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kalevalakryze · 7 months

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Mar'e'yi'manda

A quiet night under the stars on Lothal, Shin's laying in the grass next to Sabine, "What does it feel like?" They ask, risking a glance over to the other woman in the silver light of the moons.

"what does what feel like?" Sabine hums, fingers twiddling where they're clasped over her stomach.

"To be you?" There's something vulnerable there, something that tells Sabine not to look at them, so she focuses her golden eyes into the reflection of the light that reminds her of Shin so much.

"Everything sings," Her hand raises, open towards the night sky, a gentle breeze skirting past open fingers as her other hand drops from her stomach and to the grass, caking mud under her nails when she sinks the tips of her fingers into the dirt, to the still rain-damp layers below the surface.

"Sings? They question, and Sabine can hear them rustling in the grass, rolling onto their side so they can look across the foot of empty space separating them.

"Music is in everything, y'know?" The Artist shrugged, letting her risen hand finally drop back to the ground to twist grass up between her fingers.

"The wind in the grass, the ships coming out and going in, the life in the cities, the life we can't even see, all of it; and thats just who I am."

"I am the wind echoing across stone and I'm the sun melting away shadows, and sometimes I'm the color and the world is just waiting on me to paint it; I spent too long living in monochrome prisons to be anything but this.. this life,"

"Maybe that's sappy," Sabine huffed out with a tired smile, moving her dirt streaked hands back over her stomach, clasping them together once more, as if physically holding herself in and against the earth beneath them.

"To a Mandalorian, everything is handled in song- The Manda is everything we are; past, present, and future. It's this collective of all of our brothers and sisters, the songs of the lives they've lived. I can't be me without mentioning them, and the songs they wove into this life-"

Offering a sheepish smile, Sabine dares a look back at Shin. Their gaze is cast towards the moons in thought, their gloveless fingers twirling the padawan braid in a self stimulating movement, the ball of their gemstone sliding between the lightsaber calloused pads of her fingertips.

They seemed to be deep in thought, so Sabine let her words fade into the calming silence. From the tower, she could faintly hear Ezra, fumbling as he tried to navigate their home in its new state, with the most naggy occupant in the form of a territorial Loth-cat.

When peace and good company had finally begun to lull Sabine into a near sleep-like tranquility, accent thick in thoughtful words. "The force is like that too," They were contemplative, head held up in one hand, while the other traced a line of smell pebbles hidden in the grass.

"Singing?"

"Ah... Perhaps," Shin's nose crinkled. "I do not hear the music you are referring to, but-" The wolf sat up, legs crossing beneath them and hands dropping to the dirt caught in her greaves. "I can hear the stories." When Sabine's gaze flickered back to them, she found the pebbles, suspended in the air above their palms.

"Not the echoes in the force, more..." A slow exhale, the furrowing of their brows, and a tingle of anxiety as it melted into the cosmos around them. "Your music, your manda; that is the force, for me... My Master taught that everything was the will of The Force, like the Jedi; that we are conduits of the force and executors of its will... and the force has to have wants based on experience, right?"

A smile flickered on Sabine's lips as she watched the pebbles raise higher, the stars reflecting in their eyes as they followed the bottommost stone. Even after everything, Shin never did get talking much; Sabine learned long ago to take every moment their passion and drive for understanding was allowed to surface.

"The Force is written by the lives of all, these stones were once boulders, and in the Force, their pieces can be found; they never stop Being. They will always have a story, even when we cannot see them anymore."

"Funny, Jedi and Mandalorians have a long history of fighting over things like this, when they're so similar," Sabine shook her head as she finally sat up, brushing grass out of her hair.

The pitter-patter of soft paws in the grass tickled her ears, though before Sabine's head could turn, Nix was already making his way to clamber into Shin's open lap. "Little beast," They greeted with a sigh, allowing their pebbles to drop into their hands, setting them down back into the dirt where they had been found.

"I always had a hard time understanding the 'Force is life' thing; But I get it, I think;"

"There is no true way to get it. However you interpret it, so long as you are acknowledging the life it has and the impact you have on it all, that's what it is." Silence fell over the two women again, Sabine allowed her body to lean, shoulder drifting until she was pressing against the smooth leather of the jacket she would never hope to get back. "Thanks for that; I think sometimes, I need the reminder of how big it all is, and how we're all significant despite the size of it."

"Well, you cannot punch it, paint it, or blow it up, so I doubt you would have understood it alone, Mandalorian,"

"Why you little-!" Sabine shoved into Shin, sending Nix hissing and darting off into the tall grass as the wolf and the moon rolled in the grass.

"Hey guys! The Noti are hungry and I think I set your kitchen on fire!" Ezra called, squinting at the plume of smoke from the upstairs door wafting into the night sky.

"Little brothers," Sabine shook her head as she came to a stop, pinned into the dirt with a near smiling wolf.

"Jedi," Shin agreed, rolling their weight off and offering a hand up to the purple haired woman; Force, Manda, whatever it was, both would be rich with the songs and the stories of Ezra Bridger, the Jedi who ignited a bowl of ice-cream.

#wolfwren #wrenwolf #sabine wren #shin hati #shin x sabine #sabine x shin #Sabine Wren x Shin hati #ezra bridger #I got a little soft #a little lost in thought #a little something #i'm soft #ficlet #star wars #drabble #no angst #Mandalorian

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illuminatedquill · 2 days

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Ghost Stories 04

Feat. Sabine Wren

Story Context: (Takes place shortly before the events of Ahsoka) Sabine tries to relax in Capital City's Memorial Park only to be interrupted by the presence of a lost child separated from his friend.

The afternoon sun shone high overhead Capital City which normally would have meant boiling temperatures for the citizens below, if it weren't for the unusual cool breeze coming down from the northern seas. The resulting temperature for the day meant it was perfect for outdoor activities and, as a result, Memorial Park was filled to bursting with families looking to enjoy the weather.

Sabine had never felt comfortable in crowds and over the years since the war had ended, she had become increasingly fond of avoiding them whenever possible. But she was not exactly in the mood to just sulk and brood in her comm-tower either; even Murley, her beloved loth-cat companion, was becoming increasingly irritated at her mood swings. She had not seen him this morning for his usual breakfast, which was uncommon for him.

Sabine had decided that was her sign to get out and "touch some grass" as the saying went. So, she did.

Besides - she knew that he would want her to go outside and get some sun. Closing her eyes, she could practically see the worried expression on his face; those piercing blue eyes that never missed a single detail filled with concern.

Come on, Sabine. You're not a fungus, you're a person! Get outside and breath the fresh air for once.

Sabine snorted. The line was his typical brand of affectionate cringe and full of the goofy humor that she loved so much.

That she missed so much.

"Next!" came a voice. Sabine blinked, shook herself out of her nostalgic reverie. The food vendor, an older Twi'lek male with aqua skin and wrinkles that suggested plenty of time spent in the sun, waved impatiently at her. She stepped forward in a hurry.

"What'll it be, sweetheart?" he asked.

She scanned the menu on the vendor's stall for a brief moment. "I'll just have a bottle of your lime-twist fizzy drink, please."

