His hands shook as he pulled out the small box from where he’d hidden it in the back of his desk drawer. Just a tenday ago, Seventeen had come to Coruscant so he could be present when the Bill was signed, and he’d wordlessly pressed the box into Cody’s hand when they’d had a moment alone. He hadn’t opened it until today. Sitting in the box were three pairs of earrings: one blue, one purple, and one pink. He looked at them, confirmed his current thought pattern, and took out the blue ones. He put them both in and could feel himself relax immediately. He thought about putting the others in his pocket just in case, but ultimately left them on his desk. After so long as “he,” it would probably take a while until anything else felt safe. ----- “Every day you're seeing our existence debated. Transgender people are so very real.” - Elliot Page, TIME Magazine (March 2021)

The Republic sends a combat photographer to be attached to the 212th until further notice, citing the need for a morale boost. The clones make up a fake clone, citing the absolute fact that it is very funny. Somehow, these two things save the galaxy.

Ponds is wandering the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, on his way to a meeting with his general, when he finds a crying youngling. He’s clutching his hands close to himself and Ponds abruptly remembers a mission with General Vos, who had an eerily similar reaction to a set of manacles. Ponds can’t help but kneel in front of the kid and offer him his pair of brand new gloves.

“What?” Rex's voice shades towards alarm. “Cody, that’s a bad idea—” “You can't go,” Cody says reasonably. “You have to monitor communications and make sure the generals have an extraction ready if they need it. Ghost Company’s down half its men right now, so I have the chance.” “That’s exactly the tone you used when you explained why you were overcome with the urge to punch General Grievous in the metal face,” Rex informs him. “Cody, no.”

“This is incredibly sweet,” Obi-Wan observed with a fond smile. Cody was currently telling the cadets a story and they listened excitedly to his every word. “He just exudes ori’vod energy. The younger ones can’t help themselves,” Alpha replied. “It’s been like this his entire life.”

Normally, she wouldn’t be here—there was flimsiwork to be done, wounded to visit, and loved ones to write letters to explaining the deaths of their sisters, but after she had limped onto the transport that was bound off the battlefield and back to the Endurance, Ponds, also one of the last off the field, laying eyes on her for the first time in days after they’d separated for the battle, had taken one look at her and firmly told her that she needed a break. Mace hadn’t had the energy to argue—Ponds, when convinced of something, was quietly stubborn to the end. So Mace had gone through a list of places she could quietly retreat to on Coruscant that weren’t close enough to the Temple for anyone to recognize her out of Jedi robes, and had ended up picking the Moonlight on a half remembered memory. Series

Not even two days later, Fox revised his opinion. This wasn’t a disaster. This was a Grade-A, first order, fresh off the hot plate fuckfest. Fox’s day had gone something like this: lay in bed. Get up. Knock back some of the sludge in the mess masquerading as caf. Go through forms. Fill out forms. Bust open a closet in which the Senators for Uyter and Kinyen had both managed to get “stuck” in. Go through more forms. Fill out more forms. Get called up to the Senate dome to tell a Senator that no, the Guard did not address noise complaints. Find that the stack of datapads on his desk had somehow tripled over the last two hours. Despair at the state of his inbox. Etcetera, etcetera. And then.

Jason raises his eyebrows. "So we like… spar? And you'll what, let me fuck you if I win?" "Sure. If you win." Tim smiles and a thrill goes up Jason's spine. He shucks off his jacket and shoes before making his way to the mat. "It's a deal, then. Hope you won't regret it, Replacement." Tim's teeth look strangely sharp under the Cave lighting when he says, "I'll try my best."

“Can't kriffing believe he sent a Naboo to kriffing Tatooine,” Owen says, too loud, but—they're in the middle of the wilderness. There's no one who’s going to hear him except the Force, and if it does hear him, he hopes it turns around and beats some light-bedamned sense into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s skull. In his lap, fully entranced by the corner of the blanket Owen has him bundled in, Luke coos, beams, and flips his tail. The fancy, flowing, colorful fins slap Owen’s thigh, and he sighs, tugs the bottom of the wrap down to hide as much as he can.

When Thorn convinced Fox to start playing his favorite MMO, Fox expected to get bored of it after a few days. Instead, months later, Fox was deeply invested in the catgirl character he'd created, and it might just make him realize some things about himself.

Sometime between the end of the war and when Fox got shot, Coruscant Guard CMO Basher got their hands on the good drugs. That was the only explanation, really. Someone (Thorn) also made the mistake of giving Fox a datapad.

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else. In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.

“I am not a pretty thing,” Zoro tells him, scratching at her freshly shaved neck. Uneven strands of green hair, just long enough to barely brush the tips of her eyebrows, flop wet and graceless into her face as she turns to scowl at him. “And even if I were a pretty thing,” she adds, “I wouldn’t be yours. I wouldn’t be anyone’s, Cook.” Roronoa Zoro swore an oath that she would become nothing less than the greatest. The fact that she is a woman changes nothing.

"I'm not paranoid!" Haruta hisses, eyes darting everywhere. "Ace is either the best liar I've ever met, or--well, he's not, because if he was I wouldn't suspect anything, but I do, I suspect he's a spy!" The Life and Times Of Portgas D Ace, Totally A Marine Spy

The Jedi were never meant to fight in war. They still aren’t meant to. But that’s what they’re doing, and that results in almost every single Jedi reaching for the Dark Side unintentionally at one point or another, results in every Jedi Falling, losing the parts of themselves that are kind and good. Except for the vod’e noticed when they started to Fall, and decided that they weren’t going to let it happen—and it turns out, you can’t really Fall if you have people to Catch you. Force-null or not, the vod’e figure out how to pull their Jetiise back into the Light, and do so as many times as is needed. General Kenobi is one of the last to start Falling for their first time.

It’s funny, Robin notes as she sits on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, book in hand, That the people who are called Demon, Monster, Devil aboard this ship of dreams are not the true Monsters. No, she thinks, watching her crew as they spend the day on the deck of the Sunny, Not monsters at all. - Or: The East Blue has a different nickname to those in the Grand Line, and those who hail it as home have a few... unique traits.

Cody keeps a list of miraculous things he comes across amidst the mundane.

Sanji will just go knock. Appease his own sense of responsibility, get yelled off, and come back to his own bed knowing he tried. It’s the least he owes the frustrating marimo, as crewmates; to at least make sure he’s got options.

The planetary security forces have captured a Sith, and Maul has nothing but a bad feeling about this.

“Bring me the Joker’s head on a platter,” Jason says, and he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. It’s the kind of thing he jokes about when he’s overwhelmed, and he’s overwhelmed by Tim a lot. Tim’s intensity makes Jason turn flippant, makes him counterweigh the seriousness with comments about his own torture and death, like that will somehow lighten the mood. Jason says all kinds of things, for all kinds of reasons. He doesn’t expect anyone to listen.

There’s something strange about the bounty hunter the marks hired for this job, but Granta can't quite put his finger on it.

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?" "It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.

And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second. Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast. - for the prompt 'jason todd, lover of fake kidnappings, meets tim drake, lover of chaos', but it... got out of hand. happy pride