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ariadnes-red-thread · 5 months ago

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The Last Word: Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR: SAY NOTHING

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Series Masterlist

Pairing: Fives/OFC

Chapter Summary: Brought face-to-face with Fives after their one-night stand, Mal faces hard choices and harder truths. Meanwhile, Fives knows at least one thing that this new battalion medic is hiding and he's beginning to suspect that there might be more.

Chapter Warnings: Some swearing (mostly in mand'o), Mentions of Umbara/past trauma and past sexual situations, canon-typical violence, character death mention/flashback

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Recommended Listening: Say Nothing by Flume feat. MAY-A

A/N: Another new chapter? Within a month? WHO IS SHE?

Ao3

Taglist

She was staring, a sardonic voice pointed out from somewhere deep within her. Mal snapped her mouth shut and clenched her jaw to keep it from falling open again. Fives was here.

For a moment, she glowed. Mal felt herself light up as the night before enveloped her. She thought about the boundless joy of his laugh, the soft friction of his facial hair, the heat of his broad body, the gentle and hungry press of his lips. Then, she caught the dull reflection of her green eyes in the durasteel wall behind him.

Panic rippled through Mal’s body, casting any lightness into deep, dark shadow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“This is Tup.” Mal’s heart was racing as Kix went down the line, oblivious to the inner turmoil that she’d been thrown into. “And this is Fives, our resident ARC.”

“And resident pain in the ass,” Jesse added.

Fives pressed his lips together in a smirk. There was no doubt he recognized her. The ripples of panic swelled into waves that threatened to pull her under any moment. She did the only thing she could think of.

“Nice to meet you.” Mal quickly spoke, a bit louder than she meant.

Tup gave a cheerful reply that she only faintly heard. Instead, Mal stared at his brother. Fives’ eyebrows shot up. His eyes flashed over her and he frowned before he finally nodded. Mal let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Likewise.” Fives’ reply was pointed, but only to her.

“Come on,” Kix said as he took a step forward, oblivious to the thousand little unspoken words that had just passed between his new civilian medic and his brother. “I’m starving.”

The small group moved together to the mess hall. Around her, Jesse, Kix, and Tup joked and laughed. Only she and Fives walked in silence, sweating under the unforgiving lights.

The waves of panic had passed, turning into a heavy rock that sat in the pit of her stomach. While Mal waited for his move, she ruminated on her bad luck. The chance of Fives being in her battalion had to have been a million to one. But here he was and now she was about to eat dinner with him. She half-listened to Jesse as he made a joke about GAR food and let out an obligatory laugh when she was supposed to, but inside, Mal was reeling.</p>

No Jedi, no medics, and especially no clones. She had that rule for cycles, and now one slip-up, fueled by alcohol and momentary passion, could undo everything. To begin with, it was unethical and unprofessional. She was already an outsider in an army of brothers. While the 104th was her family, the 501st wasn’t. They didn’t know her and she didn’t want them to make assumptions before they did. Then there was the moral failing of sleeping with her patient. She would have to care for him and now she risked her position being compromised. Any care she gave him or any of his brothers would be scrutinized to make sure she wasn’t showing favoritism, misusing resources, or wasting GAR time. The upper management of the civilian volunteer force would descend on her like a pack of danchafs. And that was if they didn’t just discharge her.

And that, she thought, as her. stomach began to turn, would be unthinkable. This was supposed to be her chance to make things right. The 501st was where she was going to find answers. But now a single mistake threatened it all.

For one weak moment, Mal wondered if there was still time to transfer back. She missed the 104th more than ever. Sinker would think this was hilarious and do that thing where he laughed so hard he snorted. Boost would roll his eyes. Mal let out a small sigh to herself. She needed that right now. She could even go for one of Crux’s lectures.

The mess hall was loud and crowded. It pulled her back to her surroundings and away from the spiral of her inner monologue. Kix checked in to make sure she was familiar. After she reassured him, he and Jesse took off for the dessert station.

She gathered her tray and got in line. Involuntarily, her eyes drifted over the soldiers, trying to find Wolffe’s scowl, even though she knew it was light years away. Instead, she found only unfamiliar, familiar faces. Protein cubes turned her stomach in a good day and today she almost retched as it was plopped onto her plate.

“Not a fan?” Tup asked, making her start. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her in line. “Can’t say they’re my favorite either.”

“I uh…” Mal grimaced as she tried to fix her face. “Yeah.”

“Look at it.” Tup poked at the jiggling block before he shot her a commiserating look. “We got real meals on Kamino. 'Bout the only thing I miss about that soggy planet. But you get used to ‘em.”

You get used to ‘em. Mal nodded. She thought about telling Tup that no matter how many GAR meals she ate, the protein cubes would always taste of metal ore to her. But she didn’t say it. She opened her mouth just to make sure she could.

Mal followed Tup over to the table where the four other clones were waiting for them. Kix and Jesse were arguing over something that sounded like a battle strategy but also could have been a drinking game. Tup sat next to Jesse, and as Mal slid onto the bench beside him, She found herself face-to-face with Fives again. He was still watching her carefully.

Her hope for answers, everything she was here to do could shatter right before her eyes. She shifted her jaw as her mind raced. She could do something. Mal had to do something.

“I’ll grab water for the table.” She put her tray down. “It’s Fives, right? Want to give me a hand?”

Fives raised an eyebrow at Mal as he hesitated, but curiosity seemed to get the better of him.

“Roger, roger.” He said as he stood, his umber eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, she hesitated, wilting in his dark look. Something in her wanted to make him laugh just so she could hear it again. Seconds passed and Mal felt the other three watching her curiously. She spun on her heels, and the table soon turned its attention and debate quickly pick back up. Fives was hot behind her, catching up to her pace in just a few strides. A moment of silence passed as Mal waited until she was out of earshot from the table.

“I’m sorry about the greeting.” Mal’s words were hushed, falling stuttered from her lips as she made her way across the mess with the ARC trooper. “I was caught off guard.”

“That makes two of us.”

His low voice was right in her ear. Her breath hitched just a little as she realized how close he was.

She finally reached the water fountain. Mal took five cups from the stack piled on the counter and handed two of them to Fives. This gave her a moment to look at the man. He stood less than a foot away, one armored hip leaning up against the counter as he waited on her next move. Mal swallowed. He was so very close. The last time he had been this close, his lips had been pressed against her cheek. She blinked, pushing the memory away.

“I just think it’s best if we keep things professional.”

“You made that very clear.”

Fives’ voice was still low and it was becoming increasingly unfriendly. A part of her stung as she realized she never would have thought it came from the same relaxed, warm man who was in her apartment just hours ago. Focus, Mal thought to herself, You have to do this.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” Mal started before Fives cut her off.

“Don’t worry, cyar’ika.” Fives’ tone returned to casual as he began to fill the glasses in his hands with water. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Despite his reassuring words, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d fucked up again. His attention never left the glasses and, after he finished, he took a wide step away, giving her plenty of space to fill her three cups. Mal walked silently back to their meals, several steps behind the clone. The men at the table had seemingly settled their debate, and decided to turn their attention to her.

“So you’re from the 104th, huh? What’s Wolffe actually like?” Jesse asked as she sat back in her seat. “I bet he’s a big softie.”

“You thought Fox would be a softie and how did that turn out?” Fives scoffed at his brother as he slid him a cup of water.

“I’ll win him over yet.” Jesse grinned.

“Not with that lifetime ban from the Senate you won’t.” Kix prodded Jesse with an elbow to the side.

Jesse waved off his brothers as he turned back to her. Mal quickly began to stuff the protein cube into her mouth to avoid his questions, only retching a little at the taste.

“Were you on Khorm when he lost his eye?”

Mal coughed, choking on the gelatinous mouthful.

“Jesse, shut the fuck up,” Kix ordered.

Mal shot Kix a grateful smile as she carefully swallowed. She hadn’t spent long with Kix, but she had a feeling he didn’t take that tone with Jessie often. Jessie, for his part, suddenly found himself preoccupied with his protein cube, a slightly sheepish look on his face.

“So what planet are you from?” Tup asked, trying to find a more friendly topic.

Her stomach clenched. Another subject she wanted to avoid. Mal hadn’t considered that this new squad wouldn’t know her from Chancellor Palpatine. There was a privilege in not having to explain herself and it was gone now.

She weighed the answer for a moment.

“Takodana.” Mal finally answered truthfully.

Fives snorted. Mal’s eyes shot to him as she waited. He just shook his head. Then he paused for a moment before he lifted his eyes to hers.

“Takodana? Why do I know that name?” Fives looked at her for the first time since they had both sat down.

She held her breath for a moment. She watched as he frowned, deep in thought. While Fives was distracted, Jesse spotted an opportunity. He snatched the cake from Fives’ tray while the clone was frowning at Mal.

“Hey!” Fives swiped at air as he realized the theft.

“That’s for the caf this morning.” Jesse grinned at the ARC trooper.

Mal sighed in relief as Fives also excused himself quickly after. She watched out of the corner of her as he walked away. He didn’t look back. The conversation devolved into brotherly harassment as the boys lost all interest in grilling the new girl.

Mal stayed through the meal and long enough for Kix to give her a digital tour of the Venator med bay, but soon he released her with praise for her first day that mostly involved how well she put up with Jesse, and instructions for reporting bright and early tomorrow. The 501st was shipping out again.

It wasn’t until her apartment door slid shut behind her, Mal realized she had made it back to her apartment. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had left it. The shadows seem longer, jutting out at strange angles, like the place wasn’t quite hers anymore. She didn’t bother to turn on the light as she dragged her body across the small studio, the city offering enough of its own through the windows. Mal stripped the jumpsuit from her body and threw herself into bed, exhausted emotionally and physically. Despite the tiredness that clung to her bones, she immediately sat back up. A spicy, sweet scent of whiskey, smoke, and heady sweat invaded her nostrils. It was Fives. He was still lingering on the sheets.

She tossed for a few moments and tried to ignore it but, no matter what position she lay in, he followed her, his memory wrapped around her just as he had earlier that same day. She couldn’t escape it, no more than she could when she fumbled her greeting to him. She’d slept with one of the men she was supposed to protect, to help. Fraternization was specifically against the rules for civilians and GAR soldiers. She’d be discharged without a second thought.

On the bedside table, the small Wolfpack pin glinted in the moonlight. She would fail Wolffe, Crux, and even Tye. And, worse, she would fail the twins. She turned again, but a new wave of Fives and a memory of his arms wrapping around her suddenly was suddenly all around her.

Mal huffed and threw the blankets back. She swung her legs off the side of the bed, sitting up. Mal hung her head, letting it fall to her palms for a moment. Too tired to change the sheets, she pulled her duvet behind her as she dragged herself to the chair.

The nightmares came again that night.

Mal’s words were a bucket of ice down his spine. Cold and formal. He scanned her face but there was no hint of recognition. Fives reeled. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of calling her out. Nice to meet you? Did my dick give you amnesia? But then he thought about his vode. He didn’t need them to see this rejection. No, for all they knew he had a one-night stand who he left breathless and reeling and totally in love with him. He was going to keep it that way. For now.

“Likewise.” He finally settled on the curt reply.

“Come on,” Kix pushed forward, his mind on food as usual. “I’m starving.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye. She was laughing at something Jessie had said, but he could see that she was watching him too. Probably scared he was going to air her dirty little secret. Tup noticed something was wrong right away. He shot Fives a look as they were swept up in the mess hall crowd. A wordless conversation passed between them. A look of concern. A shrug of unconcern. An eyebrow of skepticism. A smile of reassurance.

Relax, Fives reminded himself. Time to watch and see how this plays out. Think like an ARC.

He piled his tray with fortified protein and settled into the table with his friends but no sooner than he had sat down, his eyes found her again.

Mal trailed behind Tup. She shifted as she walked. A wiggle of her fingers, a soft clench and unclench of her jaw, a slight roll of her neck. It was like she was taking roll call of her body. A red curl escaped her hair tie and hung down over her eyes. She glanced at it and huffed, blowing it to the side. She glared at the errant lock as it fell back into her face, the dusting of freckles on her nose wrinkling. Tup led her to their table, sliding in next to Jesse, leaving enough room for Mal next to him, and right across from Fives.

She didn’t seem to realize where she was sitting until she was almost at his eye level. Finally, her jeweled orbs met his. Mal blinked as she stared at him for a moment. He tried to hold her emerald stare. Why, he wasn’t sure.

“I’m going to go grab water for the table.” She quickly announced to the table before she turned back to him. “It’s Fives, right? Want to give me a hand?”

The hesitancy was a nice touch. Smart. Fives raised an eyebrow as he considered her invitation. Half of him wanted to reject her immediately, but he wanted to see where this was going.

“Roger, roger.” He rose, stepping over the bench to follow her.

Fives trailed behind her, watching as other clones turned, sometimes slowly and others obviously, and elbowed each other when they took notice of her. He couldn’t blame them, but a frown still snuck across his face. The gray jumpsuit with its long blue stripes along the seams swallowed up most civilian medics, but hers gently hugged her curves, showing the lines of her body that he had traced just hours ago. Luckily, before his mind could wander too far, Mal tilted her face up towards him. She had waited until they were out of earshot of the table.

“I’m sorry about the greeting.” Her voice was quiet. Something about that irritated him even more. There wasn’t even anyone else around and she was still scared of being noticed with him. “I was caught off guard.”

“That makes two of us.” Fives thought it was a measured response.

“I just think it’s best if we keep things professional.”

She wasn’t wrong. Fraternizing with civilian members of the GAR was strictly forbidden. He didn’t think Rex would care, and Skywalker… well that was a more unpredictable reaction, but he suspected the General would look the other way. Clones trapped under lesser Jedi would be at risk of reassignment or worse. Still, that didn’t excuse her and Fives pulled no punches with his tone.

“You made that very clear.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” She started.

Mal shifted under his blazing look. Fives decided that, whatever was coming next, he wasn’t going to hear it. She didn’t get to apologize to him. He didn't want it and he didn't need it.

“Don’t worry, cyar’ika.” Fives kept his voice as even as he could as he turned to start filling up water glasses. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He turned back to the table, spilling water over his hands in the rush. He told himself to slow down. Breathe. He wasn’t going to let her ruin his mood. Ruin this day. Fuck that and fuck her.

He could sense Mal as she scurried behind him, trying to keep up with his long steps. They rejoined the table. Fives debated moving down next to Tup. He looked up at her again and she wilted under his stare. No, he decided. He was going to have to get used to this. His vode started in on her as soon as they got back to the table. Fives felt a flare of annoyance.

“So you’re from the 104th? What’s Wolffe actually like?” Jesse jumped at the new girl. “I bet he’s actually a big softie.”

Fives snorted at Jesse, half-tempted to throw his water to him instead of pass it.

“You thought Fox would be a softie and how did that turn out?” Fives rolled his eyes.

It was only last month that Fives had to go get Jesse from the base prison. Fox had glared out at him under hooded eyes, and stood still with crossed arms as Fives tried to bargain for Jesse’s release. He knew that Fox knew that Fives had been involved with the plot to steal the Corrie Guard’s mastiff for the night, but that, unlike Jesse, they hadn’t been able to catch him. Eventually, Fox wordlessly punched a fist into a button, releasing Jesse from his cell, and then, with a single pointed finger, directed them both out of the brig. Fives wasn’t looking forward to the next time their paths crossed.

“I’ll win him over yet.” Jesse grinned, undeterred by the same memory.

“Not with that lifetime ban from all Senate buildings you won’t.” Kix prodded him with an elbow to the side.

Fives shook his head. He thought they had gotten away with their failed prank as they crawled back into their bunks, trying to get an hour of sleep before roll call. His eyes had just started to drift closed when Rex burst into the barracks, erupting and swinging his datapad at them. Somewhere in the scramble away from his momentarily deranged captain, he learned that Rex had woken up to several colorful messages informing him that Fox had banned Fives and Jesse from all Coruscant Guard-held spaces for life. It had taken twenty minutes and the promise of latrine duty for two weeks to soothe the Captain.

“Were you on Khorm when he lost his eye?”

“Jesse, shut the fuck up.” Kix snapped in a warning tone he rarely took with Jesse. Fives’ eyes flashed to Kix. Interesting. He was protective of his new medic already.

“What planet are you from?” Tup said mildly, carefully changing the subject.

“Takodana.”

Fives snorted. A hick from a rural backwater planet. Then he heard it. Takodana. Fives’ spine stiffened at a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. That sounded familiar. He knew a lot of planets at this point. Ones he’d been to and ones he hadn’t. But there was something about that name that tugged on some recollection or information buried somewhere deep in his databanks of training.

“Takodana? Why do I know that name?” Fives finally let his eyes meet hers again.

Her beryl eyes widened and he watched as a flash of fear rippled across her face. It was gone in the next second. He might have even imagined it. He wanted to dwell on it, to hold the moment and tear it open until he understood, but a motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

“Hey!” He said, as Jesse snatched his cake from his tray.

Fives tried to swipe out to grab it but it was too late. His vod planted his fork into the stolen dessert.

“That’s for the caf this morning.” Jesse stuck his tongue out at Fives with a victorious wink.

Fives shook his head at Jesse and waved his hand in surrender.

“Savor it, vod.” He forced a laugh as he stood. “See you all later.”

Leaving the suffocating din of the mess hall behind, Fives followed a familiar path to Rex’s office. The durasteel hallways were empty while everyone was at dinner, and the only sound was the rhythmic echo of his boots against the floor. Usually, Fives appreciated these quiet moments alone. He loved his brothers, and he knew he could be as loud as any of them, but moments where he could hear himself think were precious and far apart when in an army of millions. There was nothing solitary about this moment, though. His thoughts marched beside him, louder than the clang of his footsteps, with memories as all-consuming as the vacuum of space. It wasn’t until Fives reached Rex’s door that he snapped out of the deep trance. There were voices on the other side.

The blast door slid open just as Fives raised his hand to knock. He stepped back to let General Skywalker and General Kenobi walk out.

“Hello there, Fives,” Kenobi greeted him as Anakin nodded.

“Evening, Generals.” He saluted the Jedi. “Commander Tano.”

The Togruta followed behind the Masters, buzzing with an excitement that Fives knew could only mean a new mission.

“Be nice to Rex,” Ahsoka winked at Fives and he felt his icy mood melt just a little. Ahsoka’s good moods were infectious around the 501st. When she was happy, they all tended to be. “He just spent two hours trying to rein in Skyguy's battle plans.”

Her master shot a look of annoyance at the padawan and the clone before he chuckled and shrugged.

“She’s not wrong.” Anakin flashed a brazen grin at the ARC trooper.

“I’m shocked, General.” Fives smiled back before he turned to Ahsoka with a wink of his own. “And when have I ever been mean to Rex?”

All three Jedi laughed at that.

“Have a good evening, Fives.” Anakin bowed his head before the three Jedi turned back to their journey, likely back to the Temple.

“You too, Sirs.”

Fives stepped into the dark office space. Rex sat at his desk, massaging his temples, as he frowned at a holomap glowing in the dim light.

“Tano and Kenobi act like Skywalker’s the crazy one, but they’re all just as bad.” Rex groaned, not looking up at Fives.

“We’ll make the most of their plans and take whatever the Seppies throw at us.” Fives settled into one of the chairs across from Rex. “You know that, Captain.”

“Of course,” Rex pressed his thumb to a button on his desk, and the holomap disappeared. The lights returned to the room, and he leaned back into his chair, taking on the quiet calm that came from being alone with an old friend.

“How’d the debrief with the council go yesterday?” Fives asked. He didn’t want Rex to think he rushed in here to ask about Mal.

“As well as expected,” Rex grumbled. “Most were supportive. A couple of them tried to press me. Didn’t got over well with me or General Skywalker though.”

“We saved the galaxy from one of Dooku’s pawns, and there's Jedi out there pushing back against us?”

“Just a one or two. General Billaba had some hard questions.”

“Billaba's been out of the fight too long. I know she went through it after Haruun Kal, but to be questioning us? That's kark, sir.” Fives crossed his arms. "She just got that seat back anyways."

“They’re allowed to ask questions. It was certainly a… unique situation.”

“Well, if you need someone to take out another Jedi…”

“That’s not funny, Fives. You’re just dying to get that court martial.”

“I was going to suggest Tup.” Fives wiggled his brows.

“Di’kut.” Rex muttered under his breath as his eyes shot upward.

Fives chuckled, enjoying the little victory of pulling an eye roll from Rex.

“The briefing’s not why you’re here, though.” Rex’s serious look melted into a wry smile. “What’s on your mind, Fives?”

Fives sighed. He never could keep anything from Rex. Maybe it was because they were brothers, or maybe it was because Rex had known him since he was a shiny on his first mission. Sometimes, he suspected it was because he was similar to Rex in ways the older clone would never admit. Whatever it was, Rex could tell he wasn’t just in his office for a nightcap.