"Ah, a crowd favorite on this perfect day. Good choice, good choice. Fifteen credits, please," he said.

Sabine dug out the money from her pocket and handed it over. A few moments later, the Twi'lek produced a bottle of neon green fizzy drink. She popped open the cap, took a sample sip - yes, it was still ice cold. The lime twist flavor was a perfect blend of sweet and tart.

She smacked her lips, said thanks to the vendor, and went to go find a spot somewhere secluded to enjoy her drink in peace.

Memorial Park was a large octagon of evergreen forest, filled to the brim with plants and trees native to Lothal. The city designer had wanted to keep the boundary between nature and the city seamless as possible; to put forth the idea that the two could co-exist in harmony. After the tyranny of the machine hungry Empire, the idea of healing Lothal through its beautiful fields was well-received.

But it was called Memorial Park for a reason. Artists from all over Lothal had contributed their own works to enhancing the scenery; beautiful pieces that conveyed strength, beauty, grief, and joy lay strewn all over the park for all to admire.

Sabine had, of course, had added her own touch to the park. It was a strange twist of fate that she found her secluded spot exactly where her own art had found a home.

A simple pair of stone statues, standing tall and proud, their gaze always in the direction of Lothal's rising sun. The pair were holding hands; their faces never ceasing their encouraging smiles to all who came to visit them. A dedication plaque lay at their feet, inscribed by Sabine herself:

DEDICATED TO MIRA AND EPHRAIM BRIDGER

MAY THEIR SPIRITS ALWAYS GUIDE LOTHAL TO A BRIGHTER DAY

She felt a lump form in her throat at the sight of Ezra's parents. How many hours had she spent, studying records and photographs and holo-vids, making sure she had their features perfected to the exact detail? She remembered the day Ryder, the Governor of Lothal, had seen her initial design for the statues. Sabine remembered how he had cried at the sight of his old friends again, forever memorialized for their heroic sacrifice.

One day, she promised herself, she would bring Ezra here. He hoped that her friend would like it.

Taking another sip of her fizzy drink, she spotted a nearby bench under the shade of several trees. Sabine walked over and took a seat, basking in the cool afternoon breeze rustling through the forest.

She set her drink down on the bench. Despite the day's brightness and the general sense of contentment hovering over the park, Sabine still didn't feel her mood considerably lifted. It still hung sourly over her, like a listless, grey cloud.

Sighing, she turned to reach for her drink -

Only to find a disheveled humanoid male child, covered in leaves and grass, chugging away at what was left of it.

Sabine stared at the kid, mouth slightly agape. "Hey!"

He downed the last few gulps and let out an enormous burp. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

The boy blinked at her. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was really thirsty."

"There's a food vendor not far from here," she said in an annoyed tone. "You got fifteen credits on you? Because that's how much you owe me, kid."

He blinked at her some more - and then started to cry.

Ah, kriff. Way to go, Sabine.

Feeling her momentary anger drain away, she kneeled down in front of the boy. At closer inspection, she noted some scrapes on his hands and knees - add all that to his general unkemptness, and the idea formed that he had been running from a fight.

"Hey, look. I'm sorry for getting annoyed, okay? Sit down right here," she said, gently guiding the young child onto the bench next to her.

"I'm really s-sorry. I'm lost. I got separated from my friend, Val." The boy sniffed loudly and wiped his face with a dirt-streaked sleeve.

"Were you in a fight?" Sabine asked. "With your friend?"

"No. Me and Val have been taking care of some loth kittens hiding out beneath a diner near our houses. We think the mama was taken by a poacher."

"Ah," she said. "Let me guess - the poacher came back." There were rumors that elite clientele all over the galaxy had gained an interest in garments made from loth-cat fur. Governor Ryder had come down hard on any criminal elements looking to make a fortune off the native felines, but some poachers still managed to escape through the security net set up by the Lothal Defense Force.

The boy nodded miserably. "We fought him. Val bit him on the hand. He got really angry."

Sabine arched an eyebrow at him, mildly impressed. "You fought him? A grown adult man?"

"Wasn't human. Gamorrean."

Wow. She was even more impressed. The Gamorreans were beefy, strong folk with a pig-like snout accompanied with sharp, tiny tusks that liked to punch first and ask questions later. The Hutt cartels liked to use them as guards, she had heard. They were big, ugly, mean, and could dish out a brutal beating when enraged.

"He grabbed Val and started shaking her real hard. I got scared, threw the biggest rock I could find at his ugly head. He started chasing me. I think he lost my trail on the way here. I hope Val's okay."

Sabine patted him on the back. "You two are very brave. I'm sure she's fine."

The boy sniffed again. "We promised to find each other if we ever got lost. But I'm dumb. I'm terrible with directions. I didn't even tell her where I was going."

"Hey," Sabine said gently. "She made you a promise, right? She'll find you. Just hang out here with me until she comes along."

He looked up at her. "How can you be sure that she'll be here?"

Sabine shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"Okay," said the boy, sounding less uncertain. "What's your name, lady?"

"I'm Sabine," she said, offering a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm - uh . . ." The boy suddenly trailed off, looking nervous.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "My parents said I shouldn't give my name to strangers."

She chuckled. "That's fair. Guess that makes me a dummy, then."

"No - no, not at all!" exclaimed the boy, looking horrified that he had potentially insulted his new friend. "That's not what I - "

His stomach rumbled really loud, piercing the forest ambiance.

The boy's cheeks were aflame. Sabine couldn't help but laugh.

"Let's go see that food vendor I was talking about," she said.

She was out another thirty credits after they had finished ordering. The kid ate like he had been starved for a week.

"Feeling better?" she asked after he had scarfed down the last morsel.

He nodded vigorously, his cheeks full of food.

"That's good - " she started to say, when a pair of tiny feet drop kicked her in the stomach. Suddenly winded, she staggered backward a few steps.

"Leave him alone!" came a voice.

The boy's face whipped around, eyes wide with surprise. "Val!" he said. "You found me!"

Sabine, doubled over in pain, said in a weak voice, "Congrats. She found you. If you could please tell her not to kick me again . . ."

He threw his arms out and stopped the young, scrawny girl from another rushing attack. "Val! It's okay. She's a friend, she helped me."

The young girl - tousled brown hair, honey colored skin, eyes the color of sea algae - paused. "Oh, uh. She did?"

"Yeah."

Sabine crawled over to the bench and used it to prop herself up. Rubbing at her stomach, she grimaced at the pair.

"Good kick," she wheezed.

Val had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry."

Sabine waved her off, still catching her breath. Val whirled on her friend. "Where were you? Why did you run off like that? That mean Gamorrean was chasing after you, idiot!"

The boy blinked at his friend's surprising anger. "He was hurting you. I had to do something."

Val shoved him, tears in her eyes. "He could have torn you apart, Ezra!"

Sabine froze at the name.

"I'm really sorry, Val. I had to lead him away from you and the loth kittens - hey, are they okay?"

The young girl nodded, sniffing. "They're okay. I convinced my parents to let them stay at our house until we can find proper homes."

The boy - Ezra - looked relieved. "That's totally wizard! Can I come visit?"

