#and he deserves some karking respect

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Mentally preparing myself to launch this Sunday's chapter of Stars Beyond Number like a grenade onto the dash and piss off the sizeable chunk of the TCW/TBB fandom that likes to dunk on Gregor.

And if it feels like a personal attack, that's only because it is.

[secondratefiction]

Keep You Safe - Commander Cody x Medic!Reader

Life Day Fic Exchange 2023 @cloneficgiftexchange

Written for @loving-the-cambridges

“Alright�� unfortunately it does look like it’s broken…” You sighed, setting the trooper’s arm back down gently, “I’ll brace it and give you something for the pain and swelling until we get you back to the ship. 1 to 10, how bad is it hurting?”

“It’s feeling much better now that you’re taking care of me, mesh’la.” The trooper smiled up at you loopily and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Careful Shiny…” The voice behind you made you smirk and you turned to smile at Boil as he stared the trooper you were working on down.

“He’s fine.” You said, motioning the older trooper to come help hold the other’s arm while you splinted and wrapped it up, “It’s probably the shock and adrenaline talking anyway.”

“Even so…” Boil rolled his eyes but was still as gentle as possible holding his brother’s limb while you worked, looking pointedly back at him, “You show the medics more respect. Especially the nat-borns.”

“Careful Boil,” You laughed softly as you finished up the wrapping, helping the trooper put his arm in a sling before giving him an injection, “You’re starting to sound like your commander.”

You could see Boil’s lip twitch as he tried to maintain a professionally neutral expression, “Thank you ma’am.”

Declaring the newer trooper done for the time being, you quickly shooed him off with instructions to find one of the transports back to the starcruiser, once he was out of your tent set up, you turned back to Boil expectantly, “Alright, so what can I do for you?”

“The Commander is back ma’am, he asked for you.”

“Maker karking damn it…” You spun around quickly to grab your bag, “Maybe lead with that next time.”

You had literally watched the man bust his knuckles open, dislocate a wrist, and just keep throwing punches. If Cody was requesting a medic there was no way this was going to go well.

-*-*-*-

Your relationship with Cody was complex to say the least. Honestly, he’d barely paid you any mind in the very beginning… another nat-born medic that had been brought in because there was too much work for the clone medics to keep up with. But after a few weeks of you seeming to always be there every time he turned around, the Marshal Commander couldn’t help but notice the way you treated his brothers. Like actual people and that they were deserving of your real effort, care, and attention.

And there was also the fact that you had to be the single most persistent nat-born he’d ever had to work with… Usually, Cody avoided the medics when and wherever he could, leaving the time and supplies open for other troopers he considered more in need than himself.

You however were stubbornly opposed to his inexplicable need to ‘just walk it off’, going so far as to literally chase him down once when Waxer had ‘accidentally’ mentioned to you that he’d taken a rather hard kick to the ribs during the previous skirmish.

Granted, his ribs had been bruised, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

You weren’t hearing any of it though, and Cody had had to sit there petulantly while you’d tended to him.

That had been where the ice had started to crack, and eventually after much persistence and pursuit on your part, Cody had started coming to you, and exclusively you, whenever he was more than just a little bumped and bruised. And, you at least liked to think that, a sort of friendship had sparked up between the two of you….

What little free time he had, he was more than content to spend with you if the situation allowed, you’d sat in on more than a few meal time meetings with him, and you were always his first consult when it came to the best solutions for setting up the field medical stations.

The only other person you’d seen him be that casual and informal with was the General in their down time, so you’d like to think that meant you were in some kind of favor.

Which is what leads you here now, busting into the command tent with a barely contained panic, “I’m here! What happened?”

Cody was leaning against the large table in the middle with different maps and other planning materials strewn across it. One arm was hanging limply at his side, the other one holding it close against him to seemingly keep it from moving or getting jostled around.

“I can’t-” Cody grunted, trying to roll his shoulder again, “I can’t get it back in…”

“All right, stop - Stop moving it,” You shook your head crossing to him and quickly putting your hand on the uninjured arm, “Let me look.”

You started gently removing his armor to get a better look at the damage underneath. The hiss through your teeth was involuntary as soon as you got the spaulding off, just from the jut of his shoulder you could tell the joint was fully dislocated.

“Ok… good news is we can fix it…” You said looking up at him.

“The bad news is, it’s gonna hurt like hell.” He finished and you nodded sheepishly, “Alright… Let’s get it over with…”

The process wasn’t complicated, making Cody lay back across the table with his shoulder at the edge and hold your bag while you pushed the arm back out straight to get the bone to drop back into the joint. The loud crack made you wince, and completely justified the long, low string of curses Cody let out as he reflexively dropped your bag.

“Easy… Easy,” You helped him set up, making sure he moved somewhat gingerly until you could get a look at the rest of him, “Just relax a minute.”

“I’m alright,” Cody shook his head, trying to wave you off as he got back on his feet, “I need to get back out there.”

“Cody!” You snapped, grabbing him by the elbow of his good arm.

Whatever scolding you were about to give the commander was cut off by a loud explosion that rocked the ground beneath your feet. Cody moved quickly to grab you by the forearm, half dragging you out of the tent to see what was going on.

The second explosion went off far too close to the right of you and Cody barely had time to pull you into him before the two of you were sent flying through a cloud of dust and debris.

You registered something sharp hitting you in the back before everything faded away…

-*-*-*-

“C’mon cyare, you have to wake up for me…”

You groan lowly, trying to turn your head away from the incessant tapping on your cheek, blinking slowly as things around you came back into focus. The first thing to register was the ringing in your ears, followed quickly by the pain in your head and back.

“There you go kar’ta, easy.” Cody helped you sit up as gently as he could, shifting around behind you so you could sit propped up against him, “I tried to cover you, but you still took a hard hit to the head. Don’t try to move too fast just yet.”

You gave a weak laugh and leaned your head back against his shoulder, “Well, it’s nice to know you’ve been paying attention, even if you don’t actually listen to anything I tell you.”

You could feel the chuckle vibrate through his chest even if the trooper behind you was trying to hide it, “I always listen to you, mesh’la.”

To say you were a little stunned by his free use of endearments would be an understatement; other troopers, especially the new and shiny ones, through them around like water - a sweet, if a little awkward attempt to flirt with one of the first if not only females they’d had close contact with in their lives - but not Cody. He almost exclusively addressed you as ‘ma’am’ or your surname.

Either way it was still your turn to chuckle, turning your head to look up at him over your shoulder, “Yeah? You got a funny way of showing it, Kote.”

Another odd occurrence: Cody smiled, again laughing under his breath, as he looked away from you. If you didn’t know any better, and there was more light wherever the two of you were temporarily hidden, you would have sworn he was blushing.

“Just because I don’t always have the luxury of following your orders, doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.”

Another explosion and the sound of blaster fire cut through whatever clandestine moment the two of you were having, Cody’s head immediately snapping back to the small cave entrance you assumed you’d fallen through, “We need to move.”

You nodded, pushing yourself back up to your feet, still a little unsteady, but there was no spinning feeling or nausea, so you could power through it.

“You stay right beside me, cyar’ika,” Cody said drawing his own blaster as he chanced peeking out of the cave, “Right on my hip, I’ll get you back behind the line.”

You nodded, as he slipped his helmet back on, “Right behind you Commander.”

Reaching back for your hand, Cody pulled you up beside him as close as he could get you, and just as you thought he was about to step out into the fray he stopped and turned back to you. Squeezing your hand, you could just tell Cody was staring down at you intently behind his helmet

“Stay with me, ner kar’ta,” Your eyes fell shut on their own accord as Cody leaned in to press the forehead of his helmet against yours, “I will keep you safe.”

In that moment, you had never believed anything more.

[neon-junkie]

Chef!Crosshair x Server!Reader Headcanons

This has been stuck in my drafts for a while, so I figured I'd tidy it up, and hit post. Reader is gender-neutral. 2k words. I think Crosshair would deffo be a chef in a modern setting! A little self indulgent as I'm a bartender/server... hehehehe...

Crosshair isn't quite the top dog, but second in line. Still, he runs the kitchen, and Maker forbids anybody to step out of line when Crosshair is on shift.

Or in general, for that matter. Crosshair has no problem breaking one of his chefs down to tears if they forget one simple task, like day dotting food stock, or ensuring that the fridges are at the correct temperature.

"A baby could do this job better than you. Why can't you pull your karking socks up, and get some sense through your thick skull?!"

Crosshair is a big meanie, to put it blankly. He has respect for those who do their job right, but if you're acting like an idiot in his kitchen, then all hell will break loose.

He's snappy to the front of house staff, too. Including the servers. Didn't scrape the plates enough? That deserves a telling off. Rushing him for orders? Fuck off. And if you dare steal a chip? Might as well die.

Crosshair doesn't like mess, clutter, or laziness, and everybody knows damn well how much it irritates him. Just don't be stupid, essentially.

Anyway, you've applied to this popular street food style restaurant. It's not posh, far from it. The food is fatty and filling, the perfect hangover cure, and you're guilty of being a regular.

The Manager, Hunter, doesn't seem surprised when you apply, and your interview is essentially a chit-chat, getting to know each other, seeing as you've already met from coming in on the regular.

It's finally time for you to put your uniform on, and be introduced to the rest of the staff. Everybody is lovely, to say the least, as you've met them before from being a customer.

Then you go into the back of house, and meet those who have blessed your stomach time and time again.

Hunter's eyes trail the kitchen before he asks, "where's Cross?" and another staff member shrugs whilst replying, "out the back."

Hunter, after letting out a grumble, leads you to the back entrance, explaining that this is the staff smoking area. Just as he's about to step outside, the door opens, and a tired-looking man in pristine chef's whites stands in the doorway.

He lets out another puff of his cigarette before discarding it, only to choke on the smoke as his eyes meet yours. His hand comes up to clear his throat, and you notice the tattoos and burn marks scattered over his toned arms. He's clear of jewellery, but you instantly know he's the type to wear rings and chains when he's off shift.

"Cross, I want to introduce you to our new server," Hunter pulls his gaze from yours, and after saying your name, Crosshair fails to make eye contact with you.

Only now do you notice his face tattoo, darkly contrasting against his silver hair. Is it dyed? Or is he really this stressed out from his job?

"Nice to meet you," Crosshair mutters as he extends his hand, and shakes yours. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have stock to count."

And with that, he's pushing past you and Hunter, disappearing into the kitchen.

Hunter turns back to you with a sigh, "he doesn't talk much. Not a fan of strangers, but I'm sure he'll warm up to you."

Oh, how right Hunter is.

Your first week went well, and you're slowly starting to establish a place for yourself within your new work environment.

Today is your usual weekday shift. Not too busy, but not slow paced either. The lunch rush has finished, and you're tasked with cleaning up tables. Another stack of plates is brought into the kitchen, and you're going through them one by one, scraping the leftovers into the bin before stacking them on the shelves for the pot washer to clean, when he's back from his cigarette break.

You can feel somebody's eyes on the back of your head, practically burning a hole through your skull. Curious, you peer over your shoulder, and lock eyes with Crosshair.

He's attempting to prep some vegetables, and narrowly misses his finger whilst chopping them, his gaze fixated elsewhere. Only, once your eyes meet his, Crosshair looks back to his task, acting as if he wasn't just staring at you.

So, you turn away, only to look back at him when his voice fills the air.

"It's nice to have some competence around here," Crosshair comments. You let out a soft "hm?" so Crosshair continues. "Most of the other servers leave their plates a mess, barely scraped, stacked in the wrong order. It's nice to have a server who knows how to do their job."

"It's not like it's hard," you say with a shrug.

"Exactly," Crosshair looks back up at you, and you notice the upwards turn to his lips.

You return to your task after matching his smile, and you're both content with the silence in the air.

Once finished, it's time for your break. Whilst you would usually ring your staff food through without a second thought, you decide to ask Crosshairs permission first.

"Hey, I know you're doing prep, but do you mind if I ring my food through? I can wait if-"

"-What would you like, Sweetheart?" Crosshair asks, wiping his hands clean as he makes his way over to the grill.

"Uhm… a burger?" your mind falls blank, mostly because you're not used to having a chef seem this happy with cooking.

"Is that it?" Crosshair raises his brow. "Come on, you can come up with something more creative than that. Tell me what toppings you like."

Before you know it, you're going into depth about exactly how you like your burgers. All the while, Crosshair is nodding in agreement, and even chimes in with comments here and there. You soon ring your order up, and whilst waiting for it to cook, you return to cleaning your tables, all whilst your heart is pounding with butterflies in your chest.

Back in the kitchen, Crosshair catches himself smiling as he cooks your meal. He doesn't even realise how sappy he's being until he squirts the burger sauce onto the bun in the shape of a heart, soon to be hidden by a patty cooked to your liking.

"What's got you all cheery?" Hunter questions as he peers in the kitchen, bewildered at Crosshairs content expression.

Crosshair slips his emotional mask back on as he meets his brother's eyes, "just excited for my cigarette break."

One month into your new job, and you're more than happy here. The customers are nice, your coworkers are great, and the food is to die for!

Sure, you're in the honeymoon phase, but you'll enjoy it whilst it lasts.

Crosshair is slowly opening up to you, but he's been the toughest egg to crack. Whilst everybody else has no issue with jumping straight into conversation, Crosshair tends to keep his mouth shut, minus the odd hum and one-word reply here and there.

Only, you've seen him speak to others. Well, not speak… scream! Crosshair has no issue with shouting at his cooks over the smallest of things. He's even barked at the other servers, too. You know that he's overall disliked within the workplace, but sometimes, you can understand Crosshairs point of view.

He's right. It's not hard to do your job right, keep your area tidy, and be efficient. Maker knows how your co-workers manage to screw the smallest of things up, and sure, you've made mistakes here and there, and always bent over backwards to fix them.

But despite Crosshair's tough demeanour, deep down, he's a real sap. Or at least, he is towards you.

You've noticed that you can get away with certain things, such as nibbling on a few leftover chips whilst waiting for orders to be plated up, or using different abbreviations when ringing up orders.

You didn't even realise that wasn't the norm, until a fellow coworker commented, "Crosshair lets you eat the leftover fries? He swatted my hand away when I tried to do that, just like everybody else."

Maybe it's because you bring Crosshair a cup of coffee to his liking at the start of every shift? Or because you always let out comments here and there about how good the food is presented?

Maybe it's just because Crosshair has a thing for you, as much as he denies it. You are his favourite server, but Maker forbid that anybody knows, despite it being painfully obvious.

Obvious to everyone, but you.

You finally catch on during one stressful shift. A customer, as cursed as they are, broke you down to tears. You remained stiff lipped whilst taking a beating, but the second you entered the back of house, tears started rolling down your cheeks.

Hunter takes the burden of the customer off your shoulders, and orders you to go and take a moment to yourself out back.

The fire exit door swings open, and you storm out, holding back a choked sob as you take a seat on one of the many empty crates resting against the building.

Your head falls into your hands, elbows resting on your knees, and finally alone, you begin to cry.

Only, you're not alone. Crosshair is on the other side of the door, back resting against the wall with a forgotten cigarette pressed between his fingers. He can hear you crying, and after swallowing his feelings, and allowing them to settle in his uneasy stomach, he discards his cigarette and decides to approach you.

"Customers, huh?" Crosshair questions as he takes a seat beside you, not bothering to ask if you need a friend. He knows damn well that you do.

A series of incoherent words fall from your lips, but Crosshair can piece them together. You're venting about what just happened, mumbling and babbling away, blowing off steam with your favourite chef by your side.

In the midst of offloading your anger, Crosshair decides to weave his arm around your shoulders, and gently pull you into his grasp.

He doesn't even realise what he's done until your head comes to rest on his shoulder, lashes fluttering against his sensitive Adams apple, still venting away whilst a hand caresses your shoulder and back.

"And you wonder why I work in the kitchen," Crosshair comments, earning a laugh from you.

"Maybe I should switch, and start working in the kitchen with you," you say with a light chuckle.

Despite his stomach turning at the idea, Crosshair puts on a smile as he replies, "that wouldn't be so bad. I'm sure I could put up with you."

"Put up with me?" you repeat with a gasp, straightening your back to meet his eyes. All Crosshair does is give you a shrug, with a cheeky grin on his lips. "Phfft, I'd be the one putting up with you. I've seen how you bark at your chefs," you continue.

"I don't bark," Crosshair says with a playful glare. "I bite."

