#oc dune

[revenantfaire]

Haven’t drawn dune in a while

[ladysongmaster-library]

Febuwhump 2023 - Day 2

Read on AO3

Title: See You Again

Prompt: flinching

Summary: Wraith gets injured on a mission.

Words: 447

Warnings: injury (acid burns)

 **********

 “Hold still,” Dune said, holding Wraith’s chin.

 Cool bacta smeared over the acid burns around his eyes. Wraith flinched back, hissing.

 “Udesiir, vod,” Dune soothed.

 Dune worked steadily, gently wiping the mixture of acid and neutralizing agent off his skin, then applying the bacta. Wraith clenched his fists, trying not to move. His whole face ached.

 “Sorry,” Dune said, his voice tight.

 Wraith knew his ARC brother was blaming himself. Dune had scouted the location after all. Had declared it safe for them to go in. Dune was good at taking blame. But it had been Wraith’s choice to push him out of the way.

 “Ka’ra, I’m sorry, Wraith.” He rested his forehead against his Wraith’s. “Ni ceta.”

Wraith lifted his hand and felt his way to the back of Wraith’s neck, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m not dying, Dune’ika.”

 “Your eyes—” Dune’s voice choked off.

 “They might be fine,” Wraith said. “I think I turned away in time.”

 “And if you didn’t? What if you’re blind?”

 “Dune.” Wraith tapped his forehead against Dune’s a little harder than necessary, hoping to break him out of his spiral. “Udesiir, vod’ika.”

 Dune chuckled wetly at having his words turned back on him, and tapped his forehead against Wraith’s in return.

 “I’m almost done,” Dune said, sniffling and pulling back.

 Wraith jerked back as the cloth touched his eyelids. “Ugh, sorry.”

 “It’s fine.” Dune finished his ministrations, then wrapped some gauze around Wraith’s head. “Keep your eyes closed. As soon as we get back to Kamino, we’ll get the medics to look at you.”

 Wraith nodded and lay back on the bed. After a minute, Dune put the medical supplies away, and shuffled out of the room. The ship they’d been assigned for the mission was small with no medbay, so Wraith’s treatment had taken place in the bunkroom. He was grateful he didn’t have to sit up for the rest of the flight. The pain was starting to make him nauseous.

 Despite his reassurance to Dune earlier, Wraith worried. It felt like his eyes were still burning. To be fair, it felt like his whole face was still burning. He figured he’d have scars. He only hoped the medics could save his eyes.

 With General Shaak Ti on Kamino, the kaminiise weren’t decommissioning troopers like they once had. But what good was a blind trooper. He wouldn’t even make a good maintenance worker.

 Fighting back a wave of rising panic, Wraith tried to settle in to rest. Gingerly, he touched the bacta patch Dune had put over the burns on his cheek. He flinched again and the whole side of his face started throbbing.

 “Fek and all,” Wraith muttered to himself.

 **********

 Mando’a: Udesiir - relax, take it easy Ka’ra - stars; ancient Mandalorian myth (ruling council of fallen kings); used as a curse in the vein of ‘little gods’ Ni ceta - sorry (lit: I kneel) groveling apology - rare Kaminiise - Kaminoans

[ladysongmaster-library]

Febuwhump 2023 - Day 1

Read on AO3

Title: (Hit Me) One More Time

Prompt: touch starved

Summary: Dune’s first day of ARC training isn’t going well.

Words: 901

Warnings: mention of being buried alive, slight disassociation (I think), grief

 **********

 Dune knew how to take a hit.

 He’d been training all of his life for battle. In the early days, that had meant getting hit. A lot.

 He gotten better at avoiding the blows.

 At hitting back.

 His batchmates, Aftermath and Bix, made it easy, with their snarky comments and dramatic attitudes. Giv always gave as good as he got. Sync was eely and hard to pin down.

 Nogi, the youngest of their batch, was harder to punch, even in training. But Dune didn’t want his youngest vod to be at a disadvantage in a fight, so he tried not to hold back.

 Links and Burner made sure they all performed to expected standards, or above. And Softshell, with Omen occasionally assisting, saw to their abrasions and bruises, so they wouldn’t have to go to medical unless absolutely necessary.