Val snorted. "Of course you can, dummy."

She wrapped her friend in a bear hug. "I'm glad I found you, Ezra."

He smiled and returned the affectionate gesture. "I knew you would."

Sabine was standing now, watching them. The pain in her stomach had receded.

"Your name is Ezra?" she asked the boy.

He nodded at her. "My parents named me after the Hero of Lothal."

Val said proudly, "He's brave, just like Ezra Bridger was."

Sabine stared at them. "I can see that," she said softly.

A soft breeze blew gently through the trees. Val checked her chronometer. "We have to get going now, Ezra. Promised my Mom and Dad that we'd help out with the loth kittens."

Ezra nodded. "Okay." He turned to Sabine. "Thanks for the help."

Sabine nodded. Val stepped forward. "Sorry about the kick again. He's my best friend, you know? We watch each other's backs. And thanks for keeping Ezra safe until I found him."

"You should get moving now," Sabine replied quietly. "It'll be getting dark soon."

They both nodded and, with a final cheery wave, darted through the trees towards the park exit.

Sabine watched them go, receding into the distance until she couldn't see them anymore.

When will it be my turn?

Sabine abruptly turned towards the statues of Ezra's parents. Their faces remained jovial, as she had made them to be. She wondered how the real life Mira and Ephraim Bridger would judge her in this moment: all these years later, still not being able to find their son.

"It's not our Ezra, I know," she said in a shaky voice. There was pain in her stomach, but not from the fierce kick given by young Val. "But I'll take this as a sign from the Force or whatever. I'll find him soon."

She knelt down in front of them, her head bowed in penance. "I'm sorry it's taking so long. I haven't given up, I promise. I will never give up. I will bring him home to you."

The Bridgers stared ahead, their smiles never ceasing in their encouragement. Sabine stood up, wiping away the tears trailing down her face.

Next time, she thought. I will not come here alone.

He'll be here with me.

#sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #star wars #ezrabine #ahsoka show #ahsoka #sabezra fanfiction #ghost stories 04

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burnwater13 · 2 months

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Concept art by Christian Alzmann. The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 3, The Streets of Mos Espa. Boba Fett stands next to the rancor running his hand over it's head, while the creature lies down.

Din Djarin appreciated that Boba Fett had learned to respect the rancor and treated it like he would have treated a massif or a Loth cat, but he couldn’t imagine doing the same to such a large critter. It seemed to him that whenever he and a huge critter crossed paths, the bounty hunter was always the one who ended up the worse for it.

The ravinak on Pagodon had damaged the Razor Crest’s port side landing strut. That had cost a packet to fix. Then he nearly got stomped by the blurgg and shamed by the Ugnaught for his trouble. Of course there was that mudhorn. It destroyed his armor and all he got for all that was the opportunity to buy back the parts of his ship and the pleasure of repairing it without proper garage facilities.

Then he’d had no choice but to bring the kid back to the client. He needed that camtono of beskar to put his armor right. Neither he nor the Ugnaught could fix it. That had to be done by a Mandalorian Armorer and the only one he knew was back on Nevarro. So he goes back there and those Kowakian monkey lizards were always too close. If you were missing something on Nevarro odds were even that one of those monkeys had grabbed it and you’d have a hell of a time getting it back.

At least when he went to Sorgan the critters were small and blue. Spotchka blue. His first layer was that color now thanks to the time he spent in those damn krill ponds waiting for the marauders’ AT-ST to take it’s final, fatal step. He was glad that he wasn’t part of a Mandalorian tribe or enclave after that. The amount of harassment he would have gotten was more than the value of having others of his kind around to remind him how easy it was to fall away from the Creed.

And the kid, the kid loved all of those critters. Even the mudhorn. Which, Din Djarin, considered was just the sort of thing he would have liked at that age. Whatever age the kid really was. He certainly didn’t act like any fifty year old the Mandalorian knew, but then Din Djarin knew so few of them. Maybe they were like children and he’d just never noticed. He supposed that he could ask Bo-Katan. She knew more Mandalorians than he did.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that Grogu found the critters fascinating. The reptavians on Nevarro, the massifs, bantha, and Krayt dragons on Tatooine, even the ice spiders on Maldo Kreis. Neither one of them every wanted to see those critters ever again, but they had been fascinating from a couple parsecs away. Much like the mamacore and it’s offspring. Awful up close and personal, but fascinating when you were reviewing their biology, habits, habitat, and population from the nice safe interior of a starship on the other side of the galaxy from them.

There had been times when Din Djarin had wondered if Grogu just attracted the critters. He knew there were people like that. They could walk through the loneliest place on any planet and every critter, person, life form, what have you, would find them. He remembered meeting one of them on the Wheel.

The space station shouldn’t have had any ‘wild’ critters on it. But when he walked into the tavern on the lower ring, there she was, a young woman, surrounded by all sorts of critters. Scurriers, ysalamiri, gorgs, and all manner of tiny rodents. She seemed to be talking to them and when she noticed him looking at her, she said something and they all zipped away. All but one ysalamir, which wrapped itself around her ankle.

She had nodded at him and paid attention to her drink and he seemed to just forget about her. He did whatever he was there to do, but when he went back to his ship he noticed that ysalamir laying near it. When as asked it where its friend was, the creature ran across the docking bay and he noticed the young woman just moving out of sight, with a long line of small critters following her. Maybe Grogu was like her?

It was funny that he remembered her while thinking of the critters. He’d tried to remember that strange meeting that wasn’t really a meeting on The Wheel for years, but it was just the critters that brought her back to his mind, where she seemed to disappear just as easily. Maybe that’s why Grogu and Fett and even that young woman, whoever she was, liked the critters. Large or small, terrifying or delicate, if you remembered the critters, then you remembered the people who had met them.

After all, Din Djarin was never likely to forget the Krayt dragon and all the people he’d met because of that critter. Or the blurggs. Or the reptavians. Even those wretched spiders would always remind him of Niebla, the Frog lady and her husband and children. And he and Grogu would be bound together because of that mudhorn. It had become their clan name and would be part of their line for generations.

Perhaps that was why Fett liked the rancor. Together they were unforgettable.

#calendar prompt a day #din djarin #grogu #the book of boba fett #boba fett #the rancor #unforgettable

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renlyslittlerose · 1 year

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One day I’ll finish my vamp fic, but today is not that day. Instead I wrote 6k of obikin smut for @dininginspace. Here’s a preview!

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“You worked so hard to get me here, so we’re going to take our time,” Obi-Wan whispered against Anakin’s ear. “Make it worth my while.”

Anakin made another little sound, and when Obi-Wan raised his head he was greeted with a pretty pout and furrowed brows.

“You’re an ass,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but glare back. “You’re the one sending your droid as a messenger whenever you want to have sex,” he groused. “If you had any decency you’d come and ask in person.”

“But I thought I was an arrogant brat. Or, what was it - a terror?” Anakin arched his head back into Obi-Wan’s hand, much like a loth cat demanding to be pet - to be doted on, as if their behaviour warranted the affection. “Arrogant brats don’t beg.”

“There’s a difference between begging and asking,” Obi-Wan remarked. Even as he said this he started rolling his hips, making them both hiss with pleasure.

