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Fox and some office Tookas! I felt like drawing some animals, and I love these silly-looking critters.

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I saw your requests are open so I hope it's alright if I ask for some Captain Rex headcanons with an anxious love interest or s/o? Like maybe she's nervous about working near/with the GAR as a civ but our 💙 good captain in blue 💙 makes sure she's doing okay whenever he gets a chance/wants an excuse to be near her >///< It's okay if you don't wanna do this or find it trickey, I don't wanna pressure you 💙💙

More than alright, anon; plenty welcome, in fact! I'm feeling it for Rex lately myself, admittedly, so I hope I did him justice. I went with pre-relationship scenarios, so I hope that’s alright! If you’d like me to do a part a little differently, or follow up with the actual relationship, don’t hesitate to send in another request. 💙

Warnings and Information: Our good Captain in Blue has taken an interest in a certain civilian employee of the GAR, and it seems he's not quite so alone in feeling those butterflies in his stomach around her like he thought… Undescribed fem!Reader with unspecified anxiety/anxious tendencies. Little bit of mutual pining and some fluff, primarily. Follows bullet point format. No Mando'a used this time. The reader is given different "nicknames" from the Clones to bypass the use of a name in some cases.

Word count: 2,531

First meeting you

He wholeheartedly supported the inclusion of civilian staff in the Grand Army of the Republic. If there could be non-Jedi staff at the Jedi Temple, why not have non-Clones working alongside the soldiers? It only made sense, in a way. 

And despite initial (and natural) concerns from his men and brothers of the 501st Legion, they had no reason to feel wary about being treated unkindly or with prejudice by any who passed the background inspections to serve alongside the men in other manners. Clerical. Mechanics. Inventory specialists. A team of cooks and a handful of barbers were certainly popular rumors. The one thing in common was they were all kind and even friendly with his men, at the end of the day. 

So the Captain gave it little thought to see civilian staff on base between missions: after a certain point, you just get used to them being there and respond "It's good to be back." to everyone welcoming you back to your home away from home as you step off the LAATs. Another victory secured for the glory of the Republic. 

However, he'll always take notice of a new face. There's a young woman who has just transferred here in his absence. The polite thing to do is introduce himself, but when he approaches and goes to extend his hand, he's surprised to find you shy away in alarm - just a little. "Welcome to our humble little base. It's nice to meet you. I'm Captain Rex of the five-oh-fir- Ma'am, is… everything alright?" he asks, curious and a little concerned. 

Your smile is sweet and apologetic as you tuck an errant strand of hair back into place before introducing yourself with your name. "I'm sorry, Captain Rex, I wasn't expecting any introductions when you've just gotten back. You surprised me." you explain, now cradling the datapad against your chest, or morerather squeezing it against you almost. Oh, that explains it, he just startled you. "That's alright. Sorry for scaring you." 

He would have liked to continue to get to know you beyond the few little exchanges they had, before he was called to the war room for a debriefing and he needed to excuse himself to answer the comms. But he really wants to get to know you better. Learn where you had transferred from and why, and how recently. How you liked the base, so far, and how you were adjusting. Thankfully, there'll be time later, at least. 

One thing, when he gets the time to know you, that becomes immediately clear to Rex in very short order is that you deal with some degree of anxiety (or at least anxious tendencies) in your day-to-day beyond getting adjusted to the transfer. There's a few notable quirks and idiosyncrasies that come up whenever you're nervous, Rex notices. And the anxiety is not just a product of wartime, either. There's a way you just "know". 

Being helpful and sweet

Captain Rex asks a few of his brothers to try offering a little friendship to help ease you further into this transfer. Ideally, he'd do as much of this himself as he could, but he doesn't always have the time to spare. 

But he uses every opportunity he can to check on you himself, of course. As you start coming out of your shell, and your personality really starts to come through, that's when Rex thinks about inventing reasons to seek your company. He's got a few minutes free, he's already in the hangar, maybe he could swing by and see how you're doing, maybe have a quick chat. He picked up an extra drink from the canteen by mistake, maybe you'd like something to drink? Does he really need to run this little bit of paperwork by you if your job is minimally involved? No, not really, but he has a chance to talk to you. 

Jesse deduces early on that he “must really like our new transfer if you keep volunteering to take all the forms even remotely involved to her for everyone, Captain.” Jesse is being teasing and suggestive about it. Rex brushes it off and explains it away easily enough, kind of for himself as much as it is for Jesse and the others. “She wouldn’t admit to it, but I think the last time everyone was coming in and out of her office with all the forms and paperwork for her all day kind of sent her into a tizzy. If I just collect it now, and give it to her all at one time, it’ll make it easier on her. She’s still adjusting here. Just trying to make it easier on her until she’s settled in comfortably.” There’s a few sympathetic winces around the room, hearing that you ended up feeling anxious at the end of that day. And there’s a slightly cheeky grin from Fives that concerns him, only initially, but he finds it’s one of the agreeable smiles soon enough. “Makes sense, Captain. If there’s anything I can do to help-” Echo elbows his chest plate meaningfully, “If there’s anything we can do to help, Echo and I will be glad to do it.” Fives smoothly corrects himself as he volunteers to assist the Captain in assisting this new civ employee.

You who are so incredibly, incredibly kind, and compassionate to the needs of his men (and polite in your professional interactions with him). His men are always so kind to her in turn. Stars, he thinks he finds himself almost falling in love with you, bit by bit. You can be forgiven for your shyness when you're just so kind with everyone you meet. 

The way to his heart is through his brothers

You’re muttering worriedly as you shuffle all the stacks of flimsiplast and a few datapads you need to return to people, looking for something. Dogma notices, and starts walking towards you, clearing his throat from a distance to announce his presence. Give you a warning that someone is approaching. "You won't find it on your desk: I took that report to General Skywalker during his meeting for you, miss. I would have let you know, but I couldn't find you." You give Dogma a gracious smile in light of his act of kindness when you ask where a particular report on your desk went, rather than looking or acting upset any longer that it seemingly disappeared when you went to the ladies' fresher. "Oh, that was sweet of you, Dogma, thank you… I appreciate you doing that." It was no trouble, Dogma promises you. (Both Rex and Dogma silently reason with themselves that she didn't need to know Dogma had almost gotten into a little bit of trouble with the other Generals for being so focused on delivering the report on her behalf he completely forgot to knock before he came in.) 

You and Tup get along swimmingly. Rex finds himself - curiously - envying his brother only for a moment every time he finds Tup getting a little help with wrangling his hair. Thick and full of curls, the typical hair ties they can get their hands on often only last a mission or two before they can't contain his hair under his bucket. "Hey, Tup? You got a second?" He glances at Rex for approval for a moment; they're due to leave in a few minutes and are going over strategy. Rex nods. "What can I do for ya, darlin'?" You pull a little packet of hair ties from a pocket in your jumpsuit, and offer to redo the bun he has to throw together in a hurry with no time to replace a snapped band. "I went to a beauty salon yesterday on my day off, and I saw these. They're advertised to work better for your hair type than these." You explain as you pluck out the broken elastic and rebuild Tup's bun with ease. "There. Now I feel better. I hope those will work for you, Tup." Tup grins appreciatively, and promises he'll do his best when you wish them all luck and to come back safely before returning to your work. (Rex imagines your touch must be so gentle if Tup keeps touching his hair to check that it's truly tied up.) The hair tie outlasts the mission and then some. It’s weeks before Tup has to ask you for another, and he grins from ear to ear, eyes bright with surprise when you give him the remainder of the packet, promising the rest are his. “Oh darlin’, you’re too nice… Are you sure? Thank you.”