After he lost his batchmates in the desert, Dune avoided all touch outside training and combat. He wouldn’t allow himself to get close to anyone again. A few unsubtle dodges in the mess hall or bunkroom, and the other members of Grek Squad learned to leave him alone.

 Then Captain Stonewall recommended him for ARC training.

 The hangar on Kamino was still in a shambles from the aqua droids’ attack. The pristine hallways were marred by carbon scoring and the medbays filled with recovering troopers. It helped him not get caught up in the memories of a time when he’d had his batch brothers around him still.

 After dropping their carryalls off in the ARC barracks, the trainees waited for Alpha-17 in the training room. They shook hands or clasped forearms as they introduced themselves. Some roughhoused or traded friendly punches.

 Dune kept his arms folded over his chest and watched the others.

 A trooper with a 5 tattooed on his temple invited Dune to join him and another trooper in conversation. Dune just stared until they left him alone. Then Alpha-17 arrived and worked them until they collapsed, literally.

 After showers and dinner, Dune followed the others to the barracks where he picked up a datapad with the reading for the class work part of ARC training. He looked around the room, realizing that he hadn’t been given a bunk assignment.

 That didn’t seem to stop the others. They claimed bunks randomly, scuffling when one trooper picked a bunk another had wanted.

 Someone threw their arm around Dune’s neck. “Hey, vod, wanna be bunkmates?”

 Dune’s ‘pad clattered to the floor as he spun out of the hold, grabbed the trooper’s wrist, and put him in a joint lock.

 “Owe! Kriff, I was just asking,” the trooper, Dune thought his name was Holdout, said.

 Dune released him and reached for his datapad.

 “Sheb’palon,” Holdout muttered, walking away.

 Dune strode past the others, to the farthest bunk in the room, and threw himself onto the bottom bed.

 You didn’t have to be that mean, he could imagine Giv saying.

 Dune envisioned his dead batchmates circling around the bunk. Links and Giv leaning against the frame near Dune’s head. Aftermath sitting where he could poke at Dune’s bare feet. Nogi would have crawled onto the bed settled in at his side. Dune could almost feel the weight of his brother next to him.

 Don’t be so sad, Dune’ika, Softshell would have said, stroking his hair away from his face.

 “I’m not sad,” Dune growled soft enough that no one else would hear him.

 He turned his back on his ghosts and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep.

 /././././

 Sometime after lights out, Dune woke. He was shaking and his heart galloped in his chest like a wild fathier. All around him, the soft breathing and snores of the other trainees filled the air. He relaxed back against the hard mattress, letting out a long breath.

 He’d dreamed he was trapped in the sand again. His brothers’ bodies crushing him. Making it impossible to breathe. Dune scooted toward the edge of the bed where he could see the ceiling. He wasn’t buried. There was plenty of air.

 A head popped over the edge of the upper bunk. Dune barely stifled a surprised yell.

 “That was quite the nightmare you were having,” the trooper whispered. “Thought you were going to shake the bunk apart.”

 Dune felt his cheeks heat up. “Leave me alone.”

 The other trooped gripped the edge of the bunk and leaned forward, sliding off his bed and lowering himself down in a controlled motion to stand next to Dune’s bunk. Dune didn’t know how the other man did it. His own muscles were still jelly from Alpha-17’s “assessment”.

 “Name’s Wraith,” the trooper said. He nudged Dune until he grudgingly moved to the center of the mattress, then sank down next to him. “You wanna talk?”

 “No,” Dune said, turning his back to Wraith.

 Wraith sat where he was for so long, Dune wondered if he’d fallen asleep. He was about to roll over and shove Wraith off the bed, when the other trooper moved. A warm hand rested on Dune’s back.

 “If you ever want to talk, or just want some company, I’m here.”

 Then Wraith slid off the bed and climbed back up onto his bunk.

 Dune lay there, blinking back hot tears. That hand—the same size and shape as nine others he’d never feel again—was the first he hadn’t wanted to immediately shrug off in a long time.