“Is there?” Anakin’s eyes flashed again, coyness mixing with desire, swirling and heady and mildly confusing in its effect. “Way I see it, me asking you for sex is always going to be a form of begging, because I want you so bad it hurts, Obi-Wan. When you’re not on me, letting me inside of you, taking me and everything that I am - gods, Obi-Wan. I c-can’t ask for you - all I can do is beg.”

Obi-Wan kissed him again, messy and uncoordinated. Anakin opened up beneath him, his legs spreading, hips thrusting up to meet Obi-Wan push for push. Obi-Wan knew Anakin desired him just as much; needed him just as much. But to hear the words spoken from such pretty, kiss-bruised lips, the tenor in his voice - desperate and pulsing and pleasing - and to see it in his gaze, dark eyes framed by golden lashes stained with tears, made Obi-Wan want to swallow the galaxy whole.

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #Tayla had a brilliant idea and then I gave it form #Where R2 is purposely sent by Anakin to lure Obi-Wan away from his jobs and duty so he can fuck Anakin #which is honestly brilliant

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b2emo · 1 year

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hey amiga!! what about jyn and cassian cuddling during a cold day for the one shot prompts? 🫶🏼

hola prima, i gotchu 🫶🏼 its a little long and kind of all over the place (i wrote it in the middle of the night) i hope you like it!

Although she grew up on the cold, wet beaches of Lah’mu, Jyn was not fond of a frigid day.

She loathed that first step out of bed before she could reach the gas fireplace to set it to a proper heat, and even more so the idea that she’d have to wait for it to warm up the house before she could get cozy.

That lamenting, grumpy expression she had drawn out on her features as she slumped over her morning caf was enough to pull a soft, quiet laugh from Cassian; he’d already been awake, preparing for the bell to signify the start of his work day.

“I can see the temperature drop has effected you.”

Jyn, mug to her lips, mumbles back incoherently for him to shut up. He laughs once again, his large hand coming to rest on her back, between her shoulder blades. He smoothes over the wool blanket that Jezzi had kept safe for him in Maarva’s old home before bringing his fingers to her soft curls. They smell of jasmine.

“I won’t be home late. I’ll see you after.”

Cassian had taken up a grappling position to gather some funds so he could pay off any and all of his debts, specifically the ones to pay off his mother’s house— and more specifically, her medical bills from before she passed all those years ago. Brasso had been in contact (and remained so, he didn’t let Cassian out of his sight) and set him up with the position the moment he felt comfortable enough to work again. Though, he didn’t think of himself much a grappler.

Luckily, his stash of credits had still been in the house, buried safe and untouched. They were enough to get him and Jyn food and clothes that helped them feel a little bit more at home and get them on their feet— and to allow Jyn to decorate their home however she pleased. She had insisted on installing heating, proper heating, not the old unit his mother refused to turn on. It was expensive (he had to take an extra shift from somebody), but it meant he could see that sleepy smile on Jyn’s features as she crawled into their bed.

It had been worth the extra labor.

Cassian kept to his word. He comes home just an hour after the bell toll. The house is quiet, which means Jyn has retired early. This was not unusual of his partner; she wasn’t fond of days too cold for her liking and spent the days watching old holos or reading Maarva’s old books in bed or bundled up by the couch. For a woman who could fight the galaxy with her raw, bare hands, he couldn’t help but smile to himself at how the cold was her one and only weakness.

His usual routine when he gets home (or as Jyn likes to call it, ‘defrosting’) consists of getting cleaned up and warm before he can join her. The routine is not much different from their shared time on Hoth, a time in their life he still wonders how she got through alive. He wipes the frost from his beard and washes it clean of any soot. His long, shoulder-length hair is combed through and cleaned before he dries it as best he can; he can’t really afford to get sick in this weather. Shifts are going to start becoming sparse.

He strips of his sleep pants and socks, sitting on the edge of the bed with a small, relieved groan. Cassian’s scarred fingers find the clasps of his prosthetic that rests comfortably under his knee, undoing the strap and freeing the healed stump from it. An old friend of Clem had made it as a gift for Cassian when they moved to Ferrix.

When he officially joins Jyn for the evening, he wraps his arms around her warm, sleeping form, gathering her in close like maybe a child would a plush loth-cat or bantha. He kisses her plump cheeks, which are freckly and pink and warm. He smiles against one as he feels her stir, her arms banding around him.

“Do you work tomorrow?” She mumbles, inhaling in the masculine, clean scent of him.

“No. I’ve got the day.”

Her socked foot rubs against his calf, a silent expression of her joy surrounding the announcement of his day off. He kisses the top of her head. Just like this morning— she still smells of jasmine.

He has plans and none at all. The ones he does have include staying home with Jyn, keeping her warm in any ways he could possibly think of. Holding her, loving her, feeding her. They slipped into the routine of being life partner’s so easily; domesticity was made for them. Who knew?

Loving Jyn was the easiest thing he’s ever done. His entire heart outside of his chest, she was.

When his eyes start to become heavy, he lowers his nose to nuzzle it against hers, bearded face rubbing tenderly against hers. He brushes her bangs away from her forehead before murmuring against it in ‘Nari, a language he is still trying to revive… to teach Jyn, and hopefully one day, another.

“I love you,” He says, close to her ear.

“I love you, too.”

They both fall asleep, warm, wrapped up in each other’s arms as snow begins to fall just outside their bedroom window.

#jyncassian #rebelcaptain #my writing #rogue one #jyn x cassian #jyn erso #cassian andor #fic #rebelcaptain fic

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azertyrobaz · 1 year

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Comfortember 2022 - Alt. Prompt#4: Plushies

The first plushie he received – the first one he could remember at least – came from Sorgan. It was soft and made of pretty green and blue felt. For a long time, it would be the only one he had, and Grogu treasured it. The shape kind of reminded him of his dad, although it didn’t have a helmet of course, but he liked to pretend anyway.

The second and third were from Greef. One which he thought looked exactly like the man himself, with a medal and nice red robes, but what he liked the most about it was the cape. The other made him feel a bit sad, but he still accepted gratefully: it was a figurine of the droid who’d saved him the last time they’d been on the planet, IG-11. He’d even seen a statue of him in the middle of the city.

The fourth came from Ahsoka, and it scared him a little at the beginning, because the first time he’d encountered a loth-cat, the animal hadn’t seemed to like him much. In plushie form though, it was adorable, and he loved playing with its ears especially, as they were the softest.

Sadly, he then lost all his toys when he got separated from his dad, who later told him that everything was destroyed in the explosion, but at least his ball survived, so that was alright. Before they were reunited, Master Luke got him some new toys, too. There were no pretty animals or any plushies that looked like his dad, so he only kept one: a figurine of a pilot with a cool orange jacket and a nice helmet.

On Tatooine, he got plenty of gifts, and he had a hard time fitting them all in their new ship afterwards. A bantha plushie that was almost as big as him from his dad. A rancor figurine that Boba had especially made for him. And perhaps best of all, access to Peli’s workshop, where he claimed colorful wires, rusty bolts and old swatches of fabric for himself. She gave him free reign to build his own toy. No matter how hard he tried though, he never managed to make it look right.

