#but here it's just. attention. 'no one can tell you to stop! a trooper! proud of you!' and when i need help/get TOLD to ask for it... this

[seithr]

fbfghfthbbhtff

illness talk / medicine / family associated stuff i dont know

[refurbishedgray]

Point of Contact

Reader x Tech. Maybe we get feisty and it’s reader x Crosshair, too. In this house, we like both.

Multi-part fic; probably NSFW; f!reader (she/her pronouns)

**Updates: I’ll tag you if you holler

Summary:

“No good ever comes to the Republic from Banking Clan business,” Hunter tells them, “Let’s get this done and get home, boys.”

Arriving on Scipio with the unhelpful directive of, “be discreet, but do whatever it takes,” the Bad Batch find themselves at the mercy of a stony representative whose allegiances lie with the best deal.

Or, the one where Tech and Crosshair think the reader is as intense as she is pretty.

**************************************

Part One

The office is too empty, too bright. The merciless glare of Scipio’s sun cuts across the room, gleaming unpleasantly from the gilded corners of all the fine furniture and glass. A corner office, inherited from an out-maneuvered relic of the past. 

All light and no warmth, you think, not for the first time. Never any warmth. In your early years with the Banking Clan, being stationed here had felt suspiciously like a punishment you hadn’t deserved, a proving ground when you had already proven so much. These days, however, you’ve come to understand that the frigid peaks standing vigil beyond your window are a reminder of how far you have climbed.

Now, as you shift in your chair, the expensive Corellian leather barely squeaking beneath you, you squint past the harsh light filtering in from the floor to ceiling window at your back. It’s all pristine snow on those peaks. Icy. Easy to slip if the cold didn’t kill you first.

Yes, you had climbed and clawed your way up these proverbial mountains. And like the man who last haunted this office, it has left you with so very far to fall.

The early days had been simpler. Smile. Look pretty. Never forget what can be saved for later. You hadn’t forgotten. Beyond the pale blue sky, twinkling out of sight, are worlds fraught with battles, littered with unsuccessful or unlucky tacticians from two sides of a conflict that won’t ever be ended, not truly. You have always preferred to keep your strategizing corporate. Clean. 

A frown drags at the corners of your mouth at the uncharacteristic foray into reminiscence of the…

The…

A phrase comes to mind and you allow yourself a small, private smile against the sunlight. The bad old days. 

Since then, things have always been kept tidy.

Until now. 

An unwanted spur of concern digs in behind your chest as your gaze turns from the window to sweep over the room. To your dismay, you realize why, and realize too clearly that the concern is not solely for yourself. 

He should be here.

Things were less empty when he was around, a relic in his own right and your pride and joy and confidant. How proud you had been when you had been informed that you would require a bodyguard. “A mark of success if there ever was one,” you had told the few family members you kept in contact with, of which there were very few, upon being informed of the recommendation after your previous promotion. “Aren’t you proud?” you had wanted to ask. But you had not asked. Better not to make the query when the answer was always so heavy and obvious. 

He had become your one and only friend. But he, too, is absent now, and upon permitting the observation, your office seems at once less empty and instead, guttingly, horribly hollow. Two rotations it’s been. Two rotations to give into the inconvenience of noticing.  

No, no, you think. You had noticed. Admitting it, that is the phrase that would be more accurate, but if it makes you feel less or more weak, you find you cannot decipher the bitterness creeping up your tongue.

Rising from your seat, you at once miss the meager warmth provided by the leather as the cool office air licks at you. Once upon a time, you had comforted yourself with the promise that one day, you would get used to the cold here. It was one of the few lies you allotted yourself over the years. Crossing the office, the marble floors as white and frosted as the mountain peaks outside resounding crisply beneath your heels, you make your way to the small bar trolley tucked away in one corner. Your last guest, a senator with strong -- unsubtly strong -- ties to the Clan, had complimented your selection of fine whiskeys and other alcohols. You had not admitted then that you did not keep the bar stocked for the guests who were few and far between, but rather for yourself, to chase away the damnable chill in this place. 

Your hand stills between decanters, your mind hesitating at the threatening burn that awaits your selection.

A bad habit.

You can imagine that peculiar modulated voice now. “Madam, the faces you make.”

Instead, you shun the alcohol and the ice that never thaws, yet still gets replaced each morning, now resting in a round chest, as gilded as everything else in this room, and reach for the Felucian pear juice. Duller, perhaps, but you don’t need anymore guilt on your conscience. 

A sip, then two, settles a gnawing in your stomach you only notice once it passes. 

Intolerable, you muse, downing what remains in the glass. The beverage is sweet, almost as sweet as the air outside is cold. Too quiet. Where are -

A rush of air and sliding metal breaks the silence. Glass in hand, your eyes narrow over the rim at the assistant who scuttles in. This one has been particularly insipid since her arrival. The daughter of someone marginally important, she is small and hunched shouldered -- she hasn’t learned, not like you did, and a part of you suspects she never will. 

She stops just short of where the tile begins and as she does, your eyes track down her uniform to a pair of shoes that have never been polished. Stars help her. 

In a quavering voice, she asks, “Madam?”

You raise a brow. 

“We’ve received word. The transport with the troopers has requested permission to land. They’re on their way.”

You set the glass aside, gingerly, its bottom barely clacking against the tray atop the cart. Republic troopers. A battering ram when a scalpel is needed. 

“Ah, the Senate’s grand favor,” you murmur. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

So many years spent with watchful eyes on you has made you good at hiding your frustrations. You swallow a sigh before it ever rises and allow yourself a brief moment to thumb the crystalline edge of the glass. The senator had warned you. 

Your voice is quiet as you instruct the girl, “Get out.”

She scurries gracelessly back through the door. It is an improvement; the last time she had squeaked pitifully before leaving. Perhaps you should have enjoyed the alcohol while you could. If this goes badly, all these nice things, all this luxury will be reassigned, a new name on the door. Such is the way of things -- you know the warnings well.  

Until forty-eight hours ago, they had been going so smoothly. An unfamiliar voice at the back of your mind whispers at you. Had you gotten complacent? You never get complacent. You had been warned for star’s sake. Senator Clovis had been all too clear that vaults here on Scipio were being targeted. You had taken that to mean the transports would be targeted as well. Credits were valuable, gold was valuable, as were artifacts and treasures. The Clan stored it all.  

But most valuable of all were and would always be secrets.

And secrets...you were very good at secrets. Finding them. Keeping them. Exposing them. 

The hand on the glass tightens and through touch or through sound, you sense that just a little more pressure will splinter it. Gently, you lift your fingers. 

You’ve got enough messes to clean up already.

.

…………….

.

Two of his brothers look unhappy. Hunter suspects he, too, looks unhappy. Only Crosshair remains unaffected, toothpick lolling from one corner of the man’s thin mouth to the other as he watches the sky shift from icy atmo to the very tips of craggy mountains. 

“Looks cold,” rumbles Wrecker from his seat, thick legs kicking out miserably. “Nobody said it was gonna be cold.”

From the pilot’s chair, Tech glances at Hunter, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. Now that Hunter can see him full-on, rather than that goggle-obscured side-profile of his, he realizes that he’d been right. Even Tech is unhappy with the assigned locale. Still, the man sniffs and turns back to navigating the gunship.

“It is Scipio,” says Tech. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? Just sayin’, a little warning might’ve been nice.”

Crosshair shifts, the movement almost imperceptible, just enough that Hunter knows the sniper is asking for his attention. “I believe Hunter was preoccupied with warning us about the...what was it you called them, Hunter? Denizens?” 

“The word does have an apt connotation for the Banking Clan,” Tech mutters. He gives Hunter another look, this one says that he’s no more excited about the prospect than Hunter has been. 

Their mission brief had been a strange one. It wasn’t their usual brand of run-and-gun from the sound of things, but it was important to all the right people, and they needed guaranteed success. “Go to Scipio, meet the point of contact, establish the responsible party, recover the stolen data.” It was more or less all they had been told. 

Hunter knows his frown is getting deeper, sinking into the lines on his face -- he can feel it pulling at his bandana, and he raises a hand to scrub it away.

“Who is this contact anyway?” asks Crosshair. “You never said.”

“Because I wasn’t told a name. We’re to meet with the, and I quote, ‘Principal Trades Specialist for the InterGalactic Banking Clan.’”

“Trades specialist?” Crosshair plucks his toothpick from between his teeth and for a moment, it takes Hunter longer than he would like to decipher the look on the man’s face. He doesn’t look unhappy...he looks intrigued. Crosshair replaces the toothpick, then says, “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘corporate spy.’”

“Head corporate spy,” Tech says, “If he’s - “

“She, from what I’m told,” corrects Hunter. His frown has yet to go anywhere, so he lets it stay, his hand falling to his lap.

Tech nods. “If she is based here on Scipio, we’re dealing with someone who needs to be watched closely. Some important players are based on this planet.”

Crosshair folds his arms. “Did the spy part give it away, Tech?”

“The Banking Clan part, actually,” Tech replies dryly, “We’ve dealt with spies before. The IGBC is something different. It is...new territory.”

“We’ve also dealt with new territory before.” At this, Hunter hears them all shift, their quick heartbeats settling into a familiar, all’s-well rhythm. His, too, follows. Just in time, it would seem, for the comms to squawk at them as the Marauder banks left and begins its final descent to the landing pad. He stands from the co-pilots seat, the faint tilt of the floor beneath him a familiar calm before the inevitable storm. He looks to Wrecker, who shakes his head, and then offers a grin. 

“Might be fun. Never clobbered bad guys with snowballs before.”

There’s a snort from Tech and despite himself, Hunter smiles. 

.

**************************************

.

Ten minutes later, they are suited up and disembarking into a cloud of snow flurries and ice crystals. The Banking Clan’s guards are as heavily armored as some of the Separatist patrols Hunter’s encountered. He scowls beneath his helmet. This should be a job for Jedi -- if the Jedi weren’t all dispatched to the war front.   

Soldiers...they don’t deal with these sorts of people. Not well and not effectively. Too much bad blood between the Republic and profiteers like these.

He motions at his brothers to close ranks, their familiar presences a comforting reminder that this isn’t anything new, not really. It’s a mission like any other. 

As the frosted cloud clears ahead of them, the guards, in their gilt armor and insulated cloaks, make way, too much way, Hunter thinks, for the clearance to be for a group of Republic troopers.

Then he sees her.

Half camouflaged by the swirling winds and clad in half a dozen shades of gray and silver, her shoulders draped in white fur, she stands waiting for them, her hands clasped serenely in front of her. She could be a diplomat, a Jedi even, if not for the gleam in her eye. It’s a cold thing, sharper and as frostbitten as this frozen world itself. 

He’s not the only one to have noticed. Beside him, Hunter hears Crosshair draw in an appreciative breath so quiet no one without incredible senses would notice it. In his periphery, he catches an almost imperceptible twitch of Tech’s helmet as his brother spares him a questioning glance. 

When the woman speaks, her voice is crisp, professional. “Clone Force 99, welcome.” She does not smile, but her eyes track to each of them, lingering too long, as though somehow looking past the armor to the men beneath. She introduces herself with a name that sounds too soft for the title she wears. Then, she gives them a crystalline smile. “But you may call me Trader, if you please.”

“Trader?” It is Wrecker who asks the question, finally distracted from the snow and ice. “Sounds like…”

Another smile, this one not quite as cool as the first. Amused, Hunter thinks, though how benign that amusement is, he can’t tell, and it makes his skin itch beneath his blacks. “Like traitor?” she hums. “I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” 

She steps aside and gestures at them to follow. “With me, gentlemen. First, we’ve a meeting. Afterwards, we will take a tram to the vaults, then from there, speeders to the site of the incident.”

“‘Incident’ is an awful clean way to say ‘bloody heist,’” says Hunter as he moves to follow. Her gaze slides to him, her stride never slowing. Shoulder to shoulder with the woman, he has the uncomfortable instinct to slow his steps, to lag behind, as though if he isn’t careful, a blade might slide between his ribs on a blink. He pushes aside the urge, then asks, “How many people were lost?”

