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multi-fan-dom-madness · 7 months

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Midnight Masquerade - Fives

Summary: The bottle lands on Fives.

Chapter Warnings: minors DNI; incubus!Fives x f!reader. kinks: edging + double penetration. slight instance of anxiety, seduction (though lbr, it doesn't take much from Fives), alcohol, oral (f receiving), Fives loves to eat pussy, orgasm denial, unprotected PiV sex (cloak before you stroke), creampie, if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 2.9k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Fives.

The other troopers at the table cheer. Eyelashes fluttering, you glance up at Fives. Heat blooms under your skin at the grin that tugs at the corners of his lips. Rising from your seat, you chuckle as he trips over himself getting away from the table, but the brief moment of levity does little to quell the sudden rising tide of nerves in your stomach. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you haven’t thought about Fives before. Of all the troopers at your table tonight, he is probably the one you’re most comfortable around, aside from Rex—but that level of familiarity is exactly what’s causing you to second-guess yourself now.

Fives’s easy grin smooths into a smirk as he slips his arm around you, hand ghosting over your lower back. You allow yourself to be led deeper into the party. As you brush past myriad other clones, in various states of costume and transformation, something brushes up into your hand.

You jerk your hand up, eyes wide. A deep blue, nearly black, pointed tail wraps around you from behind, a leathery texture to it. Spinning as you walk, you trace the writhing appendage to its owner.

Fives quirks an eyebrow down at you. “Hope you don’t mind if I flex my new body, mesh’la.”

“Course not,” you say, maybe a little too fast. Kark, yeah, you’re in over your head. Taking a steadying breath, you glance around at where Fives is leading you, but the fog machines have done their jobs a little too well. Anything ten or so feet past your nose is obscured.

Kriff, what are you doing? In the strobing lights, small, pointed horns gleam where they protrude from Fives’s forehead. He doesn’t touch you with his tail again, but you can nearly feel its presence undulating behind you. Through it all, his palm remains on your back, a gentle pressure, but one that your flailing brain latches onto.

“I need a drink,” you gasp.

Tearing yourself away from him, you shove through the crowd in the direction you remember seeing the bar before. Breath coming in shorter bursts, you have to hold the rising tide of panic at bay in your chest. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before the crowd breaks and you stumble into open space. The bar stretches before you. Bottles of every kind of alcohol imaginable line the shelves of the wall behind it.

Several clones already sit on the barstools. As you approach, a few of them receive their drinks and disappear back into the crowd. You sink gratefully onto one of the padded stools.

The bartender, a nat-born man with short brown hair and a sympathetic smile, approaches. “What’ll it be?”

“Something strong and cheap,” you say.

He chuckles. “It’s on the house. Doesn’t have to be cheap.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “Something strong and not cheap.”

With a wink, he departs, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid off of one of the middle shelves. You focus on the bartender’s movements as he plucks a clean glass, unstoppers the bottle, and pours your drink. Even when you feel a familiar presence settle onto the stool next to you, you keep your gaze on the bartender until he deposits the requested strong, not cheap drink in front of you.

Next to you, Fives waves away the barkeep. He remains silent as you down the drink, grimacing at the burn as it slides down your throat and settles in your stomach.

“I’m sorry—” you both say at the same time.

Smiling despite yourself, you glance at him. His expression is downcast, abashed, and even with the horns, he’s just Fives. You know him.

“You first,” he says, dark eyes meeting yours.

“No, please, go ahead.” You turn to face him.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m sorry if I came across too forward.”

“To be fair, I did ask to know what a monster fucks like,” you say.

“And those poor olives.”

You laugh, nerves settling into a manageable simmer. “That, too.”

He hums, his eyes searching your expression. For what, you’re not sure. He says, “Be that as it may, mesh’la. We’ll do whatever you want. Wanna sit here and get plastered? I’m here for it.”

Eyes fluttering, you smile at him shyly. “Thanks, Fives. I guess I just—I dunno. We’re friends, right? So I just got a little freaked out by the idea of...”

“Sleeping with your most attractive best friend?” he finishes, a self-satisfied, smug smirk twisting his face. But there’s a hint of something else in his expression, something more vulnerable.

You must be imagining it. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Something like that.”

You take another swig of the drink. There’s more that you want to say, more to what you’re feeling. You want to tell him that it freaked you out because you’ve imagined him in certain scenarios before. What he’d look like drunk on your kisses rather than alcohol. Whether he’d be gentle or rough, and what sounds he’d make when—

Clamping down on that thought, you cast your gaze to the wooden grain of the bar.

Fives gently places a finger under your chin and tips your face up to meet his gaze once more. Your lips part in surprise. He’s close—not so close as to completely undermine his previous affirmation of your boundaries, but closer than you’ve been to him before. Has he always had that freckle by his right eye?

“Wanna know a secret?” he asks, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the thumping music.

Nodding, you find you can’t speak.

“I’m a little freaked out, too,” he says.

“Oh?” Smooth. Real smooth.

He hums, letting his hand fall back to his lap. “They weren’t kidding about this potion. I can feel...so many new things. Everyone’s energy. Do you know what I dressed up as, mesh’la?”

You shake your head, surveying his horns and gently curving tail once again.

“An incubus,” he admits, voice dropping lower. You shiver as it washes over you. “A sex demon. What are the odds?”

“Must be pretty good,” you say. “You should play the lottery.”

He laughs, white teeth flashing in the lights. Kriff, has he always been this pretty? “If only clones were allowed.”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you say. “And you just tell me the numbers to play.”

Tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, he looks up at you through his eyelashes. In your chest, your heart does this weird tap dance where it both skips several beats and charges through several extra ones simultaneously. The knowledge of his costume should make you feel even more wigged out, but instead, you find a warmth sparking in your core. You feel a little light-headed, but the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing worth looking at, makes you preen.

You suppose he’s always looked at you like that, because you know for damn sure that’s how you look at him. And in that moment, you make up your mind.

“Fives?” you say, scooting closer to him on your stool.

He smiles at you. “Yes, darling?”

“Kiss me.”