“The new medic… what’s her deal?” Fives asked, hoping his voice was more neutral than he felt.

“Amal Darroch?” Rex raised an eyebrow at him. “Comes highly decorated and recommended from the 104th. Took everything I had to pry her from Wolffe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he hung up on me the first three times I asked.” Rex chuckled to himself. Fives sometimes forgot that Rex was a younger brother too.

“We need medics that bad?” Fives frowned.

“Not just medics. We need the best medics.” Then Rex eyed the arc trooper. “Come on, you know that better than anyone. Kix is ready to ban you from the medbay.”

Fives tried to smile at the joke but found it refused to come. Instead, he kept thinking about Mal.

“And she’s the best?”

“What’s on your mind, Fives?” Rex repeated. “You’re usually not this shy about sharing.”

“Dunno…” She’s hiding something. Maybe multiple things. He wanted to shout it, grab Rex by the shoulders and shake him until he could see what Fives saw, but instead, he hesitated. They did need medics, and they needed good ones. If she was that good, his brothers would be better off with her around. “Just have some questions about her, is all.”

“Well, I’m here if you need anything.” Rex reached for his datapad, sensing the conversation was over. “Just try not to kill her or kriff her.”

Fives finally forced a laugh as he stood with a small salute.

“Roger, roger.”

Fives shut the door behind him, leaving Rex to his plans. The silent hallways that lined his path back to the barracks were even louder on his return route. Mal’s face swam before him. A flash of her laugh and the parting of her full lips melted into the image of her stoic greeting. And if she was hiding this, what else was she hiding? Why did a civilian join the war when most of them prefered to stay safe on their cities and planets far from the battle lines? What game was she playing here? This wasn’t a game to him. This was his life and his brothers’ lives. He thought of how she shifted in her seat at the mention of Takodana. There was no doubt about it. Mal was hiding more than just their night together, and Fives would have to keep an eye on her until he found out what it was.

…

Her paddle sliced through the inky glass of the water with the precision of a beskar blade. She quickly lifted the wooden tool, letting the canoe propel forward with the smallest wake. Despite the exactness of her strokes, Mal never looked down. Instead, she frowned at the horizon. It was dark and the air still held the wet chill of the night before it turns to dew, but the midnight blue at the very edges of the sky had started to pale, a sure sign that she had stayed too long. She wasn’t late. Not yet. But she paddled with a speed that she hadn’t practiced in a long time. Her shoulders ached, muscles that had long been forgotten in the mines, called out in protest of her neglect but she never winced or paused.

She stepped out into the shallows without a splash and pulled the boat into the overgrown shore where she covered it in the browning large leaves and the ivy, damp from yesterday’s rain. Mal wiped the soil on her palms along the edges of her poncho before she reached a hand into the bag at her side. She felt the delicate petals of the nysillin and finally let her shoulders fall from her ears.

The path was overgrown, disused in the last year since the Mining Guild came, but she knew it by heart. Her feet led on as she scanned the dark underbrush, one hand on her blaster and the other one on her bag.

She’d only made a few steps into the dark woods when a sound made her stop. Someone or something had coughed. In a flash, she pulled her blaster from her hip, gripping it at the ready as she scanned the trees.

“How did I know I’d find you still here?”

Her eyes finally landed on the source of the sound. Leaning against a large oak a few yards up the path was a tall man, his muscled arms crossed in front of his broad chest, cutting a stern profile in the shadow of the woods. Her eyes focused on the shape and, in the last throes of starlight, she began to make out a familiar profile.

“Couldn’t help me with the boat, huh?” Mal raised an eyebrow as she lowered her blaster.

“As I recall, last time I tried to help you with the boat, you hit me with an oar.” The sandy-haired man gave a small sideways smile and for a brief moment, she recognized the boy she grew up with.

She snorted, “I forgot about that.” She watched the smile evaporate from his face and the boy she knew was gone and replaced with a soldier. Before she could wonder if he something similar had passed through his mind, she let her eyes fall to her side as she lowered her weapon. “I could have shot you.”

“You probably should’ve.” Niall’s tone was suddenly stern. “But you’re still too slow on the trigger.”

“I’m cautious,” she bit back. Mal walked past the shadow.

“Not cautious enough. What are you still doing out here?”

Mal sighed, stopping to let him catch up to her. They walked side-by-side but they both carefully watched the woods around them as they went, blasters still drawn.

“Which one?” Even though she knew the answer.

“Taron, of course.” Niall tutted, knowing she knew.

“He shouldn’t have worried you.”

“What if Aavia was out here? You know she senses these things. She wouldn’t think twice before killing you and your brothers just for fun.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mal snapped. “She’s not even planet side. I checked.”

“Still a risk.”

“I needed nysillin.” She stopped short as a tree swayed, but it was only the wind. “Maz hasn’t been able to get anything through the blockade in weeks.”

“Well that’s up to me to worry about.” Niall turned to her and reached out. He gripped her shoulders a little too hard. “Mal, your Da told me to keep you out of this fight.”

“That’s not his decision anymore, is it?” She took a step back as she shrugged.

The step back became a step forward and then another until she fell through the familiar wood doorway.

A pair of green eyes met her. Taron was sitting at the table with his blaster trained at the door. She didn’t have time to wonder where Cadex was. The door shut behind her and she knew if she turned, the other twin would be behind with his own blaster.

“You’re late.” Taron snapped with all the angst of a teenager as Cadex threw the bolt with a click.

Mal tossed the nysillin on the table before she sprang forward to take advantage of her sitting brother. She ran a hand through his hair, something that always drove him crazy, but was much harder now that he was taller than her.

Taron scoffed and quickly flattened his red locks back down.

“Stop, you’re so annoying.” Taron huffed.

“That was stupid.” Cadex frowned, circling around the table to lecture her. “You cut it too close.”

Mal knew it wouldn’t help his mood, but she smiled as Cadex crossed his arms. He was doing his best impression of Jonan Darroch, even if he didn’t realize it.

“Okay, Da.” she giggled.

Mal blinked and then started, laughter dying in her lips.

Where Cadex had been standing, Jonan Darroch now stood. Where their house had been, the town center had filled in the gaps, leaking through the floorboards like quicksand, pulling their house down to reveal only gray stone and boarded-up shops. Mal knew what came next. A red lightsaber already glowed in her Da's belly.

“You were supposed to protect them.” Da’s voice filled the square and echoed off the cobblestone as it filled her ears, his face contorting as his last breath twisted his words into a piercing shriek.

Jonan Darroch, a tall blue woman stepped out, letting the man collapse to the ground as she drew back her blade. Mal watched as her Da crumbled, lifeless. She tried to run to him, to scream for help, but she found herself frozen. Again.

Aavia smirked, her red eyes sparkling with a cruel mirth. Behind her, the twins stood still, arms behind their backs. She forgot how much taller Taron was now. When she looked up at him, she could see the emerald lodes running out from his dark pupils.

Not irises. Veins. She could see the veins of the leaves, even on the gray day. Rivers of water ran along its creased center and fell off in heavy droplets onto her face. Aavia’s gleeful voice cut the patter of the rain.

“And you called me a murderer.”

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fandom-friday · 7 months ago

Note

A couple ways to get hurt this week:

The Hostage series, by @kybercrystals94

https://www.tumblr.com/kybercrystals94/746217418255384576/the-hostage-part-5

Listen - Kyber doesn’t go easy in their fics, so you can basically expect to get your heart shattered. But this little series has me on the edge of my seat, with the worry and anxiety of TBB after Omega is taken hostage. I can’t wait to see where this one goes!!

The Last Word by @ariadnes-red-thread

https://www.tumblr.com/ariadnes-red-thread/705732688009691136/chapter-one-burn-with-laughter-series

18+! I re-read the first chapter of this fic and I absolutely adore the way they wrote this awkward morning-after-drunk sex encounter between OC Mal and Fives. The “oh shit what did I do” morphs into some panty-combusting memories. The best part is that we see the memories from both sides and I tell you - the heat is THERE. 🔥🔥 The way she writes Fives is cocky, but also self-deprecating and perfect. ❤️ Love her version so much and intrigued by Mal. Again - can’t wait to see where this one goes!

Finally, Freeze Thaw by AnEchoInHere

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49683310?view_adult=true

This one is about Echo almost dying on a mission and therefore heavy on the Echo Whump. Honestly it’s Wrecker’s guilt that does me in every time. Bring the tissues. ❤️❤️

OOOOH I love all of these. I've read The Last Word, and I LOOOOVE where Aria is going with it. Mal is FANTASTIC and I love how Aria writes Fives and his interactions with Mal. And The Hostage and Freeze Thaw both seem like PHENOMENALLY angsty fics that are going to curb-stomp my emotions. I KNOW WHAT I'M ABOUT. Thanks so much for sending this list in!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

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wild-karrde · 1 year ago

Note

Happy Fandom Friday!

I want to highlight two artists and two WIP fics.

These artworks by @patchmates are AMAZING. First we have Wolffe and Fox. And then we have Cody. Look, I’m usually intimidated by bigger men but WOW do these guys do it for me. Their arms! I want to squeeze them. (I also have to emphasize Wolffe’s tattoos—I am desperate for a neck and chest reveal because the hints of tattoos are a tease I can’t look away from.) The breadth of their chests is to die for; coupled with the black bodysuit and I can’t look away. Wolffe and Fox with their confident smirks; Cody looking so at peace and content 😩

And the second artwork is another Cody by @razzbberry. I wish I could speak artist lingo because I don’t know how to fully describe my emotions when looking at this. The coloring on this is STUNNING. The way Cody’s scar looks like a lightning bolt—the detail is impeccable. The emotion in his face is so impressive, and it hurts. I just think it’s a pretty artwork.

Now, onto the fics.

I want to recommend @ariadnes-red-thread for The Last Word. I thought I had recommended this when I first read it, but thinking back, I don’t think I ever did. So I want to rectify that. I’m not a Fives girly and I’ve never read fanfic of him, but I randomly came across this and it has me hooked. Mal is such a fantastic character, and I love Aria’s portrayal of Fives as flirtatious but also sensitive. The second chapter sets up for a story that promises to be emotionally fraught and hot, and I’m so excited to see where it goes.

I also want to recommend Erin’s (@sleepingsun501) Sweet True Lies. Again, I know. Bear with me. Chapter 4 dropped last weekend and it’s something I’ve been looking forward to for months. All I have to say is: Erin portrays Fox with such a sweet, soft side and it kills me. His natural charisma kills me. Everything about him kills me. (The way he talks about Keeda is so poetically attractive, it makes my heart hurt😩)

AHHHH ALLI THESE ARE ALL SUCH GOOD RECS!!!

I absolutely ADORE how Kit draws the clones! Their expressions and physiques are EVERYTHING. And that Cody piece by Nils took my BREATH away when I saw it this week! The color palette and silhouettes and every detail is just SO GOOD. The longer I looked at it, the more I just kept saying "wow" lol.

And the fics that you chose are WONDERFUL! I love how Aria writes Fives, and Mal is SUCH a cool OC. I am sitting on the edge of my seat for the next installation (TAKE YOUR TIME ARIA!). And the way Erin writes Fox in STL is SO SOFT and yet, he's SO SMOOOOOOOTH. The last line of the last chapter had me absolutely shrieking, and I CANNOT WAIT to get to know more about Keeda!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING ALL OF THESE IN!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

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hurryupmerlin · 1 year ago

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The medic

#this is how I picture Mal #clone troopers #medic #mal #tcw #the clone wars #the clone wars fanart

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evilminji · 10 months ago

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Dani should Kidnap The Clones.

It's basicly protective custody. Preemptive child services, if you will. NONE of these fuckers out here makin adorable clone baby just cause they want kids!

*kicks down the door to your shady lab* Knock Knock! ITS THE POLICE! *Walker's Shock troopers swarm the place as Dani secures the kids*

Look me in the eyes. You KNOW he'd love an excuse to enforce The Rules on people technically outside his jurisdiction. It's for The Children(tm)! Why, he simply had no CHOICE!

Meanwhile? Dani is shoving all these mal-adjusted Murder Clones into her Lair? Which is? Basicly a Door style Lair she hid inside Danny's Lair for safe keeping. It's shoved behind a vending machine just outside the observatory. And the inside? Goes on for DAYS.

Like national parks and every beautiful beach she ever came across. She smashed together the BEST sights and places she's found in her travels, like a collection. Always adding more. New waterfalls, new noodle shops, new fields of wine grapes. It's... beautiful. Snapshots of every wonderous little thing about Earth, stitched together.

They can't hurt anyone. Can't achieve their "objectives". Are just treated like actual individuals and the children they truely are. Are surrounded by other Clones. So it's NORMAL here. Just? All of it.

But also?

Dani and Dan? Teaming up to make History's Scariest Adoption Agency(TM). Dan runs it. Dan wants to know why EXACTLY you want a kid. Explain yourself to Dan. What are your references? Qualifications. He's doing a home visit to inspect the premises. He BETTER not find any suspicious Labs.

And? It just? Appears out of nowhere. It's powered by Zone Bullshit. One second you're thinking "oh woe is me D:> I will never have a child to fill my lovely home, because of all my Superhero Secrets and also because government bureaucracy!" And the next?

.....wasn't that an out of business taco bell? "Zone Adoptions"?

"....Free Clone Baby?"

Okay that is HIGHLY suspicious and as a hero you are basicly legally obligated to investigate. But now it's bigger on the inside? Fancy waiting room? You are being interrogated? Wait, no, you're supposed to be the one doing the-?

Somehow? You leave with your Clone Son from another Dimension. And a pamphlet. You're scheduled for a home visit in three days. You... you never told them where you live.

Somehow that doesn't seem like it will slow them down.

Did the Fae just Suprise Baby you with a clone baby? Can they DO that? W... what's happening? What days is this? Who ARE YOU PEOPLE?! HUH!?!?

Just? Imagine. IMAGINE. I was gonna say Bruce... but?

Damian.

He finds himself... pondering What Could Have Been. Had his Clones not wanted him dead. Wondering if he could have saved them. If, perhaps, he had found them as infants. Raised them. Could he have given them a good life? Been a good father?

He gets emotional. Fatherly. He's about 14.

Dan's been around Ghosts too long to remember how humans age or how age relates to development. This one TALKS like An Adult. Must be one. Probably just short.

And Damian? Never backs down. The second Dan starts challenging him? His character is flawless and his morals divine. He has never done anything wrong, ever, in his LIFE. Fuck you. And on TOP of that? He not only will be the SINGLE GREATEST FATHER TO EVER FATHER, his home is the most loving and beloved ON THE PLANET!

In entirety of EARTH'S history, no less!

....what are they arguing about?

*is handed a baby and kicked out of Dan's adoption agency*

See you in a few days!

(o.o ) *happy gurgling from the baby* *Damian.exe has stopped working*

Smash cut, after Damian speed runs his stages of grief at his own Dumbass Life Choices, to his rocking back up at the Manor like? Congratulations, Father. I have brought you your first grandson! Do Not ask how I obtained him. It was likely dubiously legal but I will not be returning him. We have bonded.

And just? Annihilating the collective Bats on one go. You did what? You have What?! That is a baby! WHY IS THERE A BABY?! How is there a baby!? WHOS BABY!? *sirens going off and everyone panicking*

Will Damian be allowed to KEEP the Baby? Ha! Hell no. Bruce will. Damian is a child. But it will be a Needlessly Dramatic Bat Cold War Of Dramatic Drama to pry that small cherubic baby from his grip long enough for Bruce to fill out the paperwork.

Child thieving bastard that he is. How dare he. That is Damian's SON! D:<

*happy oblivious baby noises as Alfred feeds him in the background, while the Bats do their Dramatic Custody War*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #minji's writing

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dangraccoon · 1 month ago

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As Ever

Day 21 ~ time loop ~ (Alt. Prompt)

Fives

Word Count: 2097 Content: Bio Chip Arc, Fives dies, actually he dies multiple times, the time loop resets if he dies or gets reconditioned, so because time loops can get fuckin dark, so I'm saying a soft Mature 18+ (recommended), Sheev Palpatine is his own warning anyway

“The mission… the nightmares… they’re… finally over.”

“Fives? No, Fives…”

—

His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the harsh light of the medical room.

“I… what…”

“Do not worry,” AZI chirped brightly. “Brief confusion is normal when waking up after a surgery.”

“Surgery,” Fives repeated, his hand coming up to the side of his head.

The patch. From the surgery. The chips? “You removed the chip?”

“Yes,” AZI said, whirling around to pull the two slides from his drawer. “Identical in structure.” He held the slide up side by side. “However, it appears that the one I found in your friend had mal–”

“Tup’s chip malfunctioned, but mine was fine,” Fives thought aloud.

“That is correct,” AZI chirped. “There is no way of knowing what will happen to you now that we have removed your chip.”

Fives’ mind felt clearer in this moment than he’d ever remembered.

Hadn’t he done all this already? He could so clearly remember seeing the chancellor–you don’t forget when a seemingly kindly old man orders his guards to murder you–escaping, finding Kix in 79s, and talking to General Skywalker and Rex. Oh, Rex. The memory of his ori’vod holding him close, crying as the second of the shinies he’d practically adopted faded away.

Is this what happens when you die? He thought bitterly as he scowled at the floor. You have to relive the worst parts of your life? What’s next? Umbara? The Citadel? Kamino?

“Are you experiencing anything out of the ordinary? Anything that could be a potential sign of the mental decline your friend experienced?” AZI broke him from his bitter thinking.

“No, no,” he said, waving him off. “I don’t… think so. Maybe–do you think he had deja vu?”

“There is no way of knowing what Clone Trooper Tup experienced before his death, however feelings of deja vu are not a common indicator of an impending mental break.”

Fives sighed, pushing off from the table to pace the small room. “I swear, it feels like I’ve done this before.”

“Like you’ve done–”

“All this,” Fives groaned, his hands gesturing vaguely. “You removed my chip, we go to the records hall. They take me to the chancellor, he–”

Fives went still, his mind working over his options.

“ARC Trooper Fives?”

“AZI, I think this goes much deeper than the chips in our heads.”

—

“General, you have to believe me, I can show you–”

“You’ve gone too far, Fives.”

“Stand down, soldier!”

“No, Fives!”

—

“General Ti,” he said. The general came to his side. “The-the doctor injected me with something… I-I don’t feel well.”

“I’m sure it was just to help you relax, Fives,” she smiled sympathetically.

“No, no,” Fives shook his head. “It… doesn’t feel like last time. This one… this one’s gonna kill me. Please–”

“Fives, I do not understand–”

“I…can’t see’i- ‘nym–”

“Fives? Fives!”

—

“Fives, what are you doing in here?” Shaak Ti questioned, still in her meditation pose. “You are meant to be completing the tests necessary to put you back in the field.”

“General, when we were cadets, you helped me and Echo find our place in our squad. You did us a huge favor and I have just one more to ask of you before I’m sent away.”

He could see the skepticism in her eyes, but she nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to know something about you. Something you’ve never told anyone before– something that you’d need to investigate if someone said it back to you.”

“Fives–”

“I know, General. But please, once I go back to that testing room, I’ll either be sent to the front to die or I’ll have my memory wiped. Either way, I know too well that I’ll be a dead man.”

Fives could feel something touch his mind. He let his eyes close, allowing the Jedi to prod him for answers.

“Something small,” he pleaded quietly. “Just something that would tell you to talk to me.”

As the general’s touch eased from his mind and she simply searched him with her eyes, he began to lose hope.

“Apologies, General Ti,” he said finally. “I’ll leave you to your meditation.” He gave a slight bow and turned for the door.

“Fives,” her voice reached his ears right before he opened the door. “Nannariums.”

He turned to look at her, finding a soft confusion still covering her face, but her eyes were curious.

“They are my favorite flower. No one else knows this.”

Relief stole over him. He nodded his thanks to her, then walked to his seemingly inevitable death.

—

“Perhaps it would be best if clone trooper Fives and I discussed this without your presence,” the Chancellor said, his smile warm and sickly sweet. Fives fought the urge to punch him.

“Chancellor, I must object,” General Ti scowled.

“Please, Master Jedi,” the Chancellor cooed. “Trust me. I will not be alone.”

Whatever that aiwha-bait doctor dosed him with was fogging his mind.

“N-no,” he protested, instantly sure that this must have been the pivotal moment. This is where everything went wrong. “General, please. Don’t leave me alone with him,” he pleaded, stepping towards the kind Jedi. “He’s not the one at risk, General.”

The General startled. “Fives, what are you–”

“This is obviously the delusional ramblings of a defective clone,” Se protested.