“Enough,” she replies. “One could even say too many.”

“But not you?”

“Must someone say something for you to believe they think it?”

Behind him, Crosshair snorts, but does not comment. Hunter lets the statement slide, though the itch he’d felt earlier is heating to a burn now. Together, she leads them through a set of gleaming durasteel doors into a foyer as stark as it is grand. 

“Proceed through those doors.” She crooks a finger to their left. “Senator Amidala has requested a meeting in...eighteen minutes. I will join you shortly.”

Wrecker whistles, the sound too sharp to come from beneath his helmet, and Hunter glances back to see that the man has removed it, his one good eye roving the pristine interior. With a sigh, Hunter follows suit. It’s not exactly warm here, but out from the planet’s whipping winds, it’s close enough that even he can fool his sensitive skin into enjoying it. Soon, they are all unmasked. The woman - Trader - lingers long enough to observe them.

Her expression is...unreadable. There is no twinkle of bemusement in her eyes, not the first twitch of surprise. Normally, when the helmets come off, it gets at least some sort of reaction, gives him some kind of measure. 

Now, the only read Hunter gets is the fact that he can’t get a read on her -- and that, he doesn’t like. There’s no trusting people who have become so numb. 

Her gaze slips between Crosshair and Tech, where it lingers on the latter for seconds longer than it had the rest of them. Something in her frigid eyes warms, the ice of her expression cracking just enough that she might be pleased by what she sees. And Tech...for all his usual detachment, has no datapad to bury his nose in now, and he notices. 

Hunter thinks the woman lets him notice. 

His brother stands a little straighter, eyes flicking nervously to Hunter behind his goggles. Stumped, for lack of a better word. For once, flat out puzzled. 

Then, without a word, Trader looks back to Hunter and inclines her head. “Stay warm, gentlemen. I will see you soon.”

She is gone behind a pair of adjacent doors without another word. 

No sooner do they watch the durasteel whisper shut, than does Wrecker drive his arm into Tech’s side with a chuckle. Tech winces with a hiss and waves the man away. 

“Heh, she likes you.”

“I hoped it was my imagination.” Crosshair’s lip curls, his eyes narrowing until he looks away, and Hunter wonders if they’ve been reflected back at him through the shine of Tech’s goggles.

Tech runs a hand over the back of his head. “What do you think, Hunter?”

“I think she’s Banking Clan, through and through. We’re not among friends here.”

“If we let her alone with Tech, things might get friendlier -”

“Wrecker.” 

Hunter scowls. Another voice has echoed his own and he looks to see Crosshair, arms folded, rocking back on a foot to glare at the wampa-sized man. 

Tech clears his throat. “Perhaps we should wait in the briefing room?”

His heart rate, harder to hear away from the tight confines of the Marauder, sounds schoolboy quick and Hunter wishes, not for the first time, that his brother was more inclined to find company in their off-duty hours than he was. Pretty faces were fine - Hunter himself was inclined to enjoy them - but something about the mask this one wore was dangerous.

Wrecker’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Did she say Senator Amidala was waiting?”

“She did. The commander warned us the Senate was at play here.”

“That’s not our usual playground though, is it?” Crosshair is still scowling, his arms folded more tightly now than they had been. All that characteristic suspicion exacerbated by annoyance that has set in and won’t leave him. It makes his eyes hard, his narrow features sharpened and cold beneath the glare of sunlight on durasteel. 

Hunter shakes his head. “It’s not, but I feel better knowing Amidala’s behind us on this.”

“That makes one of us,” says Crosshair.

“Two,” Tech interrupts, his voice crisp; back to himself, Hunter realizes, his relief warm down to his fingertips, until he isn’t sure why he’d been worried in the first place.

“Three! I like Amidala.” 

“We know, Wrecker.” Tech’s smile is gentle, even as he rolls his eyes. “The poster by your bed speaks for itself.” 

Hunter’s gaze slides to his remaining brother, the smile that had spread turning crooked, then fading. “Crosshair?” 

It’s always been an unsettling characteristic of Crosshair’s that his eyes, as brown as all of theirs, manage to be so very cold when the mood hits him. The look in them is not unlike what he had witnessed in the woman. 

The observation tightens Hunter’s throat and he swallows it, turning away, and hopes not to notice it again.

[itsagrimm]

imperial!tech has melted my brain

Can’t stop thinking about the imperial tech idea. It is implausible yet alluring. So here we gooooo. would love some feed back since I am not sure if that feel is right.

CN insults, violence, murder, discriminatory behaviour, treats, very toxic behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, tiny bit of fluff or Manipulation depends on your perspective, blood, pain, talk of injury

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab but does not really matter unless I write a part 2

“Welcome on Kamino!”, the officer declared striding into the hall, “I hope you are motivated and up to the task to serve the galactic empire.”

A few laughs and murmured words from the crowd arose. The officer in front of the newly recruited soldiers waited patiently for them to quiet down.

“You-“, he pointed at them,” have been selected from the best bounty hunters, fighters and planetary defence forces in the galaxy. This-“ another pointer into the air ”- is your moment.”

The anticipation in the room was tangible.

“We are ready, sir”, someone said. Other “yeahs” and “bring it on” voiced agreement.

“We will see.”, the officer smiled, “You are here as new recruits for the imperial army elite squad. A most unusual and experimental force. And may I point out, you are not the first to attempt and fail to join this most extraordinary unit.”

Again, the silence was unpleasantly deafening. Y/N looked around but this time no one dared to speak up. Hard, human, mostly men* had come with Y/N to Kamino, the most secretive of worlds where all the now imperial clone troopers came from. Y/N knew some from their time as a bounty hunter. But looking at these tense men* now, these identical uniforms, these faces Y/N didn’t recognize any of them.

“Allow me to introduce you to your commander. Clone Commander Tech will assess your performance and decide on your -” a last pointed gesture ”-fate within the imperial forces.”

With this the door opened and a single trooper walked in. Calmly and collected, giving not a glance to the newly recruited.

“Are these new soldiers, sir?”, the trooper asked quietly.

“I am afraid so.”

The trooper puffed, turned around and took his time looking at the recruits.

“What a disappointment.”, he finally stated while fixing his googles, “Listen up! I am your commander. You on the other hand are barley sentient, oxygen consuming, shit generating bags of meat.”

He looked down, his voice now lower. It was an odd moment. The hall was full of assertive and hardened fighters. Yet this skinny, pale, four eyed clone berated them.

“You think you are smart and impressive. But trust me – you are not. All you can hope to accomplish is following my precise order. Do you think you can do that?”

Silence.

Someone started to laugh and clap.

“Woooooowww”, the recruit stated, “What a show. Is this a joke?”

Others started to snicker.

The commander turned his head like an owl and fixed his eyes on the rebellious troublemaker.

“It really was quite impressive. But listen here googles – I am not following orders from a clone. You are nothing but brainless cannon fodder. So where is the real commander, officer?”

More snickering in the hall. Y/N got cold. Something bad was about to happen. They knew it.

“Don’t-“, they tried to voice something but a glance from the clone commander silenced Y/N.

Helplessly they watched as commander Tech took off his glasses.

In a fraction of a moment the commander lunged at the troublemaker and hit the frame of his glasses on his head. It took 3 few precise and fast strikes with the doomium frame before the skull shattered.

No one spoke as the commander cleaned his glasses with the uniform of the dead troublemaker before putting them on again.

“You “, he pointed at Y/N and their back went cold. “You anticipated my attack. Well done. I consider you bearable for the elite squad. Congratulations.”

XXXXXXX

The elite squad had a variety of tasks. Whenever necessary they got deployed to guard, assassinate, or downright slaughter. Y/N felt nothing. Life in the outer rim was hard enough without a war. Killing had been a necessity for survival for too long and Kamino had numbed what was left in Y/N to care.

Y/N was given a number within the unit. ES-01. There had been another ES-01 before Y/N but nobody liked to talk about that. And since the number was impractical, their squad members had shortened it into the moniker “ONCE”.

ONCE was fine with the squad. There was little talk between them. At night ONCE heard the others cry or whisper to each other about the commander and the horrors the had to endure. But ONCE did not want to talk and pretended to sleep.

Sleep was a rarity for the elite squad due to their deployments.

And Tech – their commander – never slept. ONCE saw him twice in the bunk room to get something or give out orders. But never had they witnessed their commander asleep. He was always off somewhere, either working on the squat space craft deep into the night or in the little lab were he meticulously planned out missions. He laboured like a mad man but nobody objected.

It was early. ONCE had woken up from a nightmare. The other members of the squad were still asleep. The bunk of the commander empty of course. ONCE got up. There was no point in staying here.

The long corridors were nearly empty. A few guards and droids patrolled or performed cleaning duties. But nobody paid attention to ONCE wandering around with a cup of caf.

Commander Tech was in the hangar, working on the ship.

“Commander, you are up already.”, ONCE stated.

“Still. I wasn’t finished.”, Tech replied. His voice was raspy as if he had talked to himself for hours, “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to check on the insomniac commander.”

“Oh.”, it sounded like a treat, “There is no need for you to assess my sleeping pattern, soldier.”

He looked up from the bottom of the ship at ONCE and got up.

“But thank you for bringing me caf.”

“I didn-“

“I said thank you, soldier.”

Before any protest Tech took ONCE hand, twisted it with surgical accuracy for them to let go of the cup of caf and took it.

That kriffin clone.

ONCE inhaled.

“Hey, with all due respect commander, if you want a caf I can get you some. No need to take some by force from me.”

Tech just calmly sipped from the cup.

“How nice of you. How considered, dear ONCE.”, he said in a sweet voice, “But no, I do not require any more caf from you. Thank you very much. Tell me, is using the caf machine a task the little head of yours can process? Sooo many buttons… Sooo complicated… You must be so proud.”

ONCE did not flinch. Living in the outer Rim, spending time among killers and criminals had teachable effects. It did not pay off to go against bigger fish, but limits had to be set.

Without a second thought ONCE licked their finger and dipped it into the caf of their commander.

Tech – the clone commander who even talked over grand moff talkin once - was speechless.

For a moment ONCE thought he might hit them, already bracing for the impact of an armoured fist. Instead, the commander put down the cup.

“I should whip you for that.”

ONCE stayed silent and starred forward, at the side of the ship.

Tech moved closer. He was taller than them and his dark armour enhanced his shoulders. A dark bird of prey with big eyes starring down on measly prey.

“I will whip you for that.”

His fingers scratched over ONCEs pauldron upwards until he reached their neck, pocking painfully into the skin.

“But not now.”

Tech moved away.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Bracca had been a disaster. The elite squad was tasked to track and eliminate some deserters. But before they could implement commander Tech’s plan, contradictory orders came in from Kamino. Good soldiers follow orders. But what does that help with in the field when one order is to kill and the other to capture.

Now the commander was injured.

Alone in the med bay.

ONCE starred at the wall.

Tech was an unpleasant commander. The respect he commanded was gained by violence and constant critique of those he considered lesser.

But he deserved not to be alone when in pain, right? And back then in the hanger he had not hit ONCE. ONCE was aware that what they considered adequate or even caring behaviour was twisted by a life spent in danger, the imperial brain washing and the maddening time with the elite squad. But they didn’t care. Tech had all the chances to punish ONCE for their discretions. Yet he didn’t. That was nearly good behaviour from a man who had killed a recruit for disrespecting him. Wasn’t it?

ONCE head spinned. The other squad members whispered in their bunks about the mission. About their commander and how he got burned by an ion engine. Apparently, the deserters were the commanders former squad members. And they had left him. Twice.

Once he had a squad.

Once he was unharmed.

Once he was many things of which they did not know about.

ONCE got up. Checking on a wounded commander should not be such a loaded and complicated question.

The med bay was as sterile and uncaring as the rest of the kaminoan architecture.