 **********

 Mando’a: Vod - brother Sheb’palon - asshole

[ladysongmaster]

Febuwhump 2023 - Day 2

Read on AO3

Title: See You Again

Prompt: flinching

Summary: Wraith gets injured on a mission.

Words: 447

Warnings: injury (acid burns)

 **********

 “Hold still,” Dune said, holding Wraith’s chin.

 Cool bacta smeared over the acid burns around his eyes. Wraith flinched back, hissing.

 “Udesiir, vod,” Dune soothed.

 Dune worked steadily, gently wiping the mixture of acid and neutralizing agent off his skin, then applying the bacta. Wraith clenched his fists, trying not to move. His whole face ached.

 “Sorry,” Dune said, his voice tight.

 Wraith knew his ARC brother was blaming himself. Dune had scouted the location after all. Had declared it safe for them to go in. Dune was good at taking blame. But it had been Wraith’s choice to push him out of the way.

 “Ka’ra, I’m sorry, Wraith.” He rested his forehead against his Wraith’s. “Ni ceta.”

Wraith lifted his hand and felt his way to the back of Wraith’s neck, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m not dying, Dune’ika.”

 “Your eyes—” Dune’s voice choked off.

 “They might be fine,” Wraith said. “I think I turned away in time.”

 “And if you didn’t? What if you’re blind?”

 “Dune.” Wraith tapped his forehead against Dune’s a little harder than necessary, hoping to break him out of his spiral. “Udesiir, vod’ika.”

 Dune chuckled wetly at having his words turned back on him, and tapped his forehead against Wraith’s in return.

 “I’m almost done,” Dune said, sniffling and pulling back.

 Wraith jerked back as the cloth touched his eyelids. “Ugh, sorry.”

 “It’s fine.” Dune finished his ministrations, then wrapped some gauze around Wraith’s head. “Keep your eyes closed. As soon as we get back to Kamino, we’ll get the medics to look at you.”

 Wraith nodded and lay back on the bed. After a minute, Dune put the medical supplies away, and shuffled out of the room. The ship they’d been assigned for the mission was small with no medbay, so Wraith’s treatment had taken place in the bunkroom. He was grateful he didn’t have to sit up for the rest of the flight. The pain was starting to make him nauseous.

 Despite his reassurance to Dune earlier, Wraith worried. It felt like his eyes were still burning. To be fair, it felt like his whole face was still burning. He figured he’d have scars. He only hoped the medics could save his eyes.

 With General Shaak Ti on Kamino, the kaminiise weren’t decommissioning troopers like they once had. But what good was a blind trooper. He wouldn’t even make a good maintenance worker.

 Fighting back a wave of rising panic, Wraith tried to settle in to rest. Gingerly, he touched the bacta patch Dune had put over the burns on his cheek. He flinched again and the whole side of his face started throbbing.

 “Fek and all,” Wraith muttered to himself.

 **********

 Mando’a: Udesiir - relax, take it easy Ka’ra - stars - ancient Mandalorian myth - ruling council of fallen kings. Used as a curse in the vein of ‘little gods’. Ni ceta - sorry (lit: I kneel) groveling apology - rare Kaminiise - Kaminoans

[ladysongmaster]

Febuwhump 2023 - Day 1

Read on AO3

Title: (Hit Me) One More Time

Prompt: touch-starved

Summary: Dune’s first day of ARC training isn’t going well.

Words: 901

Warnings: mention of being buried alive, slight disassociation (I think), grief, talking to dead people

 **********

 Dune knew how to take a hit.

 He’d been training all of his life for battle. In the early days, that had meant getting hit. A lot.

 He gotten better at avoiding the blows.

 At hitting back.

 His batchmates, Aftermath and Bix, made it easy, with their snarky comments and dramatic attitudes. Giv always gave as good as he got. Sync was eely and hard to pin down.

 Nogi, the youngest of their batch, was harder to punch, even in training. But Dune didn’t want his youngest vod to be at a disadvantage in a fight, so he tried not to hold back.

 Links and Burner made sure they all performed to expected standards, or above. And Softshell, with Omen occasionally assisting, saw to their abrasions and bruises, so they wouldn’t have to go to medical unless absolutely necessary.

