#silversong79

(Ahh no, i love getting asks like this omg) Ok so I’m answer these backwards just cause the backstory ones are gonna be long lmao, anyways!

-My favorite character design probably has to be Deran’s just because a) shes a togruta and i love them so effing much and b) her design was actually given to me by @evaceratops and im more inclined to like stuff from friends than what i come up with (whoops)- but overall Deran just has this aesthetic?????? That i rlly like

-THE MOST PAINFUL BACKSTORY OH BOY I HAVE A L O T gosh i cant even choose one thats any worse than the others so I’m just gonna talk about Klai and Ivojel Flynn. Basically what goes down is theyre Zeltrons, who are super senstitive to emotions/pheromones *especially from other zeltrons* and their dad is…Not a Good Person. He got kicked out of his home b/c he had a mental illness that went undiagnosed for YEARS that kinda just built up a lot of negative energy and when he got married to a zeltron woman and had full blooded zeltron kids, they basically acted like little mirrors and reflected his emotional negativity back at him until he lost it and started getting drunk all the time- then he got mean. (Long story short, Klai left the house when he was 16 and Ivojel was 3- at 5, Ivojel lost his eye to a broken beer bottle and at 18 Klai sued his dad for custody of his baby brother) (( @silversong79 was a major sounding board for this half of the Flynn family, and helped me figure out so much about them ❤️))

-AGAIN SO MANY CHOICES SO MANY GOOD OPTIONS!!! But Rhiras, one of my less developed characters actually, probably has one of my favorites (shout out to @naberiie for helping me w/ her) ((im just gonna c/p it cause its faster lol)) female nautolan, black eyed and pale yellow-green skin, 17 ish~ in AOTC, 39 ish~ in ANH •Rhiras was a newly knighted Jedi just before the events of aotc and during a routine peacekeeping mission somewhere in the outer rim her ship stumbles upon the beginnings of the droid army, massive amounts of ships and droids that can only mean Something Wicked This Way Comes BUT before she can get away, or get a message back to the temple, she is captured and sent to the Citadel and she is kept there for a long, long time - until anakin and co. show up to rescue the little dude whose name I am forgetting and in the chaos from THEM she also manages to escape but realizes they are not there for /her/, that no one ever came looking for her, that the Jedi did not care about her after all. So she steals a ship and renounces the order, stumbling around until she comes across a smuggling ship that needs a hired hand and she accepts that work INSTANTLY because she needs something to distract her from her anger at being forgotten Smuggling ship belongs to Marisei, an Icarii woman missing her arm and is frequented by Rajei, a trans Togruta man who no one is really quite sure what exactly he does but he knows a lot of important people and makes a decent amount of money

about two months ago, i wrote a one-shot fic about the 501st being served a professional feast as a thank-you from grateful civvies - and i really want to spoil other battalions too!! and since i know a lot of other people love those boys as much as i do, please send me a battalion + scenario so i can spoil the shit out of em ❤❤ (something like... beach day! or a shopping trip! or a camping vacation!)

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY @silversong79 !! How on earth do I even begin to describe how much I love you...? We’ve had so many incredible, wonderful chats - about our OCs, about the difficulties of finding motivation to write, about our favorite tropes of diner dates and tall flustered boys, about the importance of how the dragon can always be defeated... I love you SO MUCH and I hope your twenty-first birthday is a BLAST ❤❤❤❤

Ripley was laying on his back, legs propped up so that his heels were resting on the bunk above his. The barracks were mostly silent at this point - most of the brothers were asleep by now. He was mindlessly scrolling through his datapad, waiting for his watch to begin, when his comms beeped. Loudly. And was immediately met with a storm of protestations.

“Ripley!”

“Come on, brother...”

“Shut that kriffing thing off or I will-”

Ripley ducked out of his bunk under the barrage of verbal assaults and into the hallway before answering it. “Yes, sir?”

“Come to the hanger, trooper.” Commander Zeth, always frugal with his words. The 309th joked that if Zeth answered a comm with an actual greeting, he was either extremely sick or speaking to General Corda.

“...Sir?”

“Hanger. Now.” The comms snapped off and Ripley was left alone to worry he had somehow misread the start time of his watch - and he’d taken off his chest armor, anticipating a few hours to watch this week’s Lakeshore Naboo, his favorite holodrama - but that didn’t matter now, and apparently he didn’t have time to go throw on his armor. So Ripley jogged to the hanger in his blacks, the Republic insignia emblazoned on his chest, his plastoid armor clipping pleasantly in the wide empty halls of the Rylothian palace where they had taken up residence. It was, like most of their missions these days, a simple relief mission - to bring food, water, medical equipment to war-torn worlds.

Ripley turned the corner to the hanger and braced himself for the inevitable lecture. Commander Zeth and General Corda were standing about fifteen feet past the doorway, their backs to him as they talked to someone Ripley couldn’t see. A small Coruscanti transport was docked and powering down, which was unusual, to say the least. He took a breath and called out, “Commander, General, is there a problem-”

They turned, Zeth was his permanent scowl and General Corda with a kind half-smile, and the words tripped over themselves in his throat when he registered who they had been talking to. He skidded to a halt, shock and confusion and excitement and a deep sort of ache in his chest that he thought might be the electricity of pure, brilliant love all sprinting through his veins at once.

His legs didn’t seem to be working but at last he managed to sputter out, “Stilena?”