The commander was laying on a cot. The bacta had worked well on the burns on the side of his head. But he still locked weak and hurt. Without his glasses, Tech starred at the ceiling, not even a holopad to distract himself.

“hello commander, I got you some caf.”

part 2

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Gloved hand (Crosshair)

Summary: Crosshair found a way to get rid of his chip, and went looking for his brothers in the depot, fully aware of the confrontation that would follow.

No pairing or reader description, only the member of the Batch

Word count: 2761

CW/TW: ANGST; Death, trauma, guilt, violent memories/ nightmares, burns/scar, some swearing; I don’t know how graphic my style is, so if I forgot anything please tell me!

Tags: @allamarisss @loth-wolffe @imalovernotahater (you all asked 🤧)

@razena88 @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s (non of you asked but I thought you'd want to check it out since you reacted to my Crosshair post; if you don't want to be tagged just tell me and I'll remove it !)

Notes: I had to. Because you’re all nice and I love pain, so here is the Sad Hour: Crosshair Edition™; Enjoy! (aka, I hope you’ll suffer a bit)

PS: sorry about the little dots when I skip a line, it’s the only way I could well...skip a line. I’ll try to find another way for the future!

PPS: The Neighbourhood - Roll Call is the song I listened to while writing this 🤭

______________________________________

He knew they were waiting on him, on the move he would make. They didn’t know about his chip being removed – not yet – and he knew he only had one shot.

How ironic.

He was still wearing the Imperial armour, face covered by his helmet, rifle attached to his back. He could see the way Hunter tightened his fingers around the trigger, and he recognised that look; the one he usually gave to his opponents before he killed them. He could get away; Hunter was a good shooter and his senses did helped for that; but Crosshair was the marksman. He guessed by a simple look at the scenery that the shot would crush through his pectoral plates, and given the distance and the type of blaster, it would surely shake him out, but it wouldn’t kill him.

As much as he sucked at it, he had to resort to words. He wasn’t the Empire’s puppet anymore, and trying once again to threaten them…It was simply out of the question.

Slowly, he raised his hands to his helmet, grabbing the lower part of it. He waited a second, not sure about the short moment where his vision would be obstructed.

Come on, you don’t get to worry about getting shot. Take the damn bucket off.

He pushed it up his head, briefly closing his eyes as a ridiculous way to sooth his morbid thoughts. When he opened them up again, Hunter hadn’t moved an inch. He didn’t know how much time he had, so Crosshair dared to take a step forward. Then another, holding his helmet in one hand, keeping the other one on the plastoid covering his chest, gently taping it with a gloved finger.

He stopped at the fourth step. The Batchers tensed up, unsure of what his next move would be. Crosshair knew what he was doing.

T’s your time to shine, Cross.

“DC-17. Round it down to a 7 meters distance from the target, slightly move your arm to your left.” He taped on a small spot of his chest plate, never breaking eye contact with Hunter. “Make me proud.”

It was a bold move, he knew it too damn well. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with them, with him, as much as it scared the crap out of him. As much as he hoped, deep down, for his brother to take pit-

.

 It was quick, bright. Finger pressed against the trigger, Hunter noticed every wave in the sound of the shot as it echoed in the depot. He followed the blue deflagration as it got spit out of his blaster, sliding the air in a thin whistling, brushing past Crosshair’s left arm, hitting another clone further behind.

He didn’t know if it was the right decision; but he knew enough about Crosshair to try it.

“I said ‘to your left’” was the only thing that came out of Crosshair’s mouth as he turned his head to look at the man lying on the floor a few meters behind him. He wasn’t dead, and now they had to quickly evacuate.

But Cross was alive. For now.

“Tech, get in there and be ready to take off when I tell you to! Wrecker, you cover us. Crosshair.”

The sniper pulled out his own blaster, back turned to the Batchers, ready to shoot any intruder trying to rip him away from his family once again. He soon felt a firm hand grasping his shoulder and dragging him back. He didn’t fight it, didn’t look at it. His focus was on the men running in the depot, on the way he hit them with such precision it almost felt too easy.

He was the last one to get in the Havoc Marauder, still shooting as the door closed shut in front of him.

.

 “…Crosshair?”

His heart pounded so hard in his chest that for a moment, he thought it might go through the plastoid armour and crush against the wall. There was the next move. So easy to execute, yet so terrifying.

“Crosshair, look at us.”

It was the tone; too formal, almost polite. He hated it. But he obeyed anyway, slowly turning around to face his tattooed brother.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down and cut that crap.

Hunter remained silent for a moment, examining Crosshair’s face scarred by burns, his new shaved side and white patch on the side of his head. The violent pumping and barely shaky breath told him more than the stoic eyes he was staring at.

“How’d you do it?”

“A droid helped.” Hunter’s nod was the only answer he got.

Keep talking, di’kut.

“I-”

“I missed you.” confessed Wrecker. “I think we all did.”

Now it was his turn to nod. What could he possibly answer? ‘I missed you too, but mostly because my chip made me want to kill you.’?

You didn’t wanted it, you had no choice.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Echo got a bit closer to him, even though he couldn’t tell if it was a good idea. “We know you didn’t.”

“Now that you removed your chip, you’re out of risks.” commented Tech, trying to comfort him a bit.

Each second passing was getting him closer to the edge. He wasn’t looking at faces, he was looking at phantom targets, still feeling the stings stabbing his brain every time he hesitated before shooting at them. Their voices were hardly getting to him, they were so distant, probably a faint memory from a time where he still had control.

“…get you something to eat, and you’ll go take a shower. Works for you?”

“Yes, Sarge.”

He knew the small clap on his shoulder was more of a friendly kind than a brotherly one. He hated it. He deserved it.

.

.

 He never felt that uncomfortable while eating with someone before. Even lunches on Kamino’s cantina weren’t as awkward. Tech tried to initiate a small talk, mentioning their next mission, the supplies they would need to get, and Omega tried to keep him going by nodding and asking questions he knew were useless.

But really, it was just an excuse to avoid the talk. Given the situation, it would probably hurt less to just… confront him. Tell him he scared them, when he callously ordered Hunter to stand down and surrender, told his troopers to “aim for the kid”. Not that he didn’t know; he found the confession in their eyes every time they would look at him.

He barely ate, rolling a fresh toothpick between his gloved fingers as he weakly chewed on his food.

“I’ll take the first round tonight,” Hunter muttered, mostly for himself.

Crosshair slowly got up from his seat, putting his ration away, trying to avoid the stares. He slid his toothpick between his lips, nibbling a bit harder than usual on the wooden texture. All he had to do was turn around and leave the cockpit. He had done it countless time by the past, what’s one more?

He wanted to lay down and sleep his pain away, get drowned in the pillows and forget all about what happened. He took a few steps, pretended he didn’t flinch when a hand caught his own, but couldn’t bring himself to smile at Omega when she gently rubbed his knuckles.

She didn’t say anything, she simply followed him to the bunk beds. Crosshair could barely look at her, because every time he did he could only see the scared look she gave him when he ordered it.

Aim for the kid.

It was haunting; she was just a child, a mixture of a little sister and a daughter for the Batchers, and he tried to rip that away from them too.

His attention shifted to the beds when he noticed the lights around his. He could also see a glimpse of a plush – oddly familiar – and a soft blanket nicely pulled over the mattress.

“We – she needed a place to sleep, and you were gone so…”

Wrecker, who followed him too, was uncomfortable; he was the one who came up with the idea. As much as he missed Crosshair, he knew he needed to take care of his little one because she was here. But now, Cross was back.

“Keep the bed,” he murmured, “I don’t mind.”

And he meant it. He would have done the same if Wrecker, or Echo or whoever went missing like he had. The kid deserved a comfy place to rest, her life with them already being chaotic enough.

“I can sleep with you, I don’t mind. I can stay at the end of the bed if you’d prefe-”

“It’s fine, Omega.”

He painted a weak, yet gentle smile on his face, hoping for it to convince her. It did, because she nodded and held his arm against her for a few seconds as to hug it. Wrecker – and Echo later that night – offered him to sleep in their bed. “I can sleep with Tech if you want it all for yourself” the 501st vet assured him. But Crosshair declined each time, pretending that he would probably not sleep anyway tonight, just tonight, because he needed to get used to this place again.

In a way, it was true. He needed time to find his footing here, to get back to the way things used to be.

Don’t pretend it will go back to ‘how it used to be’. It could never.

.

 When everyone headed to bed, Hunter returned to the cockpit and found the sniper sitting on his own.

“I’ll take the first round, Crosshair. Go get some sleep.”

“I don’t have a bed,” he barely confessed, his usual sarcastic tone nowhere to be found.

“Take mine for now, I don’t need it before a few hours. Don’t discuss it,” he pursued when Crosshair tried to reply, “I’m not giving you a choice.”

It took him a second to realise how clumsy it sounded, but Crosshair spared him the embarrassment of an apology when he got up and nodded.

“Alright, sorry.”

Hunter grabbed his shoulder, unsure about his next move, but trying anyway.

“It’s…We can’t pretend nothing happened, but we’ll work through this. All of us,” and when he heard Crosshair’s heart pumping harder and his breath getting heavier, he added, “as a family.” Before letting go of him.

Crosshair couldn’t even speak anymore. If he tried, all that would come out would be confused babbling and an awkward throat clearing. He hoped on his brother’s heightened senses to read through him like an open book, throwing back one last look before he got back to the bunk beds. All the Batchers were already sleeping, peacefully wrapped in their blankets or holding their plushie against their chest. He sat on the edge of Hunter’s bed, his blacks still on, eyes locked on the soft lights emanating from his old bed.

.

 Hunter woke up when he felt a soft weight landing on his lap. The smell got him almost immediately, a mixture of gunpowder and iron.

“You should have surrendered.”

His eyes shifted to the slim shadow standing a few steps away, lurking on him with cold determination.

“Crosshair?” He looked down at the soft plush laying on him. Lula. Her head was almost ripped in half by a now barely fuming hole. He couldn’t hide the fear splashing his eyes, neither could he refrain his voice from breaking when he asked “what did you do?”

“I did what had to be done. This is why they put me in charge to track you. I’m efficient.”

Hunter shivered at the sick smile he could hear in Crosshair’s voice. His thoughts ran from the plush to Omega, to the bunk beds at the end of the hallway, to his brothers left unarmed at the mercy of a sniper who had none.

“You should have killed me in that depot.”

“Crossha-”

A quick thud filled the cockpit as a red, bright light stroked Hunter right through the chest. He fell back into his seat, unable to breathe, but way too aware of the burn on his skin, of the nerves flaming up under the chock and the heat, of his heart rapidly pulsing then slowing down in a macabre countdown. He got dizzy, eyes blurring out despite his desperate attempt to get them focused.

He struggled to keep his head up, until a gloved hand grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look up. He could guess the shapes of the helmet, the green and grey shades melting altogether as his eyes barely held open. As he felt his own heart stop, his last breath making him chock, he heard his brother’s voice taunting him, one last time.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

.

.

  Pitch black. This is all Crosshair could see when he abruptly opened his eyes. The blanket was rolled up at his feet, his blacks soaked in sweat, and his head aching. A sudden terror grasped him as he held his temple, tripping off the bed as he tried to get up, muttering Hunter’s name. He choked up on the syllables when he realised he was sleeping in his brother’s bed, while the tracker was nowhere to be found. He found himself struggling for air, the same way he would if someone stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. He dragged himself to the refresher, locking the door as soon as he got in.

The bright light forced him to close his eyes for a few seconds, but once he got used to it he reached the tap. His hands, usually so precise and steady, where uncontrollably shaking, to the point of him getting cramps.

The cold water did nothing to help; he shivered to the wet contact, lightly gasping when he splashed his face, but did it again, and again, trying to wash off the pain of his body.

Did I killed them? Did I? What if I did, what will I do, what if I killed them, I can’t- I can’t lose them, not again, not this way, I-

His head was buried in his hands, and it demanded all his strength for him to look up in the mirror. He quickly regretted doing so.