Shock flits over his face, followed closely by a smirk. “Are you sure?”

You nod, resting one hand on his thigh, the other dipping down to lightly ghost over the spike of his tail. He shudders.

“Kriff, yeah, okay, mesh’la.” He spins his seat to face you. One hand sliding up your leg, his other cups your face and gently tugs you forward. Your lips meet in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, his beard rubbing lightly against your face. Heart pounding, you pull back. You can’t stop the broad smile that breaks over your face.

He looks at you like you hung the stars. “Can we—?”

“Yes.” You surge forward and claim his lips in a much more heated kiss, mouths moving against one another fervently. You feel rather than hear the groan that escapes him; tingles cascade down your spine at the sensation. His hand on your leg squeezes the meat of your thigh, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure to your heated core.

A voice forces you to break apart, panting. The bartender fixes you both with a quietly amused look. “There are rooms in the back.”

With a curt, grateful nod, you and Fives both hop off your stools and nearly race each other to the promised doorway. Through it, you find a hallway, which itself leads to numerous other doors. Fives picks one at random. Inside, you gasp; a large, fluffy bed sits under a gauzy canopy lit with twinkle lights. The faint scent of vanilla fills the room, chasing away the faux-sweetness of the fog machines.

Fives’s mouth is back on yours as soon as the door is shut. The two of you help one another undress, clumsy hands getting in each other’s way or tangled in pieces of clothing, making you giggle. But eventually, naked and panting, you press your body against his. Toned muscles flex under his tanned skin, all hard planes to your soft edges. You groan. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, cradling your head to move you exactly where he wants you.

You smooth your hands down his back, relishing in the way the muscles there ripple under your touch. His ass is both firm and squishy; you can’t resist squeezing, earning you a deep groan. Palming his butt in one hand, you reach with tentative fingers towards the base of his tail. He jolts when you brush against it.

“K-Kriff,” he gasps against your lips. A line of saliva connects your mouths together. For a moment, you remain there, breathing in each other’s breath. Your gentle touch explores the leathery, twisting appendage of his tail. Goosebumps raise all over his skin as you do.

“Sensitive?” you murmur.

He nods. Dipping his head, his lips leave a slick trail over your skin where he lowers to kiss the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You gasp at the sensation, core clenching around nothing.

An idea pops into your head. Keeping your hand on his tail, thumb caressing over the pointed tip, you snake your other hand between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his hard, leaking cock. He’s hot and heavy in both of your hands; his length is velvet smooth, where his tail is supple and rough. Fives keens against your throat as you stroke both lengths in tandem.

“I’m supposed to be th-the sex fiend here,” he pants into your skin.

You chuckle. “Better get to it then, Fives.”

Your words seem to flip a switch in him. In an instant, he snatches you up from your feet and carries you to the bed, where he deposits you unceremoniously. You flop with a giggle, the mattress plush and soft—but you don’t have long to relish in the pillowy comfort, as Fives’s hot and wet mouth closes around your neglected and aching cunt. Hands shooting to his hair, you grip at the tight curls, your thighs threatening to close around his head.

His growl reverberates through you as his hands pin your legs open. When you crane your head to meet his eyes, they are dark, pupils blown, as he licks circles around your clit. The coarse hair of his beard burns deliciously against your slick skin. Tugging on his hair, you moan, pussy fluttering.

“F-Fives,” you pant. “Please. Wanna cum on your tongue.”

You can feel his grin against your skin. He redoubles his efforts, mouth never leaving you for an instant. Kark, he looks so good between your thighs, and the slurping sounds he makes are absolutely sinful. The molten cord of pleasure in your lower belly pulls tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Gonna—” You groan, tossing your head back, nails digging into his scalp.

But then he pulls away with a wet pop! Your head shoots back up, a cry of anguish falling from your lips.

“You’ll cum when I’m ready for you to, mesh’la,” he says. There’s a growl to his voice, one that wasn’t there before, and you shudder.

He dives back into your pussy like a man parched. Waggling his tongues over your folds, he tastes you for what feels like hours, days, years—the pleasure never stops. In fact, it simply intensifies when he slips two fingers in to curl against your g-spot, finger-fucking you while he sucks on your clit.

You lose track of how many times you almost cum. You’re sobbing, body wracked with pleasurable quivers, as he fully withdraws and sits up on his haunches. His face and neck are absolutely soaked with your juices, and a dangerous, sinful gleam in his eyes tells you he’s not done with you yet.

“Fives, please,” you gasp out. “Need to cum so bad.”

“I know, mesh’la,” he croons. He tugs you closer by your hips, lining his swollen cock up with your sopping entrance. “I promise you’ll cum for me soon, okay? Just let me take care of you.”

He punctuates the last word by thrusting into your cunt in one, fluid motion. You cry out, body convulsing with the sudden overwhelming sensation of being full. For his part, Fives immediately begins to fuck you, drawing his length out of you before slamming back in, over and over. He slings your legs up over his shoulders, then his hands find purchase on your chest, squeezing the soft flesh there.

The room reverberates with the wet slap of skin against skin, the squelching of his cock driving deeper into your pussy, and the chorus of your soft moans and his growling groans. In your belly, your orgasm begins to build again, the tight cord fraying and ready to snap at any moment.

“So fucking tight, kriff,” Fives grits out. A single curl has fallen out of place and bounces against his forehead with every thrust. “Stars, can I fuck you with my tail, princess? Hm? Do you wanna have me in both holes?”

You clench around him, his words very nearly shoving you over the edge of bliss. “Yes, please, Fives, please, give it to me!”

He slows his pace, resting his thumb over your clit. Though he doesn’t move it, the pressure of his thumb keeps you teetering at the edge of shattered bliss. He gathers excess slick from your cunt and spreads it over his tail.

“Relax for me, darling,” he coos. Then the tip of his tail presses against your other entrance. You try to relax, try to do as he says, but as he gently works his second length through your tight hole, all you want to do is clench around him despite the burning stretch.

A guttural groan punches from him when you do just that.

“Fuck, mesh’la, do that again and I won’t last.”

