advanced tie fighter

Victory comes in many forms

Had a nice discussion with @dwarfiarty over Tumblr messaging on this 😊

So people seems to think that only 2 results are possible: Outright Victory, or Destructive Defeat.

So, just because the battle of Scarif is “the Rebellion’s first Major Victory”, that means the (oncoming) battle on Lothal will be a total annihilation for the SWR crew, especially Kanan & Ezra.

I beg to differ.

You see, victory and defeat is a spectrum.

There’s Major Victory, Minor Victory, Stalemate, Minor Defeat, Major Defeat.

There are also some “subflavors” of each of the above. And side effects.

So, you see, even though Scarif would be where the Rebellion scored a major, one, it does NOT mean the oncoming battle of Lothal won’t be a minor one. Or a stalemate.

Consider this: Kanan & Ezra do NOT succeed in liberating Lothal. But, they can sabotage the production of TIE Fighters so much, that the Empire decides to close up their TIE Fighter factory there and move it somewhere else. But, the Empire still reigns supreme, and resource (strip-)mining still continues.

A stalemate.

The objectives of the Rebels are not fulfilled, but neither can the Empire achieve their objective of making Lothal the center of production for (Advanced) TIE Fighters.

(Of course, this kind of stalemate indirectly benefits the Rebel Alliance, since by delaying the R&D – and thus postponing the Production – of Advanced TIE Fighters, the Rebel Alliance’s fighter squadron will have a good fighting chance against the Imperial Navy.)

Of course it is also possible that the Rebels would be completely routed at the end of Season 4. And it is also possible that the Rebels would score a minor victory – say, the total destruction of the Sienar Fleet Systems’ factory on Lothal, resulting in the loss of R&D of the Advanced TIE Fighter.

All I’m saying is:

Start thinking of the possibilities. Start thinking of spectrums.

The New Star Wars is not black-or-white. It’s not binary / boolean. It’s not win / lose.

It’s the extremes and everything in between.

Anything can happen.

Star Wars Rebels Preference: How They React When You Get Hurt

Hera: Hears your pained yell through her comlink as the Ghost shudders from impact, and all but jumps out of her seat. She yells at Chopper to jump to hyperspace, which he does successfully and runs down the corridor and climbs the ladder to see you laying in a heap in the chair.

[f/n] Hera calls out as she manages to get up high enough to shake your shoulder. You gasp in pain and open your [e/c] eyes with a heavy breath.

“Hera…” You try to reach out to grab her, but she stops your hand with one of her gloved ones first. “It’s hurts Hera, make it stop.” You groan out painfully, sweat coating your forehead in beads as they drip down into your eyes.

“Hush, your fine.” Hera scolds lightly, tone wavering as her gloved hand comes back sticky with blood. “But we need to get you some bacta, is it okay if I help you down?”

You sniff back tears and nod yes, painfully removing yourself from your seat as Hera grabs onto one of your arms. “It’s okay [f/n], I’ve got you.” Hera explains gently as she lets you take her shoulder with your hand for support. One of her hands remains firmly of the ladders rung as she removes her other hand from your side to place under your legs. Once your secure she starts moving slowly down the ladder.

You cry out a few times (Hera tries not to visibly flinch) before your at the bottom with Hera. She looks at you before setting you down on the floor next to the ladder, wiping the sweat away from your forehead as she repeats.You’ll be fine. Just relax while I get some bacta.” 

She gets up and leaves, but you don’t relax. Not until you can hear her coming back. Hera always comes back.

Ahsoka: You wake up to the beeping of a machine next to you, your arm and leg wrapped in gauze; and Ahsoka Tano, Fulcrum; hero of the Clone Wars sitting in a chair next to your side.

“You had a bad crash in the hanger.” Ahsoka tells you, reaching out to hold your bandaged hand. “But you’ll be okay now.”

“What-” Your mouth is dry, sore as you try to get a word out. Ahsoka reaches over, helps you sit up a little; and soon the cool feeling of water is going down your parched throat.

You finish the cup of water, turning to look at Ahsoka wearily. “I don’t remember what happened Commander.”

“Ahsoka.” Ahsoka corrects softly. “You can call me Ahsoka [f/n].” She sighs, places the cup on a desk next to you and stares intently into your [e/c] eyes. “ You were being chased by two Advanced TIE fighters, Dominic; Hugie…” Ahsoka gripped your hand a little tighter. “They didn’t make it.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, but you swallowed down the lump that forms, not wanting to cry. “Am I…will I?” You sniff, looking down at your bandaged leg with caution.