You can't help but let out a laugh, soon returning your head to his shoulder. "You wouldn't bite me," you boast.

Crosshair allows his cheek to rest against the top of your head. "I might do," he says eagerly, "but only if you waste stock."

"Oh, I'd definitely burn a burger or two," you admit, knowing damn-well that you're a riot in the kitchen.

In the midst of your nattering, Hunter makes his way through the back of house to find you, knowing that you're taking a breather outside.

Only he stops once he overhears your voice, and a certain chef talking to you.

Smiling to himself, Hunter decides that you don't need him - you have somebody else to take care of you, somebody who has been eager to talk to you, but is far more timid than he lets on.

Hunter's little plan is going smoothly, now that Crosshair is finally speaking to you, rather than keeping to himself in the kitchen.

After all, Crosshair is the main reason why you were hired. It's his own fault, drunkenly admitting that he thought a certain regular customer was attractive, and definitely his type.

Fate took its course, and Hunter found your CV in his pile only a few days later.

You were beyond perfect for the job, and maybe, just maybe, you'll be even better for a certain chef.

[veny-many]

Here's one of my headcanon: Comet was surprisingly survivor of original Wolfpack.

For some reason, Comet got transferred from 104th when Malevolence incident happened. When he came back, the whole battalion, his brothers were gone, and only survivors are his Wolfpack-Wolffe, Sinker, Boost.

Comet deeply mourned for his brothers, and felt so bad that he was not there. He knew he couldn't do much at that situation, but at least he would not feel this helplessness. But he was glad that three brothers still alive.

But they were not the same. At least to Comet.

They were hurt, and devastated, and became hysterical. They don't laugh with humor like before. They won't talk about they were fighting for rights anymore. And Comet understood that it was because of their experience was so traumatic. And Comet often felt thrown out because he couldn't feel like them, he was not there.

One day, Wolffe decided that they will change the color of armors. And finally Comet exploded. He couldn't accept that. Color was only thing that linked Comet and fallen brothers. Their Color, their maroon, their faith. Their history that no other battalion would compared. Their own.

Comet felt like he was alone. That he was like lost brothers, who were still floating in cold space with no air. That he still clinging in dead body, sinking in soil with them. And the other pack just march away from them. Like survivors.

That night, Wolffe came into Comet's barrack. And he talked. That he is still mourning. He couldn't get through like other commanders do. That their loss was so much for him to bear. But he would still march, for fallen brothers will, and for what they were fighting for. He wanted to march not just as evidence of their survival, because it is true that original 104th battalion, was gone. But he wanted to be proof that they were still remembered, and they deserved it. Wolffe wanted to mourn them as color. And respect colors of brother's long marched away.

He apologized that they didn't take care about Comet's feelings, and lonely thoughts that were slowly made him desperate and alone. And told that they were afraid that if they get to close to Comet, they would affect him in negative way. He didn't deserved it because to them, Comet was the true survival, not broken like them, never gets in nightmares, still freely talkes about brothers, make jokes and laughs like nothing happened. And now, Wolffe knew that all Comet's behavior toward them was desperate attempt to gather his old Pack back to him. And Wolffe felt terribly bad about that.

After long conversation and so much tears, and somehow Sinker and Boost joined in their barrack, Comet finally accepted they could change the color. He understood that they were not just moving away or forgetting their brothers, and they will remember and mourn forever. In the color of gray, the symbol of mourning of lost dear families, Comet could remind that they still care for them. And they are marching for them.

+) silly bonus

Comet: You know what Kark you!! You will never understand how I felt around you!

Wolffe: Fine, if you're like that, so be it! It's not like you were there with us! And you are saying that you understand us or what!?

Comet: Well than, I should have been there so at least all of you would mourn for me too, not just looking at me like seeing ghosts!!(Gets out of room)

Wolffe:

Sinker:

Boost: OH MY FORCE HE DIDN'T MEAN IT DID HE

Sinker: I think he did mean it. At least in his feeling.

Wolffe: I'm fucked. I fucked it again, just like before. What a terrible commander I am? I was supposed to protect all of you and I keep failing all over and over again. Maybe that Kaminoans were right. I am so damaged right now, I need to get away from-

Sinker:(sighs) Not again.

Boost: Well, off to comm again.(taps comm) General, I'm sorry but are you busy right now?

Plo in comm: Ah, not at all. What is it again?

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF ch2 | Over The Top

Second chapter! Make sure to read the first one, if you haven't already. Thanks for taking the time to read my stories <3 I'm trying to release a new chapter every Monday, so stay tuned.

Summary: during a relief aid mission, a company of the 104th Battalion finds itself in a tight spot; time for Padawan Lupe to prove herself Rating: Teen and up Tags: canon-typical violence, light angst (death, injuries), swearing (usage of slang; kriff/kriffing = fuck/fucking, kark = shit) Words: 5.921k Characters: Lupe (OC), Plo Koon, CC-3636 Commander Wolffe, Trooper Pine (OC), Trooper Sling (OC), Trooper Boar (OC), unidentified clone medic, unidentified clone troopers aLoF masterlist | AO3 < Previous chapter | Next chapter >

21 BBY, Separatist Occupied Planet

"Incoming!"

A low, humming sound before the homing laser hit the ground, resulting in a devastating explosion. Fire and smoke erupted from the site as bodies were thrown in the proximity of the blast. A heart-wrenching cry as a clone trooper came staggering out of the fire, armour blackened by licking flames, before he fell down one last time. It wasn't long before the smoke was filled with brightly coloured blaster fire again, coming from both ways.

Standing her ground, Lupe swung her lightsaber around skilfully, deflecting every shot coming her way. The saber made a beaming sound with every move. Its blue light lit up her eyes as she focused them on the next threat, the next target. A smooth swing with her saber here, a subtle Force push there.

As the war progressed, Lupe was growing as a Jedi warrior with every battle. Master Plo Koon had guided her the best he could in these uncertain times, referred to as the Clone Wars. She had learned a lot from her experiences during the war so far, making her not only a formidable Force wielder, but a stronger person as well. Under the watchful eyes of her Master, she developed a strong feeling of care and responsibility over sentient beings; and that included clones. As Jedi fought with them as generals during this war, she couldn't help but feel a growing bond with them.

After the Battle of Geonosis, Plo Koon had gained command over the 104th Battalion. Where some saw the clone troopers as expendable soldiers, merely assets ready to be replaced, Plo Koon saw every one of them as an individual, a being deserving life as much as anyone else. He would fight for them, protect them; save them, if he could. And they deeply respected him for that, and therefore the dynamics between the troopers and their officers were stronger within the 104th than with most battalions.

As his Padawan, Lupe was proud of the way her Master treated the clones. She would not forget the pain and sorrow she had felt over the loss of these men, back at Geonosis. And the way her Master treated them made her feel safe to show them the compassion they deserved; she didn't feel ashamed about showing how she cared about the clones. Attachment wasn’t allowed in the Jedi Order, but showing affection wasn’t forbidden.

But now, they found themselves in a tight spot. A company of the Wolfpack, as the 104th Battalion was called often, was ordered to provide relief aid to this planet, occupied by the Confederacy of Independent Systems. As they had landed on the surface of the planet, already depleted from most of its resources by the Separatists, they hadn't received a hearty welcome. As they tried to reach a refugee camp, an army of battle droids had blocked their way and they were trapped in a narrow pass. They were easy targets out here, and it seemed that their push forward had come to a halt.

A humming sound as another beam of a homing laser was coming their way. In a split second, Lupe made a quick scan of her surroundings, calculating where the laser would hit. She noticed three clone troopers on the expected site of impact. With all her strength, she pulled into the Force and sent a push towards the troopers. She sent them flying, tumbling as they hit the ground, but at least the homing laser didn’t kill them.

"Thanks, sir!" one of the troopers shouted over the sounds of the roaring battle as they jumped back on their feet. She gave him a quick nod, with a slight smirk on her face. But she didn't dare getting overconfident, as she knew from experience she couldn't save them all.

It was just moments later that a barrage of blaster fire was sent their way. Instinctively, Lupe raised her lightsaber in front of her, deflecting the shots. She jumped from her position towards a clone nearby, a desperate attempt to protect him. But it was too late; he had taken several shots to the chest.

"Pine!" she cried out, trying to reach him, crouching behind some rubble in an effort to stay in cover. The clone trooper gasped whilst reaching for his chest, almost as if trying to scratch out the pain. She reached his side and pulled him against her chest, covering him from any new incoming fire. "I need a medic!" she shouted, but deep down she knew it was too late. Trooper Pine coughed, wheezing as his lungs were burning due to the laser shots.

"I'm sorry, sir," he managed, clearly struggling to speak through the burning feeling inside. She pulled him tighter as she cradled his body, shushing him. "No need, trooper, you did all you could," she replied, her voice almost breaking. "It's alright, you may rest now." She pressed her head against his, closing her eyes as she kept cradling him. When she felt the life leaving him, a little piece inside her died as well. Another soul lost.

It took her a moment to regain herself before she noticed the shooting around her had almost died down. Although they had the opportunity to regroup and come up with a new battle plan now, she wasn't too happy with the silence. It only meant the Separatists were doing the same, and that generally resulted into a new wave of battle droids. She didn't know how much longer they could hold their ground.

Still sitting beside the fallen trooper, she put her hand on Pine's charred chest plate for a moment, before she got to her feet. She wiped the sweat and soot from her face and found her way back to their command post, where she expected her Master and their clone officer, Commander Wolffe.

".. but we would be too exposed out there. At our current position, at least we have some cover." Commander Wolffe was pointing out their position on a portable holomap when Lupe walked up. She nodded to the Commander, who returned the gesture, and positioned herself at her Master's side to join in on the meeting.

"I'm afraid turning back isn't an option either," Master Plo Koon continued the meeting, "We know how that turned out the last time we tried." Lupe hung her head, remembering how the enemy had increased their bombarding on their retreating forces, laying waste to too many to count. At least battling the enemy head-on gave them the satisfaction of returning the favour.

"What if.. We gave them a blow from above?" Lupe remarked, one arm around her waist, her other hand under her chin as she focused her eyes on the holomap in front of her. Commander Wolffe shook his head. "As you're well aware, we lack any form of air support. And our cannons weren’t part of a relief aid mission, unfortunately." His gaze was focussed on the holomap, searching for opportunities.

Lupe's hand slid to the map, pointing out the front of their troops, and continued up towards the enemy's lines. She pointed out some kind of canyon further up. "If I take a few men, we can make it to this point and strike a blow at their flanks. We can use the terrain against them," she said, a subtle grin on her face as the plan formed in her head.

Plo Koon nodded slowly as the plan started to make sense. "Bury them under the rubble, then use it as a pathway to advance our troops," he said, his goggled eyes focused on the location Lupe was pointing at. "It is risky, but I'm afraid we're out of options," he added, as his sight lifted from the map to look from his Padawan to his Commander and back. "Very well." And with that, her mission was approved. As her adrenaline started to rise again, she slammed her fist into the palm of her other hand, readying herself for the task ahead. Commander Wolffe turned towards her. "Alright, what do you need?"

---

"Boys!" she shouted as she positioned herself on some higher up rubble, so everyone could see and hear her clearly. "It's time to get you out of this mess." She let her eyes dwell on the troopers around her, searching for whom she needed. "I need two volunteers though; someone with a great eye and someone with.. Something heavy."

"You've got my sniper, sir," a clone sharpshooter said modestly, nodding to her as he stepped forward, sniper in his hands. Another clone stepped forward, a RPS-6 rocket launcher hung over his shoulder, his free hand on his hip. "And my rocket launcher!" he boasted. She gestured to them to come closer before she jumped off the rubble. When the troopers reached her, she grinned at them and put her hands on their shoulders. "We've got a special mission to complete."

"Alright, listen up," she told the two clones as soon as they had reached the holomap. Master Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe had joined them as well. "We're gonna find a way out, and we need to push forward to reach the refugees. Boar, I'm gonna need your heavy fire to crush the droids. Sling, I need you to keep an eye out and cover Boar as he makes his shots. Understood?" She pointed out their crucial positions on the holomap during their briefing. Sling, the sharpshooter, and Boar, with his rocket launcher, gave her a quick nod. A 'yessir' in unison, before Commander Wolffe addressed them.

"Troopers, this is gonna be risky, and might end up in a suicide mission. But it seems like our only option at the moment. Commander Lupe has proven herself a capable officer, so I'm sure she'll keep an eye out for you. Remember, this one's crucial, so don't let us down. We're counting on you." And with those words, he saluted them. They returned the gesture, and Lupe did the same. As the two troopers started preparing their gear for the mission, Lupe walked closer to the Commander. "I'll protect them as best I can, Wolffe. I'll try to keep them safe," she said in a low voice, a quick nod. She turned to her Master. "I won't let you down."

---

The battle seemed to flare up again, as Lupe accompanied Sling and Boar towards the side of the pass. They kept low, to avoid any blaster fire. The clone troopers at the front tried to cover them as best they could. Lupe had detected a narrow spot where they could ascend to higher ground, out of reach of the incoming fire. She led the troopers towards the spot, where they squatted down with their backs against the steep wall.

"All right, this is the place, boys. Grappling hooks ready?" Lupe, sitting in between them, looked both ways to make sure Sling and Boar were ready for the ascent. They both unclipped their hand blasters from their holsters, ascension cables at the ready. Lupe smiled approvingly, and turned around to begin the climb.

"Sir, need to borrow mine?" Boar said jokingly, offering his DC-17 hand blaster to her. Grinning from ear to ear, she looked at him without commenting, before performing a Force Leap that landed her at the top of the pass instantly. "Show off," he said, smiling underneath his helmet, before launching his cable. Sling did the same, and they started the climb.

Although it took them a bit longer to reach the top than their Jedi Commander, they skilfully and steadily made their ascension. Lupe was waiting at the edge on top to offer them a hand, getting Sling up first. Boar was not far behind, his rocket launcher hanging weighty on his back. Lupe helped him up and gestured to the men to stay low to avoid detection. They nodded and followed her over the uneven top of the pass, cautiously but steady. They had to move closer to the enemy lines, away from the frontline, to avoid the shots from hurting their own ranks.

The terrain they were passing wasn't stable at all. The ground was very uneven, earthy stalagmites obstructing a smooth passage. They had to be cautious to not let any rocks slide to avoid detection, especially as they neared the edge above the droid ranks. Close at the edge, but not close enough to see below, Lupe held up her hand to make the men stop. It was safer to do this recon herself; she needed the boys sharp and unharmed for the next part of the mission.

As Sling and Boar followed her silent order, she crouched closer to the edge, lowering herself and crawling the last part. As silently as possible, almost holding her breath, she stared down into the pass. She could see the clone battalion in the distance to her left, and had a pretty clear view of where the frontline was. Beneath her, hundreds of battle droids. As she averted her eyes further to her right, she kept on seeing their army. As if there was no end to their incoming waves. The familiar B1 battle droids mixed with the more advanced B2 super battle droids. And dwarf spider droids, lots of them. She really hated those; she knew what followed behind when these smaller spider droids were around.

As expected and impossible to overlook, four homing spider droids were advancing slowly through the pass. Their slender yet wide mechanical legs made it difficult to manoeuvre through the pass, which was almost too narrow for them. The much smaller battle droids had to walk underneath them to reach the battle, as the Spider Walkers took longer to advance. If they could take down those Walkers, they would create a massive breach in the droid army's formation. Maybe enough to push forward, to reach the refugee camp at last..

Lupe crawled back slightly before signalling Sling and Boar to join her, but cautioned them to stay low. The troopers did as she ordered and she found them at her side quickly. "See those Spider Walkers? We have to take ‘em down," she whispered, as she let the clones scan the pass beneath them. "Boar, your electrobinocular, please," she said, leaning his way as she was still lying on the rough surface. He handed it over to her, whilst Sling slit down his helmet-mounted electrobinocular to have a closer look with her. "Search for any unstable spots near those Walkers," she said to Sling, whilst looking through the binocular to do the same.

"That's a lot of clankers," Boar remarked as he started prepping his rocket launcher, whilst Lupe and Sling pointed out weak points to each other. There were quite a few useful spots, but they had to time their attacks right. As soon as they would fire their first shot, the enemy would be aware of their presence, and aiming would get harder with each following shot. Lupe and Sling were still debating some points when Boar lifted his rocket launcher on his shoulder. "Ready when you are," he said drily to his companions.