For a moment, you both remain still, breathing heavily through your noses to catch your composure. Fives flashes you the cheeky grin that attracted you to him in the first place, then very slowly draws his tail back. At the same time, he traces tight circles over your clit; when he pushes his tail into you, he slides his hips back, withdrawing his cock from your cunt partway. You’re never empty. The rhythm he settles into is bone-melting, mind-shattering; your throat feels raw from crying your pleasure to the room.

That molten thread of pleasure snaps taut in your core. Fives senses it, and, unlike before, he continues his ministrations, never letting up. You babble, not making any sense, as his cock drives directly into that spongy spot deep inside you, his tail stretching you in a way that makes your pussy gush.

“Cum on me, gorgeous,” he mutters. “Cum for me, I know you can do it.”

Your entire body locks up with his words. In your tummy, that cord of tension snaps—and you scream, body spasming. Waves of molten, white-hot pleasure crash through you again, and again, and again, each one in perfect time with the way Fives fucks you through your orgasm. Tears stream down the side of your face, but you find you don’t have it in you to care. All you care about is the blinding, debilitating pleasure centered in your pussy.

A second orgasm rolls through you shortly after the first. “Fi-i-i-ives!”

“Where can I—?”

“In me!” you plead. “Need your cum!”

His hard length swells in your spent pussy, and then he’s groaning, body shuddering as he finishes, painting your insides with ropes of hot, white cum. You barely feel it when he slips both lengths from you, body floating on clouds, mind absolutely wrecked. Fives gently sponges away your combined releases with a wet cloth, then settles onto the bed next to you. Pulling you against his body, he rocks you gently back and forth, whispering against your temple.

“Did so good for me,” he murmurs. “Did so well. Such a good girl, mesh’la. You’re safe, I’m here.”

Eventually you find enough strength to talk, your voice hoarse. “Fives?”

“I’m here,” he assures.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

He chuckles, the vibrations sending pleasant tingles across your body. “I’ve just fucked you within an inch of your life, and you’re asking how I feel?”

You can only nod, too tired to feel embarrassed.

“I feel...amazing,” he admits. “The incubus thing really made that, um, different. I hope I didn’t take too much energy from you, but kriff, I feel strong. Focused.”

Humming, you let your eyes slide shut. So that explains why you still feel so out of it, beyond the fact that you just came the hardest you’ve ever done in your life. He took your energy; you’re glad to have given it. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” he says. You think he presses a kiss to your temple, but your body slips into sleep, cradled and safe within Fives’s embrace.

Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebell @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @originalcollectionartistry @imarvelatthestars (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#midnight masquerade #mdfm hallowkink 23 #kinktober 2023 #fives x reader #arc fives x reader #fives x f!reader #the clone wars x reader #tcw x reader #rhiwrites #incubus!fives x reader #monster fucker

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nevermindigotthis · 1 year

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Jedi!Maul and Commander! I rewatched some of the Siege of Mandalore ARC and had the realization that if Maul had clone troopers, they‘d absolutely glue horns on their helmets and paint it to look like Maul‘s face.

#my art #comic #starwars #the clone wars #star wars fan art #maul #darth Maul #jedi!maul #oc clone trooper #clone commander

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tarisilmarwen · 9 months

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Rebels Rewatch: "Hera's Heroes"

*whispers* Is our favorite blue bastard back? Oh you betcha.

The episode title seems to be a reference to Hogan's Heroes, an old boomer-era TV show dark comedy sitcom about a P.O.W. camp in Nazi Germany.

...No listen, the charm is, I'm told, that the German officers are portrayed as bumbling idiots and the P.O.W.s basically run an entire clandestine resistance campaign right under their noses. So there are all kinds of shenanigans involved and a lot of taking the piss out of the Axis Powers and honestly some of it seems right in line with what kind of mischief the Rebels have been known to get into so the shoutout makes sense to me.

Anyway.

Cham and Numa return!

"The Empire is getting better at anticipating our moves!" Ha ha yeah he... he has a tendency to do that. It's a little scary sometimes.

Now taking bets on whether or not Thrawn showing up on Ryloth was premeditated in order to draw the Spectres out.

"My daughter is always serious." Lol, love how this joke comes back later.

This music cue is great, I love it. Lot of rapid build-up to the serious horn variation of "Shenanigans".

"You didn't think this through did you?" LOL love that awkward little noise the Scout Trooper makes, he's just like, "Oh..."

Zeb being a perfect big brother asking Ezra if he has the Scout Trooper set yet and knocking out the trooper awww.

Hugs! Lovely to see that Cham and Hera have repaired their relationship.

Yeeeeeeah I don't think it was Slavin that you underestimated, Cham. I think it's pretty heavily suggested it was actually Thrawn who ousted y'all from the house there.

Hera is a bit reluctant to include everyone in what's arguably a very personal and selfish mission but they're all for it, so into the fray we go.

I think I may have had a little mourning moment the first time I watched this, upon the realization that Ezra doesn't fit in his cadet uniform anymore.

Zeb nudging Kanan in the arm to let him know it's time to charge out. <333 And Sabine grabbing his wrist and keeping hold of it until they're both on the blurrg. See, little touches like this are great, just a nice subtle way of showing Kanan's blindness without calling direct attention to it.

Some really nice Hera and Ezra interaction this episode, I really liked that, they don't get to be on missions together much so this is refreshing.

Do we know if this is a reused asset from TCW? Looks almost too nice to be one lol.

:((((((

Droids can have PTSD apparently, Chopper is unusually sad about this crashed Y-wing, grieving his former pilot maybe?

*strains ears* This soft music-box like cue almost sounds like Leia's theme. It's too short and buried under the dialogue for me to tell and even Clone Gunner Commander Jedi doesn't have it extracted.

HHFHFHFFFFFHH FRICK.

The man can jumpscare me just walking into a room, gah.

"The Rebel activity is far from here." As Ezra and Hera are literally sneaking past them lol told you the reference to Hogan's Heroes was deliberate.

Oooh the harp in this cue, nice!

Chopper's finally over his drama in order to assist.