When they settled with his dad’s tribe, it meant they finally had a small place to themselves, which was much bigger than their ship. And there he was allowed to collect more toys and plushies. Like Peli, the Armorer sometimes let him play with her tools, but under very strict supervision. He thought he would finally be able to build what he wanted, but his small hands weren’t very efficient for manual work, and he grew frustrated fast.

And then, one day, after he returned from visiting Bo-Katan with his dad, he found a gift waiting for him on his bed. It was wrapped in a pretty red fabric with a neat bow. With an excited coo, he suddenly remembered that his shiny Beskar shirt had come in a similar fashion, and he relished the opportunity to be allowed to unwrap this gift himself.

What he found inside stopped him still. It was as if someone had read his mind. It was everything he’d ever wanted. The most perfect plushie, made of soft black and brown fabric, with shiny armor pieces. And it had a cape! Yellow gloves with blue arrows! A helmet!

“Looks like she finally finished it,” his dad chuckled behind him. “You should run to the armory to thank her.”

Grogu nodded. Yes, he would do just that. But first, he would hug his new toy for a little longer.

#comfortember #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #baby yoda #the armorer #greef karga #ig-11 #sorgan #ahsoka tano #boba fett #peli motto #star wars #writing prompt #my fics

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thefact0rygirl · 2 years

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PLEASE I really miss vet!reader and awks Boba 😖😖😖😖 I need more of that flustered King

Seed! It has been way too long since I wrote about Boba and Vet!Reader 😩 Not so much flustered king, but reassuring and comforting king, I hope that's okay!

boba fett x veterinarian!gn!reader

no major warnings

The twin suns are setting when he finds you. You closed the clinic earlier today in anticipation for tomorrow. Mos Espa has quieted down since the bombing of The Sanctuary, not even the stray loth cats could be heard. It would be relieving if it didn’t mean war.

You’re sat on your roof, occupying an old bench and nursing a glass of spotchka. Your legs are sprawled out, mind preoccupied with the way the sky shifts from a bright blue to dull navy, when Boba lands behind you.

“Fennec sends her regards,” Boba tells you, skipping over any greeting. It's not necessary, not at this point. He approaches you, but fails to claim the open spot next to you. “She’ll be tracking the Mayor tomorrow, we think we know where he’s hiding.”

“Good. That’s…good,” You struggle to find the words. Crime syndicates and wars aren’t really your thing. They didn’t cover it in veterinary school.

Boba doesn’t sigh, but you imagine he would like to. He does, however, finally take a seat on next to you. For all the fleeting touches the past couple of weeks, you feel simultaneously too close to him and too far away. You bite at the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from saying anything stupid. Or desperate.

“It upsets you,” He says eventually. “This war with the Pykes.”

“It worries me,” You correct him, and only then do you allow yourself to look at him, though you shy away from holding his gaze for long. “I’m worried for you, Boba. And Fennec. And even that Mandalorian who showed up.”

He huffs, more humored than exasperated, before clasping his palms over the bend of his knee. “But you’re angry at me.”

“I’m not —” You start, only to trail off once you realize your sharp words will only prove Boba right. You turn your head to the setting suns, mouth tightening in a thin line. You try again, your voice devoid of its bite. “I’m not angry. I'm…”

Sad. Nervous. Terrified.

“Worried?” Boba suggests, and you can hear the kindness in his voice. The patience. The understanding. You can picture exactly what he must look like — the expression he must be wearing right now. In the end, it doesn’t seem to matter what you do — whether you keep your stubborn gaze fixed on the sunset or you face Boba head on. Your words still tremble around the edges, “That’s right.”

And then you're breaking, overflowing, and your vision starts to swim. Refusing to blink and allow your tears to spill, you try to remain focused on the sunset as Boba kneels before you. You’re thankful he doesn’t draw attention to your tears, doesn’t even acknowledge them, though you can see his fingers twitch against his curled knee before forming a loose fist. You wonder what he’s restraining himself from as he replies, “I will take care of myself.”

It's a promise, something small and with little insurance. He can’t offer you much, but it’s an offer given in hopes of calming your fears.

You let out a breath, wiping the tears from your cheeks with a rough swipe of your hand. "I know you will.”

You’re caught off guard when Boba reaches for your hand before it can fall to your lap. “I can’t promise that I will return unharmed,” he continues, and though your heart drops at the words, the warmth of his palms folding over yours serves to soothe you. “But I will return. You have my word.” He squeezes your hand, thumbing over the ridge of your knuckles. “Is that enough?”

It’s not the same as having him here, but it’s something to keep you company in his absence. You nod, turning your palm so you can tangle your fingers with his. “It’s enough.”

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x gn!reader #boba fett x vet!reader #boba fett x you #vee answers #phrog-seeds

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killershark82 · 1 year

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I mystify rebels more starting with lothal force and LORE

Lothal jedi/warriors are as feral as the wolves on the planet. They were tied to the planet in a mysterious way.

All the swirls in the people and wolves in the cave paintings we see is actually an ancient language made up of the swirls. Kinda like how galifreyan is a bunch of circles to our eyes you know?

Ancient jedi/warriors had golden tattoos on their body.

And because the swirls of the ancient language was so small they could fit anything they wanted on it. Typically they would put their life story on their body (yknow like Maui and his tattooed body) like hardships they've faced and important milestones. Other tattooed jedi acted like living knowledge holders so that instead of like holocrons (they did have those but still) they had the knowledge on their body mostly history.

Lineages would share a specific mark that is slowly changed over time with more people added to it. When it got too large, new marks would start from the beginning, and the older and larger mark would then be added to the art in the halls as a completed lineage. The marks would start on the wrist and as they got bigger would move to the back.

Some of the tattoos would represent what force ability they are particularly strong in like healing and plant control and beast taming.

Lightsabers were known on lothal but not typically used. They had them but the lothal warriors trained prominently in many areas. The training can be seen as brutal to many but warriors of lothal are just as wild as the planet, and would to anything g to defend it and so have trained as such.

Lothal also has giant elk like creatures because loth wolves and those tiger things are huge and can't just be eating loth cats.

Dark lothal lore now:

In Gujarati lothal means mound of the dead. So I am so going to use this for lore.

So before the planet really had any kind of a name it was kinda just here until people started coming and seeing old paintings and references and they wanted to call the planet something from the old native tongue and they chose lothal.

But on lothal lore they didn't really call the planet anything. Lothal "mound of the dead" refers to an ancient lost city that has been said to have been sunken down into the planet and swallowed up with all of its inhabitants.

It's a dark place, like a living wound in the force now. It is in part of what made lothal so wild in the first place.

Old legends aren't clear on what exactly happened. Just that an ancient force being angered the wolves and the people, and the force retaliated in some way. No one knows what exactly it was that they did to anger them.

This being wanders the dead city, for it has become its domain, and it's prison.

This centuries old being cannot hold its own physical shape anymore, it's true body and name have been forgotten. It's voice distorted and filled with the screams of its kills when it speaks.

There is no peace when this being is free and wandering. For in order to keep a form, it has to steal a body.