Lupe nodded at Sling when they agreed on the targets. She quickly briefed Boar on the locations as Sling monitored the first target through his scope. "Thirty..," he passed on out loud, counting down to the moment the first Spider Walker was at the perfect spot for impact. Lupe took a deep breath after which she put all her focus on the first target, getting ready for the upcoming fight. She knew as soon as the first missile hit its target, chaos would emerge. She had to complete this mission, to get the company out of this mess, but she had to keep Sling and Boar safe as well. To finish the mission of course, but because she owed it to them as well.

"Twenty.." Sling had taken up his sniper, the butt of the rifle comfortably resting against the flint grey pauldron on his shoulder. Boar did a quick last check on his rocket launcher. Lupe forced her breathing into a slow pace, each breath she took deeper and slower. Everything around her seemed to go slower, sounds being muted, lights being dimmed. The only things she heard loud and clear were her own breathing and heartbeat. "Ten..," she heard Sling saying beside her, but it sounded far away. She closed her eyes to take her last breaths..

"Five.. Four.. Three.. Two.. One.."

"Now!" Sling shouted. Lupe opened her eyes, her gaze immediately on the first target, ready to jump up and use her lightsaber when the enemy laid eyes on them. Boar, aiming at the target, launched the first missile. A thudding sound as the rocket came out, rumbling when it followed its course. Almost complete silence before impact, and then, a penetrating roar as the rocket hit an overhanging rock and exploded. The massive rock came tumbling down, taking more rocks with it along the way. The rockslide fully hit one of the slender legs of the homing spider droid.

"Nice shot," Lupe shouted in encouragement. As the rocks hit the Spider Walker's leg, slicing right through the hydraulic stud that kept it steady, the tank-like Walker came crashing down. When it hit the surface, crushing every droid underneath it, a gust of wind arose, knocking down all the droids in the proximity. Boar's shot had the exact effect Lupe had hoped for, but there wasn't time to celebrate this small victory. The mission wasn't over yet.

"Boar, get ready for the next shot." Lupe pointed at the next target; he nodded and readied himself. "Sling, watch for incoming fire," she ordered, as she knew their cover was up. The unexpected attack had startled the droids and it took them a few seconds to process what had happened. Quite a few droids were damaged beyond repair, completely crushed underneath the Walker or their internal mechanics failing them. Some of the fallen super battle droids managed to get up again, but it took the B1 battle droids more effort.

It didn't take the droids long to pinpoint their attackers' position though. Lupe ignited her lightsaber as the first blaster bolts arrived. They were too far off for the droid blasters to be really effective, but she deflected the few accurate shots they received. She kept close to Boar and Sling, ready to shield them if necessary. She was well aware of the unstable ground at their location, but they had to finish the mission. No time to find a better spot, they were on a tight schedule.

"Twenty seconds for the second target," Sling pointed out, as Boar lifted his rocket launcher again. For their second target, they had spotted an ammo provision farther back in enemy lines. The Spider Walker they intended to damage was closing in on the stockpile. Deflecting some more laser bolts, Lupe swung around her lightsaber without losing sight of the target. Sling started counting down the last five seconds, and - thud, the second missile shot out of the launcher. Rumbling forward, heading towards the ammunition. The three of them seemed to be holding in their breaths, until the rocket hit its target. A massive explosion occurred as the Spider Walker got blown to pieces, droids and equipment flying around. They could feel the heat of the fire that resulted from the explosion, despite the distance.

So far, so good. Two shots down, four missiles left. But it seemed like the droid army was finally regaining itself. Another Spider Walker, still intact, had marked their position and was starting to aim one of its dish-shaped laser cannons their way. Sling warned them as he watched the dish rotating in their direction. "For kriff's sake, I'm not gonna try deflecting that," Lupe sighed, as she knew she wouldn't survive its powerful blast. She would be either launched by the incredible force of the blast, or she would be cooked alive. She wasn't planning on finding out what the outcome would be.

"Gonna improvise this shot, sir," Boar shouted, as he aimed his rocket launcher at the deadly enemy. Lupe looked from the Walker towards Boar and back, thinking quickly. "Boar, aim for the centre, where its hemispheres are joined," she said to the trooper as she remembered her training. It was a weak spot, and when aimed correctly, the top half would pop right off and the reactor in the centre would explode. Just as Boar took the shot, a Separatist missile exploded near them, making their unstable surface tremble frighteningly. Out of focus, Boar let the missile loose, missing the centre of the globe by metres and thus doing little damage to the Walker.

"Kark," he proclaimed, as he knew there were only three missiles left now. There wasn't space for more errors. Gently, Lupe put her hand on his shoulder to let him know she didn't blame him. The kind gesture turned into a demanding one as she gave a fierce tug to his shoulder, ordering him to his feet. "Time to move," she yelled, making sure Sling was ready to jump into safety as well. He was; already standing and gesturing to them to move away from the edge. They abandoned their spot just in time; the Walker's laser cannon was in place and beamed a homing laser their way.

They were out of the explosion’s range just in time, but the surface where the laser hit, the place they had been working from, disappeared in the blast. The ground trembled below their feet, making the clones stumble and fall over. Lupe managed to stay balanced with some effort, and quickly helped the men back to their feet. "I know this is getting harder by the second, but we need to finish the mission!" she shouted, as she darted ahead of them, searching for a new spot to launch their next attack.

The clones, born and trained for this, seemed inexhaustible as they followed their Commander to the next threat. But she knew better and felt a surge of guilt as she dragged them along. She would do anything in her power to keep them from harm, but she wasn't invincible.

"There!" Sling shouted, as he pointed to a small, flat surface up ahead, overhanging the pass below. They only had a small window of opportunity to launch the next missile before the Spider Walker would detect them again. Lupe stayed low as she peered over the edge, the two clones behind her to avoid detection as long as possible. And there she saw their window.

"We're gonna make this one count," she said, turning towards the clones, a smug look on her face. "Boar, stay away from the edge, but get your launcher ready. Sling, I'm gonna need your eyes." She quickly explained the situation. They had advanced towards the Walker that had just attempted to hit them. Whilst the Walker had come to a halt to pinpoint their location, to aim and to fire the shot, a second Spider Walker had walked up conveniently close to the first one. It was a bit of a gamble, but if they timed this shot right, they were able to bring down two Walkers with one missile.

Boar steadied himself on the flat surface, away from the edge, balancing himself on one knee as he put the rocket launcher on his shoulder again. There was no time for him to observe the target and aim the shot before being detected, and cover was their best ally in this situation. Sling was able to peer over the edge undetected, making the calculations with his helmet-mounted electrobinocular.

"On your twelve at 0.4 klicks, angle minus 30 degrees, in ten..," Sling told Boar focussed as he read the calculations on his screen and measured in his own expertise, keeping aware of any changes to the situation. He started counting down the last seconds, and at zero, Boar launched the missile. Another thud; rumbling as it gained distance from them. None of them could help it to peek over the edge to see if the missile would hit its desired target..

And it did. Smoothly it darted underneath the first Spider Walker, only slightly missing the globe between the legs, and finally hitting the hydraulic stud at the backside of the machine. As intended. The stud exploded, making the Walker tilting backwards. The second Walker, unaware of their intentions, had walked up too close to the first one, and had no time to react. The first Walker tilted further and eventually crashed into the second one, taking it with it to the ground, resulting in various explosions.

"Remind me to put up some good words for you as soon as we're back," she laughed, proud of these skilled troopers and letting go of some tension. She patted them on their backs as she watched the explosions below wreak more havoc. Sling and Boar got to their feet, clasped their forearms and shook them. "Well done, brother." "I could say the same for you."

But their moment of triumph didn't take long. Overwhelmed by their success in a disastrous situation, they hadn't been aware of the enemy closing in on them. A small group of dwarf spider droids, pesky mechanical menaces as they were, had made the almost vertical climb to the top of the pass. The droids now found themselves only metres behind Lupe and the clones. Lupe turned around, but was too late to shout out a warning.

The first laser blast hit Boar in the right shoulder. He cried out in pain, grasping towards the injury as he fell to the ground. Lupe jumped in front of him and Sling, two hands around the hilt of her ignited lightsaber, whilst Sling checked in on his brother. The laser bolts from these spider droids weren't as deadly as that of their larger counterparts, but it took Lupe more strength to deflect the shots than from any regular blaster. She kicked her heels into the hard surface to stand her ground as she deflected shot after shot to protect the clones behind her.

"Hang in there, brother," Sling said to his brother gently, before facing the enemy. Boar was hurt badly, but the injury wasn't fatal. But they couldn't attend to the wound as long as these blasted spider droids were aiming at them. He got his blaster out of the holster, quickly detached the ascension cable and started blasting past the Commander.

Lupe was able to deflect a laser blast back into one of the droid's eyes, making it shake from electric shocks, disabling it. But that was just one down. Sling had joined the battle, but the hand blaster's bolts weren't doing too much damage. She heard Boar groaning behind her, fearing for his life. The groaning got louder and she was just in time to step aside when she realised what was happening.

Boar, despite his injury, had managed to get back on one knee, and with great effort and ignoring the pain, had put his rocket launcher on his unharmed left shoulder. He aimed at the spider droids, and without the need to explain his intentions, Sling stepped in and aided Boar in launching a missile. It darted past Lupe, only just missing her, and landed perfectly between the remaining spider droids. An explosion, sending the spiders flying over the edge, instantly terminating the threat at hand.

The intense blast made the surface tremble again, and since they were so close to the impact, it was worse than before. The flat surface, on which Boar and Sling were still located, started to crumble below their feet. Sling leapt forward to steadier ground, immediately turning around to reach for his brother. Boar took his brother's hand, but cried out in pain as the tension on his injured shoulder became too much. He let go of Sling's hand, and not a second later, the surface below him vanished - and Boar with it.

"No!" Lupe cried out, and simultaneously, everything in their proximity stopped moving. Sling was torn between the devastating feeling of losing his brother and utter surprise as he noticed the world around him coming to a standstill. He looked around to see Lupe, eyes closed, hands stretched out to where his brother had been moments ago. And then, slowly, the falling surface came back up, floating towards them, his brother included.

Boar groaned as Lupe guided him back on steadier ground. As soon as he was safe, Lupe let go of her intense Force connection. She fell to her knees, breathing heavily, as the rubble around them started falling again. Sling crawled over to his brother, still groaning softly, and took him in his arms. He looked around in disbelief. He knew the Jedi were capable of great things, he'd even seen it during previous missions. But he'd never seen it up this close, this personal. "Vor'e, vod*," he whispered, not sure if she could hear him, but he meant those words.

*Vor'e = thanks / vod = brother/sister/comrade

---

Staring through his electrobinocular, Wolffe sighed. It had been a while since the last explosion further up the pass. The mission had been effective, creating a breach in the enemy's ranks, an opportunity to push forward. They had quickly dealt with the last droids at the front, and now they had the opportunity to regroup and quickly organise their push forward. The camp was in turmoil; troopers running back and forth, readying themselves. Medics attended the wounded, their fallen brothers collected at the side of the pass.

He had expected Lupe and the two clones back already; if they had survived, for that matter. Surely the Commander had, but he wasn't so sure about the boys. It had been a rather risky mission, with only the three of them to make it happen, but they had been successful and made the rest of their campaign possible. He was just hoping they had survived to see what they had accomplished.

Plo Koon was standing beside Wolffe, his hands resting behind his back. He was overseeing the preparation of the push forward, but just as Wolffe, was peering in front of them to be on the watch for the team's anticipated return. The clouds of smoke and dust made it hard to see in the distance, but they would be ready if the team returned. If.

"Sir," Wolffe noted eventually, his voice a mixture of reserved excitement and a bit of surprise. Plo Koon followed his gaze into the distance. Through his binocular, Wolffe had spotted three silhouettes appearing through the smoke and dust, slowly stumbling their way. One of them was supporting the second, whilst the third stayed close by their side. But there were three of them, and they were definitely alive. "I need a medic at their location," Wolffe barked, as he turned towards the temporary infirmary and pointed towards the three figures in the distance.

Plo Koon felt a surge of proudness as he watched the team emerge. Not only had they pulled through and saved the day, his Padawan had brought back the clone troopers alive. She had grown so much this past year, as he remembered her back on Geonosis, so small and lost in all the devastation of the battle. And here she was, successfully leading and completing a mission, and looking out for her troops in the process.

He watched as a trooper ran up to the three, handing Lupe his water canteen. She nodded in thanks, opened the canteen and assisted the injured clone in drinking some water before she handed it over to the other clone. Only after he drank some water, she took some sips of her own. Still caring, even when they were back at the camp. Yes, he was proud; all his training had flourished with this one.

A field medic, assisted by a trooper, came running their way with a hover-stretcher. Lupe helped Sling to sit down Boar on some rubble, careful to not hurt him more in the process. Boar was breathing heavily, exhausted from their walk back, but they had made it. Lupe had torn a piece of cloth from the lower side of her robe earlier, which hung around Boar's good shoulder, supporting his injured arm.

The medic sat down on one knee beside Boar, putting down his medpack and opening it to start his aid. He checked the trooper quickly to detect any obvious injuries, and of course Boar's shoulder stood out. "This is only gonna hurt for a bit," he warned, before taking off the charred shoulder piece. Boar groaned, grinding his teeth in an attempt to reduce his exclamations of pain. When the piece was off, the medic quickly took out a pressurised container and started spraying bacta spray on the wound, cooling it down instantly.

Lupe watched Boar slowly relax as the medic progressed. Now that the shoulder injury had received first aid, the medic took out a handheld medisensor and started scanning Boar for any less visible injuries. He skimmed through the diagnostics on the screen, Lupe subtly leaning over his shoulder to check them too. Some bruised ribs, one sprained ankle and a very mild concussion. Nothing out of the ordinary in the life of a clone trooper in the Galactic Army of the Republic.

"You'll be able to patch him up?" Lupe asked, taking a step back to give the medic more space. She gave a quick nod towards the improvised command centre. "I have a debriefing to attend," she added. The medic looked up at her and let her know he'll manage. "But with all due respect, you're not off the scomp, sir," he added, as he noticed the cuts on her face and upper arms, "I'll need you back after your debriefing to run a full diagnostics." He tapped the side of his medisensor with two fingers. She smiled, promising him that she would return before she turned herself towards Boar and Sling.

"You were great today, boys. Made me and the Republic proud. Take care, I'll come looking for you later." She gave them both a forearm handshake, Boar with his left arm to spare his injured side. They thanked her in return and she turned around, walking towards her Master and Commander. They were standing next to the holomap table, awaiting her arrival. For a moment, it looked like they were beaming.

...

Epilogue

The remainder of the campaign went smoother. Although the company of the 104th Battalion had encountered the droid army further down the pass again, the enemy’s numbers had been severely reduced because of Lupe’s mission. Boar and Sling had stayed behind at the field infirmary, getting the medical aid they needed and deserved. Lupe had joined the fight again, staying at the side of her Master, and protecting as many troopers as she could whilst the push forward progressed and proved successful.

At the end of the day, they had reached the refugee camp, where they were able to finish their current mission: providing relief aid to the planet’s refugees. The planet was still under Separatist occupation, but other battalions would be ordered to retake the planet as soon as they would become available. For now, the Wolfpack’s job here was done.

Lupe had definitely proven herself a competent leader and warrior by now. And that was everything a Jedi Knight needed to be these days, as the Clone Wars went on and on.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 4: Burcyan (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Burcyan. n. friendship, bond.

Summary: Now that you're officially part of the squad, Omega makes sure you're treated as such.

Chapter Warnings: fluff! sprinkling of angst

Word Count: 3495

A/N: Surprise mid-week update! Wanted to write this mostly fluffy chapter as a birthday gift to myself, and to y'all. Please enjoy <3

Read it here on AO3!

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Hunter lingers. He remains outside your ship, keeping a respectful distance, but you can practically feel his presence. An invisible tether connects you—gravity, anchoring you to the other. This was actually my idea, he’d said. You can’t shake away the eruption of butterflies that beat against your stomach as those words repeat in your mind. Maybe you aren’t the only one who feels like this partnership is older than a mere day. 

With a slow, steadying sigh, you shake your head. “You don’t have to hang out here. I need to change and hop in the ’fresher, anyway.” 

The cresting light of dawn softens his features as he tilts his head to the side in thought. “Sure. Do us a favor, though, and move out of our parking spot before you head back to Cid’s.” 