We return to Hera and co. after a brief setpiece back in the canyon and Chopper readily plays "malfunctioning droid" again for a distraction.

Hera smoothly slipping back into her Ryloth accent to try and deflect suspicion. <3

Ezra trying to at least stay next to her even if he can't break cover.

Thrawn already totally knows it's Hera.

Ohhhhh boy it's time for creepy Cultural Appropriation!Thrawn, with him analyzing the details of his opponents' culture and traditions in order to find ways to hurt and oppress them more effectively for the Empire.

Since he studied up on Twi'lek culture he knows what a kalikori is, and its significance. Therefore he knew immediately that someone trying to smuggle one out of the compound would have to have some kind of personal emotional connection to it. This kalikori was found in Cham Syndulla's office, ergo, family of Cham Syndulla. Ergo, obviously, Hera Syndulla, noted Rebel insurgent.

See I kind of like this method of showing Thrawn's "strategic art analysis", which was practically magic bullshit in the original Heir To The Empire trilogy. Thrawn comes across as brilliant but not OP here, instead.

By the way, "Thrawn's Web" is the perfect musical leitmotif for him. Creepy plinky music box notes giving way to slowly building cathedral organs, ominous and refined.

I almost feel like I need to take a shower after this exchange it's so freaking creepy. Thrawn almost exotifies Hera here, breathlessly gushing and envious about how she was "forged" by war, while he merely studies it from the outside.

Making Hera the primary rival/foil to Thrawn was a really inspired decision for Rebels, contrasting her passion to his apathy, her warmth to his cold sterility. The villainous respect he has for her makes their interactions cordial with a hostile edge.

Plus, with all his focus on Hera, identifying her as the primary threat, he completely misses all the Force Bullshit that Kanan and Ezra are capable of throwing at him lol.

After all, he repeats the idea, "To defeat an enemy you must know them." and as he later confesses to Ezra in the finale he doesn't know the Force.

(It's almost impossible for him to know, Palpatine has spent so much effort destroying and hoarding other Force disciplines. Way to screw yourself Palps.)

Worried spacemom when Thrawn stuns Ezra. <33333

:((((

Thrawn's picky insistence on using the "correct" pronunciation of Hera's name is also creepy.

Thrawn: "Really too bad you're probably gonna be executed immediately. Anyway I'm taking your family heirloom for my art collection, definitely not as some kind of sick trophy of my besting you noooooo not at all." Hera: "Kriff you, bastard!"

Thanking Hera for her "hospitality" when the Empire literally invaded and occupied her house, he's such an asshole. It's great. I love him.

Ngl, not gonna lie, really dig Feral!Thrawn. I have a thing about seeing normally calm, stoic characters just completely lose their shit and go berserk. ('s'why I took Thrawn through a slow Villainous Breakdown in my "Mirrorverse" series.) Even this brief loss of control is just *mwah*.

"What'd I miss?" He's so cute.

"And my daughter is not important?!" Awww, see, character growth!

Love this conversation, Ezra reassuring Hera that he doesn't regret coming along to support her on this.

Chopper running full tilt into Ezra lol.

Hera gave the murderbot permission to find and plant explosives, uh-oh, ha ha.

Caps that could easily be watercolor paintings number 337.

Slavin seems very confident and snooty. Something that becomes a pattern on the show is that Thrawn will let more incompetent underlings fail so he can learn more about the Rebels, will set them up to fail sometimes.

Also something I noticed before but this little moment reminded me, the Stormtroopers tend to be pretty rough with Ezra, they're always shoving at him or manhandling him for absolutely no reason, they're just petty.

Chopper laughing maniacally as he plants the detonators. <3

"You were serious?!" You're the one who said she was always serious my dude, lol.

Impressive move from Kanan, redirecting that rocket at the AT-DP.

You know I think maybe Thrawn likes the cat and mouse thrill, obviously he sacrifices smaller victories for eventual much larger ones but I also think he's just really into having a worthy opponent.

Preeeeeettyyyyyyyyyy.

Hera talking about how her mother's memory is kept alive via the love that Hera's Found Family shares, while Zeb is giving Ezra noogies in the background aaaaah I love it.

I think I remember wanting this episode to have been a little longer??? Not quite sure why I thought that now, maybe I just really wanted more of it at the time.

Thrawn gets his first personal up-close encounter with the Spectres and even if he's hands off about actually closing the trap on them this episode we can tell he's got major plans coming, and is factoring what he learned about Hera specifically into them for later. This did annoy certain fanbros who forgot that this was Thrawn's whole thing and decided it was Plot Armor because kids show but frankly I ignore those types of people and my fandom experience is better for it.

As I already said, love the Hera-Ezra interaction, love the music, this episode is honestly a bit laid-back and unassuming compared to the tense premiere and dramatic previous episodes. Lulls you into a false sense of security. Just like Thrawn. XD

I'll be talking more about him later, trust me, I have Opinions™.

#star wars #star wars rebels #ezra bridger #rebels rewatch #liveblog #fair forwarning i tag any post in which i take the piss out of thrawn as:#dunking on the blue bastard #so if you're not here for that that's what you blacklist

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 3 months

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Horns 💜

Found in the 2012 comic 'The Clone Wars: Defenders of the Lost Temple', we have ourselves a Clone who wanted to be a Mandalorian (but not at the cost of slaying his General's padawan to join Death Watch by whom he was called a 'pale imitation' of a Mandalorian) ... 😞

Art taglist: @the-hexfiles @your-slutty-gf @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

You can find more of my art here in my masterlist or by clicking my art tag.

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ahsoka-its-all-of-us · 1 year

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Orchestra project week means no regular teaching so I can watch The Mandalorian Chapter 23 now already!

And, as usual, scream incoherently about it:

Obligatory when the fuck will Kallus show up before we start

Listen I still think Sabine should have the darksaber and lead the Mandalorians, but chances of her appearing here have probably slimmed what with her role in the Ahsoka show

Bitch whose name I keep forgetting, what is your game?!?

Ugh probes

Fucking Moff Gideon. We all knew he would reappear, but I still hate him

That ray-shielded walkway is fucking rad though, I want that in my house

Where is Thrawn in that meeting?!?