“On the ship, on our way here,” Fives breathed, all too aware of the glare boring into him from the Kaminoan. “The doctor injected me wi-with something and I can’t… Please just stay with me.”

Shaak Ti’s eyes scrutinized him.

“You can… you could see if something was affecting me, couldn’t you?” he said, his eyes searching hers as much as she searched his. “Making my head all foggy?”

“Master Jedi?” Palpatine probed.

He could feel the general’s gentle touch at the back of his mind.

Fives tried to calm himself, pulling only one memory to his mind. Too many would confuse her–he found that out last time.

A quiet meditation room on Kamino. The quiet confusion and curiosity on her face.

Her own voice.

“Fives. Nannariums. They are my favorite flower. No one else knows this.”

Shaak Ti gasped quietly, her eyes going wide. She thought for a moment. “If it would be a comfort to this trooper, perhaps it would be better if I stay.”

“Thank you, general,” Fives sighed, relief flooding his body.

“Of course,” Palpatine said, his voice still that of a kind old man, but his expression soured as he looked at Fives. “All will stay present, but perhaps we should all just let the man speak.” He looked to the general and the doctor, who both gave a nod.

Fives’ teeth ground together. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, Fives,” General Ti nodded. “Tell us what is going on.”

Fives could feel his hands shake, his focus solely on the General. “There is a plot against the Jedi, General. There is a Sith in this–” his eyes nervously turned towards the chancellor. “In the Senate. They’re controlling this war from both sides.”

“This is lunacy,” Nala Se muttered. “Chancellor, this clone has clearly gone mad without his chip. He must be–”

“Doctor, we all agreed to let Fives speak,” the general said, fixing her with a stern look.

“The chips have… orders written into them to kill the Jedi. We would be forced to obey the order without a second thought,” he said, determinedly continuing to speak over Nala Se’s renewed objections. “It isn’t supposed to happen until someone triggers it, but Tup’s malfunctioned and it caused him to execute the general.”

Shaak Ti’s face betrayed her whirlwind of emotions.

“Master Jedi, I find I must agree with the good doctor,” Palpatine muttered. “This is obviously a very, very sick clone.”

“General, I swear on- on nannariums, I’m telling the truth,” Fives insisted.

“I am taking ARC Trooper Fives to the Jedi temple for evaluation,” the general said suddenly. “He has made many… disturbing claims, yet I can sense that he truly believes them.”

The chancellor stood aghast, stammering “But Master Ti, I believe–”

“I will bring him to plead his case before the Jedi High Council and our temple’s best mind healers,” she said, her voice exuding confidence. “I’m sure we can all say that we want what is best for the Republic, yes?”

“Well, of course–”

“And what is best for the Republic is to learn the origin of this clone’s… delusions.”

Shaak Ti ignored the protests from the doctor and chancellor as she pulled Fives from the room by the arm.

“Thank you for believing me, General,” he practically gushed. “I don’t know how to tha–”

Before he could finish, Shaak Ti spun on her heel, her saber hilt pressed to his chest. “How could you know that?”

“G-general?”

“That is something I’ve not told even my dearest friends,” she elaborated. “Clones are force-null; you cannot have seen it in a vision, yet the memory felt real.”

Fives’ eyes darted around the room. It was empty except for them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

“Take me to the Council, General,” he pressed. “Please.”

She fixed him with a hard look but placed her lightsaber back on her belt. “I will.” She turned back to continue.

He sighed. “Thank you, again, General. I’ve been–”

She stopped, eyeing him over her shoulder. “Do not speak until we are before the council.”

He tensed and she looked away and sighed. “I have already been… biased, but the rest of the council must receive the full story.”

A chill ran down Fives’ spine. “Yes, General.”

He sat in silence as the transport took them to the temple. Over the last… oh maker, he’d lost count of how many times he’d been through this–this was the first time in a while he started to feel that tiny spark of hope deep in his chest–perhaps a little further down than where Fox had shot him about half of these days. If he thought about it too hard, he could feel that hole burning into his chest, he could hear Rex’s anguish. He’d do anything to stop that from happening again, to stop hearing that broken cry of his name spilling over his brother’s lips. If all of this was real and he was being given so many chances to get this all right, he’d do it for Rex, for Tup, and for all their brothers.

“Your thoughts are… quite loud,” the general hummed as they arrived at the temple, her eyes–filled with curiosity–meeting his for the first time since leaving the Senate building.

He felt his cheeks flush. “Oh! I’m sorry–”

“No, no, it is alright,” she waved his concern off. “Perhaps I should not have been eavesdropping.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured.

“While I find your… situation… to be perplexing, your dedication is commendable… and perhaps a bit inspiring,” she smiled as the doors to the transport closed behind them.

“Uh, thank you, General.”

“Fives, you are aware that the things you have claimed are extremely unbelievable, yes?” she said as they entered the halls. Idly, Fives wondered how many clones had entered these halls before.

“Yes, sir,” he nodded, adding that “it was unbelievable to me too, the first dozen times” under his breath.

She took him directly to the High Council Chamber, telling him–and the pair of guards by the door–to “stay put. I mean it, Fives. Do not lose this opportunity” before entering the chambers.

He glanced at one of the guards. “I’m not going anywhere, but if I don’t move my legs right now I’m going to lose my mind.”

The guard didn’t answer save for a small nod. He thanked them and began pacing.

“You’re not the first to wear down the floor out here,” Plo Koon said, the chamber door closing behind him. He couldn’t be sure, but Fives was fairly certain he was smiling beneath that mask. “And I am certain you won’t be the last.’

“General Koon,” Fives chirped automatically, standing up at attention.

“At ease, Trooper,” Koon answered. “If you are ready, the Council is ready to hear your story.”

Suddenly, the weight of everything happening to him seemed to hit him. Not just his own fate, but the fate of all of his brothers rested squarely on his shoulders. The fate of Tup’s honor sat there, as well. If he could prove that what happened with General Tiplar wasn’t Tup’s fault…

“Fives?” Shaak Ti whispered. He hadn’t noticed her come out. “Are you ready?”

Fives took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, General.”

« Previous Day Next Day »

Thanks for reading! - River

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist DangRaccoon Masterlist Taglist Form Read on AO3

Tags: @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @nomercyforthewarrior @padawancat97 @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

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ariadnes-red-thread · 2 years ago

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Crying over this again, Erin 🥺😭😍❤️

Fives and OC Amal (Mal) Darroch from The Last Word by @ariadnes-red-thread

🌶 Full spice here (Ao3)

Aria, babes, thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to draw these two together!! I love them so much already, and I can’t wait to see where your story takes them!! ❤️❤️

#reblog because I’m still not over them #never will be #sleepingsun501 art #arc trooper fives #oc mal darroch #arc trooper fives x ofc #fives x ofc #original female character #star wars #the clone wars #other people’s excellent art #tcw fives #tcw #ct 5555

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mamuzzy-creates-stuff · 10 months ago

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Collection of my TCW art. I mostly draw Commander Fox and Coruscant Guard, 501st boys, and through those lovely asks you sent me, other characters too. :))))

JUNE 2023

「501 shenanigans」 [ART]

「POV: Fives approaches you in 79's」 [ART]

「Anakin Needs therapy」 [ART]

AUGUST 2023

「Dar'Ad」 [AO3] + [FIC]

「Foxhunt」 [ART]

02/08/2023| Commander Fox | Blood | I drew this picture first and then and then I wanted to write a description and Dar’Ad happened. The picture takes place after some time of the snippet.

SEPTEMBER 2023

「Comfort a character: Deadshot」[ART]

03/09/2023 | OC: Deadshot, ARC Trooper Fives | Comfort a character prompt | Umbaran darkness hide the tears of the grief-weary troopers |

「Comfort a character: Cadet!Fox」 [ART & Snippet]

03/09/2023 | Cadet Fox, Alpha-17, Captain Fordo | Comfort a character prompt | Alpha is TRYING OKAY??? |

「Comfort a character: Rex」 [ART]

07/09/2023| Captain Rex, Commander Cody | Comfort a Character prompt | Hurt & comfort |

「Comfort a character: Cadet!Rex」 [ART]

10/09/2023 | Cadet Rex, and Cadet Fox aka Tintin (by Kilt) | Comfort a character prompt | Omg, this was such a lovely request from my friend, I still think about it a lot~ I really enjoyed trying out a different coloring technique |

「Comfort a character: Dogma」 [ART & FIC] + [AO3]

「Comfort a character: Fox」 [ART]

29/09/2023 | Commander Fox, OC: Headshot | Comfort a character prompt| We have a shared custody on Headshot with ithillia <3 |

OCTOBER 2023

「Red is a color of...」 [ART]

03/10/2023 | Commander Fox, Commander Thorn | …LOVE | No context, just unhinged Fox | I have many Commander Fox in my head, but this one is actually crazy like a fox.

「Bullet-time Fox」 [ART]

05/10/2023| Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, Commander Thire, Commander Stone, Sergeant Hound, Grizzer | The corrie commanders are major dorks when no one is looking |

「Fives」 [ART]

10/10/2023 | Gift for Mary <3 | ARC Trooper Fives |

「Mal」 [ART]

| Gift for Corey | Corey's OC | Precious scarred babu <3

「Happy Dogma」 [ART]

14/10 | Clone Trooper Dogma | Character reaction to post | DOGMA IS THE SWEETEST GOODEST BOY MUST PROTECC |

「Fives x Shots」 [ART]

CLONESHIP 23/10/2023 | OC: Deadshot, ARC Trooper Fives | They are in love, you honour |

「TCW x Lucky Star」 [ART]

25/10/2023 | Commander Fox | Incorrect Quote | Redrawing Kogami Akira as Fox |

NOVEMBER 2023

「Mlem.」 [COMIC]

09/11/2023| OC: Deadshot, Clone Trooper Hardcase, Clone Trooper Tup, Clone Trooper Dogma, ARC Trooper Fives, ARC Trooper Jesse | Torrent barrack shenanigans | Boys being boys | Hardcase is a kind of friend who randomly licks your face |

「I've got a birthday gift from Corey! 」 [Gift] <3

「Received a gift on my birthday <;3」 [Comic]

「Thoughts about natborn cadets」 [Photo]

18/11/2023|Commander Fox, ARC Trooper Fives | Toy Photo |

「It’s called nature, Fox!」 [Photo]

19/11/2023| Commander Fox, Arc Trooper Fives | Toy Photo | Commander Fox doesn’t like nature |

「The Captain isn't entirely satisfied with the new ARC trooper」 [Comic]

「Fox loves caf」 [Photo]

30/11/2023| Commander Fox | Toy Photo | Don’t tell him it’s chai latte |

DECEMBER 2023

「I don’t deserve you」 [ART & FIC]

「I don’t deserve you」 [FIC]

「Deadshot has one of those days」 [ART]

12/12/2023| OC: Deadshot, Clone Trooper Tup | Sketchbook | Breaking down in 3…2…1… |

「I do deserve better」 - [ART & FIC] + [AO3]

JANUARY 2024

「Commander Wolffe portrait」 [ART]

16/01/2024 |Commander Wolffe | 104th follower celebration thingy |

「Fives portrait」 [ART]

16/01/2024 |Arc Trooper Fives | Art Request |

「Deadshot reacts to Fives portrait」 [ART]

Fives x Deadshot (OC) CLONESHIP 16/01/2024 | Arc Trooper Fives, OC: Deadshot | Fives exists and Shots is melting |

「Sergeant Sinker portrait」 [ART]

17/01/2024 | Clone Trooper Sinker | Art request | I love how this little shit turned out <3

「Warthog & Tracer portrait」 [ART]

17/01/2024| Clone Trooper Warthog, Clone Trooper Tracer | Art Request | How dare you make me invest in cloneboys again just to get my heart broken!!! >:(((( |

「Big Bad Wolffe」 [ART]

21/01/2024 | Cadet Rex, Cadet Wolffe | Art request | Soft babybabus <3 |

[Rex with a lightsaber] [ART]

24/01/2024 | Captain Rex | Art request | Let me see what you have! - A lasersword. - NO! |

FEBRUARY 2024

「Dar’ad part II」 [ART] + [AO3]

「Sketchdump」 [ART]

FIVES x DEADSHOT ECHO x TECH MAZE x BOOKS CLONESHIP 02/02/2024| ARC Trooper Fives, OC: Deadshot, ARC Trooper Echo, TBB Tech, Alpha-26 Maze | sketchbook | Various sketches about cloneboys + JungleSkirmish!AU lore |

「Obedience/Devotion」 [ART] + [AO3]

「I love you」 [ART]

「IT’S COFFE TIME!」 [ART]

08/02/2024 | Commander Fox | ASDF movie parody | It’s Muffin time! song parody |

「Clones in the closet」 [ART]

15/02/2024 | Captain Rex, ARC Trooper Fives, ARC Trooper Echo, ARC Trooper Jesse, Clone Trooper Tup, Clone Trooper Hardcase | Characters react to post | My brain hurts :DDD |

「City boy gets intimidated by war veteran’s huge equipment」 [ART]

Not a cloneship, but I’m a very mature person and the dialogue is purposefully written as cockmeasuring 18/02/2024 | Clone Trooper Kix, OC: Headshot | Kix tries to befriend the corrie medic |

「Life after O66」[ART]

19/02/2024 | OC: Lily, OC: Blaze, OC: Vorn, OC: Headshot, OC: Pons, OC: Angel, Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, Commander Thire | ARTs and rambling about OC’s and how they life will be after Order 66 | WARNING: Mentions of canon character's deaths, mentions of suicide, actual suicide and visual depiction of it, nudity but genitals are not visible. Coruscant Guard has cultish vibes.

APRIL 2024

「Finger-sketches」 [ART]

25/04/2024 | OC: Deadshot, Clone Trooper Tup, Clone Trooper Dogma | Sketchbook app | Quick finger-sketches drawn during empty hours |

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ariadnes-red-thread · 6 months ago

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The Last Word: Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE: LOOKING TOO CLOSELY

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter [coming soon]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Fives/OFC

Chapter Summary: Mal settles into the 501st, but running into a familiar face in a clone army is the last thing she expects

Chapter Warnings: Some swearing (mostly in mand'o), Mentions of Umbara/past trauma and past sexual situations

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Recommended Listening: Looking Too Closely by Fink

A/N: Whoops, so maybe by "Coming Soon", I meant 14 months later. Sorry, I was crippled by self-hatred, perfection paralysis, and fears of my own incompetence. I'll try to be more cool writer girl next time. Thanks to everyone who connected with Mal and with my writing, and reached out to remind me that this might be a story worth telling. I love and adore you forever.

Ao3

Taglist

“Welcome to the 501st.”

Rex extended his hand out to Mal. For the briefest moment, she stared at his gauntlet, decorated in blue and white. The gap between them felt lightyears apart, and she was almost surprised at how quickly her hand closed the space. Taking his hand, she turned her eyes up to meet his and smiled, trying to reflect the Captain’s own warmth back at him. Mal gripped his hand firmly as she tried to shut out the hundreds of soldiers marching around the 501st’s hangar. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her discomfort. This was an opportunity, and she was grateful for it. It just felt odd, like putting on someone else’s clothes. The size was right, but the fit was all wrong.

Calling it the 501st’s hangar wasn’t entirely true. In a day or so, this battalion - her battalion, Mal quickly reminded herself - would ship out, off to a different star system, and another troop would take over this space for their leave. But for now, it swarmed with blue and white troopers. This system was designed for convenience and space-saving, but it gave Mal, and all transfers, an advantage. She already knew where everything was, from the medical supplies to the fresher. Still, after a briefing on protocols (all of which she learned a long time ago), Rex insisted on giving her a tour.

As he led her through the stacks and pointed out where the medical supplies were being kept, Mal had a feeling he was trying to distract her and that her feeble efforts to mask her unease hadn’t gone far with the blonde clone. She wasn't surprised.

Mal spent most of her life taking care of other people. It had taken a long time for her to get used to the way the Wolfpack watched over her. But she smiled, realizing that all the ways they had helped her made her softer now, more ready to let someone else in. So she tried to relax as she followed Rex, letting him point out where the extra gauze was stored, which fresher to use, and where to find the ration bars if she needed a meal.

Despite herself, Mal soon found herself feeling almost at home. Wolffe was right. Rex was the best. She watched as he would stop occasionally to check in with a passing soldier. He would slide an arm over their shoulder or rest a hand on the pauldron. Sometimes the check-in would be wordless, just a nod between the two men. Sometimes, Rex would mumble a bit of mando’a, and his brother would smile. Just as quickly, his attention would be back on her. There were a couple of moments when she thought she might have seen a shadow pass over his face as his eyes lingered on a soldier for a moment longer or as he scanned the crowd, looking for someone he couldn’t find. She might have imagined them, though, because, in the next breath, he would turn back to her with a charming grin and point out where someone named Jesse had hidden more snacks.

As Mal peered over his shoulder while he rifled through a med-pack and showed her the simple, familiar contents, the tension started to leave her shoulders, and a wave of ease settled onto her brow. There was comfort in the sameness. And comfort made Mal curious.

“So, who am I working with?” She turned her attention from the med-packs back to the throngs of troopers scattered across the platform.

Rex followed her gaze. With battlefield precision, he scanned the crowd, searching out his medic. The Captain spied his target in split seconds.

“Oi, Kix!” Rex’s voice boomed over the thunder of boots on durasteel.

At least two dozen men jumped to attention as their commanding officer’s call echoed off the soaring walls of the vast space. There was a clattering of dedlanite as a trooper dropped a container of DC15Ss. Across the bay, a clone with a medical sigil on his shoulder peeled off from a group of soldiers. A collective sigh went up through the troopers as they each realized it wasn’t them who was being summoned by their CO.

The medic, Kix, jogged across the hangar to where Mal and Rex were standing with only the lightest sense of urgency. Mal eyed the medic as he got closer. Crux was clinical and quiet, a man of science born from science. Their only heated battles (recently anyways) came when he felt like she was acting on her gut rather than evidence. Kix didn’t appear to be cut from the same cloth. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and she could see how brightly he smiled as he threw greetings and quips over his shoulder at brothers who whistled and cat-called as he ran by. His appearance was as bold as his crossing, with hair closely shaved into intricate lighting bolt patterns and an Aurebeseh tattoo on the left side of his scalp. When he got close enough, Mal could finally make out the writing, ‘The only good droid is a dead droid’. Mal couldn’t help the smile on her face. It was a sentiment she could get behind. The 501st medic came to a halt next to Rex.

“This is Kix.” Rex clapped the medic on the shoulder. “You’ll report to him. There’s the CMO Coric somewhere too but you’ll meet him later. Kix here is the head medic for Torrent Company and the most dedicated medic I’ve ever met. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Aw shucks, Captain.” Kix laughed at Rex. He shifted slightly under Rex’s grasp, just a little further from the Captain. “Nice to meet you…”

He held out a gauntleted hand as he waited for a name.

“Mal.”

“Nice to meet you, Mal.”

Rex watched for a moment before he began to shift from foot to foot. He wasn’t a man who sat still for long, Mal noticed. She wondered if he’d always been like that or if this came from being burdened with so many responsibilities. Wolffe was the same way, his attention jumping from task to task, somehow always simultaneously present and attentive, but still somewhere else.

“I’ve got a meeting with the generals.” Rex finally said as he clapped his gloved palms together. “Kix, you mind helpin’ her get settled?”

“On it, sir.” The medic replied, brightly.

“Thank you, Captain.” Mal turned to Rex. "I feel very settled in."

"Wolffe wouldn't have let me live it down otherwise." He said, waving away her gratitude.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go to the mess.” Kix motioned for Mal to follow him, already spinning on his heel. “You can meet some of the men.”

“Good luck.” Rex cheekily yelled after them.

“I can handle the 501st,” Mal called back over her shoulder, “I put up with the 104th for years.”

Rex laughed and nodded as though she won a hand of sabacc. With a small salute, he turned in the opposite direction and disappeared into the gears of the GAR.

“He’s just being dramatic.” Kix rolled his eyes as Mal caught up to him. “The boys are all good fun.”

She fell into step beside the clone as Kix started to make his way down the long durasteel hallway to the mess. Mal lost track of time while Rex was showing her around, but it must have been getting close to dinner because most of the other clones were starting to head in the same direction.

“You get the full tour?” Kix raised an eyebrow as he flashed a knowing eyebrow.

“Captain Rex was very thorough,” Mal smiled back, instantly at ease with the small gift of an inside joke.

Mal watched the medic out of the corner of her eye as they walked. He nodded to every soldier that passed, but the ones with decorated armor got a verbal greeting or a pat on the shoulder.

“How long have you been with the 501st?” Mal asked, curious about her new CO.