 After he lost his batchmates in the desert, Dune avoided all touch outside training and combat. He wouldn’t allow himself to get close to anyone again. A few unsubtle dodges in the mess hall or bunkroom, and the other members of Grek Squad learned to leave him alone.

 Then Captain Stonewall recommended him for ARC training.

The hangar on Kamino was still in a shambles from the aqua droids’ attack. The pristine hallways were marred by carbon scoring and the medbays filled with recovering troopers. It helped him not get caught up in the memories of a time when he’d had his batch brothers around him still.

 After dropping their carryalls off in the ARC barracks, the trainees waited for Alpha-17 in the training room. They shook hands or clasped forearms as they introduced themselves. Some roughhoused or traded friendly punches.

 Dune kept his arms folded over his chest and watched the others.

 A trooper with a 5 tattooed on his temple invited Dune to join him and another trooper in conversation. Dune just stared until they left him alone. Then Alpha-17 arrived and worked them until they collapsed, literally.

 After showers and dinner, Dune followed the others to the barracks where he picked up a datapad with the reading for the class work part of ARC training. He looked around the room, realizing that he hadn’t been given a bunk assignment.

 That didn’t seem to stop the others. They claimed bunks randomly, scuffling when one trooper picked a bunk another had wanted.

 Someone threw their arm around Dune’s neck. “Hey, vod, wanna be bunkmates?”

 Dune’s ‘pad clattered to the floor as he spun out of the hold, grabbed the trooper’s wrist, and put him in a joint lock.

 “Owe! Kriff, I was just asking,” the trooper, Dune thought his name was Holdout, said.

 Dune released him and reached for his datapad.

 “Sheb’palon,” Holdout muttered, walking away.

 Dune strode past the others, to the farthest bunk in the room, and threw himself onto the bottom bed.

 You didn’t have to be that mean, he could imagine Giv saying.

 Dune envisioned his dead batchmates circling around the bunk. Links and Giv leaning against the frame near Dune’s head. Aftermath sitting where he could poke at Dune’s bare feet. Nogi would have crawled onto the bed settled in at his side. Dune could almost feel the weight of his brother next to him.

 Don’t be so sad, Dune’ika, Softshell would have said, stroking his hair away from his face.

 “I’m not sad,” Dune growled soft enough that no one else would hear him.

 He turned his back on his ghosts and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep.

 /././././

 Sometime after lights out, Dune woke. He was shaking and his heart galloped in his chest like a wild fathier. All around him, the soft breathing and snores of the other trainees filled the air. He relaxed back against the hard mattress, letting out a long breath.

 He’d dreamed he was trapped in the sand again. His brothers’ bodies crushing him. Making it impossible to breathe. Dune scooted toward the edge of the bed where he could see the ceiling. He wasn’t buried. There was plenty of air.

 A head popped over the edge of the upper bunk. Dune barely stifled a surprised yell.

 “That was quite the nightmare you were having,” the trooper whispered. “Thought you were going to shake the bunk apart.”

 Dune felt his cheeks heat up. “Leave me alone.”

 The other trooped gripped the edge of the bunk and leaned forward, sliding off his bed and lowering himself down in a controlled motion to stand next to Dune’s bunk. Dune didn’t know how the other man did it. His own muscles were still jelly from Alpha-17’s “assessment”.

 “Name’s Wraith,” the trooper said. He nudged Dune until he grudgingly moved to the center of the mattress, then sank down next to him. “You wanna talk?”

 “No,” Dune said, turning his back to Wraith.

 Wraith sat where he was for so long, Dune wondered if he’d fallen asleep. He was about to roll over and shove Wraith off the bed, when the other trooper moved. A warm hand rested on Dune’s back.

 “If you ever want to talk, or just want some company, I’m here.”

 Then Wraith slid off the bed and climbed back up onto his bunk.

 Dune lay there, blinking back hot tears. That hand—the same size and shape as nine others he’d never feel again—was the first he hadn’t wanted to immediately shrug off in a long time.

 **********

 Mando’a: Vod - brother Sheb’palon - asshole