It takes their skin and wears them as suits. When it is free and wandering it typically takes the form most force users assume to be a protective being.

The form of a loth wolf but heavily distorted and deformed, oozing along in various places. A thick green sludge coming from between its teeth and spilling out of the mouth. Broken limbs still functioning fine despite being at odd and impossible angles. Bones sticking out of place.

This being typically will go after force sensitive children, or untrained force users. The Jedi temple was the only safe space for these children.

Once the being chose it's target it would hunt them forever. The Jedi temple was the one place it could not break into, so one a target was inside the beast would move on and pick another target.

This is a being of danger. It needs a skin suit to appear normal into society. It's only goal is to finish what it started before turning into what it is now.

No one knows what that is, it's doubtful it remembers either.

It also feeds on the children it doesn't kill immediately. It steals them away back to the dead city to feast upon them slowly. The more it consumes, the longer it can stay in the living world.

And this monster is insatiable.

The dead city itself has been distorted over the years. It's become a horrifying nightmare. It is a wonder what happened to the people who lived there before, but it's not hard to imagine their fates down there in the dark.

Mounds of bones and rotting flesh can be found in every corner. Hanging cages line every available space, creaking with heavy atmosphere.

Moans and whispers can be heard everywhere. If you can hear them correctly, you can make out what they are trying to say : "escape while you can" "you are trapped too" "there's no way out" "welcome to the end"

Lothal folk stories tell that once this mysterious monster chooses its victim, there is no escape (seeing as no one knew of the Jedi temple at this time it's no surprise as they've been dead for years and so has this knowledge).

You start seeing the creature everywhere. It's in your head and you can hear it's voice, taunting you. Sometimes with the haunted voice of the child whose corpse it's using. Your fate was sealed when this occurred, you belonged to the creature now.

But this was after the destruction of the warriors of lothal. Before as soon as this occurred they would have been taken to the temple for safety and training, the ones chosen by the creature always became it's strongest warriors. But that is no longer a possibility.

Sensitives with a weaker connection to the force we're typically safe as long as there was a stronger sensitive for it to sense instead.

I texted all of this to my friend and grossed her out but hey creepy lore here so ha! AnywaySome more stuff cause it's fun:

It removes the skelington sister location style but without the scoop.

And it does some shit that can preserve the skin suits. Size doesn't matter as its able to somehow fit itself into any size skin.

And occasionally a sensitive they consume's soul/consiousness will merge with the thing so their faces are now apart of its body and they are always in misery and when near someone they will scream to leave or become like them, forever cursed and trapped to a monster. Hence it's even creepier voice.

It also seems that when the souls merge with it the thing grows in mass

#star wars rebels #lore headcannons #lore #ancient jedi #god it really feels like I wrote a whole ass fic doesn’t it?#good for me #this was fun #let’s see if I can do this again #lothal #lothal lore

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vendettavalor · 4 months

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@valorums said: “ you know my name? ” [ SUTEK ]

⚔️ Something Special About You Prompts // ACCEPTING ⚔️

"Through whispers and whispers alone." The Mollidrak remarks without emotion. His eyes linger on her, following her every move like a loth-cat stalking its unwitting prey, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Were it not for the plasma screen separating them and ensuring her relative safety it might've been frightening. Unlike Aurelia, whose form is beautifully pale and accented with familiar soft shapes in shades of purple, he is a shadow - blending in perfectly with the darkness with which he fell to. His eyes glow, as do his marks when he temper flares.

A warning and testament to his powers.

"Though distance I have created and maintained from the shadows, even I cannot cut all ties from those who linger in the light." He means Aurelia. Of course he does. His downfall was for her. He allowed himself to fall so far in the hopes it would grant him the power to protect her. And despite his best efforts to separate himself, they were children of destiny. Inextricably linked.

But more than that they were siblings.

And a good big brother would never and could never simply abandon his sister like that.

"I knew of your birth. I knew my sister's role in it. I know of her role in your life." He scoffs. "She always was an obsessive maternal type. Willing to do anything and adopt anyone if meant satisfying that frustrated maternal instinct of hers."

#ask : is this what you wanted #mutual : all of my best friends #valorums #response : i know it gets better from here #( ocm : sutek met'hark the sith lord called darth gore )#( v : prophetic and dyadic )

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tech-depression-inventory · 2 years

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Time Out

Coruscant Guard x Jedi!Reader, a smidgen of Commander Fox x Jedi!Reader

Summary: You, a newly graduated Jedi Knight had been assigned to oversee the Coruscant Guard, as there is too much strain of Commander Fox… Let’s just say they need all the help they can get…

Prompt:

Person A: “OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT?! TIME OUT! GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE! GET UP THERE!

Person B: *climbing* THIS PLACE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

“THIRE! STOP CHASING THORN AROUND THE BARRACKS AND GET TO YOUR PATROL!”

“STONE! GET DOWN OFF THE FRIDGE! THIRE HAS MOVED ON, HE’S CHASING THORN NOW!

“HOUND! GRIZZER IS BARKING AT STONE AND HE WON’T COME DOWN UNTIL SHE STOPS!”

You stood in the communal kitchen, clad in your everyday Jedi robes, arms folded over your chest. Watching this scene unfold looked like it was happening in slow motion, with the chaos being mainly in their small kitchen. Trying to lead the Coruscant Guard was like trying to herd loth-cats! They were constantly running around, and their Marshal Commander was always nowhere to be found.

Huffing, you exit the kitchen, preferring to at least go and find some back up in the form of the sleep-deprived Commander. As you enter the hall outside his office, you hear faint snoring sounds. Opening the door, gives you the picture of one Commander Fox, passed out face down on his desk.

Sauntering over, you slam your fists down on the desk.

“FOX!”

The Commander jumps out of his skin, turning to look at you, blinking blearily.

“General, cyare? What are you doing awake its so late at night…”

“Its 1100 hours Fox. I have been chasing your team around all morning! Thire is trying to kill Thorn, Hound is passed out in his bunk, Stone is on the fridge, and Grizzer is trying to eat him!”

“Caf first… problems later.”

Fox stands abruptly, walking right past you to the door. Exasperated and confused, you turn to follow him towards the communal kitchen. A screaming Stone, followed by Grizzer and Hound passes the two of you, and Fox seems entirely unfazed.

“Hound s’awake.” He slurs.

Standing back in the doorway, you watch as Fox makes his way over to the caf machine, and starts pouring himself a cup.

Suddenly, Thorn comes screeching into the kitchen.

“General! Save me!” He squeals, right before running head on into Fox, spilling is caf and sending the Commander tumbling to the ground. Blinking, you look over at Fox, who doesn’t seem to know what’s happened, only that his coffee is gone. He looks almost like… almost like he’s going to cry.

“THORN!” You exclaim, rushing over to Fox and kneeling in front of him. “You spilled his caf!”

“It wasn’t my fault! Thire’s been chasing me and I heard you in here!” Thorn apologizes. Thire makes a truly insulted gasp come out of his mouth, placing a hand on his chest.

“ME?! You’re the one who keeps leaving your hairs in the barrack showers!”