It had taken a long time for her and Crux to warm up to each other. They started at the same time, joining the decimated 104th as it was rebuilding. Crux wasn’t thrilled to be serving with a civilian, and Mal had her own grudge, which was no fault of Crux’s. She knew it was irrational to dislike him for not being Tye, but she couldn’t help it. Still, once they stopped yelling at each other, they found that they worked well together. Crux’s strength was in his analysis and his textbook memory. Mal’s came from her quick thinking, calm under pressure, and her well-trained gut instincts. They came at problems from different routes, but almost always ended up at the same answer. Another ache passed through her as she realized their last mission working together would be just that. For now anyways, she tried to reassure herself.

“Just after Teth. Got assigned to Rex after that disaster, and he’s been grumpy about it ever since.” Kix flashed a cheeky smile at Captain Rex’s expense. “I’ll be honest, this is the first time we’ve had a civilian medic.”

Mal shrugged. It wasn’t surprising. There weren’t many civilians in the GAR, and even fewer were medics. The government official that helped her at the recruitment office had tried to talk her out of signing up in at least fifteen different ways as she was filling out the dataforms.

“How about you?” Kix asked, “How long have you been with the 104th?”

“I joined after Abregato,” Mal answered. It wasn’t a lie.

“Hmm, I remember that one.” Kix frowned as he rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved palm. “I helped take care of Wolffe and the other two when they got back. Commander Tano still talks about it sometimes. Rough stuff. Glad that was before your time.”

Mal had heard a lot about Commander Tano, and even seen her from a distance on the Venator a few times. The Togruta Jedi padawan was hard to miss and liked to visit General Plo when she could. Boost, Sinker, and Wolffe spoke about her in hushed, grateful tones. Mal supposed that she did too. It wasn’t surprising, given that the whole of the 104th would have been wiped out if not for Commander Tano. Mal knew exactly to whom she owed her friends’ lives.

“You must have started with Crux, then.”

Mal looked back at the clone to find him watching her with a glance that was trying to appear more casual than it was. He must have seen something in her face change at the mention of Abregado. The clones in the 501st were good at distraction, Mal was starting to notice, but she was grateful for the change in subject.

“You know Crux?” Mal tried to match the Kix’s bright tone.

“Yeah, we went through medic training together,” Kix said. “Crux and I shipped out after Geonosis. Both the 501st and the 104th had hard times of it. Trained with Tye, the first CMO for the 104th, too, but he would have been before your time.”

Mal’s spine stiffened at his name.

A flash of a smile.

“You deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Mal agreed, even as her heart clenched. “Before my time.”

“Heya, Kix.”

A clone with a large Republic cog in the middle of his helmet fell into step beside Kix. He elbowed his friend as his helmet tilted towards Mal. She could feel his eyes as they looked her up and down before he spied the medical sigil on the shoulder of her jumpsuit.

“Rex finally get someone to replace you?” The clone elbowed Kix again.

“You’d be dead without me,” Kix replied without missing a beat. “Mal, meet Jesse.”

“Hi!” Even through the modulator, the man’s greeting was warm.

The clone named Jesse stripped his helmet from his head. He tucked it under his arm as he flashed Mal a sideways smile. The cog that had decorated his helmet matched a tattoo that covered most of the upper half of his face, spanning from just under his left eye to the top of his clean-shaven head. His smile stretched across his face, bringing a glint to his eyes and wrinkling the edge of the cog.

“Nice to meet you.” Mal couldn’t help but smile back. “Nice tattoo.”

“You like it? I lost a game of sabacc to Hardcase, but I’ve grown attached.” Jesse ran a hand over his clean scalp as he grinned a little wider. “Spotchka may have been involved.”

“It suits you.”

It did. The clone had an animated face, his expression written all over it, and the tattoo emphasized every look. Mal imagined he wasn’t very good at sabacc.

“I like her.” Jesse turned to Kix with an air of grievance. “You never compliment me.”

“She doesn’t know you yet.” Kix chuckled.

“You’re just mad you’re not the prettiest medic in the 501st anymore.” Jesse snapped back.

Mal winced at the comment. She had a feeling Jesse was just kidding and that the joke was more at Kix’s expense than hers, but it was irritating all the same. Mal had never met a clone who thought less of her expertise because she was a woman. Still, there were plenty of civilian mechanics and medics who did. Any other day, the comment would probably have rolled off her. Instead, Mal thought of the clone from the night before. Would he think less of her if she ever had to treat him? Would he trust her? She quickly pushed that thought aside. No point in considering it. In an army of a billion clones, that wasn’t something she would ever have to worry about.

“Hard to compete with Kix.” Mal quickly spoke.

Just like that, the worry was gone, and Jesse was reaching around Kix to slap her on the back.

“I like you,” He let out a belly laugh as he repeated his approval.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret introducing you two already.” Kix rolled his eyes before they suddenly flashed.

Mal followed his look down the hallway. Just ahead, two troopers walked with their helmets pressed close together like they were strategizing. One was dressed in clone trooper armor, and the other wore the unmistakable kit of an ARC trooper. His kama swayed around his hips as he walked, arm over the shoulder of the other trooper. They seemed to catch Kix’s attention.

“Now, these two, you definitely need to know. Gotta watch them closely.” Kix spoke, his voice raised and playful. “They spend more time in the medbay than the rest of the battalion combined.”

They stopped and turned at Kix’s words, the sound of mocking modulated laughter coming from their helmets. Kix and Jesse paused with them, forming a small crowd in the busy hallway, like rocks in a river.

“This is Mal, our new medic from the 104th.” Kix gestured.

The clone troopers pulled their buckets from their heads. The first man smiled sweetly, a contrast to the single teardrop that decorated the lower lid of his left eye. Mal barely registered him, though. She was too busy gaping at his friend. The second man flashed a knowing, familiar grin. Even without the temple tattoo, Mal would have recognized him anywhere.

Fives.

The first thing Fives saw as he rounded the corner into the mess hall was Jesse’s face. His vod immediately looked annoyed and that put an extra spring in Fives’ step. Nothing like the sheer pleasure of irritating Jesse without even having to put in the effort.

“Ah osik, I bet Tup 5 credits you’d miss roll call.” The lieutenant frowned at Fives over two steaming paper cups of caf.

“Come on, Jess.” Fives grinned at his older brother. “You know me better than that.”

Fives picked up the two cups before he turned, seamlessly slipping the drinks out from under his vod's nose. Jesse leapt up and yelped but, short of leaping over the table, there was no stopping Fives.

He kept moving down the hall, practically gliding, as Jesse’s swears faded behind him. He hummed, sipping on the black caf that Jesse had poured for himself, and savoring each jolt to his taste buds. Fives meandered his way through the maze of the base, nodding to brothers that greeted him. Faces, armor, and haircuts were all distinct. He recognized them all but most of the names escaped him. It was becoming harder and harder to keep track. There were so many, and they came and went all too quickly. It made him feel old in a way that an eleven year old probably shouldn’t. Was it eleven? Or was it twelve now?, he wondered. Who could keep track of decanting days anymore? That was Echo’s job and, without his twin, he wasn’t ever in the celebrating mood. Finally, Fives slipped into one of the main supply rooms, where he paused before a large supply shelf. It was pressed up against the durasteel and tucked in the back of the dark storage space.

“Hey, Tup. You there?” Fives called.

“Roger, roger.” Tup called back.

The long-haired clone popped his head over the edge of the fourth shelf, about eight feet off of the floor. He perched there for a moment, chin resting on his hand as he smiled down at Fives. Fives grinned back up at his vod. Tup found the empty shelf the first day after the Umbara deployment, and he dragged a mattress up there to turn it into a getaway. Fives didn’t ask why he wanted one and Tup didn’t volunteer the information. Instead, Fives just helped him redirect several blankets and a mattress from shipping to an “ARC training mission” and, in a comical heist that involved General Skywalker nearly catching them, assisted Tup in smuggling the large bedding into the supply room.

“So, how was the night, vod?” Tup winked.

“A gentleman never tells,” Fives smirked up at his brother.

“Well, luckily, you’ve never been a gentleman.” Tup laughed as he swung down from the shelf, landing gracefully beside Fives.

“Hey! I brought you caf and everything.” Fives held out the second cup to Tup, who took it without hesitation.

“Ah yes, three creams. Just how Kix takes it.” Tup chortled as he sipped on the warm liquid.

Fives smiled back at the younger clone. Losing Echo left a hole in his heart that he knew would never be filled, and it had been a long time since he had felt a connection with one of his brothers like that. Tup was different though. He reminded him of Echo in some ways. He was quietly smart. A little nerdy. But he could still merk a Seppie in seconds and without hesitation. He was clever, more clever than most people realized. Fives was still impressed with the plan Tup came up with to capture General Krell. While he knew he could never replace his twin and he wasn’t looking to try, he felt a little more whole lately when Tup was around.

“Now, come on vod.” Tup threw his other arm around Fives, “Tell me about the night.”

He filled Tup in on a few of the details while they made the walk to roll-call. He skipped the feeling that she had given him when he made her laugh or the way he wished someone would bottle up her scent. Instead, he talked about the other stuff, like how great her tits were and how hot the sex had been. Tup dutifully listened to all of it with a small smile on his face.

They made it to roll-call right on time. Jesse glared at Fives over a fresh cup of caf. Fives gave his fuming vod a wave just as Rex called them to attention. The Captain marched down the line, inspecting his soldiers. He paused in front of Fives.

“Nice to see you made it back,” Rex muttered, cocking an eyebrow at the ARC.

“No idea what you’re talkin’ about, Sir,” Fives smirked at his old friend.

Rex let out a familiar sigh of exasperation as he shook his head and continued back down the line.

It was Fives' least favorite kind of day. Drills, strategy meetings, and more drills. The drills drove him crazy. It was all pretend. There was no room to be creative or stakes to make the shineys take it seriously. It seemed like they were getting sloppier and sloppier, and nothing he said would get through to them until the blaster fire was real. The strategy meetings weren’t bad, but it was all a lot of talk and pretend. He knew it was important. Fives got that. But there was never a day that he didn’t want to be out there, in the fight, instead of planetside doing drills.

“We’re gonna have to reconsider how we’re using our resources holding Felucia,” Tup was still thinking about their last meeting as the day wound down and they made their way to the mess. Fives was only half-listening, having had his fill of strategy talk for the day, but Tup kept going, his enthusiasm obvious though his modulator. “Focusing on hyperspace lanes instead of the planet itself could help us protect the whole system. We keep fighting these high-cost, low reward battles on the planet’s surface.”

“S’not a bad idea.” Fives heard enough that he looked his vod up and down.

“It’s a great idea.” Tup looked back at him and Fives knew, even through the helmet, exactly the teasing look his vod was giving him. “Don’t you run to Rex and steal it.”

Fives snorted and wrapped an arm around Tup’s shoulders.

“I would never dream-” Fives started to protest before a voice rose up behind them.

“… these two, you definitely need to know. They spend more time in the med bay than the rest of the battalion combined.”

Fives barked out a laugh. Tup joined him as he tilted his helmet at Fives. He rolled his eyes at Tup and knew, in the same way that Tup knew what expression he was making; Tup was rolling his eyes too. They paused their walk and turned towards Kix's voice.

He was glad he had his helmet on. Standing there, walking with his vode, was the woman from this morning. Her form was now hidden behind a civilian medic jumpsuit, and her long red curls were pulled back away from her face, tied back into a low bun, but he knew her in moments.

He knew the light in her eyes as she laughed at Kix’s words. He recognized the smile that danced on those soft lips. He knew the smattering of freckles he could map out on her nose and her cheeks. He knew the way her skin would feel if he were to dig his fingers into those hips, barely hidden by the bulky jumpsuit. Maker, he knew the way she smelled still and could taste it in the air. Or maybe that was just him and the way she lingered on his skin.

Pull it together, Fives. He warned himself. His heart wouldn’t slow, though. He couldn’t believe his luck as he took in the blue markings on her jumpsuit. She was here, and she was theirs.

“This is Mal, our new civilian medic transfer from the 104th.”

Fives barely heard Kix as he stripped the bucket from his head. He waited for Mal to squeal, to laugh, for the joy to spark in her eyes like it had last night.

“This is Tup.” His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as Kix droned on, “And this is Fives, our resident ARC.”

“And resident pain in the ass,” Jesse added loudly.

Fives ignored Jesse as he pressed his lips together in a knowing smile. She knows, you di’kut, he wanted to shout, but Mal spoke first.

“Nice to meet you.”

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fandom-friday · 6 months ago

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Karrde's Fandom Friday Rec #1 (5/24/24)

My first rec this week absolutely has to go to @ariadnes-red-thread for her 18+ fic The Last Word. I cannot put into words how excited I was to see Aria update last week. This fic may only be three chapters in, but I am INVESTED. Aria's OC Mal Darroch is just THE COOLEST, and every new tidbit I learn about her personality just makes me love her more. And I simply cannot screech enough about how she writes Fives. Sometimes, he can come off very one-dimensional in fics, and I just think he's so wonderfully complex and still so true to character. I simply adore this fic and cannot recommend it enough!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #arc trooper fives #fives x oc #oc Mal Darroch #nsft #lemon #lemony lemon #slow burn

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wild-karrde · 2 years ago

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Karrde's Fandom Friday Rec #1 (12/30/22)

First rec this week has to go to @ariadnes-red-thread's upcoming 18+ series The Last Word. Aria has only posted the summary and a preview snippet so far (linked above), but I am HOOKED. The dynamic she has set up with Fives and Rex is EVERYTHING and I cannot WAIT to learn more about Mal and her backstory. And a good slow burn? I'm all in on that. Especially when it involves Fives.

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #fanfiction #fan fic #arc trooper fives #fives x ofc #fives x oc #fives x original female character #OC Mal #slow burn #nsft #lemon #lemony lemon #captain rex #501st batallion

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nooneherebutaghost · 1 year ago

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I did a thing 🙌 It's finished.

Amiss belongs to @hurryupmerlin ♡

Blaster carbine slung over his shoulder and helmet under his right arm, Mal had stopped his march to his room after his patrol of the encampment to hover over an unattended pot. He was quick to pull away once his curiousity was piqued, revulsion twisting the scarring on his face. Whatever substance that bubbled away inside didn't look at all appealing. There was a ration or two left over he could perhaps eat instead...

"It's not for dinner tonight if that's what you're thinking." Mal startled, turning about to face his mirror image (well, as close to mirror image as a clone could get bar some very highly noticeable differences between the two of them). He was far too used to the loud, rambunctiousness of his brother-in-arms back with the GAR. Amiss was, to put it lightly, an anomaly when it came to clones. Kept himself small and quiet, in how he presented himself and how he spoke. Definitely didn't help take the edge off that he felt being here. Thank the Prime he had the restraint not to go for his blaster.

Clearing his throat, he stepped aside from the spot with it's ominous contents and stood at ease. His eyes never straying from the young man. "Then what is...?"

"Medicine."

Brows furrowed at the answer. The concoction looked more like poison than anything beneficial. Amiss seemed to catch on to the doubt that emanated from the trooper and was quick to clarify as he turned to a counter top to set down an array of plant matter.

"Not everyone has the privilege of bacta or pain stims. Sometimes we make do with what we have to survive."

Someone - he couldn't say for sure who - exhaled a shaky breath. Mal knew all about that; heavy casualties usually lead to making do with what little painstims and bacta they had left. He could atleast relate to Amiss with that. However, he quickly shoved that shared experience back into its box at the back of his head. He didn't want to dwell on those thoughts. So he forced himself back to the present, moving closer to Amiss' workspace to get a better look as he worked.

It didnt take long for Mal to quickly became enthralled. There was no hesitation in the way he stripped leaves from one plant or crushed another with the flatend of a knife. He appeared in his element; a glaring contrast from his aiming or medical training. He was glued to the spot. Only moving aside to allow Amiss space to work or reach for a pestle that he blocked before returning to his spot to watch once more.

"Some plants have properties that become more potent when ground together into paste with another."

Mal picked up an odd shaped leaf between thumb and forefinger as he listened, turning it this way and that out of curiosity. It looked like any other plant he had seen on every other planet he had gotten deployed to: normal, boring. He didn't think there could be any use to such an unassuming piece of foliage but Amiss seemed sure of himself, and despite barely knowing the man other than what he could or couldn't do, Mal had no reason to doubt him on this.

"How'd you learn about this?"

"I had help."

"Show me."

All sound of work stopped suddenly and he turned his head, taken aback as Amiss stared at him aghast. It was as though he suddenly grew a second head and not a request to being taught. Was that truly so strange?

"Can work around your training and other duties that need attending."

"It won't work for every plant, y'know." Amiss pointed out as he picked at the cuffs of his sleeves. Mal hummed in acknowledgement, giving the stem of the leaf between his finger tips one last spin before returning it to the rest. He had no doubt that any old alien plant matter wouldn't do. Already he had plans brewing to hunt down any data on all known plant matter in the galaxy once he returned to Coruscant - if they didn't drag him back to Kamino to be decommissioned for deserting.

"Show me the ones that you know and use then. It's a good a place to start as any."

Silence quickly took reign of their space as Mal watched the young man contemplate the request the trooper had offered, their gaze moving away for a microsecond before returning to him. As it did, Mal's body stiffened. His eyes widened at the shy smile Amiss gave as he nodded in agreement.

For the first time since arriving at this encampment he had become flustered by something. His heart hammering in his chest. He fumbled about for the helmet he had all but forgotten he carried under his arm and shoved over his head.

"I need to check on supplies." He lied through gritted teeth (had checked earlier that morning before his first patrol), giving a curt nod before turning on his heel. "We'll discuss this later..." With that he left. Not once sparing a glance over his shoulder. Whatever he experienced that moment he saw that smile, he was not dealing with that. He couldn't. He refused.

#ghost writes //#mal/ami #GOD. I HOPE I DIDNT BUTCHER YOUR BOY.#I've been staring at his info page and what you've written for him and both our boys hoping I got him right.#please let me know if theres anything I can change/improve upon 🥲#other's ocs

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mereelskirata · 1 year ago

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PEOPLE I WANNA KNOW BETTER~

Thank you for the tag @marymunchkiin <3

Last song: Medicine by Artist Vs Poet

Favorite color: We just don't know!

Currently watching: Nothing at the moment.

Last Movie: I can't remember OTL It's been a while.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet and Spicy!

Relationship status: *finger guns*

Current obsession(s): The many clone troopers that I've grown to know, love and mourn these past 3 months, *holds up Atin Skirata, Keeli, Dogma, Fox, Mal (my OC) and Ami (Chicken's OC)* and these little guys!

Last thing you googled: Shenmen piercing because I had never heard of it until today lmao

Tagging: @hurryupmerlin @iffylogic @stunned--fox @ambalambs @runicmagitek (only if you want to, of course!)

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chicknstripz · 1 year ago

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∘₊✧ [[ Kindred Spirits ]] ✧₊∘

Pairings || None Warnings || Paranoia, Discussions about Decommissioning, Eugenics Synopsis || Jaing reports his discovery to Kal, and Kal being Kal decides he’s going to take the Batch under his wing. Chapters || [1][2] (reposted as the original wouldn't allow me to change the format)

It’s quiet in his room, unusually so, which usually means some kind of trouble is afoot.

Kal tries to predict it as he weaves his way from one side of the room to the other. Tries to narrow down the cause of his paranoia as he pauses at Ordo’s side, the soft fabric of his blanket all the darker in the dimmed light of the room. He’d had a long day. They all had. The hours upon hours of training pushing them to their breaking point, and he wonders (not for the first time) if he was doing wrong by them. They where children despite what anyone said, precocious pre-teens who didn’t deserve to be treated like soldiers, yet here he stood wondering if he’d pushed things a little too far in the torture conditioning.

The door to his room sighs open as he extends a hand, the sound eliciting a sleepy groan as Ordo reacts instinctively to the sound - the only thing that stops him from resting an apologetic palm on Ordo’s back.

“Udessi Ord’ika, it’s just Jaing”

He watches the clone from the corner of his eye as he enters the room, the slope of his shoulders pinched with agitation as he drops his datapad to the countertop. Kal can’t remember when they started being as tall as him. Can’t remember when they’d started being more muscle than bone, but he could distinctly remember the first time he’d been afraid of them, the realization that it was six young men against one aging mercenary hitting him when Ordo started growing facial hair.

“When are you going to tell us?”

Jaing’s voice is measured, even, his frustration carefully hidden beneath a layer of neutrality.

“Tell you about what?”

The youngster turns his head, the dim light making his pinched expression all the more profound. Kriff. He looked so much like a young Jango it hurt, the curve of his jaw and the wild curl in his hair throwing Kal into the recent and ancient past.

“About the second experimental unit.”

Second experimental unit? What on Mandalore was Jaing talking about? There was no second unit! He frowns as he takes a step closer, both hands raised in an attempt at peace as he pries for answers.