YESSSSSSS HE GETS MENTIONED

Okay so project Necromancer is indeed Palpatine being cloned

BRENDOL HUX

Hux’s father?!?

What is the problem with all the Mandalorians being clustered on their own world? Wouldn’t it actually distract them from whatever Moff Gideon doesn’t want them to do?

Lmaooo Mando’s why the fucking intimidation with that cruiser, that’s so unnecessary

Awkward family reunion vibes 😂 and Greef only makes it worse by showing up with one bottle of booze

GROGU GETS A DROID EXOSKELETON I AM DYING

OH MY GOD A TODDLER IN A MACHINE THEY FUCKING NAILED IT

DIN VERSUS TODDLER PUBERTY I AM LIVING FOR IT

Really starting to catch feelings for Bo/Armourer here

Oh more Mando’s? Are they gonna tell us what happened to clan Wren and Fenn Rau?

Oh Bo dropping bombs lol

“Are they Death Watch?” dude you’re talking to one of the former leading members of Death Watch

YES DIN SPEAK YOUR TRUTHS

Still think it should be Sabine. There has to be a reason we got that moment in Rebels where Bo and Fenn discuss being impressed by her

Let me guess, the Gauntlet breaks the rain to find Moff Gideon attacking their ship

VIBROKNIFE YESSSSSS

GROGU YES

OH MY GOD I LOVE THAT

Grogu the true Uniter of Mandalore

Bendu?

No oki just mythosaur I guess

Fr though if the Mandalorians are busy battling the mythosaur, why would Moff Gideon bother with them? Unless it’s the mythosaur he’s after, just like with the Zillo Beast…?

See I knew the beskar had something to do with Moff Gideon, not just the Mando’s

Have I mentioned that I love the music of this show? Because I do

DIN NO

MOFF FUCKING GIDEON

Wearing a horned helmet because ofc he does

Waiting for one of the troopers to take off his helmet and reveal being Kallus undercover to save the day

PAZ NO

OH COME ON

I had just started liking him ;-;

Interestingly enough no usage or mention of Sabine’s Duchess, a known weakness of using beskar armour 🤔

#the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian #alexsandr kallus #sabine wren #moff gideon #mitth'raw'nuruodo #sheev palpatine #brendol hux #armitage hux #greef karga #Grogu #Din djarin #Bo-katan kryze #the armourer #Bo-katan/armourer #mythosaur #bendu #zillo beast #paz viszla

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derickbatista31 · 1 year

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Horn Company

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swordbladeknight7 · 9 months

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Obi-wan//Maul•Jedi//Sith Role Swap! AU

Some random sketches of a classic role swap AU where Maul is a comfy-black-robed Jedi with self-esteem issues and Obi-wan is a blinding-white-robed Sith with a complex and a penchant for cutting off limbs

——Maul was Padawan to former Jedi Council member Eeth Koth, who would go on to voluntarily leave the Order ((because hehe obscure storylines go brr))

——is reunited with and offers to train his brother Savage during the Clone Wars

——Commander and eventual General of Horn Company

——Captain Lock is his emotional support trooper (they are best friends)

——still a certified gremlin he just has good morals and a support system now

——green eyes and saber because 1.) Horn Company Aesthetic✨ 2.) Nightsister magic color 3.) I said so

——petty bitch (affectionate)

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 ——Obi-wan has been Sidious’ apprentice since childhood, just like Maul

——has never met a practical outfit

——very condescending towards Maul, to the point it feels like he’s trying to convince himself how much better he is sometimes (all the time)

——still uses mind tricks and charm to manipulate his allies and enemies alike, but gets Force Lightning privileges as well

——cocky bitch (derogatory)

#Jedi/Sith Role Swap!AU #star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars prequels #obi wan kenobi #darth maul #maul #savage opress #eeth koth #jedi #sith #star wars au

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daisychainsandbowties · 10 months

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LB question here. What is Lilith’s opinion on the clone troopers? Does it change after Order 66 when the control chips activate and they essentially become very deadly flesh droids (at least, if we go by the 2017 Darth Vader comics)?

i’m just going to give you a bit of chapter 4 to answer this

///

Lilith tells her it’s from a red place. A planet.

Dathomir.

It’s just a name, just a word separated from them by many light-years of space. Crimson brings it up sometimes, when she wants Lilith to hit her.

When she wants to hit Lilith.

In brute strength – in raw fury – Crimson is stronger than both of them, and she loves to prove it by lifting Lilith's bruised shape off the floor of the command deck and dashing her against the consoles so that Beatrice has to undress odd bruises, too, when she undresses Lilith.

When they stand in her room, after, Lilith's face a mask of unbidden emotion, and it feels important to kiss her then. To swallow her whimpers as Beatrice undoes each button on her shirt, revealing a slice of skin bracketed by darker fabric.

Lilith retreats into herself, so far that Beatrice has to take her hand and guide her to the bed, pull the sheets up until they touch her chin. Her eyes are alert, following each movement, but it’s as if there’s a barrier between them – of sound, of silence.

Something happened on Dathomir. The leakage of the Force gives snatches of it to her sometimes, when she’s sitting with her head tipped into Lilith’s, foreheads sweat-slick against each other and all the focus in the world at the meeting-point of their hips.

It makes her hands shake, catching flickers of sight, sound, sensation passing out of Lilith's mouth and into hers.

She thinks of them as ghosts, going down inside her to touch her ribs and run incorporeal palms over the shiny beating of her heart.

They’re in the habit of rescuing each other, and maybe that’s a problem or maybe it’s just physics. Beatrice feels, sometimes, that if only she could parse the meaning behind all of these motions, she might stumble across something worth saving.

Lilith gives her many things to put in her mouth, but this she does by accident.

Snatches.

Of smoke rolling in her mouth, tears stinging as she walks through the wake of it all, passing the troopers scattered around in dust-caked white. The warriors all strewn in the courtyard. Horns growing out of their heads and how they remind Lilith of wreaths, of crowns, and always, inexhaustibly, of home.

