#buggsywriting

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Random headcanon that Crosshair trimmed his, Hunter’s, and Tech’s hair while he was still with the batch because his sniping skills allow him to have incredibly steady hands and good precision and judgment. Therefore, Crosshair knows how to do fishtail braids, buns, and many other intricate hairstyles due to years of working with Hunter’s hair

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This is from a Crosshair fic I have in the works atm

“‘cording to the messages, they're running through towns an' grabbin' people who don't want nothin' to do with the Empire.”

Npt @monako-jinn-stories @lingodoodles1409 @gh0stsp1d3r

Last line challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

Thank you for thinking of me @doublesunsets

My last line is from a Bad Batch comedy train wreck of a one shot:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/727626634459529216/redneck-dougs-bad-batch-one-shot-background-bad?source=share

Hunter sternly corrected his youngest “Language, young man!” 

Hunter's always gotta be the father figure.

My tags: @talesfrommedinastation @starqueensthings @zoeykallus @dystopicjumpsuit @hugmekenobi @wings-and-beskar @dickarchivist @random-chaotic-bitchchaotic

Show me what ya got!

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Paint

Cw: angst. Mentions of Cody and Obi Wan. Cody thinks Obi Wan is dead. Grief. Admiral Rampart (yes, he needs a warning). Mentions of order 66.

Summary: After completing Order 66, Cody and his men get instructions to update their armor.

A/n: I originally wrote this a while ago—I think when Tbb s2 was coming out—but held off on posting it here just kinda out of nervousness I guess. this is 100% inspired by that one scene in Tbb s2 when Crosshair doesn’t recognize Cody until he takes the helmet off because there’s no more 212th yellow-

"Commander Cody. The time has come, execute order 66."

"Yes, my lord."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As the gunship took off towards the great expanse of space, Cody stared into the inner wall of the ship. He still had his helmet on. His brothers around him were all standing still, unmoving, like statues. They had all gotten the order as well.

It didn't seem to bother them, however, knowing that they killed their own Jedi general. Truthfully, it was all Cody that did it. Cody told them to fire. Cody was the one who personally received the transmission. Cody killed General Kenobi.

Cody killed Obi Wan.

Cody's jaw clenched, I killed Obi Wan. He couldn't bare the thought. When he had first gotten the message he had felt the strong need to follow the order. He hadn't felt anything wrong with the order then, why did he feel so terrible now?

Once Cody and his squad reached the imperial base, he went straight to his quarters. Once inside, he removed his helmet, setting it on a table, and sat on his cot. He put his hands in his lap and let his head hang. Why did the order suddenly feel so wrong?

After a few hours Cody was called into Admiral Rampart's office. As Cody stepped inside, helmet on, Rampart eyed him with a strange look. "CC-2224, thank you for coming." Rampart greeted, Cody nodded and clenched his fists at the use of his CC number.

"Now, about what I called you in for today; as you are now part of the Imperial Army, it is only customary that you remove that hideous yellow from your armor. Same goes to any members of your battalion. I expect this to be done by two rotations from now." He explained.

Cody felt his heart drop. Remove the yellow? Why would they be forced into removing the very thing that made the 212th the 212th? Cody doubted his brothers would find this instruction okay.

But good soldiers follow orders.

Cody finally nodded his head, clearing his throat. "Yes, Admiral. I'll get right to it." He managed to get out. Rampart hummed and dismissed him, Cody swiftly left the room.

That night, Cody sat on his cot, paint scraper in hand and armor scattered around the floor. He held his vambrace in his free hand. He stared into the yellow paint. When he first joined the 212th he was honored to be fighting along side an amazing Jedi general such as Obi Wan. He had first felt intimidated by the man, but after getting to know him, Cody had found he was quite pleasing to be around. Obi Wan was kind, brave, loyal, and he cared about Cody and his brothers.

Cody began scraping off the paint of the vambrace. When order 66 was first given, he didn't even feel like himself. It was just the constant reminder 'good soldiers follow orders' and it felt like he was just there. He had no memory of actually wanting Obi Wan dead. Just before, he had handed him his lightsaber for the hundredth time. Obi Wan had lost the thing so much that Cody had put a special attachment on his belt to hang the laser sword.

Cody moved on the the other vambrace, beginning to scrape the paint off of that as well. He remembered when he first painted his armor. He was a shiny, obviously, and he had just joined the 212th. Him and a few of his brothers sat around their new barracks with buckets of yellow paint. They were all so proud and excited to be apart of the 212th. It was always the color that identified them.

Whenever Cody's armor would get scratched badly he would repaint it. Always the same design that he originally came up with. He didn't have any crazy designs like some of the members of the 501st, but he still took pride in his work.

Obi Wan had always encouraged the artwork, often sitting amongst the clones and even helping out when they would paint their armor.

After a bit, Cody picked up his helmet. He stared into the visor, this old bucket had been on many campaigns and had seen so much. It protected him from blaster shots, punches, knives sometimes.  The yellow on the helmet had helped people to identify him. Now that the paint was being removed, would they still look at him and think 'That's Commander Cody of the 212th'?

Cody reluctantly brought the scraper to the gold visor, pressing down on it and sliding it across, taking paint away  with it. He continued the same motion several times until there was no yellow left on the visor. That was the last of the yellow, the 212th yellow.

He rested his helmet next to him on the cot and put his head in his hands and sighed. It was done.

No more 212th yellow.