“What second unit?”

Jaing huffs a breath, his head jerking in the direction of his discarded datapad.

“The one Lama-Su okayed after they finished the Alpha run.”

Kal took another step, brining him close enough to retrieve the pad without crossing a boundary with his agitated son. At first glance the information matched what he’d seen in other files, the lines upon lines of proposed variance so close to the Alpha and Null run that he didn’t even question it. But then he saw the date! The hairs on the back of his neck bristled with cold terror as he realized he’d been lied to, again!

“Where did you find this?”

“Didn’t. Ran into one of the batch down in the mess.”

The mess? It wasn’t like the aiwha bait to let ‘special’ units out of their sight. Which meant one of two things. Either this one had managed to give them the slip, much like his boys tended to do, or they were slated for decom. Maker! They weren't his boys, but he still felt the need to run out there and hide him from the kaminoans.

“And what did you make of him?”

He watches Jaing’s features shift, the pinched anger evaporating from his brow with each word spoken.

“He reminds me of myself. Highly intelligent with neurodivergent tics. Likes to use his hands to talk. As for his build? He’s slimmer and taller than a standard trooper, with a deceptively compact build. I’d bet anything that Lama Su was trying to make a specialized intel-man, kriff knows there’s a serious lack of them in the rank and file.”

Kal couldn’t see why the Kaminoans would bother with such a thing. There were plenty of Alphas to fill the much maligned role of ‘spook’, and there were more than enough Commandos and ARCs to supplement that force when this army was finally called into service. He frowned as he scrolled down the page, trying to read between the redacted lines as he did so. There was something else going on here, something fishy, and it certainly wasn’t the Aiwha he’d named the Kaminoans after.

“I dunno kid, it’s not like them to revisit failed experiments.”

“Want me to do some more fishing?”

He nods, his thumb rubbing the side of the datapad as he scrolls back and forth over the same section of text.

“Certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

He huffed as he zeroed in on a repeated word, the size of the blacked out text suggesting a name. Maybe it was Jango? It would certainly fill the spaces he kept seeing in the text, but then again any name of similar length could easily fill the distinctive rectangle.

“And Jaing? Get me a line to the kid. Poor soul’s going to need it if the Kaminii find out he’s leaking classified intel”

“What’s that about Jaing leaking classified intel?”

Kal might have laughed if this wasn’t so serious, the layer of sleep that clings to Ordo’s voice eliciting parental indulgence in the former mercenary.

“I’m not that dini’la! Found a kindred spirit down in the mess hall who stuck a stick in our understanding of Kaminii gear.”

Ordo blinks sleepily, the movement slow as molasses as he processes the information.

“When are you ever going to accept that that particular cog will forever be jammed with osik’la nonsense?”

“Probably never.” The two youngsters chuffed with restrained amusement, the prior laughter turning sour on their tongues as the mood of the room shifted from relaxed to charged.

“Soo -- this classified intel? --”

“Oh! Right! The kaminii produced a second batch of experimental clones, one whose purpose can’t be determined.”

“You’d have thought we put them off that kind of thing.”

“Can’t cure stupid vod, you know that.”

The two teens looked at each other, then laughed again, the tension that thickened the air easing enough for Kal to breathe. He inhales, exhales, and eases his hip to the island that separates the kitchen from the main living space. A’den is watching with a sleepy eye from the pile that Ordo had just vacated, the still snoring Kom’rk sprawled over him and their dead to the world brother Prudii. That left the absent Mereel, the tap of his finger growing desperate as he opened a line to the absent null.

“You better get down here. We’ve got ourselves a situation”

“Did Ord’ika give the primeling another swirly?”

“What? Maker no! We’ve found another Kaminii secret.”

He sighed as he looked up, rather amused to find that Ordo had already averted his eyes in boyish shame.

“Please don’t tell me I have to apologize to Jango again.”

“But he was spouting osik about his buir kicking your shebs!”

“He’s probably right, that ori’di’kut has been in the game far longer than I have.”

Ordo scoffs, clearly not convinced, and Kal basks in the level of confidence his boys have in him. Misplaced confidence mayhap, but confidence nonetheless. Kark. Sometimes he wishes that they wouldn’t look at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. It’d make his job as their training sergeant instructor beyond difficult, especially on days where he needed to ‘toughen them up’ as Vau wanted to say.

“Bantha shit! Didn’t you say on our second day of training that it was smarts rather than experience that counts in a fight.”

“I said that?”

A’den gave him a pointed look from across the room, because of course he remembered - they all did, their eidetic memory making small details stick to them like glue.

“Regardless of what I said I’m still not winning that fight, not at my age.”

They thankfully dropped the topic of conversation, it was painful enough to know he was getting old, without verbally listing all the ways it affected his body. That and it felt wrong to complain about that kind of thing in front of his rapidly aging children. Kriff, give it ten years and they’ll be complaining about aches in their knees and creaks in their backs! He shook his head forlornly, eyes diverted to the ceiling as he tried to shake the thought of watching them die before their time.

“So please try to be sociable with him, or at the very least walk away. This planet is small enough without the constant worry of getting stabbed by a vengeful mand’alor.”

“We’ll try our best, promise.”

Buir. They’ve been calling him that for a while now, the term invoking warmth and guilt in the same breath. He could defend his actions, could say again and again that he’d taken this job for the betterment of his biological children, but there was nothing - absolutely nothing - that could justify the abandonment of three young children. Not to him, not to his kin, and certainly not to his ex-wife! Kriff! He didn’t deserve a second chance at fatherhood, yet here it was, being offered to him with a trusting smile.

“That’s all I can ask for Ord'ika. Now, lets see what we can do to help this ‘bad batch’ out, hmmm”

He pushed away from the island, allowing the movement to shake off his oppressive mood before it took root.

“Help? Buir, they’re spec-ops, not commandos, how the kriff are you going to talk the kaminoans into training them.”

Kal gave Ordo a pointed look, one resting on his hip as he gave him his best ‘I got you didn’t I?’ expression.

“You’re assuming I’m going to let them talk ad’ika”

It didn’t matter if the kaminoans said no, didn’t matter if they expressly forbade him from having contact with the batch! He’d save those kids just like he saved the nulls, and when it came time to leave? Well he’d figure that out another day, the swish of the door announcing the arrival of a perky Mereel.

“You better dish up those piping hot secrets ori’vod! I’m starving!!”

Kal watched Mereel drape himself over his brother, his lips quaking as he watched Jaing dip beneath Mereel’s weight.

“Don’t think you’ll like what I’m about to serve, it’s worse than the osik they serve in the mess.”

Mereel cocks his head to one side, the playful expression wiped from his face as he caught wind of what he’d walked in on - Jaing’s tight facial features doing all the talking for him.

“Suppose I better take a seat then.”

Jaing grunts an agreement as Mereel pushes himself from his shoulder, the rest of his sleepy vode gathering round as he (once again) told them about the unusual cadet he’d encountered in the mess hall. The whole time feeling like he’d let them down. He was the slicer! The intelligence specialist! He wasn’t supposed to miss things like this! Yet he had! The kaminoans got the last laugh as he dropped his head into his hands.

“Still don’t know how I missed this, I can usually spot a redacted file from a mile away.”

“Every other file in that database is redacted ad’ika, how were you supposed to know it was any different to the others? Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t something we are actively looking for.”

“I should have at least given the files more than a cursory glance.”

Jaing knows, deep down, that he doesn’t have the time to read every file from start to finish. Stars! Even a nat-born would struggle to read that amount of data! Thousands upon thousands of files making his head spin with painful overstimulation. Sometimes his eidetic memory was a curse, the sheer volume of data making his head feel like a lead weight as he tried to sort through it.

“Udesiir ad’ika, there’s no point winding yourself up about this.”

“But --”

“No buts. You let me worry about this.”

Kal waved the boys back toward their messy pile of bedding, the sheets and pillows having been dragged from their barracks. He didn’t think they’d ever leave the comfort of his lodgings, didn’t think they’d ever abandon the hard floor for a plush rack. This was a place of safety for them. A place where they didn’t have to fear the flash of lightning, or the sound of approaching footsteps, and he can only hope he can provide the batch with that comfort, his brain already formulating a plan to bring the batch into his protective orbit.

#republic commando #repcomm #the bad batch #null arcs #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #'what if' drabble

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undead-bones · 2 years ago

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Some exemples to my other posts's ideas

Inaction/Neutrality. (Cowardice? Refusal to Save? To Rebel? To Protect? To Punish? To get Revenge? To Fight Back? To Stop? Or denied you the right to take said action?)

Abuse? Refugees? Punishment? Insult? Revenge? Injustice? Didn't save you/take you from the bad situation you're in? Let the person hurt you? Expect to accept the bullshit?

Doran Martell, Hinata (for Neji), Thranduil, Jaime Lannister (for Rhaella), the Valar.

Ungratefulness (Betray after they Help/Save you? Refuse to aid after everything you did and sacrifice for them? Don't valorize you enough?).

Defended when they lied. Killed because they helped you. Demand help/forgiveness after what they did to you. Got in trouble for helping them and was abandoned.

Walder Frey, Ariadne, Cersei (with Ned), Daenerys (with the Starks).

Not taking your side in the conflict. They forgive and stay with the person who wronged you (both of you?) or take their side, befriend or ally with said person, even help in hurting you or save them. Assist in the cover up. Or even giving a false testimony.

Finrod, Celebrimbor, King Viserys, Ned, Ollie, Sawada Nana, Wei Wuxian.

A character does shit and runs away, leaving their friends/family behind to suffer the consequences (or stigma) of being associated with them.

Defector, Run Away Bride, Evil Lineage, Kidnapped by Enemies

Rhaegar, Paris, Orochimaru (with Anko), Iemitsu.

Traitor of the Folk or Race/Category Traitor, maybe can be related to the '•' above or a Hunter of His Own Kind. (Inner-Prejudice maybe? Denial of Origin? Mixed Heritage? Or marrying someone of a 'lesser' kin can be considered 'treason'. Depends which the Folk in question is the considered superior/inferior, or can be a more Grey area too)

Raised by Rival/Adopted, Pretend to be Evil, Survival, Exception

Honerva (Haggar), Mance Rayder (kinda?), Norlin 'Silver Zoro', Uchiha Itachi, Conner (the Android), Raine Whispers.

Blitz and Fizzarolli from HB are considered that by Striker

Having a Relationship (or even children) with a member of a group you are prejudicial against is another level of wild shit

Turns Against (their Faction? Their Family? their Leader? A member? Encouraged by a specific person?)

Nargothrond, Argella Durrandon, Havria.

Amnesic Crimes (maybe being unaware or mind controled?)

Bucky, Roy Clone, Clone Trooper Fox, Amnesic Villain, Hercules, Light Yagami

Pre Redemption Crimes

Ignus, Maleficent, Jaime Lannister, Ollie

Seduce an Character (like a Lady Mcbeth/Evil Advisor, Evil Stepmother, Black Widow or an Gold Digger). A powerful person? political power? magical? Its an non-human supernatural being? Your Archnemesis? A Love Matyr? Manipulation? For their assistance/help? Face-Heel Turn? Using a person's feelings for your own benefit? Revenge? (on your other love? On the subject in question or someone related to them?)

Human Weapon

Mal (Descendants), Alyss Baskerville, Lysa Arryn, Ilosovic Stayne, Cora from Ouat, Queen Ariana (Barbie), Stephan (Maleficent), Annatar (Silm), Prince Hans

Secret Child

Of a posmortum character, missing, trump card, revenge, throne rival.

Oak Greenbriar, Jon Snow, Setsuna and Towa, Jinmi, Luke and Leia, Lyra Belaqua, Kubo, Jenna Greenwood, Jake Brandon, the Sawada Family, Aurora, Killmonger, Ryan Butcher, Melody (Ariel), Historia Reiss, Arthur Curry

Chosen One Wannabe/I Could Have been a Containder

Orochimaru, Princess Rhaenys, Morro, Tai Lung.

There is Another/Hidden Tribe

Planet Pollux, Pandas (Po's Family), Maleficent's people, Quincy, Rio 2. Kara Danvers.

Locked in the Basement

Giles Grimm, Morpheus, Lapis Lazulli, Elk (Centaurworld)

Battle Royality/Infiltration

Joshua (twewy), Player 001 (Squid Game), Logan (Jigsaw)

Loyal Servant

Xiao, Sui-Feng

Villain and Hero (kind off?) have a kid together

BB (Kill Bill), Alice Baskeville (PH), Damian Wayne, Zuko (Cuz of Ursa), Sephiroth, Luke Skywalker, Kubo, Illyasviel Von Einzbern, Lloyd Garmadon

Identity

Yue, Venti, Utawarerumono, Yaotl, Gabriel (SP)

Alayne Stole, Mare Barrow

Vessel/In another Form

Bakura, Kurama, Kur, Blue Beetle, Angra Mainyu, Fnaf's Animatronics

Mogget Abhorsen, Annatar, Neliel Tu Oderschvank, Yaolt, Annatar

Unfriendly Fire

Anna of Arendelle, Rin Nohara, Yanli, Crepus Ragnvindr, Connla

Recruit the Enemy

Celaena (TOG), Levi Arckerman, Mukuro Rokudo, Suicide Squad, Xiao

Exiled

Dionysus, Kaedehara Kazuha, Zuko

Random Excentric is actually plot relevant and OP

Freya (GOW), Urahara Kisuke, San Lang (HOB), Old Man Mcgucket (Gravity Falls)

#those are just some exemples of characters for my plot lists #dunno why i made this #ignore me #pls #i just wanted to list how can those tropes can go in a history #different paths and all #thelandswemadeofpaper #exemples

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kyberled · 4 years ago

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Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse. || ACCEPTING

ANONYMOUS ASKED:

🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

Challenge accepted, Anon. (Most under the cut to save the dash).

The ‘Twelvers’, also called ‘Team Tasish’, is the name given to the group of clone troopers who served in the tunnels with Padawan Commander Braig following the Tasish XII Massacre. They were also called ‘the Gale’an Ground Crew’ (though this didn’t catch on like the first two names) or ‘Braig’s Boys’ by some of their vode, and ‘Tunnel Rats’ or ‘Moles’ by Separatist General Grau Tessk.

The Twelvers were survivors of the 423rd Flare Corps, originally lead by Regiment Commander CC-2331 ‘Dash’ and Jedi Master/General Dhissit Riloff, were a part of the Third Systems Army, under the command of Jedi Master and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi. They were easily distinguished by the vibrant teal they painted their armor with. They had a saying amongst them: ‘With Riloff and Dash, Seps are gone in a flash!’, and this was painted on more than a few of their LAAT/i’s. Unfortunately, for most of them, Tasish was their final mission. It was just supposed to be a relief mission. Something simple.

It wasn’t.

Grau’s invasion was quick and merciless. It wiped out most of the soldiers, and the locals and rest of the survivors were lucky to make it away when they did. Some weren’t so lucky. The less fortunate wound up either killed or in the slave encampments Tessk’s army had established about the planet. The more fortunate wound up in the massive network of tunnels that snaked through the planet’s crust.

Under the command of Lieutenant Commander ARC-4496 ‘Kriss’ (detailed in a separate report), Captain ARC-5012 ‘Boone’, and Padawan Commander Braig, the survivors collaborated with the locals in a bid to stay alive until rescue would eventually come. Whether or not they believed that would happen depended on the individual man.

The exact makeup of Team Tasish changed frequently, growing and shrinking as men were rescued from camps or slain in combat. Following the rescue mission carried out by Master Kenobi and the 212th (among others), Braig requested that the survivors be allowed to join the 212th to avoid having them separated from each other into different units, and as a testament to the skill they had shown during the time underground.

You can usually figure out who the Twelvers are pretty easily. Not only do they spend time together, they also keep splashes or accents of 423rd teal on their kit. Sometimes, they might use some of the Gale’ha they picked up to talk to each other. Braig encourages this, as he wants to make sure both they and himself are able to remember the language as best they can. They also like making ‘you have to cook it’ jokes - or any jokes involving the word ‘cook’ - at Kriss, and typically respond to group missions with ‘One more run, boys?’, which they often said before heading out on supply runs or camp raids back on Tasish. The ‘one more’ was always used to suggest, either sarcastically or otherwise, that this would be the last time before they went home.

THE SURVIVORS:

🙌 SERGEANT LONNIE, aka CT- 26-4017, was one of the last to join the survivors in the tunnels. He’d been on his own for a while. He hadn’t been one of the ones who’d been at the ‘base camp’ during the massacre. He’d been on the field of battle. He’s still not entirely sure how he made it out. He got knocked out by an explosion. Woke up in one of Grau’s slave camps. He knew what that was, what it meant for him. He was livestock. Even more so than in the Republic, he was no better than an Alderaan Grazer. It was pretty common to hear the droids comment to each other that ‘General Tessk liked his meat tough’. Always made Lonnie’s stomach churn. He refused to end up like that. He just wouldn’t. He’d either live to see what else was out there or die being a pain in the Sep’s shebs. Either way, better than being complacent. So he ran. He made a plan with Tanzer when the klankers weren’t listening. A bit of sabotage and a landslide later, and the vod were off running. Where to? He didn’t know. Didn’t care. There were better ways to die than here.

Thankfully for himself (and Tanzer), they were scooped up pretty quickly by one of the survivors’ supply run/scouting teams. Damn near shot Scratch’s head off before he realized who it actually was. His brothers were relieved to have him back, and he was relieved at having a chance at survival again (... And seeing them too). He was pretty surprised any of them had made it as long as they had, except maybe Kriss. He was especially surprised the ‘shiny Jedi’ (Braig, who was in fact a senior padawan and combat veteran and wasn’t fond of the nickname) hadn’t bitten it, yet. Full of surprises.

Though he didn’t pick up as much Gale’ha as some of his brothers (as he wasn’t in the tunnels as long), he did really like the word ‘Naha’we’, which loosely translated means ‘everyone will do [verb]’. He thought it was fun to say. He briefly considered changing his name to ‘Naha’we’, though most of the other Twelvers vehemently opposed this. Ironically, it was Prez’s enthusiastic endorsement that made him finally decide to stay Lonnie. If Prez thinks it’s a good idea, and it’s not related to combat or drills or the like, he’s not going with it. He’s learned better.

Physically, Lonnie stood at about average height and build for a Trooper (though he’d lost a few pounds by the time the other Twelvers found him). While he’s usually clean-shaven, he grew some decent stubble - almost a beard - over the course of the mission, and might just keep it. He kept the sides of his head shaved close, but the stubble was dyed in 423rd teal, while the top was a bit longer (still within standard regulation) and kept its natural black. He was very excited to get it re-cut and re-dyed when he got home (it felt weird to him long). He has a notch in his right ear lobe and a series of small scars on his finger tips; after his time in the slave camp, he had some lash scars on his back and shoulders, as well. He wore kama with his kit and had stripes painted on his arms, legs, and pauldrons. (He had to salvage some of his fallen brothers’ kit after the camp, and it took a few sonics back in the barracks to get the feeling off). Upon return to the barracks, he gets his first tattoo - ‘NOT DEAD YET’ in Aurabesh, tattooed over the lashing scars across his shoulder blades. Lonnie carried two blaster pistols and a stun baton, and was most comfortable in close quarter combat.

On his off time, Lonnie liked listening to the radio and lounging on his bunk. He’d sometimes play sabaac with his vode, sometimes join in on teasing the others, but for the most part, he just wanted to do nothing. War was chaotic and stressful. He just wanted some quiet time to shut off. ... But he WILL arm wrestle just about anyone if he’s challenged. He uses it to put chores on his younger brothers when they lose.

He was cut down during the Great Jedi Purge (aka Order 66), and was silently grateful for the plasma blade that felled him.

🙌 TANZER, aka CT-26-4290, got lucky. That’s what he tells everyone. He should’ve been dead. He should have died. The battle should have killed him. The camp should have killed him. The escape absolutely should have killed him. If that didn’t, the jungles should’ve. He was in the same camp Lonnie was. He did the same labor. Heard the same comments. Felt the same pain. Had similar ideas. He wasn’t the one who came up with the escape plan, though; that was Lonnie. Always looking out for his little brother(s). He’d be willing to die for a lot of things, but for a lizard’s meal? No, no way, kriff that. He wanted out. So they ran. Tanzer got a weapon first; stole a pretty nice semi-automatic blaster off one of the B1s and made what he would call ‘a beautiful mess of things’ on the way out. Just cause some chaos and go. ... He did worry about the locals they left behind, though. They just didn’t have the fire power to save everyone. They barely got themselves out, as was.