Captain Rex often finds Echo and Fives crowded near your desk while you work. The first instance of this, he's concerned about them bothering you of course, but just as he comes along to tell them to go share a shadow with someone else (Him. It's going to be him that they'll bother.) he finds that the three of you are figuring out the difference between form 1587-A and form A1587. "Hmm, look at this subsection here on 87-A, it's asking for things like what's been added to a materials manifest. That's not on the other form is it, Fives?" Echo asks, pouring over one form as Fives looks at the other for you. Three heads set to one task would get this sorted out. "Doesn't look like it. Oh, hey Captain. Need us for something? We're just helping her out with these forms." Fives replies before taking notice of the Captain, who's standing at a short distance. "No, no," Rex replies with an easy smile as you and Echo join Fives in looking up at him, "Only wondering what you three were up to. Don't mind me." he promises, only staying for a few more moments to watch as you and his men sort this mystery out. He's not sure if you're looking a little flushed in the face because of the paperwork debacle, or because he's watching you. 

You have to hunt him down one morning for a signature, dressed rather nicely today. You have a meeting with the head of the civilian staff, and you need one last thing before you attend. "Captain Rex? Could I get you to sign off on this paperwork for me please since it pertains to the manifest you sent me?" Rex apologizes earnestly to you as he scribbles down the approval. "I'm so sorry, I must have forgotten… Was so concerned about Denal that it just slipped my mind." Kix chuckles softly, reassuringly. "He'll be fine, Captain. That battle droid was in worse shape than Denal after Jesse got to his position." Kix quickly promises to give you the story later as Rex returns the datapad to you, his hands brushing against yours innocently. Something feels electric between you from such a simple gesture. "You look nice today, sweetheart. Good luck with your meeting." Kix calls after you, chuckling softly when you can do little more than smile over your shoulder, your face looking a mite flushed with color at the compliment. His team medic turns to him to say something, but changes course when he notices that Rex hasn’t moved a muscle since your fingers grazed over his own. “Hmm, maybe it’s a little warmer here than I realized. You’re also looking rather flushed, Captain.” 

He’s fine, just feels a little strange. He can’t explain why, though.  

Catching feelings for each other

It takes a while for it to happen, but while Hardcase’s runaway speederbike doesn’t hit him as he’s taking it to the hangar to get it repaired, the realization sure does when many of Torrent Company come back from their last assignment dirty, disheveled and oh-so-tired, and you just simply smile at him and his men and tell them all individually, by name, that you’re glad to see him safe? Oh Maker. That’s when he knows. Yes, he loves you. “It’s good to see you made it back safely, Captain Rex. Welcome back.” Like a few of his men before him, since you greeted him last, you give him the option for a welcoming friendly gesture, but there’s a moment where you hesitate before you decide you’ll be a little braver.

“You look like you could use a good hug rather than a handshake, Captain.” You promise him a little grease, ash and soot from the battlefield won’t hurt your jumpsuit - which are meant to get dirty, after all. You just feel a little something extra will do him some good, seeing that you can notice how simply tired he is. (It was a successful campaign and fortunately, they lost very few troops this time.) 

Seeing how serious you seem about it, Rex agrees. “That sounds nice.”

Both of you laugh and smile nervously, nerves buzzing with energy, by the time you and the Captain break the hug. You don’t want to risk getting in trouble when you’re still technically within your probationary period for anything like unprofessional conduct or PDA, but kriff it. The brief hug was worth any anxiety attacks that might be brought on by overthinking this later. 

And if you were disciplined for offering the hug, Captain Rex would absolutely lie and say it was his idea. He notices you seem to hug your arms across your chest whenever you get particularly anxious over some part of your work on occasion, seeing how you take deep, calming breaths before trying to tackle the problem again. He could play off the hug using that as an excuse should anyone come asking questions about it. It’s unlikely, but a man of his experience wants to be prepared for anything.

(Even your men who decide to give you a little ribbing about it.) 

“You’ve been smiling to yourself for the last ten minutes now, Captain. Any particular reason~?” He’s just glad to be home, Jesse. That’s a pretty good reason to smile.  “Oh, I’m sure… She must be glad too.” Jesse suggests with a short bark of laughter. He doesn’t pay it much mind, too busy calculating the days until the probationary period ends. 

That’s just a week away. “That’s when I can hopefully stop feeling so nervous, all the time… At least, when you’re away, Captain.” you had admitted to him, ignoring how hot your face felt, maybe even looked. "I really do appreciate how welcome you and your men have made me feel here… Thank you for that. I took a big chance on this job and a location transfer, but I’m glad I did. Otherwise I… wouldn’t have met you." 

And it’s more than okay when or if it turns out that your nervous tendencies don’t simply “disappear” by next week, too. Captain Rex has taken it into account and brushed up therapeutic and grounding techniques for those who live with anxiety as part of their daily lives, just in case he ever takes these feelings a step further, should he get an opportunity to. After all, his brothers are now taking bets on how long it is before the two of you are going to start doing things like getting lunch together from the mess…

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those fancy forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff.

[Masterlist] [TWC Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

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Thank you, Piña! 🥹🩷

omg yES I'd love a part two to the Captain Rex headcanons with an anxious reader with the relationship part since you offered! ;u; I loved the first part so much (and that you included more from the 501st!) tytytyty ����💙💙

Aw anon I'm so glad! Thank you for coming back as well, and continuing to fuel my feelings for our fine captain. 💙

Warnings and Information: Largely the same as part one. Undescribed fem!Reader with unspecified anxiety/anxious tendencies. Lots of fluff and other good feelings, primarily. Follows bullet point format. No Mando'a used this time. Reader is given different "nicknames" from the Clones to by-pass the use of a name in some cases.

Word count: 2,458

The set-up 

The first time he goes to ask you if you'd like to grab some caf together, or go check out that little corner store not too far from the base by speederbike that one of your coworkers mentioned to you in passing, Rex puts in the effort to clean up his armor a bit. Now he doesn't go so far as to polish and repaint all the parts, but he doesn't want to look fresh off a battlefield either where he's caked in mud and dirt and ash. He wants to show you he cares by looking nice when he goes to lay out his offer. You're past the probationary period following your transfer, and he thinks it'd be nice to sort of celebrate that. 

You're in your jumpsuit, cheerfully strutting around the hangar to complete the necessary work a little earlier than usual this morning when he first sees you. "Good morning, Captain Rex!" You're all bright-eyed and sunny smiles for so early in the day. Must be in a really good mood now that you feel the weight that comes with being fresh blood in the "office" has been lifted from your shoulders. Can breathe a little easier when there are less eyes scrutinizing your every move. "You're in a good mood today." Rex replies, careful to keep the right balance of being personable and professional within earshot of other civilian staff, as always, "Is there a special reason?" Your grin and your body language tells him everything he needs to know. 

"Oh, no reason. Reasons, on the other hand…" you suggest, biting your lower lip to keep yourself from giggling within earshot of those same workers that you've seen him eyeing out of caution. You can afford to be a little braver now, but you should still be cautious. Rex smiles, delighted to hear and see that you're not feeling quite so anxious as you once were. You still have your nervous, self-soothing quirks like fiddling with the wrist-strap of your time device whenever you wear one, or twirling a stylus between your nimble fingers or rocking softly on the balls of your feet. Rex doesn't see you utilize them quite as often these days now that you're off probation, and it makes him feel so much better to see you more relaxed and comfortable here. 

He still asks his brothers to keep an eye on you or give you any help in his stead if he senses you becoming overly anxious about anything. Dogma still offers to take any paperwork down to General Skywalker for you (and is certain to remember to knock, now). Fives and Echo still hang out around your desk and your workspace whenever they get the chance. Tup drops by with small snacks or drinks from the mess if you can't spare a moment to get away from your work (and he'll never say no to an offer to help fix up his hair, either). Kix has been by a few times to come sit with you when the anxiety gets really bad, coaching you through your grounding exercises, or acting as a GAR medic (who has authority to treat civilian staff in non-emergency situations) he can administer something to take the edge off. And Jesse has made plausible excuses for you to your boss's face if you've needed to step away and collect yourself, if it's really severe. 