He hated those scars. Mostly, what they represented, what they meant.

It means you tried to get them burned alive; you ordered for them to be burned alive by an active propeller. This is what they mean, this is what you did.

He hated his reflection, lurking and haunting him the same way his memory did. A phantom pain none of them could imagine.

You like to pretend they don’t get it, but they do. Their own brother tried to kill them. You did that, Crosshair; don’t put the blame on your victims.

“Kriff,” he bitterly chuckled, tears burning his eyes.

You did this to yourself. Take some responsibilities.

He tried to maintain eye contact with himself, fingers gripped so tight around the edge of the sink he could feel his muscles quiver. He didn’t have a choice, he knew that. The chip forced him, the Empire used him to do these terrible things.

If a gloved hand kills you, will you blame the glove, or the hand?

You’re the hand, Crosshair. Nothing you will ever say or do will change that.

Nothing.

“Shut the kriff up,” he gave up, angrily pushing himself away from the sink, but still catching a glimpse of tears running down his cheeks before he turned his head, defeated. “Keep the snide to yourself.”

He jolted when someone softly knocked on the door. He took a few deep breaths to calm down his pumping heart, wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, and opened the door.

“I didn’t find you in the bed,” Hunter explained while analysing his expression, “I thought you’d be in here.”

“I can take the next round.” Crosshair calmly responded.

“Mine’s not done yet.”

“Hunter, please I- let me take the next round.”

He couldn’t say which of the two, his muffled “please” or his begging eyes, convinced Hunter; but it worked and that was enough for him. He didn’t flinch this time, when his brother gently patted his arm; he even wished for a quick, warm embrace. But he doubted Hunter was ready to get affectionate with him so easily. Truth be told, he didn’t feel that comfortable either. It was a crave he couldn’t fill.

He still cracked a weak smile as Hunter nodded and returned to his bed to get some rest.

Crosshair dragged himself to the cockpit, his stomach twisting at the sight of the empty seat on his right. He fell into his own, a long sigh slipping from his lips.

.

Don’t fall asleep.

[uponrightful]

So, I love possessive, jealous Crosshair 🥵 Tell me about this scene (please?):

“Trouble doesn’t suit you, doll.” He murmured lowly, soft voice contrasting the slight pressure over her pulse point and the swell of her hip. Crosshair was all-consuming and Dutch was weak to do anything but try to stay silent under his pressing weight and commanding presence at her back.

Also, I’d love to know what Echo was thinking once Cross went to the fresher after Dutch.

You’re the best! 😘

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

*send one in here anytime!*

My oh my! 😍 What spicy scene we have here. I'll start with what's going on with Crosshair first, then I'll come back for Echo and the rest of the Batch. haha

***

Crosshair is fuming with rage during his conversation with Echo: It's that kind of bodily energy you get after watching a action-movie, where your whole body feels tired, but it's twitching with adrenaline that can't be spent or released. That kind of feeling you can't get rid of no matter what you do to ignore it, or work through it. Your mind feels like it working so fast that it's in slow-motion, overanalyzing the smallest details until your grinding your teeth because there's nothing else that helps relieve the pressure.

But the second he enters the refresher all of that energy snaps from anger and fear for Duchess, into dead calm. His inner voice stops screaming and evens out in tone and his hands stop shaking. His breathing slows and the second Cross sees her standing there, it's like he's been meditating deeply for hours. This kind of concentration is only present in Crosshair one other time... And you guessed it. When he's shooting.

Note: This is the epitome of Crosshair's ability to manage impulse-control in unfamiliar -and stressful- situations. Key-word here being "unfamiliar." I firmly believe that Cross is painfully terrible at monitoring and expressing his emotions. He has so many of them all the time that from a young age he had to learn how to turn them off in a moments notice, simply so he could survive. Think about it... How can a sniper worry about his brothers dying right before his eyes and still make clean shots? Not even Crosshair can do that. So the second he's certain Dutch is safe -by visually proving her health- that well-trained nature takes over to protect him like it always does.

Crosshair -at this point- isn't sure what he wants. He needs to touch her though, remind himself that she's tangible and within reach. Not that he isn't aware of his effect on her, but this moment isn't about sexual appeal or attraction. This is desperation, and Crosshair knows that; He's just banking on the hope that she'll let him, because she's always done so. He feels safe with Duchess, and even though this feels/looks sexy, Crosshair feels completely vulnerable right now.

Note: I will say it now; Once and for all. I have never subscribed to the idea that Crosshair is a typical Dominant/BDSM/Sadisim kind of guy. And the distinction is all to do with motivation. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he acts the way he does, and how that manifests itself. So when I planned this scene, I wanted to focus on just how strong his desire to have security is. Not prowess, or control. It's all to do with the desperate need he has to prove how he feels about her. That kind of vulnerability just comes easier to him physically than it does emotionally. Duchess gives him a sense of stability -in and out of the sexual sense- that makes his characterization insanely complex and difficult to balance.

The moment he finds his words, it's a compulsory need to cover his own jealousy. Crosshair is undoubtedly unhappy knowing she went out with Regs... but what's really bothering him is how easy it is to feel so strongly for Duchess. Every time he speaks, it's intentionally driving attention towards someone else, and away from his own desire to be the focus of her attention. Cross uses his fear of her being unsafe to mask the jealousy that constantly compares himself to the others who can give her attention more freely than he can personally. Duchess sees his calm nature as patience and precision, but it's really Crosshair planning out what he's going to say because he knows one wrong move will reveal just how desperate he is to have her acceptance of him.

Note: I've never struggled to balance possessiveness and love like I have with Crosshair. He's so intense that if I'm not careful, he comes off like a walking red-flag. Word choice is essential when getting Cross' character and reactions right. Whether it be the way he talks to her, or the way he naturally falls into a protector role. That's why when I'm writing for him, it takes double the time it does to write anything else. Every movement, every word he says, needs to be written like he says it in the moment. That's the only way to show his softness... because the love that he gives is best felt in person. You can't describe Crosshair's love with words easily.

Now for sweet, sweet, Echo.

Let me preface this by saying: Echo is his brother's keeper. There is a relationship there that goes far deeper than the ones Crosshair holds for his other brothers. It happened slowly, but it wasn't until the two of them were too far into it that either recognized what had happened. Their personalities are something that wouldn't really mix on first glance, but for some reason or another, they just get each other. It's natural, and they gravitate towards each other.

That being said, Duchess and Echo are their own kind of dynamic. I see them as the "platonic-soulmate" kind. She has an intensity that Echo marvels at, and Dutch knows she could take any problem to him and he would do anything to help her. They both see something in the other that they wish they still had, or could develop. It's probably the purest friendship Duchess has ever had, and Echo can't help but harken back to Fives when he sees her attitude -in future chapters.

Note: From the first moment I created Duchess, I just knew in my heart she was meant to be something special to Echo. To me, it was only right that Crosshair's doll would feel strongly connected to Echo as well. Add in their common feeling of loss for brothers, and that just made their relationship that much stronger. She's such a force, and the ARC trooper can't help but find a enamorment with people who have such a strong will and fiery personality. (See Fives)

The moment Echo sees Crosshair, he's already preparing to do anything necessary to protect Duchess from incurring another possible hit to her bruised emotions. Echo trusts Crosshair, but he's highly attentive to Cross and how raw his emotions are. Their interaction is based in Echo's desire to save the couple from losing the chance to do things the right way. Intuition and experience guide Echo through the whole conversation; He really is flying by the seat of his blacks here... But he's so well-versed in reading Crosshair that none of the other Batcher's even think about offering to be the first one Crosshair faces when he comes in the bunk hall. Echo has unmatched faith in Cross, and this was something both of them knew would happen.

Note: Writing this scene was challenging for a number of reasons. For one, neither Echo or Crosshair really talk a whole lot. They say what they need to, and that's the end of it. So I spent days watching Echo and Crosshair's interactions. Trying to figure out what I could based off the -very little- examples I was given. In that, I found that the two of them hardly ever stand next to each other, but they're constantly sharing glances and looking at each other. Echo and Crosshair have silent conversations all. the. time.

Had Echo not allowed Crosshair to go and see Duchess, their sexy scene would have never happened. (And I played around with that idea very seriously...) Ultimately, Echo's intuition was the deciding factor. That conversation, and Crosshair's attempt at honesty was the reason Echo felt confident in letting him speak to her. And although Echo could sense Crosshair's patience running thin, he'd already told the rest of the Batch to be prepared for any fight. Echo wouldn't put it past Cross to stun him, but a gut-feeling kept him from mentally preparing to do the same thing.

Additionally, it was Echo who made everyone leave the bunk hall. The second Crosshair and himself reached an agreement, Echo was the first to step away. His next move was to shove the rest of the Batch out the doors and give Duchess and Crosshair the privacy needed to work through their shit. And although he expected it to end in sex, the desire to keep their business between them alone was Echo's main motivation to empty the bunk room. Neither Crosshair or Duchess really trust the Batch at this moment -in Echo's mind at least- and risking their privacy wasn't something the ARC would stand for. In the back of his mind though, Echo was terrified that Crosshair would fuck her and leave it at that. He's seen the sniper at his best and his worst, and although his best is wonderful, his worst can be miserable to endure. Echo was praying that Crosshair wouldn't be too harsh -physically and mentally- on Duchess.

When Hunter finally decided enough time had passed, Echo was on edge to see just where the two of them would be. The image of them sleeping in separate bunks: Crosshair pretending to sleep -like always- and Duchess laying quietly and pretending like nothing happened shook Echo to his core. But the second he saw her bunk in a disarray, and her not in it, Echo couldn't help but fucking grin. He was proud of his brother for doing the right thing. For doing something for himself, and not worrying about how it would make him look for once. Add in the way Crosshair reprimanded Tech, and how deathly serious he looked with her sleeping peacefully against him...?

That was the moment Echo knew for certain that Crosshair was never coming back from this. He saw a visible change in his brother, in the way his attitude changed. The way Crosshair wasn't worried about himself, or attempting to hide behind sneers and sarcastic comments. Echo noticed how attuned he was to her in that moment, putting her comfort above all else. For a man who pretended to not care about anything, Crosshair did a terrible job of hiding his true personality when Duchess was curled up into him. And Echo couldn't be happier, knowing that his trust in Crosshair hadn't been for nothing. Not only was his brother experiencing love in a way that all of them desired, but Duchess was never going to live with the question of whether or not someone truly cared for her.

***

I hope this was what you were looking for in-terms of answers 😅. I had a great time writing this for you, and I hope you'll feel comfortable doing this again whenever you feel like it! I love sharing the behind-the-scenes stuff with you! It makes the cuts and editing feel a little less sad knowing I might be able to share some of it with you anyways!

[aenaxes]

one to ten

[jesse x gn!reader] there are ten things you remember about jesse.

warnings: tcw s7 spoilers, suggestive themes, mentions of death

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: sorry for the constant parentheticals lol. ishei is a spin on a biblical name/the hebrew name basis for jesse (yishai) as a kind of namesake (surprise, you've now adopted a togrutan).

01. Your first glimpse of beauty in war comes in the form of a clone trooper.

It doesn’t make sense. They all look the same, you groan to Uche, the one other civ enlistee who didn’t waste their breath (or your time) waxing poetic about galactic justice or pining after the out-of-touch idealogues holding rank in the jedi temple and Senate floor.

What’s so different about him? Uche asks, and you don’t have an answer.

You remember sneaking furtive looks from inventory protocol drills to the landing platform, seeing the unnamed soldier step off the dust-beaten hull of a gunship transport with a straight-backed swagger. Even from afar, he demands attention, presence, in ways the men with him cannot.

I don’t know, you mumble. Maybe it’s the tattoo on half his face.

02. You learn the name of this beautiful man when Uche ditches the buddy system to wander off with a trooper in red armor at 79’s.