“I still think this is my spot,” you grumble. 

He chuckles. “Heard that.” 

Kriff. You’ll have to get used to that—and get better at keeping your thoughts to yourself. With a bashful grin, you wave as he ambles back in the direction of the city.

When he’s out of earshot—even for an enhanced clone—you groan and plop into one of the seats lining the cargo bay walls. You push the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. You’ve never been one for moving slowly, not in any aspect of your life, but kark if this whole encounter with these clones doesn’t have your head spinning. What would Arien say?

The thought of Arien’s purple eyes sparkling with mischief makes your heart squeeze. Of course, she’d tease you relentlessly for the mess you’ve found yourself in. Blinking away the phosphenes, you sigh. Well, at the very least, you deserve the teasing. All of your complaining to her about not wanting to be burdened by other people, and here you are, willingly joining a crew of five. 

You push the button to raise the ramp and gingerly take the ladder up to the cockpit, deciding to move the ship to another hangar bay before cleaning up. Thankfully, air control directs you to a zone away from the more heavily trafficked landing pads, and after you wire through a handful of credits for extra security, you’re cleared to re-dock the ship. The Redthorn jolts as its landing gear scrapes against the duracrete. You really need to get that looked at. 

Powering the ship down once more, you unwind the medical tape around your leg. Relief trickles through you; the wound is already healing nicely. Instead of the charred, angry appearance it had yesterday, the skin around the divot in your leg is now pink and shiny. Squeezing a drop of bacta into your hand, you slather it across the still-sore wound. Tingling coolness spreads through it. You tuck the tube of bacta into your pack almost on autopilot. 

Back down the ladder into the cargo bay, you strip out of your torn, sweat-logged clothes and rinse off in the icy ’fresher shower, and redress in another pair of utility pants, lightweight tunic, and worn leather boots. Into your pack you shove a poncho and a few more changes of clothes. You grip the gray material of your old uniform in white-knuckled hands for several minutes before stuffing it back into the locker. Not worth that explanation yet. 

Your pack bulges as you cinch it shut. Taking one final sweep of the small space, a peculiar mix of apprehension and anticipation roils in your veins. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you say aloud to the ship. “I’m just...working through some things.” 

As expected, the ship has no response. You sigh into the silence and make your way back to Cid’s as the morning light brightens the city around you. 

Omega has fallen asleep at the booth, curled against Wrecker’s side as he snores, head tipped back. Hunter, Tech, and Echo sit at a small, circular table in the middle of the floor, their heads tipped toward one another in a quiet, heated discussion. As the door slides shut behind you, Hunter nods at the empty seat between him and Echo.

Lowering your pack to the ground, you offer a half-smile. “Boys. Long time, no see.” 

Echo snorts. “Glad you could join us.” 

“What’s going on?” you ask. Each of their faces seems...drawn, tired.

“The only conversation we seem capable of having these days,” Hunter says in a low tone. 

“More like argument,” Tech says, one finger aloft. 

Hunter grimaces. “Call it what you want.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “And the topic is..?” 

“Whether what we’re doing here is really what we should be doing,” Echo says. 

You instantly understand. “How deep in debt are you with...?” You jerk your head in the direction of the back rooms. 

“Too deep,” Hunter says, “but she knows too much.” 

“Kriff what she knows,” Echo says, and Hunter sighs, like they’ve had this exact conversation—argument—whatever, several times before this. Echo continues, “Listen, Rex is out there, he could help us. And we can help him.” 

“Echo, you know how this conversation ends,” Hunter says. “We— Cid is awake.” 

The four of you straighten up as Cid emerges from the back rooms. Maker, you wish you had a cam right about now to capture the look on her face as her eyes alight on you. Her eyes widen and then immediately narrow, flitting between the four of you at the table. 

“Don’t you have other places to be, Red?” she says, crossing her arms. 

You shrug. “Obviously not.”

“Don’t expect me to pay you for any more missions.” She shifts her scowl onto Hunter. “Might have something for you. A contact of mine got back in touch right around when you rolled in a few hours ago; they’ve got wind of a potential treasure trove out on Rintonne. Real valuable stuff. Think you’re up for it?” 

You try your best to school your expression into anything resembling neutrality. Same shit, same Cid. 

“What else can you tell us? What’re we looking for?” Hunter says. 

“It’s all hush-hush, apparently,” Cid says with a shrug. “You’re a smart bunch. You’ll figure it out when you get there, I’m sure.” 

“Wrecker,” Hunter calls. When the  big man stirs, peeking through his good eye, Hunter says, “Got another mission. Let’s go.” 

You avert your gaze away from Cid, worried that she might see the smoldering embers of frustration in your eyes, as you sling your pack across your shoulders and make for the door. Omega yawns as she scoots out of the booth. She beams when she sees you. 

“I knew you’d say yes!” she says, hurrying to catch up to you. 

“Yeah? What made you so sure?” you ask, anger at Cid drifting away as you grin down at the kid. 

“Just a feeling,” she says. “Come on. When we get to the Maruader, I’ll give you a proper tour.” 

You hum in agreement. Falling in step with the boys, you tilt your head. “Where is this Rintonne place, anyways?” 

“It is in the Mid Rim,” Tech answers, “on the other side of the galaxy.”

“Oh.”

“Better let us do the navigating, eh, Navigator?” Echo bumps his elbow against yours with a gruff smile. 

You groan. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Wrecker guffaws and claps you on the back, sending you stumbling forward. A broad smile breaks out across your face, and you can’t help but laugh with him. You’re not sure yet if you prefer this nickname over being called ‘Red,’ but most of all you think you just prefer your own name. Even so, that strange feeling lodges between your sternum and lungs again, and you allow yourself to enjoy the teasing sense of camaraderie developing. 

The ship’s stench has not improved in the past several hours, you note with distaste as you shove your overstuffed pack under the bottom rack. Joining the others in the cockpit, you brace yourself against the back wall as Tech brings the ship up out of the atmosphere. Stars stretch into starlines, then flash into the swirl of hyperspace. A smile tugs at your mouth. You don’t think you’ll ever tire of that sight. 

“We should arrive to Rintonne in approximately three standard rotations,” Tech informs you all over his shoulder. 

You accept the news in stride. As much as you love the view of hyperspace, being stuck in it for days on end always leaves you feeling more than a little stir crazy, even in a ship by yourself. Now, you have five other people to deal with, as well. Arien’s teasing laugh bubbles up in your memories. At the very least, this beats sublight travel in every way imaginable. 

Omega grins up at you and gestures for you to follow her out of the cockpit. 

“Time for my tour?” you guess. 

“Yes! Come on, I want to make sure you get to see everything!” She pauses briefly in the data center, pointing out the several software systems currently running on the transparent screens. “Tech and Echo do a lot of work here. They’re teaching me about different ships, planets, and loads of other stuff, so that’s the only time I’m able to use the HoloNet.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “You get the Net on board?” 

Omega nods enthusiastically. “Tech figured it out ages ago, before I joined the squad.” 

“Huh.” A deeper sense of respect for the man settles into you. Then, studying the rest of the cargo hold, you frown. “Where do you all sleep?” 

“Most of the time, they all sleep either in the cockpit or in these chairs. Occasionally they use the racks.” Omega frowns like she’s just realizing that you need a place to sleep as well. “The chairs aren’t the most comfortable, but...”

You pat her shoulder. “I’m used to racks. I’m sure I’ll make do with that for now.”

She nods, and you get the impression she’s still turning the issue over in her mind. While she frowns at the floor, you take in some of the smaller details that you’d missed just yesterday in your post-argument state. A few discarded ration wrappers collect dust under the data centers. A weapon kit lies propped against the wall next to the racks. Tucked by the ramp door, the GNK droid rests in stasis mode. 

“Oh!” Omega exclaims, and you jump, startled. “Sorry,” she says, “but you can share my room!” 

She grabs your hand and tugs you the rest of the length of the ship to the very back. Clambering up the ladder, she shoves a curtain out of the way to reveal a warmly lit, padded gunner’s mount. Several flower stickers decorate the durasteel walls. Wrecker’s tooka doll, Lula, slumps against the base of the gunner’s chair. Omega’s eyes are wide with anticipation. 

“You’re lucky,” you say after a moment, smiling. “I never had my own room growing up.” 

She grins and shuffles back, patting the floor for you to join her. You raise yourself into the small room and settle against the cold wall. 

“Did you have siblings, too?” she asks. 

“Mm. Something like that,” you answer. “I was raised in an orphanage on Coruscant. Never knew my birth family. But that’s alright,” you hurry to assure her. The wonder in her eyes turns to something like sadness. “I met a lot of really nice people that way.”

“Did you ever get to have a family?” she says. She grabs the doll and hugs it to her chest, one finger twisting a stray thread. 

You shake your head. “The people who ran the orphanage took care of me. Guess they’re the closest to family I really had.” And then you clear your throat, pulling back from the brink of those memories. “What about you?”

“What about me?” She tilts her head, brow scrunched. 

“You know, parents, siblings.”

“All the clones are my siblings,” she says. “We’re all made from the same genetic material. I’m actually older than any of them up there.” She points to the cockpit. “At least, in terms of years. Their accelerated aging means they’re technically more mature.” 

You can only gape at her, and let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re...the older sibling?” 

She nods. “I know, it’s strange, isn’t it?” 

“It’s...it’s something, that’s for sure.” You feel like you need to process that information, but at the same time, it is entirely too weird to think that you, then, are also much older than the four men in the cockpit. You don’t even want to know what kinds of ethical dilemmas that creates on a daily basis for them. Are they legally old enough to drink? Should Tech even be piloting the ship? 

Nope. Definitely too weird. “Ask me another question,” you finally say.

Omega taps her chin in thought. “What was your life like before you worked for Cid?” 

From one uncomfortable topic to another. With conscious effort, you suppress a grimace. You get the sense she is bursting with questions in that way only kids can be. And now that you think about it, Hunter is probably eavesdropping whether he wants to or not. The topic of your life before the events of the past year, year and a half, is something you very much do not want to talk about. 

You come up with a half lie, half truth. “I moved around a lot once I came of age. Picked up different skills here and there.” 

“What was your favorite place you went to?” 

The next three days pass very much like this, with Omega asking near incessant questions. What’s your favorite color? Red, actually. Did you watch a lot of holofilms as a kid? Not really, but when you did get to watch holos, you always really enjoyed the action-packed ones. What’s your favorite food? Ronto Wrap. Only ever visited Batuu once, but you’d go back just for that. Omega pulls stories out of you about your youth that you haven’t thought about in years—and you find that she is a very engaged audience, hanging on your every word, asking you to explain details, gasping and reacting in the exact way that keeps you talking. 

At least, until one of the others intercedes and convinces Omega to leave you be for a while. It’s Wrecker who rescues you first. He ruffles Omega’s hair with a fond smile. “Come on, little tooka, let’s let our Navigator get some rest.” 

Your face warms. Clearly, the nickname is sticking. Omega wraps her small arms around your middle as you sit up and squeezes. Surprise short-circuits for a moment. You blink, just managing to pat her back, before she releases you.

“G’night, Navigator.” 

The next day, it’s Echo. He taps his scomp against the durasteel wall in a manner of knocking. Omega peeks around the curtain with a drawn out, “Who is it?” 

“Ha-ha, kid,” Echo says. “Tech needs you up in the cockpit for a few minutes.” 

“Okay!” Omega scurries down the short ladder and through the ship.

You shake your head with a snort. “I forget how much energy kids have.” 

“I know,” Echo says. He crosses his arms as he leans against the wall nearby. “She reminds me of...someone I used to know in that way.” 

You look sidelong at him, taking in the sudden downturn of his mouth, the downcast of his eyes. “Someone close to you?” 

A twitch of his lips. “Yeah. Fives. One of my batchmates.”

“I see.” You didn’t really, but during the Clone Wars, you remember hearing about the unflinching loyalty of the clones. It makes sense that that loyalty began with one another. “What was he like?” 

Echo exhales slowly and draws a hand over his face. 

You wince. “Sorry, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s alright,” he interrupts you. “He was...loud. Boisterous. Funny. Sometimes a little too funny for his own good.” His eyes glint with fond memories. “There was this one time, when we were still shinies, he was trying to convince these locals to get out of the way because the Seppies were on their way. These people would be caught in the crossfire. And he tried so hard to get them to understand—but none of them spoke Basic! The look on his face...” Echo laughs, trailing off. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder. “Sounds like quite the character.” 

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

And through all of this, you can still feel Hunter’s presence like a physical force, your gravities tugging on one another even through the closed cockpit door. Or maybe you’re just working yourself up. 

On the third, and last, day of travel, Hunter emerges from the cockpit. You shoot him a distracted smile before turning back to your masterpiece. Sitting cross-legged behind Omega, you clumsily work twist braids into her hair the way you recall some of the children at your orphanage doing. It’s not been in fashion for many years, you know, but you figure with how topsy turvy the galaxy’s been lately, the concept of fashion is a moot point. And besides, you catch the way that Hunter’s face softens as he approaches.

Once you tie off the last twist, you squeeze Omega’s shoulders. “There you go, kiddo. All done.”

“Look, Hunter!” She scoots to the edge of her room to dangle her feet over the lip. She turns her head back and forth for Hunter to admire. “Isn’t Nav so cool?” 

“Nav?” you and Hunter say at the same time. 

“Yeah,” Omega says, in the same way she’d say, ‘duh.’ “Nav. As in Navigator. I heard Echo and Wrecker call you that, so I thought...”

You see the flicker of self-doubt across her face, and crawl forward to tuck an errant curl back into its braid. “It’s great, Omega. And I think you should go tell the others about the name.” 

“And show them your hair,” Hunter adds. 

Omega grins a toothy grin as she hops down to the main floor. She practically springs to the cockpit. You chuckle, watching her go, and have to shake your head at her antics. 

“I hope she’s not been too much trouble these past few rotations,” Hunter says, thumbs hooked in his belt. 

You shimmy out of the gunnery. Your right leg no longer feels weak from the blaster wound, and you comfortably settle your weight on it. “Nah, she’s great. I get why you’re all so protective of her.” 

He nods. “It’s been easier since the Empire thinks we’re dead. Or at least, they did. Hopefully we didn’t kriff that up on Bescane.”

Grimacing, you duck your head. “Listen. I should have told you sooner about the Empire’s presence there.” 

“Yeah, you should’ve,” he agrees. 

You look up sharply at him. Worry flutters in your windpipe. 

He offers you a tight smile. “But...we should have mentioned about being clones up front.” 

“I feel like my thing far outweighs your thing,” you say with a huff. 

“A secret is still a secret,” he says. “A squad has to trust itself.” 

“And am I part of the squad?” you ask. 

His gaze could melt steel, and your knees feel like they’re slowly becoming jelly the longer he studies your face. You work to keep your breathing even. After a long moment, he nods. “Getting there.” 

“Good,” you breathe. You clear your throat. “I mean, uh, good to know.” 

He smiles, the worry lines smoothing over. “You and Echo seem to be getting along well.” 

You hum. “He’s funny.” 

“Funny?” Hunter shakes his head with a chuckle. “Most of the time, he’s just grumpy.” 

“Can’t really blame him.”

“No, suppose not.” Hunter tucks a curl behind his ear. “I wanted to ask...and please feel free to answer on your own time. But I noticed back on Bescane that you were having some kind of episode. Your heart rate was out of control. Is that something we should be worried about?” 

He’s being vulnerable, you realize, by asking you about your past. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to ask about things without good reason. You can sense the walls he’s built around himself—they match the walls you’re still reconstructing around yourself. Allowing himself to care about another person, even if it’s just for the good of his squad, exposes him almost as much as it does you. And Maker, you want to be similarly vulnerable in this moment. You want to explain to him what happened back on that Imp world, why you froze, the serrated shards of memories that dug into your psyche. The words crowd your mind and threaten to spill like blood between your teeth. 

All you find you can do, though, is offer another weak smile. “On my own time. But you won’t regret having me along, promise.”

He nods once in acceptance. “We should be to Rintonne soon. Feel free to join us in the cockpit.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” You swallow against the rest of your words.

Tag List: @the-hexfiles

[amberskyyking]

Dying Isn't Very Regulation: Chapter 5

Fives enacts a plan to see if he can find any other missing brothers. It goes a little sideways.

