#also Wolffe is 100% the brother Fox has the Cain instinct for I don't make the rules

[flowerflamestars]

In Red & Gold snippet

“They’ve only broken one window,” Obi-Wan offered.   “Should’ve waited for Colt,” Kote said, flat and faintly forlorn. “Colt wouldn’t throw shit in my house.”   Obi-Wan wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, giving Fox a front row seat to the look of sheer, palpable adoration they shared before Kote decided to acknowledge that the room wasn’t empty.   “Vos’s,” He drawled, an asshole Fox loved so, so much, “The fuck did I say about not having sex in my kitchen?”   “Sex?” Bly asked, eyes half shut, stumbling into the space. “Ooo, tile.”   That he’d peeled himself off the floor at all made more sense when Bly followed the words with immediately laying down again, cheek to cool stone. “Wolffe’s being a goddamn dick.”   “Wolffe merely has a very…different perspective, on his former General.”   Wolffe was fervently pretending he thought clones and Jedi shouldn’t be romantically involved, rather than admit he possessed real, live, feelings. “He’s just pissed,” Fox said, leaning back but not- not for a second- letting go of Quinlan. “Kote didn’t invite him to his wedding.”   As though summoned by the name- equally likely following Bly to make sure he didn’t pass out somewhere dangerous, armed with water and a ferocious scowl, Wolffe said, “I’m not the one who committed treason, Foxy.”   The snap, automatic, to not fucking call him that, burned Fox’s mouth.   Turned acrid immediate, as Wolffe zeroed in on Ara, draped upright by an arm hooked around Fox’s neck. “Who the fuck are you?”   Bly, from the floor, muttered, “Wolf’ika, seriously”- If Fox hated natborns, the whole rotten core, Wolffe hated strangers just as much. More, if possible. The war had only made it worse- Wolffe, whose losses outnumbered even Fox’s, who seemed determined to tear apart anyone who could possibly threaten those that remained.   “And Vos,” Wolffe dragged out, making a judgmental face that almost, but failed, to rival Kote, “The fuck?”   Rolled facedown, Bly, unhelpfully, “Fox likes men too, you dick.”   Even less helpfully, Neyo, ease-dropping through the lovely arched space, voice raised to shout, “Fox likes people?” Right in Fox’s ear, a lifeline, a tiny breath of affection, Ara very quietly asked. “Neyo or Doom?”   “Neyo,” Quinlan said, before Fox could.   “Right,” Ara dropped a kiss to Fox’s neck and unwound from them both, springing lightly down onto her feet. “I’ll be back.”   Drink drained, she was still utterly steady. Quick and beautiful, stomp across the kitchen revealing what Fox had been too distracted to see. All along her spine, masked in the hyper-structural element of the jumpsuit she was wearing, lay a single, enormous, fuck-off of a knife, wide-across as Fox’s forearm.   Bly, who was not even pretending not to listen, groaned. “You’re a stupid fucking bitch, Neyo. Run, vod.” He rolled again, twisting to squint up at Quinlan. “Aayla would break someone in half for her husband.” “Aayla,” Quin said, with clear pity, “Doesn’t have a husband, Bly.”