Shitty friend, comes a voice you’ve heard a hundred times over. You turn your head, ready to shoo away a shiny eager to prove his mettle, but instead you are met with the beautiful soldier and his ridiculous face tattoo in Uche’s seat. He flashes you a grin, raising his brows at you in a way that oozes the same confidence you remember in the landing bay. Can I make it up to you with a drink?

Will it be worth my while? you shoot back. (It’s amazing how well you mask the excited tremor in your voice. The wonders of working in a military hierarchy.)

No promises, he shrugs as he flags down the barkeep. But I think you already know your answer.

Then fine, I guess, you fight the smile playing over your lips. And when he closes his eyes and laughs, you think it’s only fitting that your nameless soldier has a laugh as gorgeous as himself.

I’m y/n, you say.

Jesse.

03. You meet this beautiful man again (Jesse, you curl your tongue over his name), and it just so happens that you end up assigned to the same ship as him. You board the Resolute, your civ certification in hand and a drab uniform as your completion gift, and as you claim your quarters aboard the destroyer, a firm tap at your shoulder stops you at your door.

Fancy seeing you here, y/n.

You’re kidding me, you smile. When you turn around, Jesse’s grinning back at you, bucket tucked under one arm, the other propping him up against the hallway wall in the worst attempt to look even remotely flirtatious that you’ve ever seen.

I’m hard to resist, I know, Jesse laughs, and you do your best to muster the most irritated expression possible despite the elation in your chest. I guess 79’s wasn’t enough for you, huh?

Sure, I can’t get enough of me absolutely drinking you under the table, Jesse, you snort.

Okay, okay, I was off my game. But you can’t tell me I’m not a better kisser when I’m tipsy, he shrugs.

I haven’t kissed you sober, you deadpan.

You think I could change that by the end of this tour?

04. You’re in bed with this beautiful man for the nth time this month, and you’ve never been too good with pillowtalk, so you tell him what you have always thought since the day you first saw him. Your fingertips light over his cheeks, you tell him that he is beautiful.

Jesse laughs and leans in to kiss your wrist. Between kisses trailing up your arm, he tells you that he is one face of many; that he is all rough skin and scars; (that there is no beauty in war embodied, cemented in the flesh over and over and over); that you just might have poor taste.

You jab his arm (because fuck you, Jesse, this was supposed to be a romantic moment), and he yelps, cackling. But you’ve successfully stroked his ego, and he thanks you by pulling you down onto his bunk again.

05. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

The revelation is a long time coming and yet somehow the greatest surprise that shocks you awake one morning when Jesse is still asleep in his bunk with one heavy arm draped over your bare hips.

It’s more than simple beauty as you watch him sleep, his lips parted and brow slack. Done away with the bravado and big talk, with the tension lifted from his proud features, Jesse is terrifyingly vulnerable in the way that makes your heart ache (even if he might be drooling just a little bit).

And then the ship alarm blares, and Jesse’s scrambling awake, sleepy apologies and bleary eyes as he shuffles around you to fumble for his armour.

See you in a few, sweetheart, Jesse laughs, locking his vambrace in place before he leans close and presses a quick peck to your cheek. And then he’s gone, breaking into a jog down the hallway as you shrug on his GAR bomber and pull it close over your chin.

You tell yourself that you don’t breathe deep on purpose, that you don’t shiver when you catch Jesse’s scent, standard-issue aftershave and spritzes of the Corellian cologne you’d bought him planetside, saved for the nights you spent over in his quarters.

You’re in love. (Fuck.)

06. You’re in love with this beautiful man.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, he says softly, perched beside you on the stout nose of a laatie. You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his unreadable gaze (all you know is that it is soft) with a furrowed brow.

When you ask him what it means, Jesse—smooth-talker, sly bastard, a snappy retort always a word away—sputters unintelligibly, forgoing any excuses or mistranslations for sliding down the gunship’s hull and breaking into a run across the dewy grass. And you forget that you haven’t run this fast in months when you take off close at his heels.

Tell me, asshole! you shout, sprinting after him.

Not on your life! he shouts with a grin thrown over his shoulder. But he is slowing, his run pacing down to a jog, then a funny little walk on the heels of his feet as you close his lead and tackle him to the cool grass underfoot.

You feel a bruise blooming over your knees, and you’re fairly certain he’ll have a worse bruise over his tailbone. But all you can do is laugh as Jesse traps you in his arms and wrestles you onto your back under the silver light of the Nemoidian moons. (When was the last time you had laughed so freely?)

And when you catch your breath, vision blurry with the best kind of tears, you look to the wonder in Jesse’s eyes as he kneels above you.

You think he might be in love, too.

07. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and when you call him yours (when he calls you his) between hushed breaths and soft moans, you savor the thrill that rushes up your spine every time.

General Skywalker’s married, Jesse says one night, his voice rumbling under your ear as you lie over his chest.

It’s kind of obvious, you respond, and he laughs.

No—I mean, I knew—we’ve all known. But what if we got married?

You lift your head, and something heavy and warm lurches alive in the spaces between your ribs when you meet Jesse’s eyes. There is no witty playfulness, no heckling rise—only yearning, deep and vast and held with bated breath when he reaches up to touch your cheek.

Just you, me, some peace and quiet. I’d make a hell of a mechanic. And kids, maybe, well, if you want, he says, and with each word, his voice grows softer and softer still until you can just barely make out the last sound that passes his lips.

You could be a realist, cruel and cold, listing some regulation manual clause and the twofold speed at which Jesse would live and love (and die). You could tell him that the chances of you both making it out of this seemingly endless war were slim to none. You could tell him that the grief of losing a husband would fester where the loss of a friend would heal. You could leave.

But normality is so, so sweet—the vague yet enchanting idea of life beyond a war for which your beautiful man was born, a war which has swallowed you whole.

Rules and probabilities be damned, it’s worth the risk.

I’d like that, you whisper, and Jesse’s incredulous, enthralled laugh sweeps you off your feet before he’s kissing you like it’s the first time all over again.

A week later, Fives officiates, Echo bears witness, and they shower you with handfuls of tiny blue flowers scrounged from the flaxen Lothal plains as Jesse kisses you breathless.

(Both of them are dead within the year.)

08. You’re in love with your beautiful man, and you don’t think yourself a fool when all you can wonder is whether he still loves you from behind the mirrored visor of his helmet, one pound of pressure away from two blaster bolts and twin wounds (one for Ahsoka, one for you).

It is not his voice you hear over the labored blare of the ship alarms. It shares the same breath and passes through the same lips, but it is not the cocksure charm in rank or the languorous warmth of leave you have come to call your own.

You’ll be demoted in rank from commander and subject to execution along with the traitors Ahsoka Tano and y/n l/n.

It is not Jesse’s voice. (The last time your full name found home over his tongue, Fives and Echo had been alive.)

And then you watch him fall.

The hangar is a flurry of blaster fire and gunsmoke, and it’s a wonder that through it all, only one shot manages to graze over your leg before Ahsoka hurls you onto the docked y-wing and into the gunner’s seat.

The thrusters rumble to life as you slam your viewport shut, and you hear Rex’s voice crackling over the intraship comm for you to strap in. But all you can do is search frantically for any flash of twin ARC pauldrons and a shock of royal blue in the violent sea of helmets paying forgotten homage. You press your palms to the glass because he was there, he was there, right where Ahsoka spears her lightsabers into the metal, he was there.

The floor drops from beneath your feet, and you tell yourself the smoke and ache in your lungs is from your head connecting hard with the domed viewport glass as you scramble for your controls.

(What goes through a man’s head when he knows he will not wake when he lands?)

09. And then your beautiful man is dead.

You will think later that you were lucky, blessed, even, that you were not the one to pull his mangled body from under the charred belly of a destroyer, but that fact makes uncovering his face no less difficult. The broad ink stretched over his skin does little to hide the blood dried over his brow, bled into glassy eyes unseeing.

Did he feel it when the ship tore apart? You slide his eyes shut. (You do not hear your own wailing.) Was he in pain?

His brother tells you to leave his helmet over his grave because you buried bodies, vessels, ghosts of who they had once been. Jesse was not himself when you ran. Why would you carry a marker of someone you no longer knew, someone who no longer knew you?

There won’t be space for it on the ship (leave the dead with the dead), and you pretend not to hear how young Rex sounds when his voice bows under the loss of everything he’s ever known.

You hang the bloody plastoid back onto its perch.

It feels like the death of a saint, not because Jesse was some paragon of virtue, but because it is cruel, uncaring and unjust and pulled out of your hands into a single divine lie. It’s a wordless eulogy come too soon, and you cannot seem to pull away from the scuff marks and chipped paint at your fingertips.

It’s time to go, Rex says.

We got married, you say.

I know, Rex replies.

I’m not ready, your voice cracks. I didn’t say goodbye.

You feel strong arms pull you close, and if you focus on the sound of the slowly groaning hull before you, you can pretend like you aren’t being pulled apart at the seams, crashed into some cold moon, dirt under your nails, blood on your knees, alone.

I know.

10. Sometimes, you see your beautiful man in fleeting glimpses over his brother’s face. They are only split-second visions blurred by sleep (denial, denial, denial). You see copper skin and a soldier’s eyes, but that is where the familiarity ends and reality begins.

Even if you took away the tattoo arcing over Jesse’s skin and placed them side by side, Rex does not have the slight curve in his nose from a sparring session kicked too high; he does not have the dark freckle just below his chin; he does not have the playful twinkle, the knowing gleam that lit up his eyes whenever he saw you. (Rex only looks to you with shared grief, pity, these days.)

Clone or not, he is not him.

So you sleep.

If only for a glimpse of Jesse, his face blurry and voice warped under the weight of memory (played, rewound, and played again), you treat your precious shifts of sleep when Rex takes the helm as nothing short of speaking to the divine itself. Even if your dreams are more often than not nightmares of staring down a blaster barrel, part of you thinks that it’s worth the shaky hands and uneven breaths as Rex shakes you awake, that you might try to say goodbye.

Tonight, you see him again. But this time, the hangar deck is silent, blasters raised but frozen in place, a snapshot frame of the day a part of you died with him. The script changes. He lowers his blasters, you step forward, and when you reach up to lift his helmet from his shoulders, it is the clearest you have ever seen his face since you laid him to rest.

I’m sorry, his voice floats, settling in the space between your ears, soft and strong. I love you.

Goodbye, Jesse.

And when you wake, for the first time in weeks, your eyes are dry.

You will heal.

—

00. Buir, a soft voice filters down from the top bunk as your ship hums around you.

Ishei, you call, lifting one hand to rub at your eyes. You catch your son’s little horned head peeking over the edge of his bunk, and he scampers down the ladder when you beckon him close.

I can’t sleep, he whispers as he crawls beside you and tucks his arms around your waist. Will you tell me about father?

(Jesse will never know the orphaned Togrutan boy who calls him buir. You wish he did.)

Every night, you laugh softly, gently rubbing between his budding white montrals. Every night, I tell you about Jesse’buir. You don’t tire of the same stories?

You feel Ishei shake his head against your chest. Jesse’buir is my hero! Did he really look just like Rex ba’vodu?

Not at all, you smile. Not at all.

[rogueonestan]

wopc : ch 16 - prophetic dreams

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader / ofc

word count: 5.4k

summary: despite your protests, returning back to nevarro is the next leg of your journey. little do you know, your worries were the first warning sign of everything changing between you and the mandalorian.

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The only thing you can hear is the ringing in your ears. Everything that just happened is the last thing on your mind. You pay no attention to the now destroyed tabletops, or the broken glass that’s on the floor, or even your partner’s limp body. The only thing you can focus on is the persistent high pitched noise ringing in your ears. 

Just moments ago, you were in the most grueling blaster fight you’ve ever been in, fighting against a plethora of storm troopers who were under the orders of an Imperial officer. 