It was rough out there. They didn’t have locals to guide them, like the boys in the tunnels did; not until they got picked up again. It was rough. Tanzer doesn’t know if he believes in the whole ‘will of the Force’ thing. Yes, he knows the Force exists. He works with Jedi, it’s hard to ignore. But he doesn’t know about it having a will. ... However, their escape and survival, and them being found by the other Twelvers, has made him consider something being out there. He’s just not sure what. Clones don’t really get taught about religion. Maybe it’s just sheer dumb luck. Upon being brought back to the tunnels, Prez tried to talk him into eating a raw Maguwe grub. Tanzer refused and asked ‘who would do that’, and it took him a minute to figure out why Prez and Boone were laughing and why Kriss looked so annoyed (or, at least, more annoyed than usual).

Tanzer was just a bit shorter than his brothers, but it wasn’t enough to be noticed unless they were standing side by side. Not enough for a ‘decommission’. He was still pretty self-conscious about it, though, and didn’t like having it brought up. He kept his hair in the standard cut, but grew his sideburns out a bit. While he was normally clean-shaven, he ended up with longer hair and some facial hair after his time in the tunnels. He didn’t keep it, and was relieved to be able to shave upon his return. Felt like being himself again. He promised himself he was never growing a beard again. His eyes were a bit lighter than his brothers, but again, you wouldn’t notice without careful scrutiny. He hates being the center of attention, though, and won’t take it well. While he keeps his armor clean, the paint on it is chipped and scuffed, and he considers it a mark of honour. Like Lonnie, he had to scavenge a new kit for himself after his escape, and he wasn’t happy about it. He spent more than a few nights holding the bucket he’d picked up against his chest and muttering apologies he thought nobody else could hear. On his own kit, he painted a slash across his eye shield, the backs of his hand guards, and a stripe down the front and back of his chest plate. He preferred blaster rifles over pistols, and was almost as good a sharpshooter as Trickshot.

In his off-time, Tanzer liked going to shooting ranges or spending time at 79′s. He’d also spend times in his bunk, double-checking his gear as he chatted with those others in the room. While never the life of the party, he preferred spending time with his vode to being alone. He never really liked quiet; put him on edge. As he often said, ‘silence means something’s about to happen’.

Tanzer fortunately, or unfortunately, didn’t survive to 66. He died only a month or so before, after taking a blaster shot to the chest from a B2.

🙌 STAFF SERGEANT PREZ, aka CT-25-499, has always been a bit of a joker. He likes keeping morale up. Likes keeping the brothers working together smoothly. In spite of this, he has a pretty gloomy outlook that he keeps under wraps. He’s big on gallows humor. He, like many of his brothers, has seen quite a lot during his tours of duty. He doesn’t expect things to end well for him. He’s come to terms with it. That doesn’t mean he can let his brothers feel the same sense of impending doom. That ties in to how he got his name: He has a ‘strong presence’ in the units he’s in. He’s hard to ignore. Some of his brothers love him for it, some brothers hate him for it. It doesn’t seem to bother him, either way. It’s what keeps him going.

Along with Kriss and Boone, Prez was among the longest-standing Twelvers. He’d been back at base camp helping the locals and Braig. He had to live with the knowledge that he wasn’t on the field when his General and Commander were killed. It weighed pretty heavily on him, even if he didn’t let it show as readily as some of the others. Out of all of them, aside from maybe Boone, he likes to think he got on with Braig the best. It was almost refreshing to get a taste of actual faith and optimism, for a change. Kinda nice. Plus, the magic healing stuff? That was pretty top. Prez was there for most everything that happened in the tunnels. He was there when Mal got shot. He was there when Kriss ate the grubs. He was there for a lot of deaths and struggles. He was there when they found out about the slave camps and when they decided to raid them. He was there for all of it. He didn’t think he’d be there to see a rescue. Kind of figured it would be the end of him there. But, hey, it wasn’t! And now he’s got a lot of stories to tell. Buy him a round if you wanna hear ‘em, cause they don’t come cheap.

Prez shaved his head bald. He liked it better that way. He felt hair got too itchy or sweaty under a bucket. Easier to keep clean too, if you just didn’t have it. He does have a soul patch, though. He takes great pride in re-shaping it when he gets back home. He had to vie with Lonnie for the mirror, but whether that was because they both actually needed that much time or they wanted to admire themselves, nobody’s entirely sure. If asked, they each accuse the other of vanity while claiming innocence. Prez also has a scar on the left side of his jaw, near his chin, that looks like three tiny scratch marks. He won’t admit to anyone how he got it, and tells a different story almost every time he’s asked. (If you want the truth, he tripped during a march back when he was shiny. His brothers teased him about it for over a month.) After returning home, he got a tattoo of both the Bespin and Naboo boloball team logos on his ribs on the left side, in honor of Royce. As he was never captured, he never lost his kit. It’s pretty easy to distinguish from his brothers. In typical Prez fashion, he was in the mood to cause a bit of chaos when he was first allowed to paint his kit. He took a paintbrush and all but threw it at his chest piece. Ever since then, over the many times he’s had to replace it, he always paints a messy, zaggy line from the top left corner to the bottom right. Aside from that, he painted the rest with neat lines down his arms, legs, and helmet, a contrast which used to drive Dash silently out of his mind. In spite of this, Prez’s talent as a soldier and ability to execute orders perfectly (on the field) kept him in their Commander’s good graces. Prez kept a regulation blaster pistol on his hip, like many, but kept a stock of charges and explosives on the other side of his belt. He liked to think it was part of his charm.

In his off time, you could usually find Prez at 79′s, or pestering his brothers. It was his own way of looking out for them, really. He often playfights and wrestles with the goofier vod’ike when they’re not on duty. He’s also huge on boloball, and thinks Bespin has the best team in the Galactic League. He used to get into pretty heated debates about it over drinks with Royce, who was a diehard Naboo fan.

Prez survived the Great Jedi Purge and went on to become a prolific storm trooper until he was gunned down in a battle with the Rebellion.

🙌 ARC-5012, known more widely as CAPTAIN BOONE, is the ‘good trooper’ to Kriss’ ‘stern trooper’. It used to be ‘to Kriss’ and Dash’s ‘stern trooper’, but, well. Things went sour. He misses Dash, too. Didn’t have time to grieve, though. They never do. Just keep moving. Keep going. Boone has always been a bit of a ‘mother hen’, keeping an eye out for the Vode he works with whenever possible. That’s how he got his name. Always a boone to have around. Always a help. He was well-liked by his men and his General alike. He balanced out the more rigid of the chain of command, and handled a lot of the more emotional issues the other men had. He took on almost more of a paternal than fraternal role, as clumsy as it may have sometimes been, and it was appreciated. He’d been back at the base camp, too. Originally, he was going to be deployed with the fighting force when the attack hit; however, it was quickly determined that his command and people skills would be needed to help evacuate the civilians. He was also meant to be protection, given that most of the troops were on the move. General Riloff had wanted most of the best men keeping people safe. Boone respected the orders at the time, but would often wonder to himself if things could have been different, had he been in the field - the same sort of thoughts he tries to council his brothers out of. Keeping the peace in the tunnels was a test of skill for him. He definitely didn’t envy Braig and Kriss, being the senior officers. He ended up playing a key role in helping Braig quell the fighting after Mal’s death. ... He also gave Braig his first-ever alcoholic drink. He didn’t necessarily think it through.

He’d been part of the crew who’d pulled Braig out of the ship following the Tessk fight. The kid looked rough. Rough, but alive, and that was what mattered. He was pretty damn surprised by that. Got him back to the tunnels, and medicine was basically nonexistent. He’d asked the kid about fixing himself up like he usually did, but that wasn’t an option for a few reasons. So, while Makula (the doctor from one of the villages) did what he could, Boone pulled a flask out and offered it to Braig. When asked why he thought that was a good idea, he shrugged and said he thought it would help with the pain. (It did not. Braig thought it was gross.) He’s still figuring kids out, but he’s doing his best. He also shared it with Cooper after they got him back (before the Tessk fight, of course). For the most part, he kept it to himself and didn’t mention that he had it, but, hey, sometimes you just need a drink. A drink, and someone to listen.

Boone wore his hair a bit longer than regulation, and kept it tied back into a neat bun. He always carried at lest two to three extra hair ties in his utility belt, and ended up sharing one with Braig when his hair got too long and started getting in the way. He started the mission clean-shaven, aside from a moustache, but, like the rest of the Twelvers, ended up with his fair share of scruff. He had a white plus sign tattooed under the outer corner of his left eye. He also had small black X’s tattooed along the knuckles of his hands. (He’d initially asked for stars, but the vod who did it had done x’s instead, and Boone decided he liked it better that way.) Like Prez, he wore his kit into the tunnels. His shoulder guard, pauldron, bracers, and shin guards were all completely painted teal, with a teal plus on the left side of his helmet, over where his tattoo is. On his right pauldron, he left a white patch in the shape of a star burst, in honour of the Flare Corps’ name. His utility belt was always well-stocked, and in addition to the pistols he carried, he wore a blaster rifle on his back. He didn’t really have a preference for close or ranged combat, as long as he and his came home safe. That’s all he ever wanted.

Boone is a man who likes a warm drink - caf or tea - and a simple conversation. Maybe a datapad or two. He’ll go to 79′s if invited, but it’s not something he generally does on his own. He also likes spending his time doing bunk checks on the rest of the Corps. Knowing that his vode were alright helped him rest easy. He’s also very good at cards. His winning streak had some in the Corps - especially Lonnie, Trickshot, and Hardwire - convinced he had to be cheating, but, no, he just knew them better than they thought (and he thought they all had terrible poker faces).

After the control chip incidents involving Fives and Tup (which he heard about as the 212th and 501st worked closely), he got suspicions of his own. These suspicions ultimately lead to Boone being killed by a med droid sent by those in the know, though his death was ‘officially’ listed as being caused by battlefield injuries.

🙌 ARC-4954 COOPER was another rescue. He’d had a pretty rough time, comparatively. Not as though anyone had fun in the slave camps, but, he was pretty messed up. The worst of it was his right arm. He’d gotten it crushed after resisting orders, and it was ‘amputated’ by Grau himself in a bid for information. Of course, Cooper didn’t know a thing. If Grau hadn’t used Master Riloff’s lightsaber to do the deed, Cooper might have bled out or worse. It was a cruel irony, to be sure. It still could have gotten infected and much worse if the raid team hadn’t shown up only a few days later. As it was, Braig was able to Force the wound to close over properly. He couldn’t regrow the limb, though. He apologized for that, and though Cooper said it was fine, it took him a long time to come to terms with it. One of his biggest fears was that now he was ‘defective’ and would be subject to termination upon return. Even with the assurances of his brothers and Braig that this would never happen, it wasn’t until he was outfitted with a cybernetic limb that Cooper finally breathed a sigh of relief. He was actually pretty pleased with it, and the fact that it would ‘hurt more when [he] punch[ed] osik with it’. He also used it to arm-wrestle Lonnie, and was very smug when he won. After the appropriate amount of sulking, Lonnie told him he only won because of his ‘new hardware’. If it was anyone else, they’d’ve gotten slugged for it, but Lonnie’s always been his best friend. Giving each other grief is what they do. Even still, it took him a while to get used to the prosthetic, and phantom limb syndrome and chronic pain stayed with him for a long while after.

Cooper didn’t go on many raids with the other Twelvers. This was both because he was brought on a bit later into the stay (though still before Lonnie and Tanzer), and because his physical and mental state had taken an understandable hit. He was instead usually left behind in the tunnels to act as security detail. Initially, this was a blow to his ego, but he soon came to take the duty very seriously. It wasn’t at all strange to find him waiting by whatever exit the survivors had stopped at, back to the wall and blaster drawn in anticipation. He did in fact take out a few droids during his security detail, and that did make him feel a bit better. All the same, a lot of the times he volunteered for night watch, it was just because he couldn’t sleep. Boone stayed up with him on a lot of those nights, as did Lonnie (they’d take turns to ensure proper rest). Braig did, as well, offering his services especially on nights Cooper’s injury flared up. It was this, more than anything else, that made Cooper appreciate and come to respect Braig as a comrade.

Cooper kept the sides of his hair shaved, but sported a teal mohawk. After seeing himself in the mirror on the return trip, he decided he kind of liked how it looked long and shaggy. Kriss thought it looked inappropriate for a soldier. They eventually reached a compromise: As long as Cooper kept it neatly brushed and slicked back during inspections and field work, Kriss wouldn’t harp on him to cut it. Cooper also only ever died the top ‘half’ of the mohawk, letting it face to its natural black around the roots. He typically had a bit of stubble, which grew into a beard over the course of the stay. This, he didn’t keep, and spent a while touching his face once he was done shaving. Felt good. He didn’t have any tattoos, but he did paint a few words and symbols on his prosthetic that Kriss was not willing to compromise on. The rest of the vode thought it was funny, though, so he still considers it a victory. He ended up painting it with LAAT/i racing stripes, instead. Sometimes he tries to hide the ‘banned words’ in the stripes. It rarely works. He still tries, regardless. He painted the shoulders and collar of his kit in 423rd teal, as well as the top of his boots, but left it otherwise plain. He liked dual-wielding pistols, and always kept a vibroblade on his person.

When he had the rare free time, Cooper could be found at 79′s - not for the alcohol, but to watch the podracing. He was fascinated by the stuff. He thought it was way more thrilling than boloball. He usually wound up in wrestling matches with Prez, and it was rare that there was a decisive winner. If he wasn’t hanging around where Lonnie was, or watching a holo, or training, he was probably in the hangers. He wasn’t typically part of the flight crew, he just liked the atmosphere better than the bunks.

Cooper survived the Great Jedi Purge. However, maintaining his prosthetic was not a cost the Empire was willing to bear, and he was terminated not long after.

🙌 ARC-4907 LOWSWIPE (’Swipes’ or ‘Swiper’ to his closer vode) is the last of the survivors. He was also another raid rescue. The camp he was in was hit pretty early on. He was pretty surprised by it, all things considered. He’d thought most everyone else was dead. He wasn’t wrong about that, of course, but he had no idea there was a group of their boys still running around in the first place. The first thing he said when he saw his brothers, he’s been told to never repeat around the ‘kid’ ever again. (Braig has decided, in the name of keeping the peace, to not inform them all that he knows all of those words already.) But he was relieved to see them.

Going forward, Lowswipe participated successfully in a number of camp raids and supply runs between his freedom and the Twelvers’ rescue. He had been one of the 423rd’s best recon specialists, talents that definitely came in handy in the Gale’an jungles. He was notorious for fighting dirty, and his brothers would gripe at him for it during drills and sparring. They didn’t complain when he used it in battle. His detailed reports saved a lot of lives in a lot of ways. The extremely detailed, if not somewhat crass, stories he told at night kept morale up. If anything, it almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. This wasn’t the case, of course. He hated the tunnels. He hated the Seps. He missed his brothers and his general. The enjoyment he seemed to give off was really a sick satisfaction of knowing he was making Grau suffer, even if it was only in a small way. He wanted more revenge, but for the time, it would do. It was enough. It had to be.

Lowswipe had a pretty standard appearance for a trooper. Short hair, clean shaven. Managed to avoid most scars, save for one just over his right hip. This one came from the same encounter with Grievous that gave Kriss his most signature scar. It was usually covered by his blacks, so most people didn’t know about it. He had just one tattoo: A solid black line circling his left pinky, just over the top knuckle. The reason for this isn’t quite as deep as you’d guess. He was talking with some of the Corps around a fire on a mission, once, and the question of ‘if you had to lose a finger, which one would it be?’ came up. Lowswipe said his left pinky, since he was right handed and didn’t think pinkies were very important. His vode dared him to try and see how long he could go without using it, if he was so confident; the CO’s said if he was gonna do that, he had to wait until they were back at the barracks. When they got home, he got the mark tattooed on his finger to remind himself. He lasted about two and a half days before he dropped something. Given that people had placed bets, reactions were mixed. As for his kit, it was also pretty standard. Nothing too fancy. He wore a kama, which might’ve been the fanciest bit about it. He had the pretty standard paint job, too. He didn’t like being easily distinguished. Didn’t suit his purposes. He had a teal line down his arms and legs. The only truly ‘unique’ painting he’d done on it was in the upper left corner of his chest plate: a tiny, teal starburst, in honour of the Corps. He kept that there even after being inducted into the 212th Attack Battalion.

Lowswipe, surprising nobody, liked cards. Unlike Boone, he also liked cheating, and got away with it pretty often (but not against the CO’s, and never against a Jedi). Much like telling them to arm wrestle Lonnie, telling shiny members of the Corps to play a game against Lowswipe was considered a type of hazing. As long as it didn’t get (too) physical, Kriss and Dash saw no reason to stop it. Like Boone, while he’d go to 79′s if his favourite vode were there, he much preferred to take his drinks in the bunks. He’d also join Prez in causing mischief around the barracks, though then it was usually up to Prez to make sure it never got taken too far. In spite of how the staff sergeant often had to reign him in, the two of them still got along very well.

Lowswipe didn’t quite survive to Order 66. In one of the final battles of the Clone Wars, he was taken out by a Separatist explosive. If he’d known what would have awaited him in the future, he would’ve kissed the droid that planted it.

THE FALLEN:

🙌 MAL, or CT-26-4527, was one of the more memorable deaths in the tunnels. He wasn’t killed in a camp. He wasn’t killed in battle. Didn’t get sick or anything like that. No, he died because he was shot by Kriss, nearly point-blank, between the eyes. His death caused a huge schism in the survivors, which resulted in a bit of infighting and some more deaths down the line. Kriss pretended it didn’t bother him to pull the trigger, but it did eat at him for a long while after. Why did he get shot?

He broke.

He gave up. Rescue wasn’t coming, he said. We’re going to die here, he said. Why don’t we turn ourselves over to the Seps? What’s the worst that could happen? (It’s worth noting that they hadn’t found the camps - or Cooper - yet. If they had, it might have been much different.) Of course, none of the others took well to this. It didn’t help that he was in near hysterics. Braig had been in the process of healing Hype’s broken leg, so Kriss, Prez, and Boone had told him to keep at it while they handled the situation. The altercation quickly turned physical, and before Braig could intervene, Mal was dead. In Kriss’ defense, Mal had gone to draw on him first - he’d just never been as fast as his ori’vod. In the official reports, Mal’s death is listed as an accident. While Braig may not have agreed with the outcome, he understood why Kriss did it. He didn’t want Kriss getting court-martialed or worse. The only ones who know the truth of the matter are Kriss, Braig, Prez, Boone, and the surviving locals, though Braig would confide in Obi-Wan upon his return.

Prior to this, Mal had looked up to Kriss a lot. Not just as a commanding officer, but as a friend. It was actually in shielding a then-shiny Mal from an explosion that Kriss got his most distinctive scar. Ever since then, Mal took Kriss’ word as gospel. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hold up to the stresses of being a refugee. Some of his brothers tried to comfort themselves by saying they weren’t like him, and he must have had a defect. This caused even more arguments. It wasn’t pretty.

Mal kept his hair cut in the regulation length, but had a stripe of teal dyed slightly off-center on the right side. He had a few tallies inked over his heart (four, to be exact). These were to represent near-death experiences he survived. He was on the lean side for a clone - not weak by any means, but not as solid as some of his brothers. It suited him fine, as he was a bit more agile than them, too. Prez liked tussling with him best, since Mal was a bit harder to hold onto that some of the other vode. Made it more interesting. Mal also seemed to be in his own head the most, so, Prez reasoned he needed the most help getting out of a slump. Mal had the same tallies painted onto the chest of his armor. He had diagonal stripes painted on his pauldrons and the middle section of his helmet. He used a blaster pistol, but also kept a stun baton on his hip. He found they worked pretty well on droids. His brothers took it with them when they continued on in the tunnels. It served them well.

On his off time, Mal liked napping. It’s not super interesting, but he liked it a lot. Turn the world off for a little and sleep. He also liked listening to the radio, but not the holonet news. He doesn’t like knowing about any additional bad things in the Galaxy; he’s seen enough of it. He also didn’t like hanging out in groups too much; he liked his space. .... The tunnels weren’t made for him.

🙌 NADA, designated as CT-25-5342, was on Kriss’ side of the argument with Mal. Shut up, vod, they’ll be here. We’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine. He didn’t necessarily believe it, but he had to keep saying it. It was the only thing keeping him sane. And, besides, saying otherwise wouldn’t help. He figured, he wasn’t willing to lay down and die. Kriff it. Besides, there’s a karking kid here, can you relax for five seconds before you freak him out? (Braig was too busy trying to help heal Hype’s leg. It took a decent amount of concentration to fix an injury like that in the state they were both in. Braig never liked cutting off his healing work, as that can have... Complications. So he’d been doing his best to focus on his work, and hadn’t really noticed the initial rumblings). While he did try to resolve the issue, Nada didn’t exactly stop it from escalating. He was angry, he was grieving, he was frustrated. He was scared. Clone Troopers weren’t supposed to be scared. They were made to withstand any kind of stress, after all. And he was scared, and Mal was freaking out, and making everything worse, and how was that going to help? When he told Mal to not freak the kid out, it was almost just him finding a way to hide his ‘don’t freak me out’. It didn’t work. He was freaked out.

