the starship mechanic

Fives - Priceless

Dating a clone is always going to come with its own set of challenges - and the latest one is that Fives seems to feel…replaceable. Well, you’ll just have to set him straight about that.

Wordcount: 2221

Warnings: Insecurity (not reader’s), drinking

Notes: Fives is so wonderful and precious ok I really love him and I’ve been waiting to write this for like weeks.

“We should do this more often,” you remark wistfully, taking another sip from the bottle and staring out over the skyline. The air’s just a little chilly - cooler than normal for Coruscant - but he’s so close to you it doesn’t matter. The dark grey fabric of his under-armor clings to his chest and quite frankly, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t appreciate that.

“What, sit outside the barracks and drink? Yeah, we’re really living the dream,” Fives says, but he’s got a soft sort of smile on his face as he looks at you. 

He’s right, in a way - it’s not much in the way of dates. But he ships out tomorrow - again - and so this time with him, no matter how you spend it, is infinitely precious. Just being this close to him (man, he smells amazing) is sweet enough to make your chest ache.

Keep reading

——|⚛ ex astris vindictae

@stcrbcund continued from here:

“Well, it’s no skin off my teeth, mate, but contrary to what ye might think, this might be the difference between life and death one day.” Scotty was still getting the hang of this teaching business. One of the biggest challenges he encountered since starting his doctorate was cock-sure command trackers who taught they didn’t need engineering to do the job they were planning to get assigned to. While that much was true - to a degree - there was a requirement to understand the very basic principles of starship mechanics.

He studied the screen quietly for a moment, trying not to look too bemused. If it wasn’t for his cockiness, the engineer might have even pitied the bloke… yanno, if he wasn’t such an arse. 

“Oh aye, sure… if ye were trying to destroy your ship and every livin’ thing on it. Ye’ve got the intermix right, but you’re givin’ it too much voltage. Ye’d burn out your dilithium crystals in less than ten minutes at that rate. So no, not e’en a ‘fuckin’ pilot’ as ye say can engineer a fusion reactor.” 

——|⚛ Killian stared slack jawed at the display. He had it all right. He should have at least. He was smarting, but to show it would be a massive contradiction to the peacocking he’d just pulled, so he thought on his feet–lest he, you know, admit defeat.

 Aye–but see here,” he gestured to the propulsion grid, “with my equation the ship would’ve made it out of the star’s orbit on the force of the blast alone-easy. Who needs a crew when you’ve got your ship and a star to steer her by?  

——|⚛ He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms behind his head. 

  Mate, I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t trust you not to fly a ship right into a supernova even with an auto course plot into the navi, just as you clearly wouldn’t trust me to build a fusion reactor. What am I even supposed to do with this anyway