Blood on the sandstone turning it the colour of rust and Lilith gathering the bodies of small girls into her arms. Carrying them out of their dim dormitory, lined with beds and tattered blankets. She holds them even as her arms shake, looking away from the loll of their heads.

Lilith hides their faces in the fabric of her cloak as she carries them past the troopers. The clones hardly twitch at the sight, and she keeps her eyes on the fortress doors, trying not to misplace the sight in the memory of a dozen battlefields. Of crouching in bombed-out hovels with her droids sifting through the shadows - long-limbed and reaching out to her in the dark as she peered at the troopers marching by.

But more often than not the clones caught them in the open, and more than once Lilith stood in the aftermath alone, drenched in blood from using her hands to dispatch the last of them. Turned savage by the sight of thin metal limbs lying broken all around her, like a forest of swords driven into the ground.

There was never any point in taking them home with her; dead droids were recycled for their parts. Instead, she kept a tube of paint in her pocket and dabbed a red stripe onto their brows when they fell.

And now the clones are staining the bleak black walls of her home. She can see where their blaster bolts have cracked the stone in the courtyard. It's filled with the stench of cauterized death.

She carries the children past them and tries to hold her anger away from the weight in her arms.

It takes an hour to bring each of them out to the edge of the swamp. Lilith turns over their hands so the palms face upward, so they can come close to touching the sky.

The nightsisters she will stitch into their cocoons, as they so desire, but the girls are not yet anything. They don’t deserve to be wrapped away into darkness.

So she takes them away from the fortress and its walls. Away from the troopers. She carries them as far as she can from their own wounds, the blood on the mattresses from precise stabs, burning the fabric when the lightsaber punctured through underneath. She could smell the redness of that, too. A colour like crimson.

The blood seemed to leak out of them forever and ever, pushing through the burned ends of broken arteries.

She kneels, running her nails through the bloodstains on her arms, dabbed there when she untangled feather-light bodies out of blood-pooled mattresses.

She tries to coax their eyelids shut, but they refuse, staring glassily up at the red-washed sky. Lilith stares at them, thinking, associations stealing out like hands from thorn bushes, fingers bitten by sharp points.

She kneels there on the edge of the plateau that was her home, looking out at the sunrise. The sky reflected in sightless eyes all around her and an ache deep-seated in her bones from fractional lightspeed, hopping from system to system in a stupid attempt to get here first.

But she didn’t. Corpses already cold when she carried them in a dim reflection of her own departure. Lilith, lingering at the graveside with a feeling like she ought to lay down and decompose beneath the red star she loves, atop the red planet she hates.

It’s memory, and so it is slippery, passing through their fingers with the cool ease that Lilith passes her tongue in through Beatrice's lips.

She doesn’t notice the memories falling out of her, but Beatrice feels it all, a web of cracks proliferating over Lilith’s torso. She feels it when she tastes her skin, her breasts, when they’re so close that death would have to find them both to take either of them.

Something bad happened on Dathomir, but it’s couched in too many layers for Beatrice to unravel the tragedy of it all. The planet still exists, but it’s a wasteland, but it was always a wasteland.

Lilith dreams of sour fruit, dead children. A sickbed and her mother’s hands.

Her language is an echo of all that, so of course it manifests at the strangest times, when everything is stretched too thin for the grief to hold itself back.

Beatrice always feels the urge to reach up and taste it, to know the texture of it, but Lilith only ever breaks – and it feels like that, a break - into her native tongue when she is angry, or afraid, and so Beatrice has only tasted it harshly.

It is a language of hooking ‘s’ sounds and clipped ‘a’ sounds, softer around the letter ‘m’. Beatrice thinks that, like Lilith’s curled fingers, it is something that should be taken onto the tongue and held there, the way Lilith held her, back when they were not yet in love.

#wn star wars au #casper writes #beatrice x lilith #just lilith and her droids and her gay thoughts against the galaxy ig #knightsofrayx #ty for the ask!! made me worse : D

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letitrainathousandflames · 1 year

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Did the bathroom stall person STAY a stranger?

N-S-F-W and definitely TMI content ahead lmao:

He did, the poor fellow! Here's some backstory to explain how on earth my shy-as-hell dumbass worked the courage to have some bathroom stall shenanigans:

So I started dating this classmate in highschool, (the one I often refer to as "the deceased" bc he's dead to me) and he was a major asshole. Emotionally abusive, controlling, made me feel bad about literally every single thing I enjoyed, especially writing fanfiction and not being a boring piece of shit like he was.

Welp! I spent like a decade with this bastard bc he was a classic abusive dickhead who pushed my friends away and I couldn't see that he was a major asshole until I started therapy. When I was 26 my therapist, clever lady she was, knew I was suffering but also v attached to him still, so she suggested us to "take a break". Not breaking up, just take a break, for one month, and reevaluate the relationship.

I spent a long time moping over him but my bestie said "wait does that mean I can finally take you clubbing?" and I proceeded to have an absolute blast dancing and having fun with her!

The second time we went clubbing, it was a star wars themed party! I went as a cute padmé amidala, and spent the night dancing and watching snippets of SW movies that played on the big screens, explaining to my very confused bff who's never watched a star war in her life why I was attracted to the angry looking alien with horns and red skin w/ black tattoos - darth maul. She remained confused.

(Fun fact, I'm autistic and loud environments make me literally sick, but I think I needed this freedom so badly my brain let me have these moments for once. Now I literally cannot enter a club. Anyway.)

While we're dancing, a handsome clone-trooper looking type walked past us and I think I gave him such an eye-fucking of a look that he made a beeline to me and took me to dance (I gave a thumbs-up to my bff bc she is v protective and will push creepy dudes away from me, bless her).

Then we started kissing and fooling around in a corner, and the guy invited me over to his place.

(here's the thing, my ex literally acted like sex was a chore. I repeatedly, gently asked him whether he was asexual, promising to be okay with it if it was the case but he swore he wasnt which. made me feel like I was very unappealing and did a number on my self-esteem. Oof.)