When the fighting first began, you thought that maybe, just maybe, the four of you would be able to make it out of this alive. Greef was able to take down several troopers as he remained near the cantina doors, Cara seemed to be taking as many men as you were, and Din was the one leading the fight. He took out more men than you ever could. When you saw him handle the E-Web machinery, you couldn’t be more proud. Seeing him take out a dozen or two troopers in a matter of seconds brought a huge smile on your face.

Thanks to Din, maybe this battle could be over sooner than you expected.

But then, the Moff made himself known.

Not only did he shoot at your partner to gain his attention, but he did the one thing you never thought was possible. He nearly killed Din.

Right when it seemed like this battle could be in your favor, your entire world came crumbling down when you saw Din’s body flying in the air. Sure, he’s had his fair share of being knocked off of his feet, but this was different. He could die from this. Only one of you would probably make it out of this fight alive. 

All of the hope stripped from your skin when you saw Din’s lifeless body on the floor. You knew something was wrong, really wrong, when he didn’t move after a few seconds. You knew returning back to Nevarro was a bad idea. 

When you arrived back in town, you had a deep feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you to head back to the ship, to head to some planet where hopefully the three of you could be safe, but you couldn’t run any further. 

You tried to ignore the feeling, telling yourself everything will be okay because it had to, right? With everything you and Din have been through together, there’s nothing that could tear the two of you apart. That is, until your partner was nearly killed by the same piece of weaponry that made the battle turn in your favor. 

You saw the Moff strutting his way into battle.

You saw him aiming his blaster at your partner.

You saw the devilish smirk on his face as he pulled the trigger.

You should’ve done something.

Why didn’t you do anything?

Anything would’ve helped. Warned Din. Shout. Scream. Anything.

But you didn’t.

And now, Din could die because you didn’t do anything about it.

How did things go so sour so quickly? 

The next thing you know, everyone is retreating inside the cantina. The entire room is spinning around you. That’s when you were unable to hear your surroundings, only the high pitched sound. 

Then, the ringing suddenly stops. 

Suddenly, a hand wraps itself around yours. As you glance down, you find Din is currently leaning up against a piece of rubble. Reaching out to you with the little amount of strength that lives in his bones. The nickname that he has called you on so many occasions leaves his lips. Just hearing that one word brings you to your knees.

Much like Din, it seems like all of the strength in your body was suddenly stripped from you just from one action. 

This is really happening. You know that it is truly serious because Din’s never been one to be so vulnerable in front of others. The only time he’s ever been vulnerable around you is when the two of you were alone. 

He’s going to die and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Well, there’s- no, that’s something that you haven’t done since the war. You can’t do that.

“Take the kid. You need to leave.” If you weren’t so close by his side, you wouldn’t have been able to hear Din’s request.

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“You have to, for his sake.”

“But, Din, I-“

Tears you didn’t know we’re falling down your face were caught by Din’s leather-covered thumb. 

“It’s the only way.”

“No, I’m with you until the end.”

“Gedet’ye,” Please. The heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach returns when you hear his plea. You’ve never heard such emotion, such heartache, in a single word. Just hearing that word is worse than a punch to the gut over and over and over again. The weight in your stomach makes it damn near impossible to breathe. 

Everything in your life always ended up with death. 

You don’t even want to imagine how hard all of this has to be for Din. You’re not the only one that’s losing something. You’re only losing one person, but he’s losing two. Two people he’s grown to care for extremely during these past few cycles. He could easily let the two of you be around as he takes his final breath, but he can still protect you even when wounded.

His death could ensure the safety of you and the baby. That’s all he’s been trying to make sure of since the two of you have entered his life.

“Guys, come on!” Greef hollers as he begins to duck in the now open sewer vent, “We need to move!”

Cara quickly follows suit. 

But before you’re even able to consider moving a single muscle, Din’s grasp on your hand tightens.

His other hand tightly grasping a piece of metal you’ve never seen before. 

“You’ll need to show this to the Mandalorians so they’ll help you.”

Even though you know almost nothing about his people, you know how big of a gesture this is. He’s waited until the two of you are alone so that he can give you something very special to him. He’s giving a part of himself to you.

“Are you sure about this? I-I could stay.”

A modulated voice you haven’t heard since you were on Arvala-7 interrupts the moment. “If you wish to survive, you need to evacuate.”

This is really it.

You’re going to have to leave Din behind- the last thing you wanted to do but it’s almost inevitable at this point.

“I hope we’ll see each other again, Din.”

“Ret’urcye mhi.” Maybe we’ll meet again.

“Ruusaan, are you okay?” A voice asks as suddenly a hand appears on your shoulder. 

Din’s alive. He’s here. He’s alright. 

“You’re here.” You whisper out. 

“I was letting everyone know what to expect when we land, just in case.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” The words come out of your mouth as faint as a whisper. You can’t help but feel like returning back to the place you once called home will only bring more trouble into your lives. 

“What are you talking about?” He asks as he takes his seat in the usual spot in the cockpit, where you apparently are. You must’ve passed out at some point once everyone got acquainted after leaving Arvala-7, where you picked up your second passenger for the trip to Nevarro. 

“Nothing good will come out of us returning back there.” Din’s helmet turns at you in curiosity when he spins in his seat, so you continue. “I- I had a dream that everything went horribly wrong when we went back to Nevarro.”

“We’ll be fine. It shouldn’t take us for more than a day or two, then we’ll be on our way. Plus, we have backup.”

“That won’t be enough.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of my dream.”

“You had a nightmare. Happens to all of us.”

“But it seemed so real.” The words come out almost like a whisper. “Everything, it- it’s hard to explain.”

“Humor me.”

“There were troopers everywhere. The whole cantina was destroyed. Then he showed up.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, some Imperial officer. A different one from the one we met when we were there last time. Then I saw you-“ You can’t even get the next words out of your mouth. If you say it out loud, then the images from your nightmare will just replay in your head. Closing your eyes, you try to block out the horrific image from your dream but it doesn’t help. Your hand twitches in its spot on the top of your thigh as you relive the worst part of the dream. 

“You’re really shaken up about this, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had dreams that seemed so realistic before, but this time was different. It was like- like a warning.”

“About what?”

“To not go through with this.”

“But we have-“

“I know we have no other choice, but I just feel like everything’s going to change once we get there.”

“For better or for the worst?”

“I don’t know, but I just know something bad’s going to happen.”

“If you’re feeling this uncertain, we don’t have to go through with this.” He suggests. 

“No, no, we need to. He’s depending on us. We can’t let him down when we’ve come this far.” You motion to the now sleeping infant in the seat next to you in the cockpit. 

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not like we have anywhere else we can go.”

“We can go anywhere you want.”

“We ran from one side of the Rim to the next and it got us nowhere. If we stay in one place for too long, someone is bound to find us there.”

“You’ve never been this pessimistic before.”

“I think I’m just tired.”

“We’re only going to be there no longer than a few days then we’ll leave.”

“I know.”

And just like in the oh-so-real dream you just had, the former hunting droid interrupts the moment. “Would you like to have second meal up here or downstairs?”

“I’m okay.” You tell the droid.

“I’m not hungry.” Your partner says shortly after. 

Then silence.

“Just think things over. We'll be there shortly and you can stay behind if you want.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

“Nightmares show us our worst fears. It’s always hard dreaming of something horrible happening to those we care about.”

“Yeah…”

Hopefully, you’re wrong. Hopefully, everything will go smoothly when you return back to Nevarro then you and Din will be able to return to your normal lives. Little did you know, this dream was indeed a warning. Your journey Din will forever be changed by the events that will occur within the next forty-eight hours. 

Everything on Nevarro has gone more smoothly than you anticipated. Shortly after the Crest landed on the outskirts of town, Greef Karga greeted your party with his, consisting of three bounty hunters he brought as protection. He was taken back when he noticed you and Din brought back up as well. He should’ve known that you would come prepared. After all, you never walk blindly into a situation. 

The first day back on Nevarro went without any hiccups, that is, until nightfall came. 

When everyone was settling for the night, your anxieties about Nevarro returned. Every so often, you would catch glimpses of the other hunters glancing at you. Their stares never failed to make you feel sick to your stomach. You’re not sure what it is about them, but there’s something about them that doesn’t sit right with you. You tried to ignore it at first, trying to distract yourself by eating dinner or with the little one, but even that didn’t help. The knot in your stomach never went away. Din noticed how uncomfortable you got suddenly and asked you about it, but you reassured him that everything’s fine, not wanting to start an uproar. Every time you caught one of their glances, you would just scoot closer to your partner, a vain attempt at trying to gain back some of the comfort you lost when your eyes locked with theirs. 

Then out of nowhere, flying creatures invade your makeshift camp, probably because they could smell one of their own being cooked. You were able to fight them off. One of the creatures was successful in killing off one of the hunters thanks to the poison from the creatures. 

Then, Greef’s pained groans gathered everyone’s attention once the short-lived battle was over. His entire arm was infected by the poison as well. Everyone thought his life too would end soon, but the little one who has been in your care changed everyone’s minds. With a simple touch of his hand over the wound, the baby was able to save the man’s life. No one can explain what they just saw. The air was taken from your lungs when you saw this happen with your own eyes, knowing all too well of what just occurred. 

That’s when you should’ve known things were only going to go downhill from here. You had your hesitations from the start and now they’ve returned. Little did you know what would go down the next day…

“Are you alright?” Din asks you when you continued with your journey the following day. 

“Fine. The sooner we get there, the better.” Glancing over your shoulder, you see that the two hunters still have their gaze lingered on your figure. The uneasiness from the night before returns. A cold shiver runs down your spine as your eyes lock with one of the hunters. Your head quickly faces forward as you try to ignore him.

The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just be glad I don’t wear a helmet as ridiculous as his.”

A snort escapes from your nose as you both take a quick glance at the two hunters who have seemed to keep their distance from the two of you. One of the hunters is wearing a hat that covers from his eyes up, where a pair of dark goggles are placed where his eyes normally would be.

“I don’t know how I would be able to deal with seeing that everyday. I think I would go mad.”

“More than you already have?”

The only kind of a response you give him is narrowing your eyes at him, your brows furrowing at his comment. It’s not long before laughter is exchanged between the two of you. Smiles appear on both of your faces. 

“You’re one to talk.” 

Just when you thought this exchange between the two of you went unnoticed by anyone else, Cara was able to see it all unfold. She saw how close the two of you were on the Crest and the first night you stayed on Nevarro, but nothing like this. She noticed how something changed between the two of you since leaving Sorgan, but she didn’t know the extent of it- until now. She didn’t need either you or Din to tell her, she could tell by the banter exchanged between the two of you. 

With how far she is from the two of you, she can’t hear what the two of you are talking about, but she knows the two of you are enjoying yourselves momentarily. It’s not often you’re able to escape the stresses of your lives by being in each other’s company, so she stays silent until she sees Mando’s hand quickly squeeze your bicep until he leaves your side to catch up with her.

“Did you ever tell her?” Cara asks Mando when he’s back at her side again.

“Tell her what?”

“You know…” She trails off. “Back on Sorgan, it was obvious that you wanted to tell her something.”

“I never said-“

“You didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious.” She says as she catches Mando’s glance before continuing: “It’s obvious you care for her on a deep level.”

“Of course I do. We’ve been partners for a long time.”

“It's more than that. You can fool yourself but you can’t fool me.” 

Din’s silent by Cara’s words. Of course he cares for you on a deeper level. He’s told you things he hasn’t told anyone else in rotations, not even to anyone in his covert. There’s so much more that he wants to tell you, but he always can do that in the future. The two of you have all of the time in the galaxy, after all. And telling Cara all of this wouldn’t exactly be easy. How does one admit not being able to stop thinking about the future with someone they just met little over a rotation ago in passing? 

“Things are… different from when we last saw each other.” Din admits. 

“I know, I can tell.” She says with the outer corners of her lips lifting slightly. “You seem happier, both of you.”

“We are.”

“I’m glad.”

“Sorgan changed everything for us.”

“Maybe you can tell me more about it once we leave this place.”