They all figure if the captain likes you, and on occasion asks them to check in with you for his "peace of mind" ("Captain Rex has a cruuuuush~" "Hardcase stop before you get yourself in troub-" "It's not just the Captain, Fives. She does too.") they shouldn't be afraid to cement their friendships with you anymore. 

“Oh, by the way, Captain,” you call over your shoulder as you walk off to where you’d been summoned, “your armor looks very nice today.” Unfortunately, you were called away to take care of something just as he plucks up his nerve to ask if you’d like to grab a cup of caf with him before the day really gears up, but he doesn’t have to wait much longer for another opportunity.

The first "date"

It comes as a rather impromptu and unofficial thing, with one of the mechanics shouting across the hangar as he wraps up his welding kit that the repairs have been finished on a LAAT that had taken a heavy beating. "Captain! Gunship's good to go!" These guys are good. You get to the gunship before Rex does, admiring the handiwork of the repairmen in awe. "Wow… almost looks brand new, doesn't it?" He agrees with a chuckle, elbow to elbow with you. "What's it like to fly in one of these?" you ask, turning to him with earnest curiosity. It surprises him. "Weren't you transferred to the base in one of these?"

You shake your head, the datapad cradled a little tighter against your chest. "No, I got here by passenger shuttle." 

Stay here, he tells you, he has an idea. He just needs to go find where Hawk is. 

Hawk takes little time to get kitted-up in order to go take the LAAT for a test flight. Rex boards the gunship first, taking hold of one of the handles overhead before offering a hand out to you to help you up. 

You regard the offered hand with mild apprehension, unclear if this is even allowed. "A-are you certain I can be up there? I'm just a civilian. I don't know that I can-" A simple smile is all he needs to calm you, quell your fraying nerves. “I’ll think of some clever excuse if anyone asks.” Rex promises you with one of his charming smiles and playful lift of his brow. He allows you to stand beside him so you feel more secure, showing you where best to grip the support handles as Hawk gears everything up. “Best hold on,” he warns you before you’d feel that lurch in your stomach as the ground falls away fast. 

He tells Hawk to take it pretty easy, just a few test laps around the base and not too fast, and Rex keeps his eye on you as Hawk climbs the gunship high enough for his liking. Any sign from you that this was getting to be too much, and he would call it off. But you’re all giddy smiles and awed murmurings as you bravely peek at the ground far below from time to time. 

“Beginning aerial test laps, Captain. I promise to go easy, ma’am!” Hawk calls back to the pair of you, beginning to maneuver and swing the gunship out to the right, making you bump hips with the Captain, unprepared to brace for the movement with your legs in addition to your upper body. You go to apologize, but he puts his hand on your opposite hip without a word (at first) to hold you a little closer to him to help you feel secure and steady. Rex apologizes to you for not warning you about the nature of the  turns. “Flown in these things more times than I can count; it’s all just second nature to me.” You suppose that makes a lot of sense, surely a little flushed in the face, being so close. On the next turn, you know to anticipate it this time, but you still lean pretty heavily against him.

What happens next however is absolutely not your fault. Hawk purposefully takes a much sharper turn as he completes one of his last laps, and with the centrifugal force you’re really pushed up against Captain Rex, practically chest to chest with him now, and then laughs apologetically from the cockpit. “Whoops, sorry sweetheart! Got a little carried away on that one. You alright?” You’re fine, you answer just loud enough for Hawk to hear, finding yourself still so close against Rex, his hand still on your hip to hold you steady. You and Rex look at each other for one long moment, almost missing what Hawk says about taking you in for a landing, feeling a little lost in the other’s eye…

Once you’re back on the ground, you thank Hawk for letting you come along on the test flight for the repaired LAAT. “Oh, you’re welcome! I hope it was nice despite that one turn. Just got a little ahead of myself and forgot you’re not used to those kinds of ships.” You promise it’s okay, and thank him again. You should probably get back to work now, you explain, a little color in your cheeks after smiling at Rex and bidding him goodbye next.

He makes no mention of the transfer-smear of lip product found on his Captain’s face, one that looks an awful lot like the color you’re wearing this morning, until he’s certain you’re out of earshot. “That’s a nice color on you, Captain.” Rex takes a moment to clean his cheek of the evidence, a gentle pout playing across his features, his broad nose creasing as he responds to Hawk’s compliment. “You swung too wide on that last turn before we landed…”

As partners 

It’s not long after that that things kick off. Secretly. There’s no official code or regulation against this (you’d know: Echo and Dogma checked for one extensively, separately and together) relationship taking place, but you’re going to keep it on the down-low for the most part. Rex has a professional image to maintain as a captain of the GAR, and you risk being transferred out should any of your higher-ups feel this partnership of sorts comes as a hindrance or serious detriment to your job as a civilian. (“Do you know how many want to be in your shoes? Do you have any idea just how sought-after this position is?” “A-A very good idea, actually. That’s why I’m here, sir. I promise, I’m not going to make any trouble.” (Oh how Fives and Jesse had wanted to give the civilian staff member you reported to a piece of their minds for talking to you like that.)) You and Rex find a way to make it work, with a little help from his brothers.

He visits you during work. Often as he can. Sometimes it's planned out in advance, where the two of you have lots of time alone. He makes sure that you're doing okay, and that you're taking care of yourself, of course, but primarily these opportunities to see you are just to spend time with you. Take his mind off of the war. Take your mind off of your job, or whatever troubles you. Sometimes it's discreet, spur of the moment little meetings in empty offices… or secluded corners his brothers have told him about. 

"There's a blind spot in the cameras around here," Hardcase explains, unprompted, one afternoon over nutrimush in the mess hall, "You can get away with a lot of stuff right there behind the shelving." He's not sure if he's about to reprimand Hardcase as his Captain or to thank him as a brother for this insight for a long moment. "What do you mean by get away with a lot of stuff, 'Case?" There's quite a few options it turns out. Stash some contraband, (re)paint your armor without being bothered too much, or just… y'know. Have a nap? (Damn, okay, aside from whatever Hardcase means by contraband that sounds like a pretty great spot.) "Maybe I'll… check it out." Rex agrees with a simple shrug. 

Oh and if he does, he has to be careful about a certain box on the shelves. Can't put empty snack wrappers back in it otherwise it'll attract ants again, Hardcase says he learned that one the hard way and it took a while to get it back under control just short of throwing away his whole collection of snacks. Two of them are welcome to just about anything they find in the box if Rex takes you there, but the energy drinks are off limits. 

"Or just leave Hardcase five credits if you do take one." Echo calls from a little further down the table, pouring over some section of the regulation manual related to your job that you were having trouble understanding. (They used a lot of unnecessary and complicated words because it was translated into Basic from another galactic language.) "Fives and I do it all the time." A few more brothers confirm that they do the same since being let in on Hardcase's little secret. Dogma insists he does not. "I don't like these crazy energy drinks they come up with. 'Trotting Tauntaun' and 'Hyperspace Rush'? Makes me feel sick to my stomach and my heart race…" (It's probably all the caffeine, Kix calls back to him from Rex's left. Dogma might have a low tolerance for it and that's why he doesn't like it.) 

This little nook within the hangar becomes the perfect place to decompress whenever Captain Rex notices you are looking more anxious than typical. One of his men has stashed away an old GAR-issue blanket that's stained with various smears of cobalt blue - 501st's Blue - but still plenty warm and comfortable to wrap up in. You can tell that it's Fives who added a little stack of flimsi scraps to write notes on the first time you come back here to this corner of the hangar with the Captain. Rex can see from a mile away that Kix is to thank for the healthier options within the box of Hardcase's snacks. 