“I have long hair! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT!?” Thorn launches himself at Thire, and they start wrestling on the ground. Stone runs back into the kitchen, this time with Hound carrying Grizzer, who proceeds to jump out of his arms and begin rolling in the caf. Fox continues to stare up at you, big brown eyes still watering. Suddenly, you stand up, turning around to stare at your team.

“OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT?! TIME OUT! GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE! GET UP THERE!” Everyone other than Fox stops to stare at you, and you point towards the fridge. “ALL OF YOU!” They all scramble to their feet, starting to jump up to get on top of the massive fridge. Thorn gets up to the top first, and proceeds to push Thire down off the cabinet where he was climbing. Falling, Thire lets out s shriek.

“THIS PLACE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

#coruscant guard #star wars #the clone wars #Star Wars the clone wars #sw tcw #commander fox #commander thorn #commander thire #commander stone #sergeant hound #grizzer #coruscant guard x reader #I have no explanation for this #havens work

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clonewarslover55 · 2 years

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OMG I'm so happy requests are open! I hope you had a good break tho! May I please request Neyo or Bacara with an s/o who LOVES animals? I just kinda think that'd be cute!

Absolutely!! This request was adorable!!

Bacara and Neyo with a S/O who loves animals!

Notes: Why not both but in a headcanon form?? ;)

Also check out my relationship heacanons on Neyo and Bacara!

Warnings: Oh no it's fluffy!! I could definitely write some fics off of this :)

Neyo:

Neyo pretends to hate everything but in reality?

He isn’t THAT hateful

He loves animals

But don’t you dare tell anyone

Your love for them rubs off on him is all!! That’s all!!

You’ve seen his bunny slippers and fuzzy animal socks. He’s fooling no one.

Neyo has a love for other species, in an admiration way

He is a secret nerd after all

So when it comes to animals he’s very interested

So your love for them is not a solo one

You can bring home loth cats or whatever strays you want

Neyo will act all grumpy and pissy

But secretly? He’ll love the new friend you brought along

Neyo will listen to whatever you have to say about whatever animal

Sometimes even engaging in the conversations!!

Neyo will love on every animal you two come across

Just don’t say anything or he’ll get grumpy

One day you bring him a stray evil looking loth cat thats fucking ancient

It’s missing an eye and half and ear and Neyo falls in love

Neyo names her “Killer”

So all in all, Neyo doesn’t mind at all if you’re an animal lover!!

He loves them too, just secretly.

Bacara:

This beefy motherfucker?? Having feelings about more than just you and his railgun muscles??

More likely than you think.

He isn’t into animals like Neyo is

But if you LOVE animals then he supposes he can grow to like them a bit more

He’ll accept all the odd strays you bring in

Only complaining once you bring in more than three

“No we can’t keep every dirty ass animal you find on the street”

You guys end up becoming foster parents to strays

Rehabilitating them and all that

Feeding kittens and helping hurt and traumatized animals is really good for your marine

Mr. Shows-No-Emotion does crack some smiles and chuckles with the animals

Soon not just you and working out makes him happy, animals do too

Your love for animals spreads to this man like a virus

And Bacara does not mind at all

His favorite is an anooba puppy whos all black with white markings

His name is Railgun, aka Rail

You hate the name but Bacara thinks its fucking hilarious.

Tags: @just-some-girl-92 @cloneplatoon @salaminus @raeshinfandomblog

Joing my taglist here!!

#commander neyo #commander bacara #bacara #neyo #neyo x reader #bacara x reader #my stuff

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whoree321 · 3 years

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yo can i get some tech x chaotic gender neutral reader headcanons?

(fuck yeah bestie you understood the assignment. also i kinda went on my own interpretation of chaotic so if you had something a little different in mind lmk and i can make adjustments!)

tech x chaotic!gn!reader headcanons

ok so here’s the thing about tech

he is literally surrounded by/related to some of the most chaotic individuals in the entire galaxy

like wrecker? crosshair? talk about a hot mess express

and let’s not act like he doesn’t have his own little chaotic streak festering beneath that rigid hairline

so long story short, when you come along in all your chaotic glory, it really isn’t a big adjustment for him

he might be a little surprised after he first meets you (how could someone so alluring and attractive also have that personality??) but overall your presence is simply an addition to the pre-existing insanity of the bad batch

he notices right away how well you fit in with his brothers (matching wrecker’s rambunctiousness or crosshair’s quiet nefariousness or both in your own special way) and tbh he’s a little jelly

and by a little jelly i mean he’s 100% super jealous

he watches how you joke around with them and plan pranks with wrecker and make dark commentary with crosshair and how your antics get a laugh out of echo and sometimes even hunter and how well your energy matches theirs and part of him absolutely hates it

(the other part, of course, is too busy being enamoured by the music of your laugh and the mischievous twinkle in your eye and the electric brush of your shoulder against his armor when you move past him in the cockpit of the marauder to really form an opinion on your relationship with his brothers)

despite his envy, tech is not the type to allow his emotions to derail positive outcomes (on missions or in personal matters)

he’s not gonna spoil y’alls fun or even let you know he’s upset about it. if there’s one thing tech thinks he can do it’s keep his emotions in check

when chaos ensues, he regards you with the same familiar condescension and snark he uses with wrecker (although you realize quickly there’s an amusement in his gaze when he mocks you that’s absent when he speaks to the others)

as much as he loathes the current situation, he ultimately also recognizes that it’s no ones problem but his that you are more compatible for individuals with personality types more like wrecker or crosshair

(little does he know you’ve had your eye on him and only him pretty much the whole time)

before your relationship, tech is the unsuspecting victim of a lot of your tomfoolery

you tend to mess with him the most (totally not bc you have a crush on him or anything nononono)

hiding a tool or his data pad when he’s not looking? a classic

“tech i have no idea where your wrench is i don’t even know what it looks like” “y/n you play this practical joke approximately 3.7 times a standard week I know you are lying”

stating completely made up facts about different things or places with full confidence and arguing with him when he corrects you? tried and true

“fun fact: loth cats actually have a secret fifth leg tucked up underneath them and it only comes out in extreme emergency circumstances” “that could not be more untrue” “ok well have you ever checked” “…no, but..” “see tech there’s just some things you can’t know from book learning” “*deep sigh*”

the best is when you flirt with him tho

it is bold and brash

“I need something sharp to cut through this” “just use your jawline ;)”

“the system we are traveling to is known for its extreme heat and rough terrain” “hot and rough? sounds like you in the bedroom ;)”

he chokes and blushes everytime

despite the constant torment and how much he acts like it’s a nuisance, he secretly loves all the attention you give him (even if it’s at his expense)

knowing our sweet boy he is wayyy too socially awkward to make the first move in this situation (or to even recognize there is a situation tbh)

tech is pretty confident you view him as strictly a friend and an easy target for your shenanigans

like even if you basically admit to liking him, he’s gonna think it’s another joke. plotting and scheming with the other boys to make him step up (a classic “i’m gonna pretend to make a move on them to force your hand” for example) will not work

you have to very directly confess to him and it has to be very very genuine and away from the rest of the boys in order to get it into his exceptional mind that you seriously have feelings for him

once he gets that you mean it tho, he’s over the moon

and once youre in a relationship? the rest of the batch should be WORRIED

now your focus is no longer on messing with tech, and you have a super genius on your side

he may have enjoyed being a casual observer and constant victim before, but now that you’ve allowed him on your team it’s a totally different ballgame

he’s still happy to take a backseat and let you do your thing, but he also loves to be a background player in all your hooplah

you wanna play a prank? tech is scheming and building shit and looking at diagrams to figure out the best way to execute it

hunter gets mad at something you did? tech has already figured out a way to pull focus off of you and onto one of the other boys