“Yeah, maybe…” 

The subject is then dropped, much like how it was back at the village. Everything has changed between the two of you since your arrival on Sorgan. The gentle breezes that you would experience everyday brought a calmness into your lives. It’s almost like the weather at the village represented a shift in the tide of your relationship. Before arriving on Sorgan, things between the two of you were stiff. Not uncomfortable, but it’s a feeling the two of you have gotten used to over the months. 

Arriving at the village changed everything for your relationship. Complete silence between the two of you is now foreign. It’s almost unnerving if that happens. Your days aren’t filled with complete chatter, random conversations happening throughout the day, but silence for hours on end no longer occurs anymore. If things ever get too quiet on the Crest, someone will break it to ease the tension. 

The dynamic in your relationship is one that Din never wants to break away from. There’s been so much that he’s wanted to tell you ever since the two of you were introduced, but he always kept his mouth shut because he knew what type of relationship you both agreed to. Business partners only. Nothing more. But he’s so glad the relationship you share goes much deeper than that. Din isn’t exactly sure what kind of a relationship you have or even how to describe it, but he wouldn’t change a thing about it. 

Even when the two of you aren’t communicating, you’re both in sync. While Din’s mind was preoccupied with thoughts about how much your relationship has changed recently, your mind is also plagued with similar thoughts. Though you aren’t pondering how things have changed, you’re wondering how it will change once the Client is dead. How is your future going to look after this? Will the two of you continue with your search for a safe home for the baby? Even if you were able to do so, what would your future with Din look like? It’s not like the Guild will welcome you back with open arms. Everyone will always see the pair of you as traitors. 

Or would your plans change? Would the three of you live the remainder of your lives on a safe planet? Finding some peace along the way? Neither you or Din have ever talked about the possibility of settling down. The furthest either of you have spoken about your future together is agreeing on finding a safe planet for the baby to live, nothing beyond that. You don’t even know if your future together is on Din’s mind. 

Maybe he would introduce you to his people, as he promised he would. He would probably want to spend his remaining days with them, with or without you by his side. Who knows how things might change once you finish the job you were summoned here in the first place. 

A low humming halters your footsteps momentarily. The sound is so low that you wouldn’t have been able to notice it if it wasn’t so quiet. The only sound that can be heard is footsteps running through the gravel on the floor and the low humming that only you can hear. A warning. A heavy feeling suddenly appears in your chest as your anxieties about this entire mission reappears. It’s like a dark cloud has suddenly appeared over you, almost like a physical warning of the upcoming threat.

Your hand hovers over your blaster out of instinct. It’s like you don’t even have control over your movements during the moment, like something is guiding you, warning you something bad is about to go down. If you weren’t listening so intently, then you wouldn’t have been able to hear the soft click of two blasters.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips.

You knew coming back to Nevarro was a bad idea. 

Everything seems to be put on hold when two loud BANGS can be heard throughout the valley. Dead silence. A breath you didn’t even know you were holding is released. Erratic breathing leaves your lungs as you try to process what just occurred. 

As you look down at the now two corpses, you see that your suspicions were right. Blasters remain in both of their hands.

You were brought here to be killed. 

They were going to kill you and Din then take the baby to do Maker knows what. 

“What did you do?!” Din asks you. 

��Woah, you’re quick!” Greef exclaims. 

“And you tried to have us killed!” You snark at your former boss.

“Okay, I admit the original plan was to kill you and take the kid, but after last night, I couldn’t go through with it.” He explains.

After he was bitten by the poisonous creature, everyone thought that would be the end of the ex-magistrate, but the little one proved otherwise. You’re not sure where he learned how to do it, but he was able to save the man’s life by somehow transferring some life from his own body to Greef’s. You never thought you would see the day again where someone’s life could be saved just by one touch. 

“I told you coming back here would be a day idea.”

“Not now.” Your partner scolds you.

“So, what do we do now?” Cara asks.

“You can shoot me down and it wouldn’t go against the Guild code, but we both need the Client to be dead. If he’s still alive, neither you or the child will be safe.” 

“He’s right. What do you want to do?” Din asks you.

“As long as he’s alive, hunters will be sent our way. No matter where we run, they’ll find us. His death is the only way we can ensure our safety.” You reply.

“It’s a trap.” Cara reminds you all.

“Bring me.” Your partner suggests. 

“Bring you?” Both you and Greef ask simultaneously. 

“Tell him you captured me. Get me close enough to him and I’ll kill him.”

“That’s a good idea.” Greef agrees. “Give me your blaster.”

“This is insane!” Cara says exactly what you were thinking. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“It’s the only way.” Din tells you.

“I’m coming with you then.” Cara says.

“So am I.” You state. 

“No,” Greef declines. “That would be too suspicious.”

“How? We started this together and it would be even more suspicious if I weren’t there.”

“It’s safer for you to be on the ship.” 

“I don’t care. I told you I’m not leaving your side and I don’t plan on backing out now.” You tell your partner. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Chain code?” One of the troopers asks you as he gets off of his speeder to greet your party.

It didn’t take long for the four of you to come up with a plan for your next move. Both you and Din would appear to have been captured and brought in as bounties with stun cuffs wrapped around your wrists. Though you didn’t agree with this plan at first, Din reassured you that this is the only way, given the circumstances. While the four of you made your way towards the town, the baby was being safely escorted back to the ship thanks to Kuill. 

“I have a gift for the boss.” Greef explains.

The trooper is only irritated by the answer he’s given, so he reiterates his question with irritation in his tone. “Chain code?”

With saying another word, Greef rummages through his pockets to find your ticket into the town: his chain card that allows him to enter and exit the town whenever he pleases. 

Fortunately, you were free to enter the town without any problems, that is, until the trooper 

on your right who gave the okay says something that causes a twitch in your eye.

“I’ll give you twenty credits for the helmet.” He offers.

“Not a chance! That’s going on my wall!” Greef plays off. 

If you weren’t standing so close to Din, you wouldn’t have been able to hear the soft scoff along with his comment of. “‘On your wall?’”

Just when you thought that was bad enough, the other stormtrooper who was watching all this happen chimes in. “How much for the girl?”

“She’s not for sale.” Cara says, not leaving room for argument as she nudges you forward. All four of you begin to enter town. If this whole mission weren’t so crucial, you would’ve loved to smash that helmet off of his head, but you don’t have the time for that. So, you move in sync with the others. 

Everything about the town is different. There was a life to it before, it resembled the closest thing you’ve ever had to a home since yours was taken, but much like every planet in the galaxy, the remnants of the Empire have stripped every aspect of home here. There’s hardly any vendors. There’s almost one trooper per building. No one is able to live their life freely like how they were able to do before. 

You never loved it here on Nevarro but returning here always brought comfort. You always knew that you would be able to have a home cooked meal made by one of the vendors or even able to have some sort of contact with others, but thanks to the Imps, that’s no longer an option. It’s almost exactly what life was like when the Empire was around. Boring. Lifeless. Dead. 

Nothing ever seems to be the same as it was before if the Empire is involved.

“Here we are.” Greef announces as all four of you arrive at the building you're familiar with, but the interior is completely different. 

Much like the town, there’s no sign of the locals, only ex-Imperials. Greef was right when he said the Client wasn’t heavily guarded. Only four stormtroopers watch over him, just like how they did when you and Din first met him a while ago. 

There’s no life in the cantina anymore. No hunters. No drinking. No chattering. Nothing. Rather than being a social area, the cantina now acts as the Imperial’s base for the town. 

“Look what I bought you, as promised.” Greef says as he shows that he has indeed ‘brought in’- the Guild’s two highest bounties, minus the asset you were hired to locate. Greef then guides you and Din to the table where the ex-Imperial officer is sitting. 

The older man comments on Din’s beskar, saying how the fate of the Mandalorians could have been in a better light if they had sided with the Empire instead of fighting them. Once the man stops talking, you can tell the subject is making your partner upset by the way his whole body tenses up. Due to your hands being restrained, you cannot comfort your partner in the way you wish you could, so you stay still as the man in front of you continues to talk. 

“And you, oh, my employer will be so happy about your capture.” 

“Me? Why me?” You ask. 

“Because he knows who you are, or should I say what you are. You’re much more valuable to him than the Mandalorian is.”

He knows. He knows who you are, or at least, who you used to be. No matter how far you run, the Empire has managed to hunt you down and threaten you with your past.

One of the troopers makes their way over to the table, quietly informing their boss about the incoming call he has. When he leaves the four of you alone, your anxieties seem to have made their return. 

One shot and this all will be over. 

Everything will be able to go back to normal. 

Even Greef seems to be nervous as his stare is focused on the older man after he silently returns the blaster back to Din. “You get one shot.” He tells the hunter. 

The older man takes one last glance at the four of you before all hell breaks loose. 

Just when you thought everything would be okay, you would be proven wrong. With just a blink of an eye, the former Imperial officer is shot dead as multiple blaster shots come raining in. Everyone immediately takes cover. The table you were sitting at moments ago now acts as a makeshift shield. All of the stormtroopers in the room are shot dead. Din begins shooting blindly at whatever the source of the intrusion was. Cara hands you your blaster so you could do the same. 

Then it all stops.

Silence fills the air.

The room is filled with dust. 

Everyone’s heart rates are through the roof by what just occurred. 

With a nod of his helmet, you and Din head for the right side of the cantina while Greef and Cara head for the left. Din’s body shields your own just in case any incoming blaster fire returns. 

Shouting can be heard in the distance. 

Whoever’s coming, you’re definitely going to be outnumbered by the time you figure out why the attack began in the first place. 

You knew coming here was a bad idea. 

You don’t need to ask to know you’re doomed, but you can’t help but ask. “How many?”

“Too many for us to take out.” Your partner tells you.

“We’re doomed.”

Quickly pulling out the comm link from his pocket, Din informs Kuill about the situation, telling him to get to the Crest as soon as possible and to leave. If Din believes you can’t get out of here alive then you know you’re doomed. He’s always been able to get out of a really tough situation, but even this is out of his hands. 

Everything is dead silent.

Until the roaring of a TIE fighter approaches and lands directly in the middle of the town. 

Now you know you’re in trouble.

Now you know you’re definitely in over your heads. 

You’re doomed.

“You have something I want!” A booming voice breaks the silence. 

“Who’s this guy?” Cara asks. 

“You may think you have some idea of what you’re in possession of, but you do not- well, one of you does.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. He’s the man the Client was warning you about earlier. He knows everything about you. 

Din’s pleas to get the baby to safety only become more desperate. 

“In a few moments, it will be mine. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

Closing your eyes shut, you try to steady your breath. Your heart rate is going almost a hundred miles per hour. The only thing you can hear is Din’s pleas getting as desperate as you’ve ever heard it before. 

The darkness from right before the hunters were going to turn on you returns. All the mysterious man wants the baby is for his own gain. Who knows what he’ll do with him once the baby is in his grasp. Who knows what he entails for you once the baby is finally taken away from your protection. 

No matter how many times Din says his name, Kuill never responds. 

There’s no way you're getting out of this now. You’ve officially lost. The child is no longer in your protection.

 “We’re doomed.”

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[the-silentium]

Murphy day Pt. 2

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 3161 words

Warnings: Curses.

A/N:  Yes, I put some ARK:Survival evolved creatures in this, so I do not own their concept. They are just so cute! Also I’m not as good at worldbuilding as @shadow-hyder .

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

"So you guys are Commandos?" You asked as Hunter moved aside the colorful plant blocking your way, his steps following yours closely. 

For the last 10 minutes, you've managed to make good progress in your quest to reach the clones' ship. So deep into the jungle, the prank traps were nonexistent, making it easier for the group to venture without a hitch although it also meant that you were out of the village's defence system. 

Wrecker had been chattering with you for the most part, explaining that they weren't regular clones when you pointed out that referring to them as 'clones' was basically going against the definition of the word as they all looked completely different from one another. 

Unbeknownst to you, a certain bad batcher started to think that you may not be as annoying as he initially thought, your comment about the fact that their mutations made them the best version of their kind was running through his mind. 