You're both not sure who scribbled your name along with his under the list of people who were "invited" here, but it makes you cry, in a happy way. To welcome their brother here would be one thing - all Clones had come up with secret, secluded spaces for themselves to have their privacy and establish stealthy boundaries for themselves and their well-being - but they were inviting you too. None of your other colleagues know about this sequestered space. They trusted you to keep their secrets. They liked you. Really liked you. 

"To our Captain and his girl" the note begins, waiting for you both on top of the neatly folded blanket when Rex first helped you here, trying to help you settle your nerves after you were badly frightened by a speederbike backfiring outside the base as it whizzed past, "Welcome to our cozy little corner! We hope you like it here and trust that you'll keep it a better secret than General Skywalker and Senator Amidala being a "thing". Speaking of, figured it was time to let the loth-cat out of the bag now that you're both getting as serious as this war allows~. - The 501st"

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those fancy forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (for example just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Part one] [Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Reqests: OPEN]

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Personalized Corrie Armor for my clone OC, Trojan

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Taking time away for a reset, a breather, to unplug, whatever you want to call it, is never a bad thing. Sometimes, it's the best thing we can do for ourselves − even if the results of doing so are not immediately obvious! Remember: Self-care is not selfish. I hope that chiming in on Tumblr + fandom circles means you're seeing the end of this "suck-slog" soon, if you haven't already.

Sending oodles of love your way for good measure, too!🩷

And not to make this too much about me, but I want to quickly thank you for thinking to include me within your list of meaningful/helpful people to you, too. Been struggling with a lot of imposter syndrome, withdrawal, isolation and even disappointment lately that the things I've worked hard to create haven't gotten the kind of reception I was hoping for. Hearing I've made this kind of impact on someone is a nice reality check that I'm just stuck in my stupid little head again. :')

Life has really sucked these last several months. I’ve had to step away from everything for my mental health. I love that I can always come back here and feel peace in all my chaos. I know I won’t name everyone because there are so many of you. Just know that when I’m quiet I still see you. Thank you for being here for me whether you know it or not. Y’all make my heart happy. A big TEXAS size hug for all of y’all. Thank y’all. 🥰🥰🥰

@the-rain-on-kamino

@vodika-vibes

@aggy72

@vrycurious

@pinkiemme

@clone-anon-after-dark

@clonethirstingisreal

@coffeeandbatboys

@freesia-writes

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@ladysongmaster

@detroitbydark

@meridiansdominoes

@merlincmgirl

@neyswxrld

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Star Wars: Age of the Republic - Jango Fett

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i truly think the most torturous thing kleya has to get used to on yavin —aside from the living arrangements, aside from carrying her grief, aside from everyone being nice to her all the time, aside from the gaping space of her control centre— is she has to be sincere in her interactions now.

she has to make small talk with strangers and mean it. she has to give constructive criticism and mean it. she has to take compliments on her work and mean it. she has to make connections with people and have it stick and get to know them beyond their utility, their skills, their discretion, their disposability. she has to do all the things she used to do as a facade and be genuine about them.

for so long it's only been her and luthen and her various masks; the customer-first shop assistant, the unnerved and relentless comms monitor, the collected and headstrong logistics manager who makes sure people are calm and where they need to be. and then luthen's gone and she's kept everyone else at arm's length and all of a sudden cassian's seen her panic and melshi's seen her scared and vel's seen her dissociate and it's the emotional equivalent of a nightmare where you're in your underwear in class. she has to accept kindness and aid and affection, all things that she's never been able to give others because she's never been able to afford the risk, has to let them know that she has shortcomings and blindspots and vulnerabilities.

she has to, gods help her, let herself be known.

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crosshair and sev 👯‍♂️

(for @sevhair happy birthday! i know you like these two)

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rb to give a flower to the person you rb this from

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"We don't get paid enough for this." They don't get paid at all 😔.

Just a meme redraw as a lil warmup hehe, original image below the cut.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

⭐️🪐🚀🌌🌷⚔️݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hi Frost! Congrats on the 200 followers 😍 if you're up for it I'd love a little fic with one of the Bad Batch boys (your pick) and meeting someone online? Can be canon or modern au, but developing a crush before they've ever met in person. Fem or GN is fine. Details can be up to you!

Congrats again 🧡

Cyber Crush [Wrecker x Fem!Reader]

Story Summary: When a hot new dating site hits the Holonet dedicated to the soldiers of the Grand Army appears practically overnight, it becomes all the rage for many a hopeful romantic living in Republic space. No one’s admitting to who created it, or why, but you’re simply too curious to not check it out for yourself. You get lucky and end up hitting it off very well with the first soldier you match to, Wrecker of Clone Force 99. A mutual crush leads into a small handful of “digital dates” before there’s finally an opportunity for the real deal.

Warnings & Information: Second Person POV; undescribed, unnamed Fem!Reader living on Coruscant. Clone Dating Service AU. All dating profiles have little clues to various Clones [some are my OCs; most are Canon!]. Minor amount of Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mando’a. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. 

Word count: 6,630

The old proverb “Curiosity killed the Loth-cat, but satisfaction brought it back.” had never been more true than tonight as you opened a new browser on your home terminal and pecked in the URL scribbled upon a strip of flimsiplast taken from a tear-off flyer. 

You had just gotten home after a long day of running errands, making the very last just before the evening rush-hour was initiated by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. It’d been a hurried grocery run; grabbing only missing essentials for dinner. You were probably in and out in less than five minutes. Seven tops. There was nothing out of the ordinary when you ducked into the store. Ducking out, however…

Well it was impossible to miss. Fliers had been stuck to every conceivable surface – probably a hundred more at the average eye-level alone. There must have been a huge group of people working together to hang up this many in such a short time. Nothing really remarkable about them from a distance, either. 

A closer inspection showed all of them bore the Republic’s eight-spoke Galactic Roundel along with a tantalizing offer. 

“Wishing the nice night you had at 79’s was EVERY night? Take one to find out how!” 

You couldn’t really resist discovering what this was for yourself. Pocketing one of the strips, you hurried home and threw anything temperature-sensitive into the conservator first, thinking this would only be a quick peek. 

Dinner could afford to wait a few minutes. You just have to see for yourself what was being teased about a popular hangout in the Entertainment District from such an otherwise nondescript flyer. Which… maybe you should have used the incognito feature for. The welcome message on the landing page is ambiguous enough to cause uncertainty of the “service” being advertised, but the growing allure proves more powerful than your caution. 

"WELCOME TO THE #1 HOTTEST SITE ON THE HOLONET – GUYS OF THE GAR!

"Looking for a sensitive, sweet or strong soldier to steal your heart? Please sign in or create an account to make use of our services!"

Curiosity nips at your heels. The cursor hovers thoughtfully over “Sign Up!” for a quiet moment. A dating service? For the Grand Army of the Republic? To hell with it, you decide. There’s no harm in looking! 

Clicking in, you’re presented with a small pop-up window after creating a username and password. 

‘Thank you for showing interest in the newly-developed and secretly-run Clone Dating Service (CDS). Be advised that our site is closely monitored at all times and in spite of our last “fumigation” before the site went live, there may still be a few stubborn bugs. They will be squashed shortly. - CDS Sysadmin’ 

Dismissing the pop-up opens the profile editor for you. (Rather convenient.) In the bottom left corner of the page sits an animated, digital “mascot” of sorts. It, or rather he, looks mostly like a standard Clone - granted one who’s been stylized in such a way to appear more “cutesy”. The helmet is slightly oversized, lending to a bobble-headed image, and the visor is very… shiny. 