OR EVEN BETTER a non-batcher (a reg, a superior, a random streetgoer) takes an isssue with you? tech is launching into a full rant with them about something completely unrelated and giving you time to scamper away before they can even begin to reprimand you

tech is the kind of boyfriend that isn’t gonna overtly match your energy, but can keep up and will balance you out

you still mess with him, but now he has the confidence to mess with you right back

this also creates a really spicy sexual dynamic (I won’t go too into that but def a lot of teasing, brat taming kinda stuff)

overall i actually think tech would be really good with someone more chaotic and wild bc he can seem so rigid but isn’t actually like i think that type of relationship would really suit him

you bring out his playful side and he keeps you grounded, out of trouble, AND acts as a top notch audience/partner in crime

rip hunter tho now he’s got tech to worry about on top of all the rest of you (except echo he’s a perfect angel who could never cause trouble for anyone <3)

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #tech tbb #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tech the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb x reader #tbb tech headcanons #tech headcanon #tech x you

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aenaxes · 3 years

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omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

#hm. i want to peg him now #i still dont know how to tag posts but. i do write better when im significantly inebriated #anyways hehe hope u enjoy!!#i'd also like to send a special thanks to those ppl on youtube who make reverb/slowed playlists *chefs kiss* phenomenal #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #bobathots #yaej.writes

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burnwater13 · 4 months

Text

Concept art by Doug Chiang. From The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 1, The Mandalorian.

Grogu never met a ravinak and after listening to the Mandalorian’s story about picking up the Mythrol from Pagodon, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to meet one at any point in the nebulous future. Generally speaking he liked critters. All critters. Big, small, tiny (smaller than him), huge, tasty, slimy, wise, and just plain dopey. Sure, he didn’t like being attacked by any of them. Or even threatened (darn those Loth cats). But if they left him alone, he’d leave them alone.

Okay, okay. You know him too well. He left them alone if they weren’t tasty. If they were tasty, well, it depended. Did they grow to a humungous size and chase you through an ice cavern because you ate one of its cousins? If so, Grogu would give it a pass from here on out. He didn’t need that kind of exercise or excitement in his life. He had plenty of other sources for that kind of activity day to day.

But… if the critter was small and tasty and didn’t have a huge cousin waiting to instruct you on proper etiquette, well, then Grogu was just the person you wanted with you as a hunting companion. Watch out frogs! Watch out crickets! Watch out dung worms!

Now that was funny. Dung worms didn’t even had eyes to watch anything. They sensed where they where based on the flavors of the ‘stuff’ they encountered. Grogu had asked his dad how dung worms knew where the dung was and the comp on the old Razor Crest had provided the answer. Grogu had found that all fascinating but he could tell that the Mandalorian was disgusted.

“You know what dung is, right kid?”

Yes, Grogu knew what dung was and where it came from. He just didn’t know how the worms knew where to find it. It wasn’t everywhere. Not even on Coruscant, with it’s huge population of mostly sentient life forms. Nope. He didn’t know how Coruscant managed that and he was pretty happy about that, all things considered. Traveling through the sewers of a sparsely populated place like Nevarro was nothing like traveling through the giant sewage pipelines on Coruscant. Don’t ask him how he knows that they have giant sewage pipelines. Of all the things that were forgettable about Coruscant that trip with Ian was right near the top of Grogu’s personal list. Yech.

What actually fascinated him about dung worms was that they didn’t taste like what they were named after. It was like somehow their biology was able to reprocess the left nutrients and by products of digestion for other creatures and turn that stuff into something a lot like mushrooms, only far sweeter. Yup, they actually kind of tasted like candy.

He didn’t want Din Djarin to find out about that, so he personally never remarked on it to the Mandalorian.

Why? Simple. Din Djarin had a terrific sweet tooth. Sweets were the only things that he ate that you couldn’t find in the average ration pack. Sure, if he was sitting on Sorgan and they offered him Krill Delight, which was some sort of paste that you made from the krill before you fermented it and served on tiny bits of toasted biscuit, the Mandalorian would eat the stuff. It was the polite thing to do. But Grogu had noticed that he only ate it after watching someone else eat it and he ate as little as he possibly could.

On the other hand, if that same dour bounty hunter was offered a rations pack of unknown origin or age, he would cut the stuff up into tiny bites and scarf it down, no matter what it said it was. Grogu had once checked to make sure that Dung worm wasn’t an ingredient because he was suspicious of how much the Mandalorian liked the ration packs. To his horror that led to the discovery that most of a ration pack was actually made from veggies. Blech.

The Mandalorian had once asked him what was wrong with eating veggies and Grogu had lectured him for a good hour on how you ate the them while they were still living. How chlorophyll could stain your hands, teeth, and other things he couldn’t mention at the time because they were eating a meal with Peli and her delicate nature couldn’t withstand that type of discussion. Or so Grogu thought at the time. Whatever his arguments were, Din Djarin just shook his head and said that ‘veggies are good for you, kid’, clearly ignoring everything Grogu had just said.

Which really brought everything back to the ravinak. What kind of strange biology did that critter have that it thought attacking something like the Razor Crest had been a good idea. Did Mythrol just smell very enticing? Apparently that one hadn’t evacuated some sort of bodily storage system yet. Maybe ravinaks liked that sort of thing? Or did they like Mandalorian cologne? Grogu had once asked the Mandalorian about his peculiar body odor (a cross between bees wax and armor polish) and was told that only the best, most accomplished Mandalorians smelled like that. Of course, Greef Karga was the person who said that, not Din Djarin. He just told Grogu that he was pretty stinky too and maybe he needed a bath. Uff.

Grogu never did find an answer to his question. There was very little research available on the eating habits of ravinaks in the literature he was able to access on the Razor Crest and the N-1 simply reported that such creatures were rumored to exist on a variety of ice planets with large frozen over bodies of water. He was disappointed.

You’d think that was just the sort of thing any scientist worth their ferment would be looking into. Adding that to bank of galactic knowledge would be worthy. Of course it would also be risky. You couldn’t just send a probe droid, because what if it liked metal like those birds on Jakku? And you couldn’t just people, because ravinaks clearly liked them in all the wrong ways. It was too bad that he hadn’t been with Din Djarin on that trip. He could have used the Force to tame the critter and then he would have been able to do the research himself.

“Buddy, you had your chance with those spiders. The only things we learned is that they were kind of sticky and held a grudge. Maybe next time, just have the rations pack.”

Uff. Sure dad. That would be the Way. For a Mandalorian. A Jedi had to follow a higher purpose.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #ravinak

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