(Or, a self-indulgent 5 9 16?? chapter fic inspired by Snapback by @toomanyteefs with Fives and Ninety-Nine, because I have emotions about this, they deserves the world, and the narrative has officially run away with me!)

Ninety-Nine watched him nervously as Fives fiddled with their stolen long range comm. Even if Rex was accounting for troopers in desperate situations, the least he could do was make sure their communication wouldn’t be easy to decipher if it was intercepted. It only took a couple minutes, and finally, he punched in the code he would know in his sleep. His stomach clenched as he did.

If this worked, he would be speaking to Rex again.

He and Ninety-Nine waited as the device crackled and hummed, taunting him. Seconds ticked by. The pit in his stomach worsened and Fives held his breath, staring at it, willing something to happen until finally someone picked up the comm!

But it wasn’t Rex. The surliest cadet Fives had ever seen appeared before him in blue light, a scar over one eye and a familiar symbol on his pauldron. Fives sucked in a breath. He could have hugged the holo itself if that particular commander wouldn’t dress him down and ream him out for it!

“This is an unrecognized code,” A cadet-sized Commander Wolffe spoke sternly. “Are you in danger, trooper? Identify yourself.”

“No danger at the moment, Sir! This is ARC-5555!”

Wolffe’s expression didn’t change at first, but after a long pause, he fixed Fives with a grim, deadly look. “Is this your idea of fucking joke, trooper?”

“What?” Fives spat. “No sir! It’s me, Fives, ARC-5555 of the 501st! My commanding officer is Captain Rex and-”

“Shut your karking mouth and show some respect,” Wolffe snarled. “I will be tracing this comm and when I find out who-”

“I’m not lying, Commander! It’s really me!” Fives pleaded, jamming a finger towards his “5” tattoo as proof. “See? I thought we were alone out here, we’re stranded on Corellia and-”

“Corellia? I’ll be having a word with Lieutenant Mattox about this shabla behavior from his men-”

“It’s me, Commander! I swear!”

“We’ll deal with your sick shebs soon enough, trooper. You’ve crossed the line.” 

“Commander!”

But with a final disgusted glare from Wolffe, the comm went dead. 

Full Chapter (And Story!): The Sweet, Competent Little Di'kuts

[blithe-imperial-underling]

*Written in a slightly shaky hand on flimsiplast*

Translation:

I need to sort through my thoughts to get some perspective. That portrait of Commander Echo, bared to the waist with his back to the viewer - it keeps sneaking into my mind. It's part of the Imperial outreach program, so of course I posted it to my blog with an appropriate caption. But he's my commander, for kriff's sake. And though I know participation was voluntary, the commander as I know him is an entirely proper, modest man, so it felt almost too personal to post.

Should I allow myself to even think about it now, in private? The portrait was intended for the public eye. Several other officers are also being featured, for the good of the Empire. I've even heard that ISB agent Kallus might be included, though that may be wishful thinking on the part of the other aides I overheard in the break room. At any rate, the portrait of Commander Echo is entirely tasteful. There's nothing provocative or improper about it. So why shouldn't I look at it? Because I can't be objective about it, that's why. And I have tried. Oh, how I've tried. What I want is to linger over the image and drink in every detail the artist captured. I can't help it. The commander is a striking man, and the artist portrayed him beautifully. Lean muscle over a perfectly proportioned, lithe frame; the body of the hero he is, with an indefinable something that hints at the master tactician within. The pose they chose allows him to retain a measure of privacy, even while cybernetics and scars normally hidden by his uniform are exposed, including narrow plates that cover his spine like a strip of armor. Unlike the showy augmentations you see on some mod aficionados these days, they're martial-looking. Utilitarian. They suit the soldier they serve and, like his prosthetic arm, they don't detract from his appeal. I almost wish they did. It would make it easier to keep my thoughts from straying into - no. Stop it right there. If I didn't have feelings for him, I'm sure the portrait would be no big deal. Another attractive man without his shirt on. Admire for a moment and move on. But I do. And just thinking about that image, while working, my face flushed until it felt like I was glowing. Commander Echo was across the lab from me with his eyes closed in concentration. But, scomped into the network as he was, he could still have seen me blushing if he had turned any of his virtual eyes my way. Oh, stang. Stang, kriff, and karking nerf balls. He may still see if he checks the logs. Was it as obvious as it felt? I don't know how closely he watches the lab while we're present, or if that's something he'd notice. The commander mustn't find out how I feel. As crucial as his work is to the Empire, the last thing he needs is a fawning admirer where his aide should be. And I just couldn't bear it if he thought I saw him with any less than the respect he deserves. That decides it. It's time to pack that mental image away so my traitorous blushing cheeks can't betray me. It's the respectful thing to do.

*Document disposed of securely shortly after writing*

The portrait in question can be seen here:

[mwolf0epsilon]

Absolution

Summary: 3 moments during Sponge's "retirement" that shaped them into the person that they always wanted to be.

[3 out of 3 drabbles celebrating Sponge Day (the date of their creation). I hope you all enjoy the Sponge Lore drop!]

---

---

From the moment that their ship hastily departs from Kaminoan space, it suddenly occurs to Sponge that they have absolutely no goddamn idea what they are doing.

They packed up some supplies, their loyal pet barghest, 5 tubies still in their respective growth jars, and 10 atypical cadets into a singular transport. They then proceeded to flee without so much as a plan or destination set in mind.

It's classical 501st. It's very Fives-chic.

Sponge barely manages to restrain themself from bashing their face in on the ship's main console. They can't help but to scream internally however. Their day has officially done a 180º turn from the worst moment in their existence, to absolute idiocy and lack of foresight on their part.

Obviously they had wanted to do something, anything, to finally get some control over their life. A desire that meshed well with the urge to get revenge for the sheer atrocity they'd been forced to help commit.

Their hands may not be stained with the blood of younglings like many other vode, but they had facilitated those deaths by incapacitating the older Jetiise at the temple. As such their conscience is substantially weighted down with those deaths. The guilt is theirs to carry by proxy.

Surely in taking these cadets away from Kamino, they were exacting a form of retribution against the Empire?

There was no doubt in their mind the cadets were all slatted for decommissioning. Saving them had been a no-brainer. They deserved to have their chance in the sun.

The tubies had been more of a last minute decision...

Oh, who are they kidding? All of this was a last minute decision. They were being recklessly impulsive. Worse yet, they were putting 15 children in mortal danger by doing this... There had to be a better solution...

Glancing back at the group of cadets huddled in the corner with Beautiful in the middle keeping watch, they can't help but slowly relax. They look oddly at peace, despite everything that's just transpired.

Escaping certain death had likely helped sooth them to sleep.

Maybe they'd be able to find some kind of answer soon. The ship had plenty of fuel until then.

-

Altering the cadets's scrubs was originally intended to be a form of disguising their origins, rather than a show of affection. Or at least disguise them as much as physically possible, considering they all had the same facial features. Sponge could only rely on the "these are my sister's decuplets I'm looking after" story so many times before someone inevitably saw through that lie...

Once they're all old enough to go through puberty, it'll be even harder to hide what all of them are.

Most civilians in the wider galaxy saw clones as faceless fleshdroids encased in armour. Not many were privy to what they looked like, since even karking Jango Fett had preferred to keep his face hidden from the general public whenever he could. But there had to be enough vode out there trying to hide in plain sight, that one or two communities could memorize their shared face. Commit their facial features to memory so as to better increase their chance of selling off defectors to the Emprire.

Sponge can't risk that. Won't ever risk that. They can't let these little ones die for nothing. So they start small, by altering the only clothes they currently have, and giving them their own distinct haircuts.

They do not expect them to brighten up so much at the idea of customization.

"I want a dress! A pale blue dress!" Bonesy bounces on the balls of her feet while clinging to their pantleg. Her hair is starting to curl over her ears, and she told them she wanted to grow it out as long as possible so she could feel like a "real girl". They reassure her she already is one.

"Whatever is most practical will do, sir." Sixer taps all 12 of his fingers together before playing with his thumbs, a nervous habit they've made note of in the past. They had already promised themselves they would make him a fidget toy of some kind to help with his instances of clear anxiety.

"Maroon hood... Please..." Amoeba is not one for many words. The polite and shy smile on his face is refreshing when compared to the boisterous nature of the great majority of siblings. Sponge can't help but to ruffle what would one day be a fully fledged mohawk. They'd shaved the sides yesterday and the young boy had smiled so brightly it was like looking at the sun.

"Short sleeves get less messy. Maybe... Buttons? To keep them in place?" Pragmatic as ever, Cartoons is well aware of how much of a mess he's going to make out of anything he wears with his artistic talents. So he chooses practicality like his older brother. He's been sketching everyone's requests, trying to provide some form of visual reference for them to work off of. It's very useful.

"We can make our own! We've always loved to mend!" Both Patchwork and Ragdoll chorus as they look up at them with excited twin smiles. They have the sewing kit they'd managed to barter for at the market. Once they'd seen it their eyes had immediately widened with glee at the prospect of getting their hands on it.

One by one they all voice what they want their clothes to be like. Outfit after outfit they (with the help of the twins) create for them with what fabric they can recycle or find. With each one they complete, the respective owner seems more like themself. It fits them perfectly, just as they'd intended.

They all thank Sponge. Hug their legs, stare up with such a bright spark in their eyes that it makes them go a little flustered. They'd never been complimented for their suturing before. It's such an odd thing to think about.

What's really happening flies over their head for a while longer.

It takes them about a month or two for Sponge to suddenly realize that they are now a buir. Something that they had never assumed to be a possibility after everything they'd gone through and done. All the mistakes and regrets...

It was a chance that had been biologically stolen from them after the Kaminoans cut them open and messed with their reproductive system, until they were deemed "normal enough" to be put to service under the GAR.

The cloners hadn't cared for what they had to say about it. Hadn't much cared for the concept of body autonomy in their products at all. Instead they had carelessly destroyed their fertility and crushed Sponge's hopes of siring (if they had simply found a good enough female partner) or even baring (a much more intimate and arguably strange desire for a mostly male presenting clone) children.

Adoption had been an option of course but, after the order went out and partaking in the temple march, did they really deserve such a chance?

Nurturing younglings was not something a monstrous fuckup like them deserved to ever be able to do. Not when they'd left the Jetii younglings to die by the hand of their many brothers and sisters that they had abandoned to their fate. And then of course they'd prioritized finding the little ones homes. Been quite successful in finding good homes that wouldn't ask too many questions. They were even down to two tubies.

The cadets were old enough that they didn't need to rush finding them a home until they could be sure they were all ready to integrate into civilian life. Sponge had assumed they'd never voiced a desire to leave anytime soon because they were willing to wait for the perfect one. It turns out they hadn't been waiting at all. The little ones had simply already found a home with them.

They were a buir of 10 young children. 10 children who loved and appreciated them, despite their flaws. Who trusted them with power over their own identity and self-image.

The knowledge quells a terrible pain in their heart and makes it swell with an all consuming love and protectiveness that they promise to stand by for the rest of their life. No matter how short it may be.

Their ade, their precious aliit, are all that matters to them.

-

Strangely enough, Sponge becomes the go to person for new clone parents to seek advice from. It is absolutely and astoundingly bizarre, considering their reputation. Also very much their own fault.

They'd thrown a surprise adoption on Dogma and wished him good luck. From there on out, obviously the rest of the Guard Remnant concluded that Sponge had the most experience out of any other clone in terms of the "do"s and "don't"s of parenting.

They had raised 10 kids of their own in one go without a guide of any kind. "Obviously" they knew what they were doing.

It didn't help that every clone on Epifania apparently knew how to find their farmhouse. And, as loathsome as it was to be bothered when they preferred not to be, they couldn't help but smile and indulge their vode whenever they got to see the adiik they were raising.

They loved being a ba'vodu just as much as they loved being a buir.

It is quite something, to get to meet so many children that were born of an actual mother and a clone parent. One could even call it a very unique experience.

They'd wondered for many years if perhaps their genetics would taint any offsprings sired by the vode. A concern that wasn't too outlandish, all things considered. Their accelerated aging or nature as clones could, in some messed up way, contaminate whatever newborn came out of a natborn mother.

The nightmare of babies potentially coming out as just another form of clone had terrified them. Likely had terrified the clone parents as well. They had never been made for this sort of life. Softness and a love for child-rearing was not a part of their training.

It is unsurprising then that Sponge had thought a lot about pregnancy in their relatively short lifetime. Obsessed with it a little. Done so to such a degree that Pitch was better equipped to help with maternity based services. The new parents didn't need to be a target of Sponge's fascinations for the subject.

Not that any of them could blame them for such a reaction. To see the next generation of ade, so complex and unique in their own right... It's history in the making.

A chance for legacy.

Seeing so many little humans with shared vode and natborn physical characteristics? Hell, seeing so many of them that had these distinct clone features who were also hybrids?

It filled them with newfound hope for the future. Hope that maybe many clone lifetimes from now, they would not be forgotten by the galaxy after all. A part of them would forever live on in their descendants.

Sponge's own children, their Spongelings as Lich often called them, were already adolescents. Soon to be young adults that were looked at with reverent adoration and love from their little cousins.

Tulpa had the most contact with them out of all of them, since Dogma visited as often as he could to chat with them. He was already nearing 6 and starting to enter the pre-pubescent phase of his growth cycle. The little rugrat ran around with Dog at his heel, following each and every one of his cousins, emulating their behaviors and seeking their example. Learning from them.

And Sponge couldn't help but grin at the thought of their ade being seen as role models.

They had become a buir during a very difficult period in their life. They knew they hadn't done everything right. And yet Sponge had been blessed with 10 intelligent and well adjusted ade that they were proud of and loved very much.

It was a shame they were growing up so quickly. It was a shame all of them were aging so quickly.

But the fleetingness of life didn't make Sponge cherish their time with their ade, vode and nephews and nieces any less. If anything, it made every second, every hardship, every drink or meal shared, every night where they told them a story and then kissed them goodnight, all the more worth it.

It was through their little ones that they'd live on. Just as it was through them that Sponge had finally become the person they'd always wanted to be.

They think with confidence, that Jelly would have been proud of them for getting where they are today.

[blackkatmagic]

Prompt! Mace is stuck in a time loop of evening he fought Palpatine. He’s a little surprised at first at how willing the CG commanders are to help him commit murder, but he appreciates it

Mace is scorched, bleeding heavily, and missing a hand, still out of breath from his last fall before the section of looped time reset, when he staggers in the Coruscant Guard’s main office, then locks the door behind him.

Halfway out of his chair, Fox freezes, eyes widening. “General Windu!” he says sharply, and reaches for his comm. “Thire, go get Medical—”

“Only a Guard medic,” Mace says, and Fox goes still, Thire frozen halfway to his feet on the other side of the room. Mace meets Fox’s narrowing eyes, feeling the wash of suspicion rising, and can't even manage to hide the exhaustion in his voice when he says, “I don’t trust anyone else.”

He’s failed to kill Palpatine four times now. Four betrayals, four falls out the wide window, four times surviving just to watch the Jedi Order fall right alongside the Republic. Exhaustion is the very lightest word for what Mace feels right now.

Fox glances from Mace to the door to the other commanders, then deliberately reaches over, switches off the comm, and engages the privacy lock on the office. “We have an hour before the shift change,” he says.

Stone rises, pushing past Thire, to approach with quick steps. “I've got bacta,” he offers.

The best possible outcome. Mace tries not to stagger as he heads across the office, but he must look bad enough that Thire meets him halfway, grabbing Mace's arm and supporting him right to the empty chair across his desk. It’s a familiar seat, and Mace collapses into it with a sound that might be a groan, tipping his head back. thinks, a little grimly, of how he’s going to get Fox to agree to what he needs help with, but—Fox is the best shot in the Guard, the most fearless man Mace has ever met. If he can't do it, no one can. And all of his commanders are intensely loyal and well-trained and brave. They’re necessary, too.

All Mace needs is to not sound like he’s gone mad for the next hour.

“No caf this time?” he asks, then sets his teeth against a gasp as Fox pulls his robe away from the long, jagged slash that’s sheeting blood down his side. The third fall, Mace thinks. He wasn’t able to stop all of the glass as it fell after him.