“You won’t be able to walk again very well.” Ahsoka explains. “But we’ll make sure you get all the help you need. If your lucky, you’ll only have a limp as a reminder.”

You swallow hard, face pale; hands shaking. How could you fight the Imperials if you couldn’t walk properly? How could you fly?

“Don’t worry, I promise you’ll be fine.” Ahsoka squeezes your hand with reassurance, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. “I’ll teach you myself if I have to.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do Ahsoka.” You reply sourly. “We have a war to win, after all.”

Ahsoka smiles slightly, but whether it’s in amusement or worry you can’t tell. “We may have a war to win, but we also have a duty to protect each other; help each other so we can actually have that chance.”

You turn away, but her words linger in your thoughts for hours afterwards. Wondering if Ahsoka will leave, If you’ll get a chance to seethe and cry for your friends. You don’t like it when people see you vulnerable. When they see you cry.

But Ahsoka stays. And the tears fall.

Kanan: You don’t remember how you got injured, it’s a messy blur of yelling and smoke at this point; but that doesn’t stop Kanan from carrying you in his arms back to safety. 

“You’re crazy.” He tells you; though there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. 

You laugh, choking on dust and who knows what else. “Ha. That’s funny because I wasn’t the one who took down a platoon of stormtroopers with just my hands.”

Kanan smiles while his grip on you tightens. “Just be careful next time okay?”

“Sure.” You mumble, blackness on the edge of your vision. “Whatever you say Cowboy.” You lean your head into his chest as the darkness claims you, not caring for anything other then the warmth of Kanan’s arms around you.

Ezra: There’s a blurry red flash before you feel like your ribs are on fire. You lay there on the cold steel of the frigate, trying to breath; trying to feel anything other then the searing pain of the wound. But you don’t expect to hear Ezra’s yelling scream as he leaps over you to charge at Seventh Sister.

You had never seen him this angry.

There’s a clash of lightsabers (a sound your still becoming used to) mixed with Seventh Sisters mocking and Ezra’s furious yells. But it’s soon over, and you turn your head up just as Ezra looks down at you from above.

“She fell off a platform. The doors sealed.” Ezra tells you calmly, eyes worried. He kneels down( (you hiss in pain as he pulls back the material of her clothes from the wound and soon he’s radioing the Ghost. 

“Ezra…” You gasp out in pain. “Please….”

“Quiet.” Ezra’s takes off his orange jacket and presses it to your wound. “They’ll be here in a couple minutes.”

“Ezra…” You mutter, voice cracking. “Ezra, am I going to die?”

“Of course not.” Ezra scolds you. “Why would you even say something like that?” His voice his thick with emotion, and he presses his jacket further over your wound. “Relax, breathe.” 

You do as he asks, and soon the Ghost arrives. Or at least; that’s what Ezra tells you before you pass out from the pain. 

Sabine: Hears your cry of pain before you fall to the ground, and is the first to reach you amongst the smoky chaos of the battlefield.

She pulls off her helmet, sweat sticking her multi-coloured blue hair to her forehead as she skids to a stop of her knees next to you. Your shoulder looks worse for wear, but your alive; breathing and in shock.

You reach out for Sabine’s hand, but she brushes you away to pull back at your jacket, trying to figure out how deep the blaster wound is. When she shakes her head with a smile, you feel better. (Not physically, but mentally) because if it was worse then it felt Sabine would be yelling a string of curses in Mando’a at you.

“You’re fine.” Sabine breathes out with relief. “It’s just a small wound.” She reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers together with a smile. 

It’s just a relief to know she isn’t going anywhere.

Zeb: Okay, so maybe trying to climb a rocky cliff wasn’t the best way to get food. But you were hungry. Zeb was hungry. The whole Ghost Crew was hungry. 

Besides, it was better to be out here doing something then sitting back in the Ghost doing nothing.

So when you footing slips and you fall ten feet to a cliff face below, landing hard, your leg twisting under you as an audible crack echo’s through the valley, Zeb wishes he had gone up after you.

“It’s broken.” You tell him, face screwed up in pain as you twist your head to look at your leg. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not your fault.” Zeb’s ears droop as he kneels down next to you, visibly distraught. “I shouldn’t have suggested this place to begin with.”

“I wanted to go.” You tell him sincerely. You liked spending time with Zeb. He was funny, nice. And didn’t mind you asking him questions.

Zeb shakes his head. “Well, let’s see if we can radio the Ghost for a pick up.” He pressed his comlink, but all he got was static. “Damn. I guess were walking.” Zeb frowns for a moment. “I can carry you on my back.” 