So I was pent up as hell and desperate for a fuck, especially a fuck with an enthusiastic guy for once in my life. On the other hand, girls that go with strangers to their place might be raped or killed. So when I said no, the guy suggested we fucked in the bathroom.

Now, that wouldn't be proper ladylike behavior, i reasoned with myself, while fully cupping the guy's groin with my hand. So I said a very unconvincing no, and the guy asked if I was sure, and I said "we might be caught", and he said "not if we're quiet"

...and goddamnit I was so damn horny and I can't even blame it on being drunk bc I don't drink alcohol out bc it makes me sleepy. This was 100% horny brain in charge and I was the one to actually pull the guy into the bathroom with me.

(We're gonna fade to black here bc I'm not willing to share those details here, but I can point out the funny bits):

there wasn't enough room in that bathroom stall for someone to pee comfortably, much less for two people to squeeze in and do the horizontal vertical tango

if you ever wanna do that, do that early in the night, not after dancing for hours because your knees will want to buckle the entire time and that's not hot

be smart and have condoms in your bag. wrap it up, folks. it's the 21st century and everyone who's sexually active should have their protection regardless of gender or lack thereof <3

the sound of toilets flushing nearby is quite the mood-killer, but if the music drowns out most of it, one can make it work

do not laugh when your very worried friend who's been looking for you all night calls out your name in the bathroom, trying to find you

Tell her you'll be right out and try to wriggle out of the arms of the dude who seems to have fallen in love with you or something.

Thank you for the fun times, catch his phone number or contact info of any kind

loudly announce you and the friend are both leaving to give the poor fella hidden in a stall in the lady's bathroom a window of time to escape unseen

forget you had his contact info for three months bc you are ADHD, aaand now it's too awkward to send a text of 'hey its bathroom stall girl, how's it going?'

#pls ask me what happened after the 'break' period was over and i met my ex again lmao #it's another funny one

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morwensteelsheen · 3 months

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migrained out my nut so posting this and then dipping back to my sick bed like the Victorian waif that I am, but I’ve spent the last few months (actually, Ulysses says it’s been since July of 2022) pondering a Farawyn Rogue One AU. I’ve been chipping away at it whenever the urge takes me, but here’s an early and incomplete draft of what may become the first chapter

Tank treads are archaic on all planets except uncontacted ones. Shuddering, loud, and expensive to produce, corporate guilds stopped using them centuries ago when they realised they didn’t need to damage their goods in transport. Every civilised entity in the galaxy uses some combination of repulsorlifts and good old fashioned thrusters to transport cargo hither and thither, totally unmolested.

That Éowyn is currently being beaten to shit in the back of an Imperial prison transport, then, is purely an ideological choice.

She hears the treads whine and judder as they traverse the rough terrain of Wobani. Her seat restraints rub her skin raw through the coarse material of her uniform, and beside her a prisoner, a Devaronian with docked horns, has fully cracked, mumbling something incomprehensible into the tense half-silence.

Today will be a bore—unless the Devaronian decides to put on a show and harass the guards—just like each of her previous 94 days in this camp. They’ll break rocks in the quarry for between eight and twelve hours depending on what mood the watch wardens are in, then they’ll be carted unceremoniously back to the blocks, where Éowyn will spend the night dodging unsavoury looks from her Trandoshan cell mate who has a serious problem with boundaries.

A little naively, Éowyn tests the tensile strength of her binders, waiting until they go over a particularly large bump to mask the sound of steel clanking against steel. No luck: despite her best efforts, she has not developed superhuman strength in her sleep.

“Playing both sides—th-they were playing both sides!” The Devaronian slams both feet into the transport floor, the sound ricochets. “Selling clones to the Republic and collaborating with the Separatists!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Éowyn doesn’t need to look up to recognise the harsh growl of the Corellian on the far side of the cabin.

“J-just because you don’t care doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter! They manufactured a war to keep us all—”

The rest of his diatribe is lost. A blast erupts somewhere—everywhere and nowhere all at once—blowing the doors wide open. Light and smoke and the bitter scent of melted ozone fill the compartment. The troopers who guard the transport are in disarray, she can hear how far ahead they’ve cruised on their speeders, now desperate to recoup lost ground.

“Haleth Haladin!”

From the cloud of dust and smoke emerges a man, tall, dressed in nondescript military fatigues. He’s holding a holo of her face, and she’s in no rush to figure out why.

He bends down in front of her, squinting at her as if she isn’t the only human woman on this transport. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

She nods, then doesn’t flinch as he smashes through her restraints. His distraction is all she needs: she leverages her weight against the jumpseat, pummelling both of her feet into his chest and sending him into a crumpled heap on the ground opposite her.

He’s brought friends, but they’re easy enough to dispatch with; a sharp elbow to the nose immobilises one, and a shoulder check sends the other flying out the splintered metal door.

Just a few short feet separate her from freedom. She’s not sure how she’ll make it to the edge of the camp, but once she’s there the planet is desolate enough that the Imps won’t bother searching for her for more than a couple clicks in any given direction. She’ll keep taking her chances from there until she can get off this rock; and if those chances don’t come through for her, better to die with dignity than in the clutches of the Empire.

Her chances are spent quicker than she’d hope. She’s no more than two feet into the air, arms bracing as she takes her leap to freedom, when something hooks around her ankles, slamming her into the hard ground.

She’s breathless—not just breathless, completely incapable of breathing she’s hit the ground so hard. Adrenaline courses through her, her body’s last ditch attempt to save itself. The dirt around her flutters, a sympathetic shockwave. It does nothing to lift her up. The panic starts to set in as she realises she still can’t move her arms and legs.

An astromech looms over her—not an experience she ever thought she’d have—its visual sensors lighting up in what feels a little too close to smugness.

“You are being rescued,” it beeps. “Please do not resist.”

Her head spins. Her vision tunnels. It’s not, she bemoans as consciousness escapes her, the most glorious way to die.

•°

She’s hauled out of the freighter on a planet she doesn’t recognise, in the shadow of a temple that at once pierces the atmosphere and looks utterly at peace with the surrounding jungle. She glares at the man who takes ownership of her restraints, but doesn’t squander energy resisting her march her across the landing pad.