There's a pause, careful, and then Fox snorts quietly. “You didn’t even call ahead this time,” he says, and from the tone of his voice Mace might almost believe it’s one of their weekly meetings, nominally to discuss security but more often to drink caf and complain about the idiocy of senators. “Not a Jedi. Don’t expect me to read your mind.” With a quick, ruthless jerk, Fox pulls a shard of glass free, then catches Mace's shoulder before he can do more than cry out and slaps a bacta patch over the spot, sealing the edges.

When the world stops lurching like one of Anakin's crashing ships, Mace opens his eyes, and finds himself pressed face-first to hard plastoid, as red as blood.

“My apologies, Commander,” he manages, though picking up his head feels like rather too much effort right now. “I would have called if I could have.”

Above him, there’s a quiet breath, and Stone sets a hand on his shoulder. “Sir,” he says quietly. “What happened to you?”

Fox’s hand curls around the back of his skull, holding him carefully in place, and—after three years of war, trooper armor feels like safety. Even seeing what the 501st was forced to do, all Mace can feel right now is a deep, desperate sense of shelter, like finally finding a light in a storm.

“We’ll murder them for you,” Thire says on Mace's other side, conversational and easy, like it’s the predetermined outcome, without question and entirely within their ability. “Just give us the name, General.”

Mace opens his eyes, staring at red and white plastoid, and takes a breath. “The Sith Lord,” he says. “I found him.”

Fox’s indrawn breath is a vicious hiss. “Thire,” he says without hesitation. “Those slugthrowers we seized the other day, in the lockup, and the ammunition—”

“On it,” Thire says grimly, and then he’s gone, across the office and into another room. Fox himself doesn’t move, and Stone’s hand curls more tightly around Mace's shoulder, holding him steady.

“General Windu,” Fox says, quiet. “Just give us the name and we’ll take care of it.”

They will, Mace thinks, and it’s almost astonishing. Within ten seconds, Fox had a plan, and that’s—well. Precisely why this is where Mace came when he’d run through all other options and was on the verge of collapse.

“I need to come,” he says, though when he goes to lever himself to his feet, Stone gently pushes him back down. “You may hesitate, and I need to guard you if you do. He’s powerful—”

“Hesitate,” Fox repeats, frowning. He glances up as Thire returns, carrying two locked boxes. “Why the kriff would we hesitate? He’s a Sith Lord. He did this to you. He’s the one behind this whole karking war.”

Right. The difficult part. Mace takes a breath, carefully pushing himself upright, and says, “His identity. You might think I'm lying.”

There's a pause, and then Thire snorts, thumping the boxes down on top of Fox’s desk. “With all due respect, sir,” he says. “I can't even pictureyou lying to a clone.”

Stone makes a sound of quiet amusement. “What he said.”

Mace glances up, meets Fox’s eyes. “I'm going to ask you to help me murder someone very important and highly-placed,” he say quietly. “With no proof but my word.”

“And your injuries,” Fox says ruthlessly, though his hand is careful on Mace's throat. Mace should likely be thinking of troopers in the Temple, executing children, but all he can picture is Ponds on his left, Razor on his right, Stak asleep against his knees in front of the fire. It makes him close his eyes again for just a second, leaning into Fox’s touch.

“It’s Chancellor Palpatine,” he says clearly, as steadily as he’s able to. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord. I need your help to kill him.”

There's one beat of stunned, frozen silence. Then, careful, Thire clears his throat. “You want us to kill the Supreme Chancellor?” he asks.

“Yes,” Mace says, and when he sits back, all three commanders are staring at him. Something in his chest sinks, grim and resigned. “I can't—”

“Thire, get those damn boxes open,” Fox orders. “Stone, we need some kind of distraction. Grab some detonators.”

“Sir yes sir,” Stone says, and scrambles to obey as Thire lunges for the lock boxes. “That rotary blaster—”

“No blasters, just slugs,” Fox says firmly. “General Windu, if he sees you—”

“He won't remember my attempt to kill him,” Mace says automatically, though he can't quite get his brain to click over and accept that he can see in front of him. “I—Commanders—”

“No backing out!” Thire says over his shoulder. “It came from a Jedi, it’s an order, just let us do it this one time—”

“No take-backs,” Stone agrees, dumping a bandolier full of grenades over his head and settling it quickly. He also grabs for a very large vibrosword that’s leaning against the wall. “Even if you’re wrong, sir, we’d better just check, right?”

Fox snorts, and as soon as Thire gets the box open, he reaches for one of the slugthrowers. “Call it a birthday present,” he agrees, and glances at Mace, considering. “Sir, if you stay here—”

“I'm not staying,” Mace says firmly, and pushes to his feet, just managing to catch himself as he sways. “Use me as a distraction. Put me in cuffs and tell Palpatine that you found me trying to sabotage the power grid.”

That, of all things, makes Fox hesitate, but after a moment he nods. “After that, we’re taking you somewhere secure and dumping you into the softest bed I can find,” he promises. “Sir.”

Mace won't object. He might even drag the three of them down with him, just for that little bit of extra safety. If they manage to kill Sidious, they’ll all deserve every bit of rest and safety they can get.

[On AO3]

[emperor-palpaminty]

Henlo beautiful dearest amazing Minty (I’m being genuine take my love and affection and forehead smooches😤💕)

My brainrotting, self indulgent ass would liketh to requesteth a thingeth maybe perhaps kinda. I would love some Female Reader x Fives (as you may have noticed I love him very much), with a side of platonic Echo (because I also love him very much) (and they both deserve affection) (I am just a little more in lesbians with Fives you understand)

In lesbians with Fives, a mood

HELLO MY SWEET AND DELICIOUS COOKIE 🍪 I SHALL GLADLY PROVIDE YOU WITH F I V E S

I need me a hobby lobby white woman instagram post that says “lord bless this brainrot” because that is this whole ass blog lads. I need that as a Twitter header lol

It had taken you too long to get to the senate meeting, and you slipped into your respective pod, quietly, sliding into the chair by the senator you were shadowing.

“Late?” Senator Amidala whispered, a smile quipping the corner of her lips. You only offered a sheepish shrug as she patted your arm. “At least we’re color-coordinated.”

You glanced down at your body to double-check what you were wearing. You had haphazardly thrown the clothes on mere minutes ago, and due to the stunning lack of caf, you had forgotten the deep emerald shade that was clinging to your body from the leftover shower. “Oh. Thanks.” Your finger traced over the rounded corner of your holopad case as you stared out, looking for the senator that was speaking. Even now, you exhaled, a breath of stone weight. It was set to be a long meeting.

___

"I'm telling ya, Echo." Fives stretched his arms back, the kama hitting his thighs at a routine rhythm. "These new ships are karking amazing. Full spin and torque."

Echo rolled his eyes, helmet tucked under his arm. "Right. And I'm the dad to a bantha."

"Not even a bantha would want you, Vod." Fives grinned, ignoring the sharp glance of a passing senator. "But, really, it's interesting." The two turned around the corner of the hall. Something smacked into him, mid-quip, and he stumbled back, feet pressing back and arms wrapping around the unfortunate senator that had smashed against his armor now.

She made an "Oof!" In a very un-senatorial manner, files and holopad dropping. She sat there against Fives, still, and then slowly looked up.

Fives heart plummeted to his stomach, and he grabbed her arms, pushing her away, gut rotating itself into a new arrangement. "Aide!" He greeted, in a totally platonically and not at all romantically interested. "Hello."

They stared at each other, wide eyed, and Gives quickly knelt down, grabbing the folders. "Here, let me-"

"No, it's okay-" she leaned over and picked up her holopad, exhaling slightly in relief. "Sorry."

"No, I shouldn't have been walking there." Fives apologized, the files stacking quickly in his hands. "You know... Clones."

"You can walk wherever you want." She started, quickly, taking the folders from him. "I don't mind." The senatorial aide tucked the folders under her arms, still staring at the ground.

Fives lingered. Jokes fell flat in his mouth, and his face felt, out of nowhere, warm.

Echo cleared his throat. "Hello."

The aid whipped to him, relaxing somewhat. "Oh! Echo! Hi. Sorry."

Fives felt his head drop a little lower. Of course- it was Echo. She talked to him, and talked to him often, but around himself she was so... Awkward.

Of course, Fives knew, the thought making his shoulders heavy, he couldn't be likable to everyone.

Echo gestured between himself and Fives, grinning. "We were actually planning on going out tonight. Seventy-nines," His tone lilted, offering. "You want in?"

The aide grinned and looked at Fives, her smile shying away briefly. "Are you? Going, I mean. Are you going."

"Uh. Sure." Fives felt a hand fly to the back of his neck. "I was thinking of it."

"Yes." She responded. "Me, too."

Echo stared between the two of them, brows knitted, heavily. Realization washed over his face just as the senatorial aide babbled her goodbyes and scurried off, head ducked. Echo turned to Fives, a grin quietly inking onto his face. “Fett’s balls, Fives.”

“No.”

“You- oh!” Echo laughed as Fives marched forward. Jogging to catch up, Echo chuckled. "It's true then."

"No it isn't." Fives hissed. "Wait. What's true?"

Echo barely took three seconds to cast Fives a meaningful look. 'You and her." He hired his thumb back. "You do like her."

"Do not."

"Do too."

Fives rolled his eyes, uttering a scoff as he pressed his helmet closer to himself. "Whatever. We still have stuff to do." Silence settled between them and Fives was just fine with that, even if Echo was giggling next to him.

___

The club beat was heavy. It wasn’t something you were entirely used to, but you would gladly take it over screeching senators and reproachful representatives. You took a quiet sip of your drink, only glancing when you heard someone settle next to you. "Good work day?"

You grinned in Echo's general direction, sliding a glass to him. "Yeah, fairly." You managed over the music. Your snuck a glance at Fives, who was laughing aloud with some other clone commander with yellow insignias. "Busy day, at least."

The silence was not as loud as the bombarding throttle of the rhythms, and your heart pounded in your head with the music. You sighed softly into the whiskey, sipping it again. It was cheap. But you liked cheap.

"Why don't you, ya know..." Echo inclined his head in the general direction of his batch mate.

Your face warmed rapidly and the alcohol dried up in your throat, and you shook your head. "No. Never."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't-" you rasped, grabbing the shot again. You downed the rest of it. "He doesn't like me. Didn't you see him earlier? He's so..." Your fingers moved, quietly, conjuring a word. "Tight."

"Awkward?" Echo rested his chin in his hand. "Ya know why?" He raised his brows, a grin broadening.

Your face warmed again. "No way."

"Yes way. And I think-" Echo pointed with the glass at Fives. "You oughta go over there and tell that man. He would get weak in the knees. It would be funny actually."

You stared at Echo, who only smiled- sincerity and humor dwindled on his face. The truth dawned on you- Fives stopping, freezing up around you, jokes coming off short- he liked you.

"Force." You groaned. Your hands buried against your face until sparks spurted under the lids of your eyes. "I'm a karking idiot."

"Eh, don't be so down." Echo winked. "What say you go get him?"

Your ears warmed again. The glass was hot in your hands, empty, and you dropped it on the counter. Your last ounce of courage drained into your veins as you marched towards Fives, with the cadence of a woman damned.

Fives looked up, blinking in shock at your rapid approach. "Oh! Hi-"

You yanked his arm, tugging him in, and kissed him.

Damn it, you kissed him good.

He didn't hesitated for more than a second. A grunt of shock left him, and his hands landed on your waist, grasping you and trying to find a sense of realism. He tasted like the same cheap whiskey you had chugged earlier, and his beard tickled your chin as he vehemently returned the embrace.

You pressed away, inhaling heavily, looking over Fives. His face was dark with blush, staring at you in shock. Despite this, he grinned, widely, and his fingers squeezed you lightly. "Wanna get out of here?"

You grinned, nodding, squeezing his hand as you lead him out of Seventy Nines. Tonight would be utilized for making up lost time, and you should have started this long ago.

[thefoundationproject]

Oh hey, the other question at mind! Did Wrecker's crush on Jesse ever get anywhere?

"You still see me as a kid."

This is a great glass of whatever this is. Spotchka, maybe. Maybe rum. Maybe the fact that Jesse can't tell means it isn’t a great glass of whatever it is. Whatever. Jesse likes it. The turbine-cleaner-ness doesn't hit him til after the sip and it's more in the throat-burn than the smell. Already puts it shelves above his usual poison. Point is, it's an okay glass of whatever it's a glass of, and it doesn't deserve to be wasted on introspection when it could be wasted on getting Jesse wasted.

Wrecker drops heavy onto the stool next to him. His elbows rattle the bartop. "I'll have whatever he's having!" he proclaims. He's got that look to him, chin jutted out full-on obstinate. The vod'ika look. Stubborn.

“You sure, bud?” Roxxi’s the type of twi’lek with a smile as pretty as a brand-new vibroblade and Jesse’s always a little bit loved her for it. Favorite bartender which, sure, isn’t a ringing endorsement when there’s not all that many of them spread across the few places that have just begun to crop up. But she’d been pretty high ranked on his list even back Before, when the couple of bars on Coruscant had sported more than a couple of bartends much better at faking respectable. She shoots Wrecker some heavy skepticism, and hooks a thumb Jesse’s way. “This asshole only drinks shit.”

“You won’t like it,” Jesse warns, and he already knows how this will go.

Wrecker’s brows go low and stony, his jaw goes from grit to granite. “I’m sure,” he snaps, vod’ika pissy.

Roxxi shrugs. The merry little bells she’s got dripping from her auditory cones tinkle unconcern. But out of the kid’s sightline, hoo boy.

The glare she shoots Jesse is the kind of blaster-burn glare that says ‘fix it’. Ugh. Responsibility is infecting everyone these days. She turns up the heat, adds a ‘now sha’buir’ to the angle of her eyebrows. Ughhhh. No longer favorite.

The bar-wall brick is splotched with scorch marks that sit nice and coincidentally artsy. Very obliging, Jesse thinks, of whatever it was that blew this building up originally, way back whenever it happened. There are places on Coruscant that’d shower credits on whoever could design them this kind of ambiance. Would expect no less from a Guard bar, honestly.

Something about the way they’ve done the floors or maybe the ceilings dampens chatter from clusters of soft chairs dotted along the edges. The bar itself lacks the same touches, but regulars tend to understand it meant for folks already planning to mind their own business. It’s a nosy kind of night it seems: Jesse’s the only one communing here all night. Well. Was.

Roxxi slides the vod’ika his pour all done up in one of those textured transparisteel cups that just maybe will hide the fact that it’s ever-so-slightly-concerningly greenish-brown. Kark. Kark kark kark. That new-bolt-magazine-shiny smile means you didn’t do what Roxxi told you to do in the amount of time she expected it should take you to do it.

She breezes by Jesse’s cup and he’s not coordinated enough to stop her from dropping a fistful of fuckery over it. There’s sugar cubes and giant salt crystals; ice, crushed but it looks like it was via hammer; something bright and chirrupy that’s either a flavor shot of that one Pineshrub Sunrise shit, or an extra garbage version of a swirl of Dancing Caramel.

Jesse hisses. Roxxi meets his frown with pleasant blandness and delicately balances a toothpick on the rim. It’s got a half a karking citrus tree threaded on it, as if the liquor wasn’t already sewage. Asshole.

She pats Jesse’s head, the kind of already-won smug. He hasn’t been so insulted in hours, at least.

“I got rainbow sugar string in the back,” she threatens. “Floats on top, turns your tongue octarine.” Fine. Fine.

Jesse turns to the vod’ika.

He looks like the drink’s gonna bite him. Fair enough, he’s not far off. And there’s the eye contact, and there’s the vod’ika obstinate and there he goes, getting himself one big swig of the stuff.

Jesse pounds his back through the ensuing hacking. He doesn’t say ‘I told you so’. Jesse was a vod’ika once, he knows how that grates.

“Okay,” he says when the kid can breathe again. “Before Roxxi outright poisons me, wanna tell me what the problem is?”

Wrecker grunts. “Who says I’ve got a problem?” Okay, wrong wording. Jesse’s too drunk for conversational minefields. He’s been too drunk for at least an hour.

“I’m too drunk to figure out what’s the right and not right thing to say,” he says, because blunt honesty always seems to work for Rex and he’d like to wrap this up quick. Roxxi owes him a refresh. “So if you could just tell me what you want?” He trails off leadingly.

The guy’s big. Really, very big, and that just makes it that much worse when he bunches himself up, dejected. “I want,” he mourns, “you to stop thinking of me as a kid.”

Really? Is that all?

Jesse’s not drunk enough to say something that stupid. “Sure,” he says instead.