Inclusion of a digital mascot is unexpected; that kind of quirk is rare these days now that the practice has largely lost its charm. Relievingly, this one is not immediately annoying. He salutes, informs you of his purpose through a small speech bubble, then falls silent and assumes a parade rest position. 

“Clicks, reporting for duty! I’ve been assigned to cover your six in case you run into trouble setting up your CDS profile!” 

For a site that went live very recently, you’re impressed by how many options have been provided. There was a matchmaking service run by “in-house” analysts, or the option to self-match with profiles that fit within selected parameters. Additionally, you could opt for in-person dates, long distance relationships, keep it strictly online, or, curiously, even be pen pals. 

That option creates some pause. Why would a dating service offer a pen pal program? You do a little digging around the site before editing anything. 

Was this something new cooked up by the Commision for the Protection of the Republic - some clever bit of COMPOR propaganda to drum up more support for their literal poster boys? Were they the ones behind this? 

Strangely enough, you can’t find anything that smells like their usual influence. You continue to look around, even trawl through other parts of the Holonet to find an answer while making dinner. (No sense doing detective work on an empty stomach.) There are many varying schools of thought muddying the waters, but nothing that puts a bad taste in your mouth about the Guys of The GAR CDS at the same time. 

Profiles promise to be “pretty painless” to create and deactivate. Militaristic lingo had two possible explanations: the CDS was made by the Clones themselves or it was part of the theming. Naysayers casting doubt on whether or not these profiles actually belonged to GAR soldiers were quieting as the mountain of evidence only grew. Incredibly, there were already multiple reports of dates set to meet at 79’s tonight - of which was rumored to involve one of the Corries. 

And admittedly, those reports looked pretty damn legitimate. Okay, the pen pal thing is still a little odd, but you decide to proceed as planned. 

Beginning with the basics, a few tiny embellishments are added to your lists of interests, hobbies, and personality traits. Not so much that it becomes dishonest, but enough to add intrigue. Then came the oft-dreaded photo selection process. Call it a stroke of luck that finding something high-quality and you liked well enough didn’t take too terribly long. And finally, an optional ice breaker question. 

This you opt to skip for the time being. You’re far too eager to get right into the heart of it and waste no time selecting your preference of services. 

Clicks “speaks” for the second time after you hit ‘Submit and Save’, breaking from parade rest to offer two thumbs up. “You’ll have your boots on the ground in no time! Please just give the CDS a moment to finish filling out the roster. It should be available shortly.” True to the digital mascot’s words, the site offers a batch of eight profiles to start with, labeled RO for Roster One. 

“Good luck!” he adds before assuming formation once again. 

Looking over RO, you feel your heart quickening with excitement. You have a promising listing full of very intriguing prospects. It provides a two word moniker, tagline of sorts, detachment, and the chosen services for every Clone - his likes and dislikes included in the expanded view of his particular listing. A small taste of who he is as an individual person. 

What truthfully grabs your attention the most is a promise of getting the trooper’s name on one fair condition: a successful match. 

The rest of your evening was free and there were no pressing responsibilities to take care of tomorrow. This gave you the freedom to spend however much time you’d like on the CDS tonight with the rest of the galaxy’s hopeful romantics. 

So what were you waiting for?

ROSTER ONE 

Blue Hawk 

Very experienced. 

Deployment: Legion

Preference: Matchmaking 

Gentle Giant 

Date me, and I GUARANTEE you'll have a blast! 

Deployment: Specialty/Commandos

Preference: Self Match, In-Person, Long Distance

Glorious Daylight 

If you think my scar looks bad, you should see the other guy.

Deployment: Battalion

Preference: Other/Hidden

Last Domino 

ARC troopers do it better.

Deployment: Specialty/Commandos

Preference: In-Person, Pen Pals

Lost Eyebrows 

Enough heart and soul to go around! 

Deployment: Specialty/Commandos

Preference: Other/Hidden

Missing Paintbrush

Made a profile because I lost a bet to my brothers. (Thanks, guys…)

Deployment: Legion

Preference: Pen Pals, Self Match

Silver Moon 

Only here to keep my one good eye on my men. Sorry in advance about “Filthy Flower”.

Deployment: Battalion 

Preference: Other/Hidden 

Young King

I’ll be as loyal to you as I am to the Republic. 

Deployment: Legion

Preference: Long Distance, Matchmaking

Taking a moment to peruse this small wealth of choices here within Roster One, you gradually gain a better understanding of the site mechanics available. There are no pictures to look at – conceivably, by design. Maybe the idea is once you match with a trooper, you get more than just his name, but some idea of his physical image. Mildly ingenious. 

Your given options are ‘Like’, ‘Dismiss’ and ‘Maybe’. Results will refine themselves accordingly, steadily supplying the best possible prospects for subsequent rosters. You wonder how large the CDS dating pool is at this very moment. Hundreds, maybe thousands of live profiles? How many more were well on their way - set to join the database by the end of the week? Hopefully the Clone Dating Service had a plan (or two) to accommodate the sheer number of civilians making profiles and the influx of digital foot-traffic they were likely to see... 

Could get hairier than a Wookie for their servers if everyone and their tooka created a profile on Coruscant, alone. A trillion or so people lived here. Turn the scope out to the entire rest of the galaxy and it was nigh impossible to get an accurate sense of the populace. You’d sooner find a way to reintroduce nature to the Jewel of the Core Worlds than acquire such records. 

How long will this ‘Guys of The GAR’ be sticking around, anyway? 

How likely would it be that you, competing with trillions of other sentient lifeforms, find someone who could end being right for you? 

You look again at Roster One. Unsure of what “right” looks like to begin with, you read what little information is provided again and again. Maybe you’re looking for casual, laidback experiences. Or yearning for depth and devotion. Putting what it is you hope for into words is not as simple as you thought. 

Something about the second from the top speaks to you over all the others. It starts first as a whisper. Before long it grew louder. Clearer. What could it be about this soldier who dubbed himself “Gentle Giant” that you return to his profile more than the rest? His non-specific promise of a good time? And in the midst of a war, no less. 

He identified himself as some variation of SpecOps; such a service might come with elevated privileges whenever he’s granted leave (or leisure or liberty or whatever they call it). Could it be that Gentle Giant has special connections and/or favors to collect on – something he hopes to make use of with slightly more select company? 

With another tooka for your curiosity to threaten, you take one final opportunity to consider. 

The bait set on this hook was mighty tempting. You’re willing to take a chance with it. Test your luck. You select ‘Like’, knowing that all you can do now is wait. Hope. Keep your search going. Requesting the next roster, your examination only takes you as far as the third profile before the digital mascot is vying for your attention. 

“Incoming transmission!” Clicks exclaims, his shiny blue-black visor now blinking green. “This is straight from command: you’ve received your first successful match! Shall I patch you through now?” 

For a beat, you do nothing, surprised. Hadn’t been very long at all and you already had an eager bite of your own. 

Curious, you open the notification presented to you by Clicks. The portal for direct messaging opens to some rather sunny correspondence from Gentle Giant - evidence of a social and friendly disposition. 

Giant: Hi miss! Thanks for matching with me. Love your pictures!

You type out a partial reply, half hoping there’s no indicator for Giant to watch. It might show him when you stop to open his CDS profile in another tab and have a look at the expanded information. At the uploaded pictures with… Are those hand-written notes? Aside from the commentary left on each of them, and perhaps the fact he wore (a majority of) his armor in most, there is a more immediate theme throughout all of these images. 

Gentle Giant wore his helmet in every last shot. 

That, you don’t entirely think too much of. He had been upfront about his classification as some variety of specialty soldier; which the unique shape and ominous rancor-inspired design would be very befitting of. You’re more focused (and perhaps even impressed) by the thorough attention to detail everything has been given. 