“Your ship is junk,” she sneers. “Things must be dire if that’s what you’re sending out into the galaxy.”

The man doesn’t bother to acknowledge her jibe, and she bristles. It doesn’t stop her from cataloguing every detail of the temple and its labyrinthine tunnels. She counts the number of people walking around, how many of them carry weapons, how few ships are parked outside and in. She keeps track of how many left turns they make, how many doors they pass until they take their first right, which corridors dead-end and which don’t.

She’s heard about the nascent rebellion, of course, she’s not a moron and she certainly hasn’t had her head in the sand for the last five years, but she hadn’t imagined that they’d be quite so organised. They’re operating with almost as much surety as a genuine state, and they’ve clearly got plenty of resources to back them up, if the reams of equipment they’ve got laying about in the open is anything to go by. Still, they’re not flawless, and their security flaws are numerous, enough that it’s clear to her they’re not yet thinking like a government-in-waiting, no matter how much they look like one.

By the time her guards stop forcing her around the compound, she’s halfway to her escape plan. That they’re now forcing her down into a steel chair and hooking her restraints to the floor is not an ideal development, but she’s worked bigger miracles in worse conditions.

A man stands from behind an enormous, clunky, and remarkably dated holodesk. He’s a general, based on the repurposed Republic insignia—it might even be his own Republic insignia, if his age is anything to go by.

“You’re currently calling yourself Haleth Haladin, is that correct?” He does not pause to allow her to answer. “Possession of unsanctioned weapons, forgery of Imperial documents, grand theft auto, aggravated assault. Escape from custody. Resisting arrest… Imagine if the Imperial authorities had figured out who you really were, Éowyn Éomundsdottir.” Setting the holopad he was ostensibly reading from down, he waits just long enough for the dramatic effect to take hold. “That’s your given name, is it not? Éowyn Éomundsdottir? Niece of Théoden Thengelsson, renowned starship manufacturer?”

She frowns, squinting at him sceptically to mask her surprise. “What is this?”

“We think you might be able to help us.”

Another man steps forward from the shadows. She realises he’s been there all along, half-cast in neon glow. He’s tall, with raven dark hair tied in a messy braid, and she might have called him young if in her soul it didn’t feel so inaccurate. Something in his air throws her immediately, like he’s been pulled through from a different universe, or a different time.

“This is Captain Faramir, Rebel Intelligence,” says the general.

The newcomer hardly acknowledges his introduction, his attention so keenly focused upon her. “When was the last time you were in contact with your uncle?”

“15 months ago.” She answers it before she can think, as if she’s incapable of answering him with anything less than the truth. It frightens her.

“Any idea what he’s been doing all that time?”

The room narrows to the endlessly tiny tunnel of attention that connects her to him. “I like to think he’s dead—makes things easier.”

“Easier than what? That he’s been a useful idiot for the Imperial war machine?”

“Why does it matter to you what I should think of my uncle’s business prospects?”

“One of your uncle’s pilots is being held at the Imperial prison in Dxun; he’s claiming the Empire is developing a weapon with the ability to destroy planets. The pilot says they’re using your uncle’s fighters to defend it.”

“Captain Faramir’s mission is to authenticate the pilot's story and then, if possible, convince your uncle to renege on his contract,” interjects the general, adding a thin veneer of professionalism to her jailbreak and kidnapping. “If we can cut off their supply of fighters, we may yet buy ourselves time to destroy the weapon before it is finished.”

“Given the gravity of the situation, and your relationship to your uncle, we’re hoping that you’ll help us bring him to his senses.”

Her heart thuds unnaturally in her chest. She has no inkling as to the state of her uncle’s affairs, to the state of her uncle at all. She had forsaken her home to do what he would not: to stem the rising tide of the Empire, to defend the Galaxy; but she has no desire to discover which side of that fight he has landed on.

“And if I do it?” She looks only at Captain Faramir as she asks, though it is clear it is not his decision to make.

“We’ll ensure you go free,” he answers, and the thrumming energy enveloping his words says it is the truth.

•°

The transport they’re shipping out on is not much better than the battered freighter they’d used to bring her in. Still, with one Astromech at the copilot’s console and another in the stern engineering bay, it’s at least marginally better equipped.

“I am M-RE, and I’m glad you’re being sent with us,” beeps the droid, and she recognises it as the reason there are two searing rub-burns around her ankles.

“I remember you,” she answers, with no love lost.

“That’s P1-PN in the back, he’s a reprogrammed Imperial droid.”

“I have nothing against you either,” the black and red liveried droid chirps.

“You say it like I should be surprised.”

“You should,” it says, extending a spike arm to connect to the ship’s navicomputer. “Faramir thinks you’re a liability.”

Anger bubbles up inside her. A liability? Her? She’s crossed half the known galaxy entirely on her own, faced down battalions of Stormtroopers near single-handedly; what right had a footsoldier of a foundering political farce have to call her a liability?

With alarming precision, the captain chooses that moment precisely to re-appear at the boarding ramp, two battered backpacks in his hands. He offers one to her. “You met Merry and Pippin?”

“They’re very informative.”

“A generous description.” He sidesteps her with perfect formality to continue up the gangplank. Unbidden, a single word enters her mind, enough to stop her dead for the second time today: Jedi.

Before he slides into his pilot’s seat, he turns to look at her, grey eyes meeting hers in what she can only make sense of as an acknowledgment. But how he could know what thoughts came to her, let alone what it would take for those thoughts to be true—it’s so unlikely it hardly warrants consideration.

Yet the longer she looks at him, the more probable the unlikely becomes. He carries himself like the warriors of legend, and the grave tenderness that was said to be all but extinct in the last Jedi of the Old Republic shines brightly in his eyes. Maybe the Jedi have not all been exterminated, maybe—

He turns away, lowering himself into the seat with preternatural grace. “Let’s get going,” he says to the droid, and her momentarily-halted upset at him returns.

#e writes #farawyn #faramir #Éowyn #lotr

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