Wrecker frowns at him, confused. “‘Sure’?” he asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means ‘sure’. Why not.” If a vod’s got a thing they want you to call them and a thing they want you to not, it’s simple enough to do that. Especially if they’re nice enough to tell you that up front. Polite even. “‘Wrecker’ fine or you got something else you’d prefer?”

“Uh.” Wrecker looks thrown. Floundering. Weird. Drink’s not that strong. Most of his first sip’s on the bar. “My name is fine?”

Jesse shrugs. It’ll either be fine or it won’t, and hopefully if it’s not, and he figures out it’s not, he’ll be nice enough to tell Jesse then too. “Lemme know if I slip up,” he warns. He’ll do his best, but brains take a bit to recalibrate. “Anything else?”

Wrecker stares at him like he’s got himself a second, even more bald head growing out of his nose. “No,” he says, slow and unsure. “That’s it.”

“Good man,” says Jesse.

“And now we’re just going to be what? Equals?”

“Sure.” Jesse shrugs. “Regular vode. We’re drinking together aren’t we?”

Wrecker thinks about it for a long minute, comes up golden. He grins. “We are,” he laughs. “What if-”

“I think any further changes are gonna have to wait til I’m more sober,” Jesse decides. He was roommates with Hardcase for a distressingly long span of his poor life; he knows the look of a little shit trying to see how much of a little shit they can get away with being.

This time it’s Wrecker that shrugs. “That’s fair,” he agrees. Jesse’s very sure this won’t be the last of it. “Think this stuff might actually kill you first, though,” Wrecker muses.

Heathen.

Jesse swaps their cups. “I like to keep my liver on it’s toes,” he says. “Me and my teeth are are good terms, they don’t need this stress.”

Wrecker, to Jesses complete unsurprise, loves the sugar sludge.

[vvitchering]

This exists now in part because of this post and because @chamomileteainabuttercup is a dirty rotten enabler.

---

There's an old saying about bad omens coming from kindnesses left unacknowledged. Or there might not be. Who's to say; its a big universe. There should be, at any rate, Boba thinks, and he's had a hell of a kindness dropped into his lap that's been sitting unappreciated for far too long.

While it's true Din didn't personally hand the armor back over to him, he did go to a lot of trouble collecting it from its interim owner. The slaying of a Krayt isn't an easy feat. And all for an old set of armor the man could never have known still had a rightful owner wandering the galaxy.

That kind of dedication and care deserves to be rewarded ten times over.

The problem is Din himself. For a man walking his path in head to toe pure beskar, Din leads a surprisingly frugal and monk-like existence. Boba has recently come into some significant affluence with the take-over of Tatooine's ex-Hut syndicate complete. The short and sweet of it is he has credits to burn and he'd really like it if Din would be a little less frustratingly noble for a second and let Boba repay him.

He likes Din. It isn't just about balancing out his ledger or satisfying an old superstition that may or may not exist. It's rare he encounters someone he respects and genuinely likes as much as Din. It's been so long since he's last had the opportunity or the means to really spoil someone.

And if anyone deserves a little spoiling, its Din.

Maker knows Boba has tried. Din has (politely, always so damn politely) turned his nose up at any and all gifts he's been offered. All the new ships were not his old ship and therefore unsatisfactory. The latest and greatest in weapons also did little to entice him; he seemed dead set on reconstructing his lost weapons cache himself. Something about it being the "honorable" thing to do.

He'd only reluctantly accepted Boba's offer of hospitality because he had no way of getting off-planet himself, having turned down the gift of a ship for the fourth time. And he had promptly ruined that gesture too by insisting on making himself useful around Boba's newly acquired palace, rather than simply enjoying his status as an honored guest.

Karking noble bastard.

It's actually starting to piss Boba off how Din deprives himself. He deserves riches, deserves the world. Deserves pleasure.

Now there's an idea.

One of the benefits of his new title is that everyone trips over themselves to obey his orders. When he barks out a command to clear out, people clear out. The throne room is empty and silent in less than a minute, no questions asked. Shand shoots him a knowing look as she leaves her post by his side and closes the heavy doors behind her.

He hears Din begin to move away from his position behind the throne where he'd been standing, spear in hand, looking suitably menacing.

"Not you, Djarin. We're overdue for a discussion." Boba says, and Din lowers the spear and cocks his helmeted head in that endearing way of his to show he's listening.

"You did me a great kindness in returning my father's armor to me, all those cycles ago, you know." he begins.

Din shrugs it off, as he always does.

"This is the--"

"Yes, yes, 'the way', so you've said. I don't mean to insult your creed or your honor, ner'vod, but you've left me in an awkward position. How can I show you my appreciation when you refuse every attempt?"

Din doesn't respond right away, seems to turn the words over in his head and consider them carefully, finding the best way to reassure Boba that he needs no compensation or thanks for doing what is right, but Boba is done letting Din make excuses.

He gestures the other man to the front of the throne, to stand in front of him. Din goes to kneel, as is customary in front of a king, but Boba flaps his hand at him to stop and then stands himself. It's remarkable that Din, who stands several noticeable inches taller than Boba, can make himself seem so much smaller than he is. Boba frowns at the act of deference; he's made efforts to make it clear he considers Din his equal and they've clearly been ignored.

"Have a seat." Boba steps aside and indicates the throne behind him. He can't see Din's expression but he does pick up on the quiet shocked intake of breath.

"Why?"

"Because I've asked it of you. Please."

For a few seconds Din simply stares him down, and Boba half worries his plan is going to fall apart before it can properly be put into motion. He won't force this on Din, but he dearly hopes he'll be allowed this attempt.

Cautiously, Din perches on the very edge of the throne, the spear placed across his knees. Boba smiles. They've passed the first hurdle. Now to really get down to business.

He moves to stand before Din and pulls his helmet off, enjoying how obviously Din's visor follows the motion. Din still clings to his creed, finds comfort in maintaining his devotion to keeping his face covered in the presence of others. He thinks Din might have originally found his own disregard for the practice a bit jarring, but judging by the way Din tries and fails not to stare, jarring might not be quite the right word for it anymore.

Boba can't see Din's eyes, but he can certainly feel their gaze.

The armor creaks as he goes to his knees and the clank of the helmet being set down on the stone echoes in the silence of the room. Boba looks up at Din and smirks as he notes the man's grip on the spear has tightened to the point where his gloves are squeaking quietly against the metal.

"What is this." Din asks, though it doesn't sound like a question.

"It's an offer." Boba explains, reaching out to take the spear in his own hands. Din releases it without a fight. "One I hope you'll find acceptable, since you've refused everything else."

"Fett--"

"I'm on my knees, Din. I think you can call me Boba."

Din swallows so hard the click of his throat is audible. Boba's smirk stretches into a grin he hopes is still charming, despite his scars.

"Please. Let me show you my gratitude."

---

;)

please line up in an orderly fashion to yell at me for stopping here, thanks~

[shouldntcryoverit]

the art of discordance

a captain rex x jedi fic during clone wars era :))

no warnings i think uh yeah hope you enjoy let me know ig...

next chapter

CHAPTER ONE -

A new general. That’s what the rookies had heard, though Rex was reluctant to believe the Jedi Council had the guts to replace Skywalker. After a good few months, the captain had learnt of his general’s unique ‘disposition’, and getting a new general to step in was what he least expected.

That was until the ship landed just outside their camp and she walked out. Even from his position sitting further back on some crates, Rex could make out the figure, identifying her as one of the jedi knights, though which one escaping him. Perhaps the rumours were true.

He watched as she walked closer, hands placed purposefully and eyes wandering over the other two jedi in front of her. The commander crossed her arms defensively, though her master seemed unbothered by her arrival, excited even.

“master?” Ahsoka coughed

“oh snips!” Skywalker bleated with the same enthusiasm he had wagered throughout the interaction “this is Jaida Reyes”

“the one from your padwan stories?” Ahsoka said with smug conviction

“my reputation precedes me” her accent was crisp and calm, though her tone radiated a coolness that Ahsoka couldn’t help but feel distanced by “though i’d rather be known for my skills with a lightsaber than helping Akin steal from Obi-wan”

Ahsoka held back a snicker as Rex walked up to the three, absent minded as he double checked his comm.

“General Skywalker, we have the new coordinates” His attention tried hard to divert to the new face.

“ah thank you” Anakin turned to his friend “this is my captain, Rex”

Rex nodded at his introduction.

“i’m the new co-general, General Reyes” her face settled into the beginnings of a smile, but faultered and remained her neutral, placid gaze.

The young jedi watched with focused eyes as they walked the short distance towards the briefing tent. Already her presence seemed to spark rumours among the men, and she watched as the younger looking troopers sent her inspecting looks. It was to be expected, honestly she never wanted a big formal introduction, but she didn’t know that her arrival would breach the news so quickly.

When they arrived, the tent was half full. An open and decorated holo map was in the centre, with at least two clones at each marked entrance point.

“Boys” Skywalker called “we have a visitor”

She rolled her eyes slightly at the flamboyant gesture, but stepped forward anyway. “I’m General Reyes, apparently Skywalker wasn’t trusted enough to run his own battalion, so i got called in” Her hands rested behind her back, but a small grin encroached her face as the snipe made a few troopers smirk.

“excuse my fellow jedi, she’s never been good at taking second place” Anakin fired back, earning another set of grins.

Reyes crossed her arms as her smiling face resumed the same placcid one she’d kept previously. “i have heard nothing but good things, and i look forward to serving with you.”

The Captain moved forward from the side of the room and clicked to change the holo map, it made a small beep as he did.

“The 212th met a settlement of droids over this side of the ridge. Last report was that they were able to move forward at the threat subsided.”

“so what does that mean for us?” Jaida’s brows furrowed as Rex layed the plans out for her. Already her mind was scoping escape routes and vantage points, but she remained seemingly unbothered by the conflict describes. Rex couldn’t help but feel unmotivated by her apparent lack of interest.

“our initial plan was to take out the last forces left on the planet after the seppie defeat, but intelligence believed the 212th accidentally did it for us”

She scoffed “so we’re here for a clean up?”

“hope you brought something fun to do” Ahsoka scorned.

The efforts were limited within the first hour. Already the men were tired of the same scenery and nothing but expansive flats. The sun stood high in the sky, illuminating the landscape in a orange hue. It wasn’t hot nor cold, everything about the mission mediocre, something Reyes particularly hated. It wasn’t just her with an annoyance, she could sense the captain’s distrust. She understood it, only hoped it wouldn’t comprimise her efficiency.

As if nothing interesting was ever going to happen, a yell from a trooper a little further ahead broke the methodical thump of the machinery.

Soon followed was the sound of gun fire. Each shot was slow, until finally the enemy was visible.

“Find cover!”

“you did say you wanted action” Anakin quipped, earning an actual chuckle from her usual pursed lips. It almost caught Rex off guard.

It was unavoidable, the lack of cover meant the men were almost completely exposed, accept for the three jedi that stepped forward, sabers ignited.

Reyes was a new sight, though she didn’t look out of place on the battle field. Her lighsaber was different, instead of the usual one blade, hers had two, both green and glowing as she tactically spun it round and round, catching blasts as if it were sport. Even her fighting style seemed new, she fought with elegance and structure, each blow purposeful and strong.

Her focus was planted entirely on the enemy ahead, so much so that she failed to notice the trooper settling down beside her.

“karking droids, never seem to die” she muttered, deflecting a few more blasts.

A muffled laugh came from beside her and the familiar blue and white etched her vision.

“I’d get used to it general” a trooper grinned

Jaida turned and grimaced, an offering of acceptance. As she refocused her mind to the task at hand, a thought slipped through.

“trooper, get those three and come with me”

Her request caught the clone beside her off guard, but he complied none the least.

The five of them rounded behind the line of defence, all the way to their republic.

“uh, sir, what are we doing?” a soldier with a hand print on his chest asked, gingerly as the new, seemingly scary, general climbed onto the side.

“if i can prime the ignition gear and jinx the starter cable, I can force it into their ranks and it’ll, with any luck,” she popped her head up with a half devilish grin “turn them all into scrap parts”

It was the trooper with the cog on his helment that relaxed first “heh, they teach you that at the temple?” he quipped

“nope” she gestured for them to cover her as she popped open the side “they taught me it on florrum” she said with a smirk, before diving back into the mess of wires and sparks.

Jaida’s plan worked, and effectively too. After a very short battle, the men finished their sweep and prepared to bid the timeless campaign fairwell.

Once back on the ship, most clones settled down for the trip back to Coruscant, and Reyes followed suit, though only subtly checking that everyone was well and okay, before continuing her sweep on the ration packs. After she deemed her check satisfactory, she retreated to the command rooms. The door slid open and revealed Rex standing over a report, absent minded to say the least. His shoulders tensed momentarily as the door swooshed, and she noticed the sour taste that seemed to flood his tongue when he met her eyes.

Jaida cleared her throat, and planted fists against the table, propping herself up.

“i’m sorry, we lost men” Jaida spoke calmly, slightly softer than her usual tone.

“with all due respect sir, you don’t seem all that bothered.” Rex mentioned.

“captain” “it’s not something i’ve grown accustomed too yet” Jaida countered, though her argument didn’t cause Rex’s stance to loosen. She cleared her throat

“i’ve lost people before, and I know what it’s like to loose someone in battle, though i don’t know what it’s like to loose your brothers. i did not want this” her tone was instructive, but it softened all the same and her true compassion fell through.

Rex paused for a moment and met her eyes again “i shouldn’t have blamed you, my apologies, general”

“relax, captain”

“it’s uh, Rex, sir” he corrected. It was when he lifted his hands to the side of his helmet that Jaida realised she had never actually seen his face. It came off, and revealed a strong jaw and cheek bones, all toned perfectly set. His eyebrows arched above his eyes, a slightly different shade of golden brown than his brothers. Of course the main difference was his hair colour, short and stark blonde.

“Jaida” her response made Rex frown ”if i have to call you by your name you have to call me by mine. Jaida” she explained

“sounds fair”

“good” she smiled for the first time, and Rex liked it.

————————————

The night after an assignment was always filled with either anecdotes or silence, a relief or devastating. Jaida watched as the men loitered around crates of rations and equipment, all with distant smiles; tired.

She had previously been stuck at the medbay after the medics caught sight of her, a few gashes on her cheeks the real cause - nothing bacta wouldn’t heal, but she learnt quickly of their head medic, Kix, and his ability to scare even Jedi into looking after themselves. After making peace with the captain, a warmth had begun to spread about her.

Now, she stood against the cold duraplast walls of the Resolute, picking aimlessly at the scarce red dirt left on her hands.

“You okay Jay?” the question broke her mindless thought.

“yeah, i am” she looked up to her friend knowingly, Anakin grinning as he always did.

“Generals!” a trooper with geometric tattoos called out “come sit with us”

She turned her head sharply and gazed over the haphazard array of lounging clones

“I ought to check the ration packs” she tried to excuse.

“you should take one sir” Another clone encourage lazily “deserve it after that rescue”

She blinked for a second, unsure if it would make more sense to agree or deny. Before she said yes or no, Anakin had already collected her on his way to his own seat in the game.

Jaida sauntered over and handed each clone a bar before taking one herself, sitting down cross leggedly just as graceful as she did anything.

“sir, i don’t like it” she spoke between chews “name’s Jaida”

“well, Jaida, general’s told us a little about your career together, got any stories?”

“many” Jaida gave the first ghost of a smile any of them had seen from her yet, however small it may have been, and lent backwards against another log “Anakin ever told you about the time we climbed to the very top of the temple walls?”

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 20.11.20

new title card! everyone looking hottttttttttttttttt af!

no for real though, this chick needs to fucking insure her feet or something. itne disaster-prone pair maine zindagi mein nahi dekhe.

this idiot. honestly, he needs to know to pick his battles. he used to be soooooooo smart and shaatir. now he’s just dumb as fuckkkkkkk, the way he’s playing the game. i really don’t understand. i just don’t.