Safety measures, you would guess, that the helmet is an extension of. Reflective surfaces are covered by large drop cloths. Data screens in the background are set to display little bits of trivia, playful messages or jokes. Anyone in the frame had their face obscured by helmets, hoods, or strategically positioned items such as datapads. (And a whole GNK-series power droid, in one case.) That’s the sort of thoroughness Gentle Giant, and the squad with him, by the look of it, had put into everything. 

You won’t get to see his face or really anything that isn’t carefully curated. Maybe not for a while yet, depending on how the first exchange plays out. That doesn’t mean there isn’t already plenty about him that you can see. 

Showing off for the camera, the black undersuit has been rolled up past his elbows to show off well-muscled forearms in the third image out of the collection. Basked in the light of some midday sun, the familiar warmly tanned and rich brown skin many knew the Clones for almost appeared to glow. You can’t tell what planet he’s on. Nor what he’s holding up to the picture-taker with a pair of firm, dexterous hands. Some kind of quad-eyed fish, perhaps?

From the fourth picture you can infer that he must be strong. This, like the picture before, is also posed. Gentle Giant stands in a typical bodybuilder’s pose against a brushed-metal wall; his legs shoulder-width apart, elbows raised high. With a pair of troopers sitting on each arm you’ll have to settle for imagining the biceps firmly flexing beneath them. No clues come from the small-print annotations about who they are, only that they wear the same set of armor labeled with the following. 

“K-Class armor, 20kg; not that wimpy 6kg stuff!” 

A second annotation states the soldiers stand 1.83m tall, Giant at 1.96m. Damn, wouldn’t that put him at six-foot-five or six-foot-six? Now you see where the ‘Giant’ in his moniker comes from. 

That sets him apart from COMPOR’s typical poster boys. A fairly reasonable assumption to make is he may or may not stand apart from them in other ways as well. But so long as he continued to be pleasant and friendly, what did that matter?

You: Thanks for matching with me too. Didn’t mean to take so long to reply! Got a little distracted taking a look at your pictures as well. Kinda liked the one with the fish-thing, haha. 

Giant hardly seems perturbed by the delay. It appears he expected it, if anything. Given that you had listed your location as ‘On/Near Coruscant’ he had assumed you must be having dinner or taking care of some daily task. 

Giant: No need to worry! If you have stuff you need to do, take all the time you need! I was catching breakfast for my squad after saying hello - more of those fish since there’s a LOT of them here. (And we’re all pretty sick of rations, haha!) You: That’s very nice of you, but I already took care of the most important stuff so I’ll be free to talk for a while. Very kind of you to do that for them, too! Variety once in a while must be extremely nice and/or rare.  Giant: HAH, you have no idea!! 

He signs off the reply with a smiley face. A little thing that lends further credibility to your earlier impression about his friendliness. Makes it easier to talk to him throughout the evening and late into the night. 

Time manages to seriously get away from you. Before you know it, you’ve stayed up entirely too late. The dull burn behind each tired eye seems to flare when you glance at the first available chronometer. Ah, poodoo… You really should have gone to bed long before now. 

But you had been having a pleasant and easy-going chat with Gentle Giant for hours on end. Doing so was almost effortless; taking notice of less-immediate needs became less of a priority as a result. In the natural course of conversation he had shown incredible kindness and genuine interest over everything that was discussed. 

That made it easy to speak a little more playfully and jokingly at times, even when it came to asking one another the usual questions. 

Favorite colors, foods and beverages, what hobbies you had. Learn if you have any in common. Compare the list of planets the two of you know of – where you’ve been, and where you hope to go someday. Determine the farthest you’ve ever been from your respective homeworlds. Then the longest you’ve been away after that. And if it was too long, or not long enough. 

Long before belatedly bunking down and asking your final question of the night – when would he like to talk again? – you had learned his name. 

Wrecker. 

The line between get-to-know-you questions and first-date-together questions blurred somewhere very early on. 

Far sooner than either of you might have expected. Maybe even as soon as the night you had mutually matched on the Guys of The GAR webpage. 

It helped that Wrecker was an incredibly attentive and curious guy. Possessed a well of intelligence tempered by a humble streak. Left no room for doubts pertaining to whether he genuinely cared whenever he got a chance to hear from you. Peppering in little follow-up questions. Reaching out for recommendations regarding more mundane things. 

It hardly mattered what the subject was, either. You could, and often did, talk for hours together. 

Endlessly. Easily. Flirtatiously. 

Wrecker only wished it were more often, were it not for the nature of his detachment. He and his brothers do a fair number of the ‘dirty jobs’ the GAR might require. Getting more specific than that wasn’t something he believed would be wholly necessary. Not at this stage where there were healthy embers between you, to be certain, but no steady flame. 

Not just yet. 

The first dozen or so conversations were strictly text-based. A way of testing the waters before committing to the idea of taking a swim in the shallows. If the temperature between you was too chilly for someone’s liking, then no harm done! Just wade back to shore, acclimate, and try again. Your time in the shallows carried on for a good few weeks, paddling about in the current with cautious optimism. Only once there was more confidence did Wrecker think of proposing the transition. 

Audio only; no visuals to start. That way you could both be in the other’s ear while going about your lives, so to speak. Going to bed with the suns. Rising for a new day with the moons. Catching speedercabs and lunch. Putting away provisions and groceries. Cleaning. Killing time. 

Giddy giggles. 

Boyish laughs. 

Hearts racing, racing, racing. 

Elation, frequent. Excitement, boundless. Crushing all the while. 

Falling for one another. Steadily. Deeply. 

And subject to much teasing. By far, the vast majority of it was dedicated to Wrecker – given the source was his brothers. You often caught snippets of passing remarks and fragments of conversation from them when he tried finding the most private spaces on their small ship to chat with you. Hardly anything cutting. Nor relentless and cruel. Nothing more than standard sibling smack-talk. 

“Don’t forget to get some sleep, loverboy.” 

“Ohh, shaddup. I’m not gonna forget!” 

“Uh-huh…” 

Things were a little different once you graduated to video feeds and hologram projections over the same secured lines. These adjustments were far more intimate. More personal. More real. You were engaged in an exercise of trust and vulnerability by adding another sense - sight - to these real-time interactions previously limited to sound. 

Wrecker would return to the dedicated practice of wearing his helmet facing this change. Assumingly, it was just one of the precautionary measures that would be stubbornly holding on longer than the rest. He had been talking with you for well over two months, at this point. 

You could honestly say these last fourteen weeks or more had truly flown by. In that time, you had grown so incredibly fond of him. So you had asked Wrecker during one of these calls. Once. And not for him to shuck the helmet from off his head. Just about it. 

“I would imagine you’re largely used to your helmet Wrecker, but does wearing it ever get uncomfortable?”

He tugged on the neckline of his undersuit, offering only a guarded chuckle at first. 

“Uh… Yeah. Sometimes, anyway!” 

The careful way he had admitted this to you gave off the impression he would have been avoiding eye-contact had he not been wearing the black, gray and white bucket. The one you sometimes find yourself staring at the red double nines painted over the brow rather than the visor directly below. The aurebesh 99, perhaps unintentionally, functioned like an eyespot or ocellus. Difficult not to feel like the numbers were almost watching you. 

You wouldn’t press the question any further on that particular occasion. 

But it wouldn’t be long until it was brought up again, this time by one of Wrecker’s brothers. 

It was a rare instance where everyone was in the same galactic time zone. No chance of his squad making a ‘friendly pitstop’ on Coruscant, however. They were duty-bound, and it was late into the night. You and Wrecker were on yet another video call in spite of that. 