He defended Kriss after Mal was shot. Kriss didn’t have a choice, he said, made the right call. Kept them safe. Did what had to be done. It almost came to blows further, until the young padawan and the local chief - Goh - put their feet down. Nada stayed angry after, because being angry was safer than being scared. He used the anger to do some brutal things to some droids. He was part of the raid crew that rescued Lowswipe. He was on the raid crew with Hype when Hype died. He survived those. He didn’t survive a supply run. Maybe he was too angry, too scared, too tired. Maybe he’d gone too far in his vengeance. Whatever the case, he got caught by a patrol and turned his blaster on them instead of running. Whatever his motivation, he died that day, but distracted the droids long enough for the rest of the supply run to get away. Whatever disagreements they may have had, the rest of the Twelvers and the locals were grateful for his final sacrifice.

Nada had his head shaved and disliked the feel of facial hair. He had the number 423 tattooed on the base of his skull. He had a habit of dragging his left thumb nail along the inside of his index finger when he was thinking, and as such almost always had a faint scratch or two there. He had the top halves of his leg and arm guards painted in teal, with red accents above his wrists. He was another rifleman, and was pretty proud of his shot. He always had a blaster rifle slung over his back, and could sometimes even be seen wearing it around the barracks.

He was another vod that loved the shooting range, and a drink after. He also liked just leaning against the wall and watching his brothers about work. He didn’t much like listening to music, but might if it was on the quieter side. Lonnie egged him into a few arm-wrestling competitions early on into his time in the Corps, but he got bored of those pretty quick.

🙌 TRICKSHOT also - unwillingly - went by the number CT-25-5101. Like many of his brothers, he despised the notion of being a numbered thing. As soon as he got his name, and especially as soon as he was off Kamino, he refused to respond to his number. He’d never use it. He might be tempted to come to blows if you brought it up. Thankfully, that - and the Seps - were the main outlets for his aggression. It helped him keep his cool in many other scenarios. ... Except cards. He was a bit of a sore loser. The Corps had an unspoken agreement to not let him play with Lowswipe or Boone. Nobody needed that kind of fallout. Arm wrestling Lonnie was right out. (They tried it once or twice. It resulted in a scrap so bad Kriss and Dash had to scruff both of them and dress them down for a few minutes each.)

Aside from a hot temper, he was among the best marksmen in the Corps. People said he had a natural talent for it, and this got mixed reactions from his brothers. He ignored them, mostly. They were just jealous he was better than them. He’d originally started saying that to himself to make himself feel better, but it did contribute to the bit of an ego he developed. He had been another off those who’d been at the base camp, and therefore hadn’t been captured. He’d tried to pull Mal back when he’d started getting aggressive. He’d still been holding on to Mal’s arm when Kriss shot him. Even though he’d seen Mal going for his blaster, it still shocked him, and he was pretty shaken up after. He would echo Nada’s insistence that it was the right thing to do, but it took him a long while to get the taste of bile out of his mouth.

Trickshot ran in a few raid crews, a few supply runs. He had pretty good success, and it at least made him feel productive, kept his mind off of other things. Helped him stay on target. He didn’t like being on scouting and supply runs as much as the raids, though. He always liked being a sniper better than fighting in close-quarters. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it, though. Prideful as he was, he knew that their survival hinged on everyone pulling their own weight. It was on one of these supply runs that he died, but his death taught the others something very important about the fluctuating electro-magnetic fields of the planet: While formerly harmless, aside from a bit of static, the Separatists’ interference had somehow caused them to become lethal. Nigh-invisible walls of strong electrical currents that you’d miss if you didn’t know the signs. After his death, no group went out on supply and scouting runs without at least two locals, and the men were not to stray from them. This strained their numbers considerably, but was deemed vital to survival after Trickshot and Scratch’s deaths.

Trickshot had his head shaved, but let just enough grow back that he could have a bulls-eye shaved into the side of the stubble. He also had a full goatee that he maintained meticulously when he had time off. He didn’t have any tattoos, but he did have a scar across his nose from a mission-gone-wrong that he credited with his preference at long-distance fighting. He painted his neck guard teal, and the covers of his hand guards, as well. He also painted a straight line down the middle of his chest and stomach armor.

As mentioned before, he was proud of his marksmanship, and often spent time at the shooting range. He also liked going for runs, and made a point of staking out treadmills in the physical centers. He also spent a lot of time taking his weapons apart, cleaning them, and putting them back together. It helped him relax.

🙌 HYPE, or CT-26-4996, was as stubborn as they came. He never liked giving up, never liked sitting back, never liked admitting defeat. Always rushing onwards. Never slowing down. A real ‘guns-a-blazing’ type. It was his way of dealing with survivor’s guilt. Get out there and do everything you can, and maybe there will be more people coming home at the end of the day. It helped him sleep at night. Helped him look at himself in the mirror. (It gets even harder when you look like all of the people you failed.) His death, more than any other, Braig thought was avoidable. He’d told Hype to stay back. They’d argued about it. Braig said Hype was recovering and needed to wait until he was up to it again. Hype insisted he was fine, and they wouldn’t be able to hold a raid with the numbers they had. He was right, of course, but Braig still wanted him to stay back. Kriss ended up being the deciding vote (as this was the first raid they went on, he and Braig hadn’t yet learned how to see eye to eye). Kriss made Hype promise that he was up to it. Hype promised. They were all worried about their brothers in the camp they’d find, as well as the locals there, as well. They had to get them out, and to do that, you need as many of us as you can take. Kriss had mulled it over for a while before eventually agreeing.

Hype broke his promise. While the break had been healed, the muscle was still stiff from the limping, the moisture, and the sensation of being stitched together again. Unfortunately, it only takes one stumble in battle to get shot. Hype died in the first raid, and Kriss and Braig exchanged tense words about it when they got back to the tunnels. It wasn’t an argument, per se, but they definitely weren’t happy when they tallied up the casualties.

Hype shaved his head, but not as regularly as some of his brothers, so he usually had a bit of scruff on his scalp and about his jaw. He had two notches in his left brow and one in his right. He had a lightning bolt tattooed on his throat, but didn’t have a reason for it. He just thought it looked cool. He had similar lightning-bolt shaped lines painted down the arms of his armor, and a downwards triangle extending from the top of his chest plate to the middle. Like Prez, he liked demolitions, and had a few charges on his person along with his pistol wherever he went. He detonated one of these charges when he realized he wouldn’t be making it out of the camp, taking down a good few droids with him.

Hype lived up to his name in his off time, always willing to be the life of the party. He was always happy to regale his vode with the stories he embellished and twisted over a round at 79′s. If you paid, he’d let you pick which one he told. He knew almost every drinking song, and at least once had to be reminded to keep it out of the barracks if he didn’t want a boot thrown at him. Helped improve his reflexes, at least.

🙌 HARDWIRE bore the designation CT-26-4497. He didn’t really care about it. It was a number. He was not. That was the end of it. Aside from that, he was pretty big on regulations. There’s a proper way to do things, he’d say, so that’s how it ought to be done. Protocol was ‘hardwired’ into him. It made it harder for him to find common ground with men like Prez and Lowswipe. But, again, protocol was hardwired into him, so personal feelings aside, he knew how to follow orders. He could get the job done, so the others tolerated his rigid compliance to the rulebook, mostly. He’d get ragged on from time to time, but, hey. He was used to it. It’d been like that ever since he was a cadet - worse then, in fact. As long as the others did their job, he was fine with it.

He’d been held prisoner in the camp raided when Hype died. The men worried he might’ve said something (not that there was anything to say), and telling them to stop was possibly the first time Kriss and Braig were really on the same page. He appreciated the support, and was adamant that he hadn’t said a word (he hadn’t.) He had some pretty nasty scarring from the camp, but not much aside from that. He had been one of the newer members of the Corps, after all. Not new enough to be shiny, but only by a little bit. He still hadn’t completely grown out of the need to prove himself, which was his death. In perhaps the only defiance of strict rules and protocol he ever showed, he jumped on the back of a B2 to save a child local during a raid. The child was saved, but Hardwire and the droid fell to their deaths.

As was his nature, Hardwire didn’t differ much from what was regulation for a trooper. Short hair, clean shaven. He did paint his armor, though. Every edge was given a nice, neat coat of teal. He liked it that way; thought it looked respectable.

In his free time, Hardwire liked to read. He also liked taking walks around the barracks and maintaining his bunk and gear. He prided himself on never failing an inspection. He also had an interest in cartography, and would, when he could, study holomaps almost religiously. Had he survived, he would have been an incredible navigator.

🙌 CT-25-5501, better known as SCRATCH, had a nasty end to a hard life. He’d made it pretty far. He wasn’t sure if rescue was coming, but, hey. No way to find out if you don’t keep going. That was pretty typical of him. He wasn’t a pessimist, wasn’t an optimist. He called himself a realist. He resigned himself to existing. Honestly, he was pleasantly surprised by how long he’d lasted in the tunnels - how long all of them had lasted. If he’d lived, maybe he would’ve changed the way he thought of things. Might have finally made an optimist of him. Of course, the universe’s sense of humor is too cruel for that sort of thing.

He’d been on a supply run when he died. He’d been enjoying the space and privacy, of which there wasn’t much in the tunnels. a good chance to stretch his legs and breathe. It really is amazing what you can come to appreciate, living like they were. He wasn’t completely off his game, though. Just taking a bit of time to collect himself. Something moved off to the side, alerting him, and he’d gone to investigate. Unfortunately, being lost in a strange planet meant that there were strange predators better adapted than he was, and he was pounced upon by a large canine creature called an Umu’oke. By the time the rest of the party found him and shot the beast dead, Scratch had already lost a lot of blood. He bled out on the way back, and was dead by the time they made it to the tunnels.

Scratch wore his hair just long enough to be tied back in a small pony tail. It was all bleached to a pale blonde. He kept himself clean shaven, and had no tattoos. He did have a small scar on his right shoulder from an encounter with a slug thrower, but that was about it. He painted downwards-facing arcs on the upper part of his arm guards and chest plate. Like Mal, he liked keeping a stun baton on his person, but it was unfortunately broken when the Umu’oke lunged at him. It could not be salvaged.

He was known widely for being a fairly lazy man about base. Don’t get me wrong, he did his job, but don’t expect him to do any extra work for inspections. Lonnie learned early on that pawning off chores on Scratch was worse than just having to do them, himself. His favourite activities involved napping and watching boloball, though he wasn’t nearly as die-hard in it as Royce and Prez were. It just kept his interest. He also liked watching his brothers play cards more than he liked playing himself. You could usually find him hanging around to offer commentary and conversation when the deck came out.

🙌 GRAZER (CT-25-6002) was an expert pilot. He was more comfortable in the skies and stars than on the ground. That was home, he said. He chalked it up to the Mando in him. He’d get playfully ribbed for this every so often, but nobody could argue his success in the skies. The only one of them better was Tailwind. During flight drills, it was pretty common to see the two of them trying to one-up each other and pulling stunts. They got away with it by nature of being Very Good At Their Jobs. As long as they kept being good, hell, let ‘em have their fun. He’d been back at the base camp when the massacre happened. He’d found a bit of grass, and, as he was wont to do, had been chewing it while he chatted with his brothers. He didn’t know how or when this habit started, just that it did. In truth, he had a bit of an oral fixation, and nutrient paste just didn’t cut it.

He, like Royce, Digger, and Tailwind, is considered an honorable mention among the Twelvers, as they never really made it back to the tunnels. When the attack hit, Grazer, Royce, and Tailwind had made for their fighters. They figured they’d get up, hold off some of the klankers, maybe shoot down some of the drop ships. Grazer did in fact manage to get up in the air. He also managed to shoot a ship or two down. He had just seen how many more ships were jumping out of hyperspace when he was shot down.

Grazer had a standard haircut for the troops, but grew out his sideburns. He had two navy blue dots tattooed under each eye. He had arrows pointing up painted on his chest plate and leg armor. He had arrows on his pauldrons, too, but those were white on a teal background. He was happiest with a ship’s controls in his hands, but did carry a standard pistol on his belt, just in case.

On his off-time, Grazer could usually be found at 79′s, if only to have a straw to gnaw on. His brothers would often remind him not to chew the styluses for writing reports. He liked watching nerf races more than other sports. He liked animals, and had an impossible dream like Tones, though he kept it to himself: He thought he might like to have a pet, some day.

🙌 DIGGER (CT-26-4332) didn’t expect things to go this way. He figured it’d be pretty standard. In and out, home in time for life day, you know how it goes. He kind of liked the planet they’d been sent to, this time. Lots of greenery. Lots of room to move around. In other words, it was nothing like Kamino, so he liked it. At least, he’d liked it until the massacre happened. That put a rather understandable damper on his spirits.

He had been at the camp when the attack hit. He helped the others get the locals moving and away from the still-deploying droids. He volunteered to help take up the rear and watch everyone’s six. He watched Grazer, Royce, and Tailwind all die. He sort of figured at that point, he was going to die. There was no way they were all making it out of this. That was, in fact, part of the reason he had volunteered for the back. He wasn’t an ARC or an officer. His death would matter less than the others. He didn’t say any of this, of course; no time. He just yelled that he’d take the rear and nobody was in the mood to argue.

He made it pretty far, actually. Had made it into the tree line, and a bit farther then, before turning to loose a few shots off at the droids and slow them down - or, at the very least, thin them out. He got a few down before he took a fatal shot to the chest. Given that the last thing he saw was the rest of the survivors disappearing into the greenery, he died satisfied.

Digger had longer hair that he wore in a tight braid (Master Riloff had taught him how to braid it). He had the 423rd’s star burst tattooed in black on the inside of his left wrist. He also had a small scar on the underside of his right foot from when he stepped on transparisteel after someone had failed to properly clean up a mess in the barracks (he always secretly thought it was Scratch, but never knew for sure). He painted a braid down both the arms of his kit. He also had the star burst painted on the right side of his chest plate, like a badge. His weapon of choice was a gattling gun, and kriff, did he wish they’d brought one along for the ‘relief’ mission. Might have changed things.

While he did go to 79′s, he was very much a ‘leave me alone unless you’re also talking about the pod race’ kind of guy. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his brothers. Just, sometimes you just wanna have a stiff drink and watch kark go fast without having to think about anything or anyone else. He liked his space and his time alone... But this didn’t stop him from subtly warning Prez or Lowswipe when the higher-ups were going to walk in on their shenanigans. He’d just deny it, if you asked.

🙌 TONES (CT-25-9091) loved music. He liked to think to himself that, if the clones got to survive the war and had options, he’d become a musician. For the most part, the rest of the Corps humored him. Of course, that wasn’t possible for a clone. There was no future for them when the war was over. But, he was a nice enough guy, so the others let him dream. It wasn’t hurting anyone. Let him have it. He tended to find music in everything. Marching footsteps made a very nice, even rhythm. The beeps of ship controls booting up had a lot of interesting pitches. Even the clicks of cleaning a blaster could sound nice, if you did it right. He liked to think he knew how to do it right. He was usually the run drumming his hands on his lap during debriefings or on transport ships. as long as he wasn’t obnoxious about it, his brothers had learned to live with it.

He’d been in one of the camps that they found later. He’d figured he was going to die in the camp. He was a clone. Clones are expendable. Even if reinforcements did arrive... ... This was also about the time he accepted he would never get to live out his dream. He’d known, really, but it set in hard in the slave camp. That was it.

He was rescued, but unfortunately, his condition was too frail to survive for long in the tunnels. The other Twelvers did what they could for him, but there was only so much anyone could do. The locals sang to him as he passed, at the request of his brothers. One of their old songs. A story he couldn’t understand, as he never learned the language. Even still, he died with a smile on his face, surrounded by his first and only love as the music lulled him to sleep.

Tones kept the sides of his hair shaved short, with four lines clipped into each side to reference a musical staff. He had music notes tattooed across his clavicle. He had similar sets of four lines painted on the arms and legs of his kit, with a trebel-cleff on a staff over his heart on his chest place, with a few star bursts in place of notes. He liked heavy weaponry, but when that wasn’t available, kept a pair of blaster pistols on his hips. His keen ear made him a good scout, and as such, he wore a scouting-style helmet when out in the field.

As stated before, Tones loved music. He taught himself to whistle when he was a shiny (and his early attempts drove his brothers mad), and was often making up little songs for himself. He drummed with his palms or fingers on his lap, on tables, on walls... He loved listening to the radio. Anything like that. He always wanted to learn a real instrument, someday. In the mean time, he’d satisfy himself with marching and drinking songs with the boys.

🙌 TAILWIND (CT-27-0451) was the de facto flight captain of the 423rd. Yes, all of them knew how to fly. Yes, all of the COs were good at it. But the three of them preferred to be on the ground where possible. Right in the thick of things. Tailwind was their best pilot besides, and was very good at following orders and adapting plans to situations. The COs all agreed he had ARC Trooper in his future at the very least, if not an officer position, someday. He knew this, but didn’t make a big point of it. He was just glad to be of use. He liked helping.

He’d tried to help when the camp got hit, too. He’d made the call to get in the fighters. He figured it might be their best chance to help the others get to safety. Unfortunately, he never made it to the ships. He was close, but not quite. The Seps saw what they were doing and decided that wouldn’t do. A slew of blaster fire took Tailwind out, sending him toppling to the ground before another bolt ended his life. He’d been so close to his beloved fighter, but he was spared seeing it blown up by the same stream of fire that killed him, at least.

Tailwind kept his head shaved, but had a teal soulpatch. He had a small fighter tattooed under his right ear, and a few scattered stars under his left ear. As he was mostly in the air, he’d been spared any major scars. He had a downwards facing triangle painted onto his helmet, ignoring the ‘fin’. He also outlined the viewport of his helmet, had painted his pauldrons and knee guards, and had two stripes just under his pauldrons and on the tops of his leg armor. Like the other members of the flight crew, he preferred a fighter to a blaster, but he kept a pistol on him, just in case.

Tailwind loved flying. His brothers used to joke that his personality was just the word ‘pilot’. He spent most of his off-time cleaning, maintaining, or re-painting his fighter. He was always the first to volunteer for flight dri.ls or similar exercises. He also spent a lot of time designing nose art, both for himself and his brothers, so he was getting to be quite the artist.

🙌 ROYCE (CT-27-0566) was a risk-taker, but, as he liked to call it, a ‘calculated risk taker’. He knew what he was good at. He knew how to keep being good at it. Or, he had. Everyone’s luck runs out eventually. With his daredevil antics, his actually held out pretty long. He was the last of the men who had stayed at the base camp. He’d been chatting with Grazer when the attack hit. As mentioned before, he never made it to the tunnels, and as such is considered an honorary Twelver at most.

He, Grazer, and Tailwind, as mentioned before, all tried to get airborne. Royce lasted the longest of any of them. He’d gotten into his ship and gotten into the sky. Taken out a ship or two. He saw the other ships coming in and managed to warn the others over the comm channels. He barely got the sentence out before he was shot down. But, at least he warned them about the blockade. He saved his brothers. He did his duty.

Royce had an undercut - shaved sides and back, longer top. He’d tried dying it when he was a shiny, but never liked it. He liked the natural colour better. He also kept a well-trimmed beard. He had a stripe painted around his vizor and a series of dots down the midsection of his chest plate. He had a straight line painted around the center of his back plate. He also had a diagonal stripe sliced through his vambraces. He didn’t do any tattoos, though. He disliked needles immensely, which his brothers thought was weird. Clones get a lot of needles. Whatever, Royce still never liked them. Like most of the flight crew, he preferred a fighter to ground fighting. Unlike the others, instead of a service pistol, he preferred carrying a snubnose blaster rifle.

He and Prez were both hardcore boloball fans, though they argued over which team was better. Royce was a diehard Naboo fan, and they got into more than a few bickering matches about it over drinks. Even so, the two of them both preferred watching the games together instead of apart. It was more fun, that way. Whoever’s team lost had to buy the winner drinks. It was kind of their ‘thing; in the Corps. He also joined Tailwind in the hangars a lot, and helped him paint a good few pieces of nose art in his time. He didn’t have the creative eye for it, he’d say, so he mostly just left the planning and design to Tailwind, but he liked the actual process of putting the paint down. He also liked going for flight drills, or walks around the city. He’d usually do this by joining a few of the vode he was closer to in the Guard on their patrols. He just liked getting out.