He picks you up easily over his head and you grab onto his shoulders, one leg dangling painfully, before you can grip his shoulders. His big arms hold your legs in place as you grip his shoulders. 

“Lets go.” Zeb tells you as he starts to move down the edge of the cliff. It’s not a big or wide path, but if he’s careful you’ll be fine.

You stare at his fluffy ears, slightly entranced before reaching out to scratch one. He jumps slightly, you laugh and gasp in pain. “Sorry, they were…cute.”

“I’m not a loth cat.” Zeb tells you plainly, a little embarrassed. “And I’m ticklish there so knock it off.” 

“Well that’s good to know.” You tell him, grinning triumphantly. 

“If you tell Ezra-” 

“I won’t.”

Zeb makes an unhappy sound like he doesn’t believe you and you don’t say anything for the rest of the trip.

Chopper: Let’s you hold one of his little claw hands until help arrives. He beeps a few times, and you have a funny feeling he’s congratulating you for your kill. Or complaining that he didn’t get to take down the Imperial Officer himself. It’s always a mystery with him. 


“Son of a Bantha!” You yell as you yank your now bleeding finger away from the knife on the counter. The blood falls, and though it isn’t as much as you thought it would be, it stings like hell.

“You alright?” Rex asks from behind you. He smiles, arms crossed over his armor as you turn around with a frown. 

“I was just trying to make dinner.” You explain with dejection. 

Rex gives you a sympathetic look, reaching behind himself to take a piece of cloth tied to his belt. “Well you need to be more careful.” Rex tells you as he ties the cloth gently around your finger. “You don’t need to cut your trigger finger off.

“Yes Sir.” You reply sarcastically. When he stands and raises his eyebrows you laugh, leaning forward so you can hug him. “Thanks Rex.”

He shakes his head, backs away from the hug and moves toward the counter. “Since your injured I feel that it’s my duty to assist you on the kitchen.” He sounds amused, and you wonder if something about your manner helps him relax? He’s never like this with Kanan or even Hera.

“Then we’d better get it finished then.” You reply evenly. “I’d rather not get in trouble with Hera.”

Rex salutes you and soon your both hard at work.

It’s nice to have a friend.

followthewhat  asked:

"Are those my clothes?" Stormpilot eheheh

Poe was doing his best to give a mission briefing to the other pilots, something he usually did with ease, today, however, he kept getting distracted.

At first he thought that it was just because the plain shirts were pretty much standard issue cream coloured and all looked the same, and the fact Finn was still wearing his jacket just made it look like he had raided Poe’s wardrobe, so he shook it off and carried on with the briefing.

Then he noticed that the trousers everyone’s favourite ex-stormtrooper was wearing looked eerily like a pair he had in his wardrobe and he faltered a little while explaining their objectives as his eyes caught on them. Still he continued talking to the pilots and tried not to spend any more time staring at Finn because someone was bound to notice and he would never hear the end of the teasing.

Then as he was outlining the advances in First Order Tie fighter manoeuvring capabilities, he noticed the little mark on the collar of the shirt that Finn was wearing, a mark he made a few months ago when he literally bumped into General Organa and dropped the marker he was holding on himself.

Poe stopped midsentence without really noticing he had and squinted at the shirt. He had suggested Finn bunked with him when it became clear that he really didn’t have anywhere to stay and after Rey went he was really the only other person on base that Finn knew, and now that he thought about it, Finn hadn’t exactly had any possessions that moved in with him, not that that was surprising really.

“Are those my clothes?“ Poe asked, momentarily forgetting that he was halfway through a briefing and there were in fact other people in the room.

Then Finn blushed and he couldn’t help but think about how cute that looked on him, almost as good as the way his clothes looked on him.

“Oh, Um. Yeah.” Finn said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really have any of my own yet? And you said your jacket suited me so I thought you wouldn’t mind?”

Poe realised in that moment that he didn’t mind, he really didn’t mind. Finn was welcome to wear his clothes anytime. And just his clothes.

“You know Finn if you just ask the general they can find you some clot- ”

“It’s fine.” Poe cut Artora off before she could do something absurd like tell Finn that they kept a supply of clothes and all he had to do was ask. “I don’t mind.” Finn gave him with big genuine smile and he found it was completely contagious.

Eventually someone, probably Tanik, the bastard, pointedly cleared their throat and dragged Poe’s attention away from Finn and his smile and back to the here and now.

After that incident the teasing was endless, but he found it pretty hard to care when he got back to his crampt quarters to find Finn snuggled up in a pair of his favourite pyjamas.

Yeah, anyone who told Finn about the clothes reserve was going to be higher up his shitlist than the First Order.

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