater feeling of solidity. Since the comic was done before the movie was completed, there are some discrepancies, and the adaptation includes several scenes that were dropped from the film, including Luke running to tell his friends about witnessing the battle between Leia and Vader's ships (which Luke has seen through his macrobinoculars) and encountering Biggs. The second issue also includes Han's confrontation with Jabba the Hutt (initially spelled "Hut"), later added in the SW Special Edition. Since Thomas and Chaykin had no idea what Jabba was supposed to look like except that he was an alien, this is what they came up with:

This version of Jabba reappeared twice in later issues of the series (#28 and #37, both penciled by Infantino). When Jabba's appearance was finally canonized in RETURN OF THE JEDI, Marvel made no attempt to explain the difference, which was really just as well. (If you dig around the Wookieepedia wiki, you'll find a rationalization for it that is absolutely NOT reflected in the original comics.)

Thomas and Chaykin also did the earliest post-movie stories, both in the STAR WARS title and serialized in Marvel's PIZZAZZ magazine, although these were not particularly distinguished and are really of interest only as curiosities. Thomas departed before either storyline was completed, with the comic book story wrapped up by Chaykin and Donald Glut and the PIZZAZZ serial continued by Tony DeZuñiga and Archie Goodwin. Goodwin would subsequently become the principal writer of the SW comic book until after THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK and of the newspaper strip until 1984.

[arc-77]

i think i'm experiencing heat stroke.

"Just another reason you should be wearing the armor: it's climate controlled." The Captain unhooks an extra canteen from his belt and hands it to Kenobi, then goes back to looking through his macrobinoculars.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

Do you think Anakin goes feral whenever he reunites with Padme? lol

2000%

They’d both be super feral. Anakin can’t fight off his smile on his fly home from the front lines, fighting tooth and nail to conceal his excitement from OWK, most definitely preparing another whole poem or love letter from scratch to say to Padmé and she sits by her window with macrobinoculars watching the temple to see when Anakin arrives.

They’re insane for each other.

[pockafwye]

If you see this in your macrobinoculars, you're too close toast.