🙌 Jedi Master DHISIT RILOFF was the General in charge of the Corps. He was a Quarren who, like many other Jedi before him, came to the temple when he was young. He grew up there. It was his home, his family, his code, his oath. He had been trained by an elderly human Jedi by the name of Sairees Liial. He was the last of Master Liial’s padawans before she retired from teaching, though he still saw her checking in on the creches from time to time. He imagined, when he reached his twilight years, that would be him, as well. He was proud of being a Jedi. Though he was a bit older, and a Master, he never sat on the High Council, and that suited him fine. Braig would later describe him as a ‘shut-in’ and ‘weird’, but overall very kind. He didn’t need to be a part of any grand goings-on to be happy. Meditation was his favourite thing to do in the temple, and if he wasn’t doing that, keeping up with his training, or off-world, he was probably in his room with a datapad. He wielded a long-handled lightsaber with a yellow blade. He commanded the 423rd Flare Corps, under the Third Systems Army and Obi-Wan. While he was older than Master Kenobi, Master Riloff respected his tactical prowess and ability as a Jedi, and had no problem taking orders from him when need be.

Master Riloff had trained a couple padawans in his time. The most recent was Sudic Draa, a young Nautolan male. Unfortunately, a year or so before the mission to Tasish, Padawan Draa had been killed by General Grievous. Both Dash and Kriss had ended up in critical condition, and Master Riloff viewed it as a grave failure on his part that he never forgave himself for. The Tasish mission had been the first time since Draa’s death that he had agreed to bring a Padawan along with him. As much as his heart ached for the loss of his student, he knew the score. The next generation would need to be trained, and, with the horrific casualties the Order suffered, they were running short on available teachers. He could not shut himself away forever. He had hoped this would be a way to help him come to terms with it all. Him, and the men. A senior padawan with the experience to be left unsupervised, but young enough to still remind him of the joys of teaching. A simple mission, too. From what he’d heard of the boy, it should have been just what they both needed.

Of course, it didn’t work out that way. Master Riloff fell to the droid armies defending the refugees, though not before taking down a significant number of battle droids. He knew that the Force was calling him. He could feel the men around him, his men, as they fell. It was not how he wanted to go, of course, but he was too old to be naïve. He used his last free moment to deliver his final warning to the base camp, then crushed the commlink to prevent its use in tracking the survivors. He died not far away from Commander Dash, saber in hand. ... Until, of course, Tessk came for the spoils.

🙌 REGIMENT COMMANDER DASH, CC-2331, lead the Flare Corps from its inception. He was proud of his boys and made sure they knew it - but he also made sure they knew it was a pride they had to earn. He worked them hard and rewarded the effort. As stern as he could be, it was his fairness that made his men respect him. He also made it clear he’d never ask them to do something he wouldn’t do, himself. A real ‘do as I do’, ‘boots on the ground’ type of guy. He was also very gruff, and not known to mince words. He said what was on his mind and felt no shame in it. No time for pussyfooting around in his Corps.

At the same time, Dash wasn’t especially talkative. He appreciated the value of quiet. He much preferred solitaire to sabaac, and preferred to drink either alone or with Kriss. He considered Kriss his best friend, and this was mutual. They’d grown up together - not batchers, but squad mates. On their off time, he and Kriss sparred together often. When they were younger, Kriss was the better grappler, but Dash was better at standing combat; with how often they trained together, they both helped each other even it out. Dash spent a lot of his free time checking reports, going over equipment lists and reserves, and holding inspections for the men. He liked making sure things were running smoothly, and that they’d be ready for anything. As mentioned before, he also spent a lot of time sparring. If he wasn’t busy, his vode knew he’d almost always be down for a scrap. That’s why he hadn’t been too interested in a relief mission. Yes, he got why it was important, but bonding with people outside of his Corps had never been his thing. The peace and quiet made him restless. In a way, he was almost relieved when the attack came. Or, no, not relieved: Vindicated. That was the word. He was made to kill Seps and protect his brothers and his Jedi (.... and the Republic, but, eh), and that’s what he was going to do. It’s what he did do, right to the last. Blasters blazing, teeth grit, barking orders and formations into his comms. It was just how everyone thought he’d be going out. His only comfort came in knowing some of his brothers would’ve made it out alive.

Like Kriss, he wasn’t sure what to make of the kid General Riloff dragged along. He wasn’t one to question how Jedi worked - he liked his General of course, but Jedi were meant to be weird - but it didn’t necessarily sit right with him. He didn’t know the kid, didn’t know how he’d work with the Corps. Yeah, he knew the kid wasn’t shiny-- Or, sorry, inexperienced - but he’d never worked with them. And they hadn’t worked with him. And Dash was always awkward with kids who weren’t vode, so, oh well. Kriss’ problem, now (I’ll get you a round when we get home, brother). He figured they’d just handle it all, go home, and it’d be just the Corps again, like he preferred it. Nobody was more important to him than his brothers. Because of this, even if he was gruff, he was well-respected and fondly remembered by the Twelvers. Kriss would keep Dash’s name painted on his blasters, even up to the Purge, until he was stripped of the last bit of individuality he’d managed to hang onto.

Dash grew his hair just past regulation, and kept it slicked back. He was mostly clean-shaven, but occasionally had a bit of stubble from when he got too busy with work to clean it up. He had the numbed ‘423′ and the Corps’ star burst tattooed downwards, from his shoulder to his elbow, on both arms, in thick black aurebesh. He had a number of scars across his torso, arms, and legs from his time on the battlefield, as well as a small scar on his right cheek bone. He had two thin lines painted down his arm and leg guards. The fin of his helmet was painted in 423rd Teal, and he had the starburst painted over the base of his helmet’s transceiver. He also painted the mouth covering of his armor, his pauldrons, and his utility belt. As a commander, he was proficient in many weapons, but had a personal love for polearms. He was also the best unarmed combatant in the Corps, and his vod’ike all had stories of tasting the floor as a result.

🙌 SP-34//R, also known as Spear, was General Grau Tessk’s personal service droid. No, he wasn’t a tactical droid. He was a chef. Grau did his own planning, thank you so much. He had fun with it. No, Spear was there to keep Grau’s peculiar habit interesting. Spear knew over a hundred recipes for preparing any kind of sentient you could think of, with room to download at least a thousand more. He made sure to mention this when Grau mentioned how much human he’d be eating after they wiped out most of the 423rd - “If you worry about the taste becoming bland, I can hold many more recipes than those that you are used to”. He was the one who prepared Master Riloff for consumption. He didn’t see a problem with it; it’s what he was programmed for. It was whoever-it-was’s fault for going against Grau, anyway.

Spear was left unaware that Grau had been killed. He assumed his master was still out on the hunt, as he usually was. Spear was still preparing future meals when the Separatist base he was in was bombed by Republic ships.

UNRELATED TO THE TWELVERS:

🙌 FEENOR REDIIK was a Devaronian padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As an Initiate, he was sorted into ‘the Mighty’ Bear Clan; following his gathering, he wielded a green lightsaber with a standard hilt. Feenor had a pride about him that many would say was inappropriate for a Jedi, but he claimed he could easily back it up. For the most part, he was right. He was good at what he did. He had good scores in his tests and assignments. He was fairly proficient at sparring. However, his morality was something to call into question. Feenor was someone who believed, because he (and the rest of the Order) had been born with the ability to tap into the Force, he (and the rest of the Order) were superior to those who could not. It showed in some of his interactions with other people, but, given that he didn’t like most others, it wasn’t especially distinguishable from his normal disdain.

Though he and Braig (and by extension, Braig’s core group of friends) were the same age, they didn’t spend any more time together than necessary. They couldn’t stand each other. Not one bit. This was in part due to differing personalities, and in part due to some less than friendly encounters they’d had in the past. Braig thought Feenor was arrogant and selfish; Feenor thought Braig was soft and emotional. They learned to exist with each other, though, as everyone living in the Temple must. Feenor got a master before Braig did, which also didn’t help their relationship any. The fact that Feenor gloated about it made things worse. Feenor was taller and stronger physically than Braig, and often used it to his advantage. However, Braig grew to be a much better swordsman, and Hano grew much bigger and much stronger than most anyone in their year, so Feenor eventually (grudgingly) left them alone. There was still a bit of a rivalry and a lot of dislike between their two friend groups, but they mostly stayed away from each other.

Feenor was taught by a young Piton knight named Roshi Kudh. Knight Kudh was more compassionate than Feenor, but just as stubborn. Feenor was her first padawan, and she was determined to do right by him. Their mutual determination and unwavering resolve saw them through many a mission, and they had a very impressive record under their collective belts. Unfortunately, their grit could only carry them so far, and both student and teacher were killed in battle nearing the end of the war. They were 16 and 29, respectively.

🙌 HANO RHI was a Cathar padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As a crecheling, he became fast friends with Braig, and they would remain best friends until the Order fell during the purge. They were both sorted into Bergruufta Clan, which suited them fine. The two of them often play-wrestled, even as older padawans. They were sent on their Gathering together, and Hano was one of the ones who helped pull Braig out of the crevice he’d found himself in. He’d sometimes tease Braig about it later in life, calling him ‘Popsicle’ after Garak’s comment from that day (’Thought you’d be a popsicle’). Despite the differing species, the two of them considered each other to be brothers. Like Braig, Hano carried a somewhat unusual lightsaber; the bronze of its blade almost matched his eyes. The bronze crystals were drawn to those of great physical strength, and Hano did not disappoint. He hit the average height for a male Cathar - seven-foot-five - reaching seven feet before he was seventeen. His training and natural physique ensured that he was a wall of muscle, something he was quite proud of as he grew. In spite of his terrifying stature - and the ideas people have about Cathar men - Hano was mostly a gentle giant. He knew he was intimidating, and knew how to use that to his advantage when need be, but for the most part, he liked using his strength to help the men and temple staff with carrying or loading supplies, and to carry his friends around. Braig, Naweh, and Booda, the more physically affectionate members of their group, were his favourite people to just Lift, and Braig especially often rode around on Hano’s shoulders simply because he could. He was also able, especially later into the war, to carry a downed trooper back to safety with one arm without any serious loss of mobility. This was a talent he put to use many times, and some of the troops he served with joked that he was ‘the biggest little brother’ they’d ever had.

As kind as he was, Hano was also a troublemaker by nature. If he was around, you’d probably hear his master, Yokar Eedai, sighing an exasperated ‘padawan!’ from somewhere nearby. He loved cracking jokes and playfighting with his friends (thankfully, the control he’d learned in training prevented this from causing harm). He did his best to keep his lighthearted antics throughout the war, and for the most part, was able to keep smiles on peoples’ faces. He also disliked wearing a tunic (it’s terribly uncomfortable with fur, he’d say), much to his master’s irritation. Pants, boots, sash, robe, sure. He just disliked shirts. This casual state of dress, along with his usual personality, made it easy to underestimate his intelligence. He has been asked on multiple occasions if it bothers him. It didn’t; he was of the opinion that those who needed to know that he was smart did, and those that didn’t gave him the advantage of being able to catch them off guard. Hano also had a reputation of being very protective of his friends - a ‘dad friend’, in modern parlance. Whether it was scaring off someone who bothered them or bringing them food when they were laid up in the medbay, he liked knowing they were well cared for.

Hano did survive Order 66, but only barely, and only because of the sacrifice of his master. He was rendered unconscious after being caught in an explosive, pulled out by some sympathetic friends of his master, and hidden away before being shipped to the relative anonymity of the Outer Rim. When Hano woke up, he was blind, alone, terrified, and missing his left leg from the knee down. He didn’t know what to do. He was only seventeen.

He ended up spending many years in self-imposed exile, not ready to venture out into a galaxy that had taken everything from him. He learned to get around with sound, touch, and the Force, but the world was cruel and cold and he didn’t know how much was left for him. He did venture out eventually, and would - many years down the line - find Braig again. After that, he spent most of his time hanging around the shop, and slowly learning to have fun again by teasing and playing games with his new nephew and lifelong brother. It was the closest to being home again he’d ever felt since the Purge.

🙌 BOODA MALBO was a Gungan padawan at the Jedi Temple during the era of the Clone Wars. As an initiate, she was sorted into the Boma Clan. While they were in different clans, she was very good friends with Naweh, Hano, and Braig from an early age. She was also the one who introduced them to her friend, Lohata, who eventually became another core member of their group, and her girlfriend. (They liked to think nobody knew. The Gathering Group was fully aware, they just didn’t comment on it.) She wielded a light green saber with a standard hilt. Towards the end of the war - just before she was 16 - she had prosthetic arms from the elbow down on both sides. She broke them relatively frequently in the line of duty, but saw the bright side in that she got to change the colour of the exterior plating whenever it was redone. Sometimes, her friends would gather to paint little designs on them, too, and that always made her happier.

Booda was known for being extremely kind and compassionate; a real bleeding heart. She wanted to make other people happy. Her favourite thing to do was to help people. She liked smoothies, and sunshine, and swimming, and flying. Because her master - a Nautolan named Nid Arto - was also an aquatic race, a part of their training usually saw them at the bottom of the Temple’s lakes, meditating together. Her favourite class to study was cultures, and she and Braig often edited each others’ reports before they submitted them. As she got older, and especially when she began venturing out into the galaxy, she made an effort to stop using Gungan Basic and use Galactic Basic. She felt like she had to. She was pretty self-conscious about how the rest of the galaxy viewed Gungans, and did her best to try and present herself as proper and well-educated to combat this. She also felt very self-conscious if she had to make big speeches, and sometimes struggled if she was the center of attention. It was something she was trying very hard to get better at. It helped, having friends who knew what it was like to have their species looked down on. It made her feel understood.

She was incredibly acrobatic fighter, forgoing the strength Hano was known for in favour of being impossible to hit. Her fighting style was not vertical, was not horizontal, was not diagonal: it was all of them. She was always very good at jumping, so, why not? She hopped around when she was excited, too, but tried to keep it under wraps when she was in public. She also loved dancing, and incorporated that hobby into her combat abilities. When she wasn’t spending her meditative periods submerged, she was a frequent practice of moving meditation. She never really liked sitting still, unless she was with her friends. Even then, she was prone to bouncing one or both legs. It helped her stay centered. It was also a common occurrence (though they wouldn’t admit it) for her to hold Lohata’s hand under the tables during meals. Worst case, this could be dismissed by the fact that she was a very affectionate person in general. She especially found her warm-blooded friends comfortable to lean against. It wasn’t strange at all to see her cuddled up to Braig or Hano during study sessions, or on cooler nights when they were assigned to the same mission. It was a running joke amid their group that if she ever greeted them with ‘hey, you’, the correct response was always ‘hey, Boo’ in the same tone.

Booda did survive Order 66, physically. Emotionally, she was not so lucky. She’d been doing flight drills around Naboo with her Master and Lohata (Lo’s master was sick at the time, and was resting back at the Temple). They’d brought a few of the men with them, since they’d at first come to investigate an issue that had been quickly resolved. Nid had figured, well, they have time to kill, and the girls did seem pretty excited to be there. Why not have a bit of fun before going home? They’d had no way of knowing the troops would turn on them. Booda and Nid survived the initial assault that downed their ships; Lohata did not. Booda damaged her prosthetics trying to pull Lo out of the wreckage before Nid was able to drag her away. They took refuge under water, just like they used to for meditation. When the troopers started dropping depth charges, Nid shielded his padawan at the cost of his own life. His body floated in the water for hours before it was eventually retrieved. Booda was able to hide in an underwater cave with an air pocket for a few days, until she felt that the search had been called off. Even still, she was never able to venture far from the lake that had become her safe haven. Many decades down the line, she learned of Braig and Hano’s survival. She was able to send them a transmission, and after that, her old friends would make regular visits to her lake to check in on her. While she wouldn’t feel truly safe ever again, it definitely helped her to feel more at peace.

🙌 YOKAR EEDAI was a Mon Calamari Jedi Master during the era of the Clone Wars. He was known for being curt and stern, and nobody really knew how he and his padawan, Hano Rhi, got anything done with their differing personalities. In truth, while they didn’t always see eye to eye, Yokar never regretted his choice in pupil.

Yokar wielded a blue lightsaber with a shoto-style hilt. He was very steadfast in his beliefs, and he knew how to uphold them. He believed in proper behavior, proper diction, and a firm hand to keep the peace. A Jedi ought to be respectable. This is where he often found himself at odds with his padawan, as Hano was far more relaxed and jovial than his stiff-lipped master. Yokar’s favourite pass-times were meditation and going for walks around the temple, sewing, and reading. He also liked fishing, but he hadn’t had much time for that since the war started. He had a spot or two in mind to take his padawan to enjoy a cast or two, once the fighting had finished. He’d learned how to fish from his own mentor, Jon Jorathi, and had hoped to keep the tradition alive.

Despite what anyone else would think, Hano and Yokar not only got on well, they also cared for each other deeply. Yokar was never one to question his devotion to the Order, nor one to ever want anything else, but he did view Hano as the son he never got to have. Yokar was the last person to speak to Hano before he returned to Cathar for the traditional coming-of-age hunt of his people, and the first one to greet Hano upon his return. (He also gave Hano the following morning off of chores to rest up, which was most unlike him.) While he tried to instill proper etiquette in his padawan, those who knew Yokar would notice that Hano had the opposite effect on him. He would never become what someone would call ‘fun-loving’, but he did learn to lighten up a bit. Just a bit. The lectures on behaviour became shorter and less impassioned, he would turn a blind eye to minor shenanigans. Strangely enough, it was good for his blood pressure.

Perhaps, had things been different, he would have progressed further into the realms of knowing how to relax. Maybe he would have gotten to knight his padawan. This never happened.

Order 66 happened instead. Hano and Yokar had been on the way back to the Temple after some business about town. Nothing too terrible. Working with some contacts, cleaning up some loose ends. The Force shifted suddenly and it was all they could do was rush to the Temple to see what was happening. Of course, they were too late. Yokar knew that even as it left a horrible taste in his mouth, even as Hano refused to accept it. They had to run. He almost had to drag Hano the first few steps (brave, noble, foolish Hano) before they started getting away. They ran, but not fast enough. The explosion went off and Yokar knew that only one of them would make it out. He made the only choice that made sense.

In spite of what someone else might have thought, Master Eedai had always loved his padawan. And he always did, right even as the final blaster bolt went through his chest.

🙌 KASHNA was a wanderer who avoided making a name for herself after the Republic fell to the First Galactic Empire. As a Clawdite, she could look like anyone she wanted to. That suited her just fine. She didn’t like being acknowledged. After the Empire, that meant death. Before the Empire, it could mean death, or it could mean unemployment. Neither was great. Money made the planets revolve, you know.

In spite of that guiding rule, Kashna wasn’t greedy or materialistic. She just needed to survive. Like many of her species, she often found work as a spy or infiltrator, using her natural ability to hide in plain sight. She became much more comfortable in the skin of someone else, rather than her own. Besides, nobody liked a Clawdite being a Clawdite. They liked a Clawdite being someone else. She’d been young when she ventured out on her own; didn’t fit in with her family. Argued with her parents too much, had to get out, find her own way. For the longest time, she thought she was going to exist alone, and you know what? She was fine with this. ... Until she met Kuvora Niett of Clan Dranug. A young Mandalorian Cathar, the leader of Clan Dranug had sent Kuvora out on a journey that she had decided she needed a Clawdite’s help for. The two of them became good friends over the course of their adventures, spending evenings sharing stories over drinks and rations in the cockpit of Kuvora’s ship. It wouldn’t be the last time they worked together, and eventually, Kuvora sent a transmission inviting Kashna to meet the rest of her clan next time she was in the system. Kashna thought that would be fun. Then the Empire purged the Mandalorians. Kashna found Kovura too late, and made an interesting choice. Kashna didn’t like Kashna. Kashna liked Kovura. After giving her friend a burial, Kashna took the armor Kovura had worn.

She also took Kovura’s name and appearance. Kashna travelled the stars as Kovura, a proud Mandalorian, in both honour of her friend and dismissal of herself. Nobody had to know. ... Of course, Braig knew. The Force is an interesting thing. Clawdites and Cathar feel different. ... He also figured she wasn’t who she seemed because she didn’t fight like a Mandalorian did. He’d never want to pick a fight with a trained Mandalorian if he could avoid it; Kashna didn’t give him nearly as much trouble, when they were at odds over a data chip they both wanted. Braig had also grown up with Cathar, and Kashna didn’t move like someone who was used to being a Cathar did.

He didn’t kill her, which was strange, but she did feel humiliated by it all. She also didn’t get the job done, and had to lay low from her employer for a while. She’s going to carry that grudge for a long time, and next time, she’s determined to fight more like a Mandalorian.

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