He’s midway through an animated retelling of a prior operation when the sound of someone yawning as they shuffle closer gets picked up by the audio transceiver. Wrecker’s brother stops just out of frame, voice full of unmistakable fatigue.

“Wrecker. Move already…” he orders tersely, “You’re in my bunk.”

Asking you to give him a second, Wrecker obliges. “Sorry. I’ll move to the hold. Won’t be much longer.” 

“Apologies if my desire to sleep is getting in the way of your little virtual dates… Only, it’s not much of a date if your cyber crush has never seen your face, now is it?”

He had already gotten up from his brother’s bunk by that point, intending to do exactly as he said. But something about his brother’s words provokes Wrecker to stop and protest. “Hey. We all came up with the idea about our helmets. I was-” Perhaps thinking better of whatever he had been about to say, Wrecker stops abruptly. “Forget it,” he says, “we’ll talk about this in the morning.” He bids his brother goodnight before disappearing into the hold. 

A quiet unease sits on Wrecker’s shoulders once he’s alone again. Settled on the floor of their shuttle’s tiny, tiny hold, back propped by a stack of secured crates, he lets out a tense sigh. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, mesh’la…” 

Frowning, you ask if he’s alright. You understand Wrecker couldn’t have anticipated one of his brothers saying something like that, so the thing he’s likely sorry about is you overhearing it. But your more immediate concern is whether or not he’s upset. This is not a candid or thoughtful kind of silence. 

“Wrecker? I’ll understand if you want to cut tonight shor-”

Please, wait, Wrecker insists. Before you say anything else, there is something he should say. His brother is right. That isn’t what upsets him. He should have been the one to bring it up. This was his conversation to have with you, when he was ready. And it would’ve been the next time the two of you talked – would swear to that on his blaster, if you wanted him to. 

Now Wrecker feels like it should be tonight instead. Because, truthfully, he has some really strong feelings for you. Had for some time now, as a matter of fact… Thinking of getting a little more serious, Wrecker might argue you’ve had a few long-distance dates at this point. (Without necessarily calling them that.) Something he would certainly like to continue, but not without taking care of a couple things, first. 

“You’re a nice lady. Real nice, even. Been real understandin’ of my anonymity this entire time,” Wrecker explains. His dexterous fingers nervously fiddle with a short length of spare wire, tying and then untying it. Each loop is roughly the size of his wrist. “I think it’s only fair I show ya what I look like before askin’ ya what you think of… Movin’ to the next step or somethin’.” 

After haphazardly stuffing the wire into a pocket, Wrecker adjusts the datapad he’s propped on the crate opposite from him to make sure he’s in focus and in frame. 

“Welp. Here goes nothing.” 

Wrecker wastes no time after his declaration. Reaching up, the helmet is unsealed before then carefully removed from his head. Wrecker offers you a boyish, charming smile before his helmet is even so much as level with his chest. He grips it tightly in his hands, giving himself something to direct all of his nervous energy into so he has an easier time maintaining eye contact. 

And it would be dishonest to say one could overlook the obvious. His left eye is a pale, blueish white; a stark contrast to the brown eye opposite it. A noticeable smattering of scar tissue sits on the left side of his face. It is a firework frozen in time - wrapping over his ear, spread across his temple and a portion of his hairless head. Several trails cut across his left cheek, even slashing through a healthy five o’ clock shadow. One disconnected band sits over the sloped bridge of his nose. It appears to be an older injury based on the color. An aged souvenir of battle, maybe a crash. 

With a palpable undercurrent of anxiety, Wrecker bravely breaks the silence once he figures you’ve had a good look at him. 

“S-sorry,” he says with a lopsided grin, “I, uh… I haven’t had time to shave this week! Hopefully my beard doesn’t look terrible.” 

You shake your head, telling Wrecker it looks just fine. He sighs in relief. 

“Whew! Was honestly pretty worried about that, haha!” 

“Really? I’m… surprised.” you admit carefully. 

There are implications obvious enough here to avoid putting both feet in your mouth and bring up those features more indirectly without being incredibly insensitive, even by accident. That certainly might sour… whatever it was you wanted to call these little video chats you’ve been having with Wrecker lately. Dates? 

Pre-dates?

They were happening pretty frequently, to be perfectly honest, with more than a few being less, shall we say, “cadet-friendly”. 

“Sorry,” Wrecker apologizes again. “I thought about telling you sooner. Honest. Even asked my brothers how I should do it, but, uh… I-I couldn't figure out how to make it sound like me, heh.” 

He knew showing you his face would be a big step. Huge, even. But… there was always a dash of worry that it wouldn’t go well. A blind eye and a large scar aren’t exactly “little” features he can hide all the time, so Wrecker has developed a strong sense of self-confidence and self-assurance in the time following what he only refers to as “the incident”. And if he wanted to ask you to meet him at 79’s next week or the week following, then…

“T-that’s if you want to, that is!” 

Great galaxies. 

How could you refuse? Wrecker had yet to fail to deliver on his punny promise advertised on the CDS; he truly was an expert not just in explosive ordnance, but in having a great time, all the time. His knack for seeing the silver lining in everything, perhaps with exception regarding his “problem with gravity” (as he liked to explain his fear of heights), had been a great comfort on several occasions when you might’ve otherwise felt glum. He was not shy about being excitable, or sweet, or even vulnerable with you. 

You had been shown Lula, a black-and-red tooka doll he occasionally brought aboard the Havoc Marauder (typically when their assignments were shorter, as he preferred to keep her safe on Kamino), on your very first video call together. And she was a well-loved doll, too. Lula’s fabric was clean and her belly plump with stuffing for “more effective cuddles”, but you could see it was just beginning to thin from constant use. 

Seeing how Wrecker clearly cared for little Lula only further endeared you to him. So no: his eye, his scar, were not going to be a dealbreaker for you. You would love to meet up at 79’s. 

Setting down your own device, you rifle around in search of where you’ve written down important deadlines and appointments for the upcoming weeks. 

“Sounds like fun, Wrecker. Count me in! Did you have a day in mind?”

“Next Taungsday? At, say, twenty-hundred hours?”

Middle of the week three hours after a majority of Coruscant has completed their nine-to-fives. 

It’s a date!

You hitch a ride to the Entertainment District via speedercab forty-five minutes ahead of the agreed-upon time, knowing after years of living on Coruscant that there is no such thing as a “lull in traffic” here. 

Not even in the middle of the week. Not with many establishments offering discounts and buy-one-get-one-s on their services. Something to entice people to abandon the hustle and bustle of the megacity and lighten their pockets of a few credits. Indulge themselves in the spoken and unspoken ‘District Dorns’. 

Dining. Drinking. Dancing. Drugs. Den-fights. Dating. 

Wrecker had thoughtfully informed you that 79’s—which already ran a little warm as an establishment—had reported a shift in temperature ever since the Clone Dating Service hit the Holonet. 

“Should see the way this place GLOWS on the heat sensors, cyar’ika!”  

You chose something to wear accordingly, wanting to keep comfortable as much as possible to enjoy as much of your date as possible. An outfit you believed was equal parts flattering, cute, and stylish without sacrificing anything that wasn’t unapologetically you. A suitable bag was also taken with a few small necessities for personal grooming and styling, including a decent fistful of credits, just in case. Fresh packs of breath mints and bubble-chew were tossed in as well. For the hell of it. But also just in case. 

The cabbie pulls up to the platform in front of 79’s ten minutes early, hesitating to throw the air taxi door’s release because they’re too busy staring at the main entrance in bewilderment. “Huh! Thought this place was just a Clone bar… but I’m seeing more than just soldiers…” they murmur to themselves, a free appendage scratching one of two heads in thought. “Did I take you to the right joint, ma’am?” 

“Yes, I’m meeting a date here,” you answer with a smile. 