“riddhima tumhe pata hai tumhari problem kya hai? tum khud aage badhke apne bure waqt ki ghadi set karti ho.” lmaooooooo that’s a brilliant line and exactly what she does!

standard DON’T YOU DARE LOOK AT MY FAMILY WRONG blah blah from riddhima.

trollolololololololololol i honestly just put up with this character just to see vishal play himmmmmmm

blah blah tell dadi that i should get the business, then the property, then the family, and then this room of his....... ew, gross implication of that room thing aside, bro slow your rolllllllllllll. also why are you tellling her all this??? why the fuckkkkk would you give her a heads-up?!?!!?!?

sweetheart bhi bola. ugh. i hate when any man calls any woman that. it sounds patronizing and condescending as fuckkkk. also i just don’t get why he wants to be like vansh so muchhhhhhhhh when HIS PERSONALITY IS OBJECTIVELY BETTER THAN VANSH’S WAS?!!?!?!!?

ok i’m bored with this scene now and fwding.

pls sis, don’t say wohiiiiiiiii shakal and all. new shakal is >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> old shakal. like, i have no words to describe the improvement.

here aryan be making some stupid shady deals and he’s like mwahahahahaha now that vansh is gone, there’s no one to stop me!!!!!! dude, he literally used to do that to prevent you from going to fucking jail, lmao. you are so fuckingggggggg dumb istg.

“sivaaye mere!” snort. this i’m gonna enjoyyyyyyyyyyy.

aryan like TU KAUN MAIN KHAMAAKHAAAAN?!!!?!? and quite rightly so.

this is their new thing in the show. they show this angle of kabir jab uski kuch zyaaaada hi khisakkkkk jaati hai. 

AKLSJALKFJSLKDJFLSDKJFLKDSJLFKJDSLKFJDSLKJFLSKJD OMFG HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

“seedhe mooh baat kii thi. tameez se jawaab dena chahiye tha.”

lmaooooooooooooooo i can’tttttttttt with this fuckerrrrrrr. why is he so fuckingggggg hilarious?????

meanwhile bhaabiji is back at mandir place asking around about vihaan. she’s describing him as “bodybuilder type” which, lol......... ok.

chaiwaala is i know who he is and can give you deets.

she’s like yehiiii haina???? and he’s like yeah kinda, but hotter. way hotter. ok he didn’t say it. i’m saying it. BUT IT’S THE TRUTH, COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!

holy shit she just had to give him 2x my wholeass monthly rentttttttt to get the deets. what the fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk????? ALSO MY GOD WHO JUST CARRIES AROUND THIS MUCH CASH IN THEIR LIL DINKY GOING-TO-THE-MANDIR PURSE???????????

bhaiyyaji very very happy with his loot of the day butttttttttttt.........

lmao this one like I WORKED REALLY HARD AS AN ACCOUNTANT TO EARN THAT WAD OF CASH THAT SHE JUST HANDED TO YOU OK??????? YOU THINK SHE MAKES THIS MUCH AS NO-NAME PHYSIOTHERAPIST WITH A GRAND TOTAL OF ONE CLIENT????? AND NOW I’VE HAD TO SWITCH CAREERS. IN THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC. I HAD TO LEARN A WHOLEEEEEEEE NEW SKILLSET. YOU KNOW HOW MANY HOURS I SPENT ON COURSERA AND UDEMY AND GITHUB RIGHT AFTER FALLING OFF A CLIFF?????????? DO YA???????????

sorry shaktimaan.

“virus hoon main. ek baar laga gaya na toh zindagi ka file corrupt kar doonga.” lmaoooooooooo lord the dumbass tech related metaphorsssss.

ok that’s a bit much but mmmmmm baby i love to watch you work. esp. this outfit, unf. it’s really getting me so damn hot for you.

khud ki hi biwi ka phone number score karke itnaaaaaa khush kisi ko hote hue pehli baar dekha hai.

lmaooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

aryan, who is literally tied to a chair is growling at kabir about how this won’t end well for him and kabir’s like..............

snorttttttttt i love this psychopathhhhhh.

kabir is like just use your ickle brain cell lil one. i’m a cop. i have alllll the details of every single shady thing you’ve done. first i’ll show it to the family, then to the authorities. and then there miiiiiiiiiiight be an encounter later.......... lmao yessssssssss, i love it.

“woh kya haina, samajhdaar ko ishaara kaafi hota hai. lekin tum itne samajhdaar nahi ho na, iss liye itne detail mein samjhaana pada!” i really cannot stop laughing at this scene. truly the evil bros dynamic i have been craving for from this show.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaand that is enough for aryan to maarofy palti.

but ooooooooooops. he called him kabir. which we know is this one’s sore spot these days.

“kabir.................... sir?” lmfaooooooooooooo

hahahahahahahahahahahahahhaha

bitch wht you callllllll vansh?????

“kabir...... bhai.”

OMFG THE STRAIGHT UP ORGASM FACE HE MADE AT THAT?!?!!??!?! JESUS KABIR I THINK YOU NEED THERAPY FOR THIS. EVEN FREUD DIDN’T COME UP WITH A THEORY FOR WHATEVER FREAKY “BHAIYYA ISSUES” YOU HAVE GROWN ALL OF A SUDDEN OUTTA NOWHERE.

aryan is literally like...............................

“ab BHAIYYA ki do baat dhyaaaaan sunna, ok????”

ok deal done. do shady fuckers have allied. kaisi ram milaaye usa-uk type jodi hai paapiyon ki.

aryan like but everything belongs to dadi now, and dadi is forsho gonna hand it all over to her laadli riddhima, who hates your guts.

“tum jitna smart mujhe samajhte ho, usse kahinnnnnn zyaada smart hoon main.”

aryan like ok but fr how exactly are you gonna achieve this??????/

“bhagwaan ne pehle hi tumhe dimaag kam diya hai. issi umar mein sab use karloge toh aage kya karoge??? jitna bola gaya hai, utna karo.” LMAO PLS MAN CAN WHOEVER IS WRITING KABIR’S LINES WRITE THEM FOR VIHAAN TOOOOOOOO. COZ THESE ARE GENUINELY SO FUNNY AND HIS ARE SOOOOOOO FUCKING LAME.

riddhima walks in to aryan having already gotten dadi’s ear and having kabir involved in the business. he’s already signing papers and shit! idhar mereko debit card use karte waqt 4 baar sign karna hota hai to prove i’m the actual owner and didn’t just steal it from somewhere, and this guy just got signing authority to a wholeass empire in half an hour.

aryan talking soooooooooooo nicely about kabir and riddhima is like OK FOR SURE THIS FUCKER HAS BEEN THREATENED AND/OR BRIBED.

lmaooooooooo aryan again referred to him as “kabir” and K just cleared his throat all ominously. and promptlyyyyyyy aryan’s like “KABIR BHAI!!!! KABIR BHAI!!!!!!!!!”

uska jhattttt jawaaab bhi mil gaya universe se, hahahahahaha.

kaunsa bhai, kahaan ka bhai, haaaaan??????

oh boy. this angle again.

“isse vansh bhai ki jagah dena, business mein involve karna; kya deal hui hai tumhari, kitne mein becha hai tumne apne aap ko; bolo?!?!?!? ki tumhe yeh achanak se apna bhai lagne laga hai????” DAMN. I LOVE ISHANI. SHE’S SHARP AS A TACK. WHY THE FUCK WON’T DADI JUST GIVE HER THE EMPIRE?????????

dadi talking blah blah anupriya ka beta hai, yeh bhi tumhare bhai haina. god shut upppppppppp dadi.

“jeete-jee toh nahi, dadi. mere liye bhai ka sirf ek matlab tha, vansh bhai.” aw mannnnnnnnnnnn. i really hope we get more ishani/vansh-vihaan when he enters the house. i really wanna see more of their bond. he always was so soft for siya, but it’s so obvious that ishani loves him beyond belief. what a shame to not show us more of that.

“respect earn kii jaati hai, zabardasti lee nahi jaati.” DAMN RIGHT SIS. YOU TELL EMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

ab iss angle mein atke issko yeh kaun samjhaaye???

you know that realllllllllly dumbass cringeworthy song called psycho saiyyaan? they should remake it for this show and call it “aaya mora BHAIYYA psycho!!!”

so apt!

dadi apologizing some more for ishani and giving kabir khulaaaaaaaa rein to handle business. riddhima not happy about this and decides kuchhhhh toh karna hogaaaaaa.

she finally remembers of angre’s existence and that he is the only one who’ll really help her.

ISS GHAR KE SAARE MARD EK SE BADHKAR EK PAAGAL HAIN.

riddhima saying the saaaaaaame thing.

angre se bro ka judaai sahaa nahi jaa raha. brotp ho toh aisa.not that vansh articularly deserves this much love and loyalty, seeing the way he treated angre, but angre’s saying he was my boss, bhai, dost, everythingggggg to meeeee. awwww.

BUT ALSO THIS FUCKER FULLLLLY DOING THIS DRAMA HAVING HELPED VANSH SURVIVE AND CHANGE IDENTITIES, LIKH KE LELO MERE SE.

ishani coming in and is like at least he’s grieving bhai’s death. you toh let some other fucker into the house on bhai’s terhvi itself.

“sab apni life mein aage badh gaye hain. aise behave karr rahe hain jaise kuch hua hi nahi hai! kisi ko koi parvaah hi nahi hai ki vansh bhai humaare beech nahi hain.” aw mannn, i honestly love her the mosttttttttttttttt.

she’s like angre’s trying to take his pain out, usse toh chain paane do.

riddhima got a message from chaiwaala (no, not the one at 7, race course road) and bounces.

meanwhile angre is telling ishani to give the belt back and stop pretending she gives a fuck about him. she’s like i don’t, but i know you loved bhai as much as i do. so i won’t let you do this to yourself.

she’s like if you really want to honour him and give him peace, then we need to make a plan so that the fucker who’s ghusofied into his house can’t take his place. OMG YOU GUYS THEY’RE TEAMING UPPPPPPP?!?!?!??!!?  A GENTLE BREAKTHROUGH!!!!!!!! HONESTLY, VANSH’S DEATH HAS BROUGHT NOTHING BUT GOOD THINGS TO THIS SHOW.

cutiepie is waiting for wifey to show up. has some stupidass tech dialogue to maarofy about it but the less said about that, the better.

“message padha bhi nahi??? kaise pata karoon????” lmao itna bada hacker hai, and he’s at the mercy of whatsapp ka blue tick feature like the rest of us. 

not to worry boo. she’s on her waaaaaay.

WHY THE FUCK DOES HE STILLLLLLLL HAVE ALL THE PICS OF THE FAM LYING OUT IF HE KNOWS SHE’S GONNA SHOW UP?!?!!?!?!?!

“intezaar bhi tab tak cute lagta hai jab tak frustrate na kar de; miss..... pretty raisinghania!” dude, whether he’s vansh or not, he’s simping so hard for her. i fucking love it.

oh shit she walks in as he’s heartttttteyeing over her piccccccc.

oh nope. he’s the flash flying jatt. already disappeared behind his desk.

yeah girl. i know. I KNOW!!!!!!!

[flashthescalesian-art]

It Was An Accident

My hand slipped, and I started tormenting Fox, whoopsie. This is part of that Order 66 AU I wrote a snippet of a while ago, so this will not be happening in my main fic, lol.

Just a quick note: Nyla is in her early 40s, and is like a mom to a lot of the Coruscant Guard boys, just to clarify the relationship here. 

—————

Nyla strode down the hall toward Fox’s office, needing an explanation from the Commander instead of an angry and horrified Sergeant. She had gotten the report on the incident from Shift, who had been extremely upset, then she waited for Fox to return from the Chancellor’s office so she could get the story from him. It wasn’t like Shift to get angry, especially with his brothers, so something was wrong.

She was maybe ten feet away from the door when she heard an enraged scream followed by a loud crash, coming from Fox’s office. That wasn’t good... She’d heard Fox shout and scream in his office before, but never do whatever had just caused that noise.

Now worried for Fox’s safety, Nyla stepped up to the door and knocked. “Fox? Can I come in, please?” Either he didn’t hear her or he ignored her because there was another scream, followed by what sounded like something shattering. Not waiting for Fox to break something else, Nyla threw the door open with the Force, and frowned deeply at the sight.

Fox’s desk was on its side, the objects that were usually on top were strewn all over the floor, the chair was near the door as through Fox had hurled it across the room, and Fox stood in the center of the mess, breathing heavily and trembling with rage. Nyla could sense guilt and pain drowning Fox’s mind and spilling over in the form of anger, although she couldn’t see his face behind his helmet. Her gaze moved down to his hands to see that his gloves were practically shredded and blood was dripping down both palms. There were shards of a broken caf mug on the floor around Fox’s feet. He must have smashed the mug while he was holding it. That was his favorite mug too...

Giving an almost inhuman roar, Fox balled his hands into fists, lurched toward the wall, and started punching the durasteel, ignoring the pain he was causing himself. He must not have noticed Nyla yet if he was this lost in his own head. “Fox, you’re bleeding,” Nyla said, concerned. She didn’t know a better way to stop Fox before he wrecked his hands and arms, especially because approaching him with any hint of anger or frustration would only make him shut down and push her away.

Fox froze. “Leave me alone,” he snarled, his posture stiffening as though he was going to pick up the nearest object and hurl it at Nyla’s head. He was refusing to look at her.

Nyla shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re injured.”

“I deserve it,” he growled. “With all due respect, leave me alone.”

“Fox...”

“WHY DO YOU CARE?!” He screamed, finally facing her. “I’M NOT A PERSON! I’M JUST A NUMBER! WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?!” Nyla decided not to respond yet. “I’m expendable! I can just be disposed of and replaced with a better version, but for some Sith-damned reason you all refuse to do that, even when I commit karking murder!” His voice broke and Nyla heard his breathing hitch.

“You aren’t just a number, Fox. That’s what the Kaminoans taught you to think. If you were just a number like a droid, do you think you’d be so upset right now?”

Fox sputtered. “I’m defective!! Why would a number have emotions?!”

“Does that make your brothers defective too?” Nyla asked gently.

“No! Yes! I don’t know!” He threw his hands up in frustration, sending drops of blood flying. “I don’t know, but I know I’m defective, and somehow the Chancellor thinks I deserve an award for for murdering my own brother!”

Nyla didn’t like the amount of blood that was pooling on the floor around Fox’s feet from his sliced-up palms, and that statement about the Chancellor was concerning, but she’d deal with that later. “Shift said you told the squad to put their blasters on stun. I find it hard to believe you didn’t have yours on stun as well.”

“I did put it on stun! I swear it was on stun!” Fox snarled. “But then when I tried to stun Fives, it had switched to kill, and now he’s dead!” He gripped the sides of his helmet with his bloody hands and swayed as though he was going to fall over.

Nyla stepped closer to him. His guilt and sorrow were closer to the surface now, so she didn’t think he’d start throwing things again. “Fox, did anyone else touch your blaster between when you set it to stun mode and when you found Fives?”  

“No one touched it! I didn’t even set it down!”

“And you don’t remember switching modes...” Nyla didn’t like where this was going. Fox had been doing so well since his session with mind healers a couple weeks ago, but if he was having memory lapses again... “Have your headaches come back?”

Fox’s hands dropped from his helmet. “N-not until the incident today... I thought it was just s-stress-induced...” He swayed again, worse this time, so Nyla offered him her hand. He hesitated, then swayed again and latched onto her forearm, smearing bright red blood across her lilac skin. “General, what’s wrong with me?!” He cried, collapsing against her chest as sobs overtook him.

Nyla carefully slid Fox’s helmet off and set it on the overturned desk, then wrapped her arms around him. “Shhh... whatever is happening with your head isn’t your fault... We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll help you.”

“What if I hurt someone else?!” Fox whimpered, all the anger finally leaving his body.

“I’ll put you on sick leave so you can rest and we’ll get you to the mind healers again. We can let Xana know what’s going on so she can stay with you when I can’t.” Nyla felt Fox lean into her, burying his tear-soaked face in her shoulder. “We’re gonna get you help. Can I clean your hands up now? You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Fox nodded weakly. “Okay, let’s get to the fresher so we can make sure nothing is stuck in your hands, then we’ll get them covered in bacta and wrap them up for the night. You’re gonna let me help, right?” Nyla knew Fox sometimes argued about doing things for himself, but if he tried to take care of his own hands, he’d simply make things worse. Fox nodded again. “Let’s get going, then you can get some rest while your hands heal a bit.”

With that, Nyla guided Fox down the hall, supporting him as he stumbled along, both bloody hands tucked close to his chest. Nyla had a lot to do now, but taking care of Fox was the top priority. The next issue would be dealing with the Chancellor and Skywalker’s likely reaction to Fives’ death. One step at a time. My men come first.