Your heart flutters just hearing yourself say it. A date. With a man you had first connected with on the Holonet through a curious dating service. You haven't been able to think of much else all week. Only willing time to move faster. To please hurry up and be Taungsday, already! And now tonight was the night. 

Paying via surface pass, you bid the cabbie goodbye and hurry into the bar. 

It’s already a packed house. Clones and civilians alike are bustin’ it down on the electronic dance floor to energetic remixes of popular jizz-wailers at the moment. A static viewscreen over the long oval bar advises patrons there will be genre changes at every half-hour. 

Special requests can be made for two credits per song. The special tonight is something called the “buddy bucket”; five credits for the bucket, seven with the inclusion of two (non-alcoholic) drinks. 

You look around, hoping Wrecker is already here or not far behind. You consider asking the soldier wearing a volunteer’s name sticker on his chestplate and manning the CDS event booth. While briefly wondering what the story behind his ‘Squeaky Clean’ moniker is, you pay more attention to the scrap of flimsiplast taped below the badge. “Check-in assistant”, it reads. 

Oh good. Less need for guessing games. Presenting your name and profile code, you inform Squeaky who you’re here to meet. Information he’ll likely need to cross-reference any lists of RSVPs, meet-ups and the like. 

“Is Wreck- er, Gentle Giant here tonight?” 

Squeaky sets down the datapad in his hand in order to rifle through a small file box of reservations. Before he can locate it, a boisterous voice calls out your name across the bar. You were early, but it sounds like Wrecker beat you here. 

“Is that you?!”

He calls your name again. You turn to look in his direction. 

And you make eye contact. 

And you know. You know that face. The face that’s not a typical COMPOR poster boy’s. That smile. The gleeful and boyish—yet so charming—smile that drives your stomach wild with butterflies. And finally that laugh. That exuberant, resounding laugh as he carefully makes his way through a sea of partying patrons to greet you. 

In the flesh, at last.

Your greetings overlap once Wrecker has safely made it through the crowd, finding yourself wrapped up in a friendly hug. One long enough for him to say “It is you!” before promptly letting you go. He steps an arm’s length away to stand back and admire your attire, grin never dropping. 

“You look great!” 

You return the flattery. “So do you, Wrecker. Blast, you look good in civvie clothes!” 

He had cleaned himself up rather nicely for tonight. His facial hair had been trimmed, to start. A rather woodsy sort of aftershave was a nice touch too; complimenting the simple, heathered gray button-down and black slacks bought just for the occasion, judging by the slight stiffness of the fabric. Care had been taken to steam out the most egregious of the wrinkles. The manner in which the long sleeves had been tucked and rolled perfectly level with each other suggested assistance. 

The name on the reservation Squeaky Clean locates at long last confirms it. 

“I have a… corner booth set aside for Gentle Giant and the lovely lady; the request was made by Bookish Spectacles. That sound right to you, vod?”

“Oh, yeah,” Wrecker replies, taking the small square of flimsiplast with the corresponding number, “he’s one of my squad mates.” 

“You’re all set then. Hope you both enjoy your evening!” 

The booth is found in no time at all. 

Being slightly more removed from the dancefloor, there’s less need to talk quite as loud as you had near the entrance. A very thoughtful bit of placement on Spectacles’ part. Wrecker explains this where he and his brothers like to sit whenever they have leave close to Coruscant and crave whatever’s greasiest from 79’s. He kindly offers to hold your bag for you while you slide into the booth, being extra careful not to drop it on the sticky floor when handing it back.  

Scarcely a moment after Wrecker has gotten in the opposite side of the booth, an unhelmeted soldier steps up to the table with a wry smile. He sports a neural brace, his right arm is held behind his back at an unusual angle. Obviously trying to hide something. 

“You kids behaving yourselves?” he asks somewhat playfully, not quite sarcastic. 

You recognize the voice from various bits of brotherly background chatter over all the different calls you’ve had with Wrecker, but you’re not sure of his name. 

“We haven’t even gotten started, Ec- Domino.” Wrecker pointedly informs him. He almost slips up. Until it was safe to say that you and Wrecker were looking like a confirmed item, sticking to calling his brothers by their CDS aliases was a more neutral course of action. “You guys promised you’d leave us alone.” 

“I’m only messing with you, Wreck,” his brother chuckles. Moving his right arm—which is mostly cybernetic, to a small amount of surprise—from behind his back, Domino puts a red foil gift bag down on the table. “We fully intend to keep that promise. Just came to give you this like you asked.”

Wrecker grins sheepishly. 

“Oh, right. I did ask that. Uh… thanks, Domino.” 

Limiting his reply to “Anytime, Wrecker,” and some encouragement to have fun, Domino takes his leave. 

Now you know what one of his brothers looked like under the helmet. You watch him for a moment, thinking Domino might go back to the others who made up Clone Force 99. No luck. He finds a group of troopers sporting cobalt blue paint and decides to brush his shoulders with them for a while. Wrecker mentioned once upon a time that even after joining CF99, Domino has good rapport with his previous detachment, still. 

A legion. Five-oh-something. It’ll come to you in a moment. 

You’re distracted by the butterflies now that you and Wrecker have the booth to yourselves. There are matching, giddy smiles as he briefly pulls the bag to his side of the table. Just to make a quick check of the contents. “Sorry ‘bout that, cyar’ika,” is all Wrecker will say about the interaction with Domino. No sense dedicating further thought to it when you’re here for a date tonight. 

Your first in-person date. 

So once he’s satisfied there’s no damage and everything is accounted for, Wrecker carefully slides the gift bag back across the table. This is for you, he explains. And you can open it whenever. Now. After something to eat and a few drinks. When it’s time to leave. It’s entirely up to you. 

Curiosity gets the better of you once again.  

And it gives you a tooka. 

A tooka doll, to be exact. 

Carefully swaddled in a bundle of gift-paper, you find yourself face-to-felt with your very own “Lula” doll. The gifted plush looks just like Wrecker’s – key difference being it was made using your favorite colors. All the way down to the thread used to stitch the toy together. 

“Oh, I love them…!” you coo, squeezing the cloth tooka to your chest. “It was really sweet of you to find one in my favorite color.” Oh, you can’t wait to take them home, you add. 

Wrecker is soon wearing another of his boyish grins, saying he’s glad you like it. But… would you believe him if he said he didn’t find the doll? (And before you ask: no, it wasn’t one of his brothers who found it, either.) He had made it. Often spent a large amount of time while his squad had been in hyperspace working on it, lately. 

You’re honestly blown away. “By hand? That’s incredible!” How long did it take him to make the doll? And when did he start? 

That’s easy. 

Wrecker started working on them when he realized he had a crush on you. Luckily, he already had all the material he needed on the Marauder. A lot of soldiers in the GAR had learned basic sewing skills that might come in handy in the event of an emergency, so, if he had to guess how long…? It’d probably taken him three weeks, at most, to finish the toy. 

He sews a lot. It keeps his fine motor skills sharp. Something he needs when it comes to dismantling (or building) bombs. Or, say… 

Adding a little message to a tag on the doll’s back following the night he had shown you his face. 

A heartfelt dedication, of sorts. 

'For: My cyber crush

Love: Wrecker'

A huge thank you to Maniacalbooper for making such an entertaining request and being a part of my 200 follower event, as well as having incredible patience with me in order to complete this story! I hope you and everyone else enjoyed this Wrecker fic. 🩷

Taglist: @callsign-denmark @dukeoftheblackstar @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose + @returnofthepineapple @lonely-day3636

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rb to give a flower to the person you rb this from

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"Oh-Seven: the fiercest hunter of all your brothers."

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where is all the art that perfectly appeals specifically to my exact tastes and desires and nobody elses

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