The jungle is in constant evolution! Only the bests survive and to do that, they need to mutate! It's the same with you guys. Your mutations make you even more adapted to survive and do your job. That's impressive.

"We are!" You could tell Wrecker was immensely proud of being an elite special team, his enthusiasm made his voice even louder. 

You'd hoped that Wrecker's voice mixed with Tech's repulsive odor would keep the nasty fangs away. Unfortunately, bad luck decided to show its face again.

A branch snapped behind you catching your attention, prompting you to stop dead in your tracks and turn around at the same moment Hunter did. He didn't even have to lift his hand, his troop immediately turned like one man while lifting their blasters towards the moving and cracking flora, their feet firmly planted on the ground, ready to engage whatever there was lurking around. 

The animal was clearly making its way into your direction, its form moved the plants around to form a clear path towards your group. 

The utter silence was nerve wracking. The birds had stopped chirping a while back, when Wrecker had exploded in laughter at one of your joke, the jerboas were definitely keeping themselves at bay along with every non-lethal creature around. 

Crouching very slowly, you reached for your knife, the warm wood connecting with your fingertips relaxed your stress just a little. 

A sigh of relief left your lips when a familiar bleating sound reached your ears. Releasing your knife, you pushed past the rest of the group to search the tall grass for the small herbivore. 

"It's fine." You breathed, your eyes falling on the excited baby, its cute face almost making you aww.  "'s just a Shinehorn." You crouched to carefully take the small light-brown goat in your arms, its tail wagging quickly in excitement. 

The troopers dropped their weapons, all their helmets now focussed on the wiggling animal in your arms. Slowly, you put it back down before giving him more pets under its chin. 

The Shinehorn was still very young, the top of his head reaching just below your knees and his tiny green horns flashing lowly in his excitement. You traced the two green lines marking its back with your fingers, the squeaks you received in response making you giggle. 

"What's a Shinehorn?" Tech asked, crouching next to you to be closer and scan the baby with his helmet. 

"They are small herbivorous animal. Their horns can glow in the dark! Very useful when we have to do night hunts or anything in the dark." You grabbed some berries from a bush nearby, feeding them to him. "They're also very docile." 

With a last pet between its green horns, you got up and let your place to Wrecker who clearly wanted to gush over the newfound ball of cuteness. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Crosshair, his hand still firmly wrapped around his rifle like the little goat would pound on him or something. 

“Oh! I just thought about that, I know you’re probably very experienced with your blasters seeing as you're all the cream of the clones, but could you not have them in your hands?” You lifted your hands in the air in surrender at Crosshair’s constipated expression. “Just sayin’! Been there, done that, ya know!”

"You accidently shot someone?" Hunter turned his attention from the intriguing creature to you. 

"Not me. But before the laws strictly prohibed people to go out on Murphy day, it was common occurrence." 

All you received was a grunt of aknowledgement, before Hunter called his team back and started walking again. 

To your amusement, the little Shinehorn followed your steps, happily jumping around but never getting in anyones' way. From time to time, you'd grab nearby berries from tall trees to feed him in hope that he'd take a permanent liking to you so you could maybe take him with you on your way back home. 

For the seventh time that morning, Tech tripped on his feet, muttering words in a foreign language that you were sure were curses. It was almost normal now. The small clone would fall on the ground, curse, get up and continue for the cycle to restart a couple of minutes later. You didn't think any of it, having stopped turning around in concern at the 4th time. He had his armor to protect him after all. 

Although, this time you should have turned around. You would have seen that in his fall, Tech tripped Wrecker who was now losing his balance.

A clash of armor hitting armor mixed with the very sudden movement right beside you made you yelp in surprise. Hunter grunted, out of breath and confused, under Wrecker's imposing form. 

Chuckles flew off your mouth, too quickly for you to keep them in, as the bigger clone moved off its C.O. 

"Maybe we could take a break." You proposed, hand digging into your pocket to retrieve your tap. 

"Wouldn't hurt." 

At Hunter's approval you swiftly grabbed your knife, found the nearest bigger tree and tapped it to access the sugary water within the core of the tree. As the water started to drop down the tap, you moved yourself in front of the flow and opened your mouth to drink, calming down your thirsty driven mind. 

Once you were satisfied, you moved aside to let the others access the water. 

"Help yourselves." You motioned toward the dripping tap before sitting next to Crosshair who was picking fruits in a small tree, his helmet on the jungle floor. 

Wrecker was the first to taste the water, his face enlightening the whole jungle with his delighted smile. 

"It's sweet!" He stated to your amusement. He seemed more and more like a child. 

"Yeah. All the drinkable water here is sweet. If it doesn't have a taste, you should spit it out, 'cause it means that it's full of bacterias." 

You stretched your legs to be more comfortable, your hands behind you supporting your body. You petted absentmindedly the young Shinehorn, enjoying the humid wind caressing your face. 

Everyone had their chance to drink, the last one being Crosshair who removed the tap from the tree before throwing the object back at you at your demand. 

The goat approached Crosshair's pile of fruit, clearly interested into eating them, when he was gently denied access by a hand. 

"Not for you Shiny." The sniper muttered, protecting his precious. 

Nice name.

"Pass me some, Crosshair?" Tech asked his brother from his spot before you, helmet now at his side. 

Without a word, you saw a fruit being thrown into Tech's hands. The precision of the shot was flawless and it would have impressed you to no end if your eyes hadn't caught the color of the fruit that Tech was bringing to his mouth. 

"Don't eat that!" You yelled, pushing you forward to slap the pink fruit out of the clone's hand. "Those are the bad ones." You said, ignoring his yelp of pain at your slap.

"But they smell sweet like the water in the tree." 

"Yeah because the tree wants you to eat them instead of the good stuff. It's a defence system." You picked the fruit and threw it away. 

"The ones that smell not so good," You said, picking up a grey similar fruit. "are the good ones. Taste sweet and won't make you puke your guts for hours. There ya go." You passed the fruit to Tech whose gaze was fixed onto something behind you. 

You turned, confused about Tech's worried expression. Realisation hit you like a train, Crosshair didn't have to tell you that he fucked up, his white face along with the almost completely eaten pink fruit in his hand were telling you enough. 

"Kriff. Are you feeling nauseous yet?" You genuinely asked, no sarcasm or malice in your voice. You knew what pain he'd be in, having learned your lesson the hard way, just like him. 

You'd passed a whole day puking like there was no end, bruising your abdominal muscles in the constant effort they had to muster so you could evacuate the content of your stomach, hurting from the biliary acid burning your throat, fighting against the fatigue, dehydration and starvation. 

"Yes." You heard his breathing accelerating and knew what was coming. 

A shiver ran up your spine when he quickly turned around to empty his stomach on the jungle floor. You wanted to help him but knew he'd probably take it badly, so you let his brothers do their thing while you walked a bit away, searching for a specific plant. 

At the moment, you quickly forgot that at the beginning of the trip he had told you to shut up, that he had it coming. You were too empathetic for your good. Once again. 

"I'll be back." You told Hunter before venturing away with Shiny. 

"Please be close, please be close, please-" Searching around, you moved the grass around, peaking at the flowers for yellow petals with purple edges. Shiny whined at your side, nudging you a bit to get your attention, but you chose to ignore the needy baby to continue your flower hunt. 

A bit farther away, yellow petals caught your attention, your legs moving forward to get to them in seconds. With a victory hum, you crouched to pull the base of the flower, exposing its tortuous roots. 

You got up at the same time a low growl reached your ears, freezing you on the spot. Eyes scanned your right frantically for the source of the sound, a pair of sparkling dark hues staring back at you with hunger. Your blood ran cold into your veins, the imposing Dire bear was a good feet taller than you, surely reaching Wrecker's height. 

You clutched the root into your left hand, your right hitching to grab your knife at your ankle. In a very slow movement, you lifted your foot to allow your hand to grab the wooden handle. You almost succeeded when Hunter chose this moment to come looking for you, yelling your name into the trees. 

The Dire bear got scared and ran for you in a roar and you knew you were dead. You couldn't possibly outrun it and had no way to fight it. But you had to try, right? Run, I mean. 

So you ran, the most primal part of your brain taking control and ordered your legs to move as fast as possible towards the armed clones. 

You hadn't ventured too far and Hunter had followed your trail, so your wide terrified eyes met his, the Dire bear almost on you to bite on your neck. In last resort, you put all your faith in the sergeant's quick thinking, diving to the ground, screaming at him to shoot. 

You crashed unceremoniously on your chest, missing the sound of blasters opening fire. An incredibly heavy weight fell on you, pressing your whole body into the dirt, trapping your joined hands under your abdomen. The shock emptied your lungs of air, your mouth and nose were full of furr and dirt, making you panic. 

You desperately tried to push the weight away, take a deep breath of air and scream, but you couldn't do anything. You were trapped. You'd asphyxiate and die. All this because you couldn't control your stupid curiosity. Curiosity killed the tooka. 

You felt tears form in your eyes at the thought, for you were not ready to die. There was so much you still wanted to do. 

Suddenly, the weight disappeared from your back and you were harshly pulled away and rolled onto your back. Your crying wide eyes met the sergeant's, your lungs taking in the biggest inhalations they ever let in, before a wobbly smile stretched your lips. 

"F-found t-the cu-re." You managed to get out in broken words. Your hands opened slowly, showing the brown roots hidden between your fingers. 

Hunter sighed, relieved that you were alright despite crossing path with death. You were lucky he decided to follow the Shinehorn when it started acting up.  

"Are you okay Y/N?" Wrecker's head appeared beside Hunter's, searching your body for wounds. "You're crying." 

Arms slipped under your back and knees, lifting you without a problem. Your hands immediately closed around the root, gripping them tightly like they were life itself. 

" 'm not dead so I'm good." Your head fell onto Hunter's shoulder, you found comfort into the hard uncomfortable piece of armor. You were alive to feel it. "Thank you." 

He looked at you for a couple of seconds and you tried to control the heat assaulting your cheeks by taking deep breaths in. You definitely weren't admiring his tattoo from up close. 

"Didn't do it for you. I had to save the plant." He answered, sarcasm lacing his words. 

You chuckled, closing your eyes for a second. You felt all your energy leaving your body, the adrenalin that powered you moments ago dissipated and let exhaustion consume you. 

"Is she alright?" Tech asked, as another retching sound echoed around. 

"You tell me. Scan her." 

It took a couple of seconds, but you managed to open your eyes to see Tech with his helmet on, the thin screen that was previously up was now right before his eyes. He had a tool in hand, blue rays emanating from its extremity to scan your body. 

"No broken bones or internal injury. She's fine." He lifted the screen back up to get a better view of your state. 

"Can you stand?" Hunter asked.

"Almost sure I can." 

So Hunter lowered your feet to the ground, his hand lifting near your shoulder in case you fell. Your legs were still a bit wobbly, but you stood up, trying to ground yourself at the best of your ability. 

You opened your numb fingers, giving the root to Tech who looked at it with a frown on his face. 

"Break a small piece, remove the skin and give it to Crosshair. It'll help with the nausea and muscle pain." You told him, proud that your voice didn't break. 

"A piece like this?" He broke a piece and showed it to you, not wanting to give too much. They had learned that they should ask you first before eating something. 

"Yeah. Keep the rest for later." 

Nodding, Tech took the vibroknife in Hunter's hand to peel the root, placed the rest of it in his bag, before walking to his grey-haired brother. He tripped once, but managed to stay on his feet. 

You sit on the ground to relieve your legs for a bit, at least until Crosshair was able to walk without puking every 30 seconds. You were sure he'd be as wobbly on his feet as you for a totally different reason. Definitely not ideal for a field trip in the wild jungle. 

It took a good 10 minutes for Crosshair's stomach to settle, his retching stopped, letting him to deal with a slight nausea. With your tap, Hunter managed to get water to Crosshair and yourself before everyone packed up and prepared to go again. Shiny had returned after some time, the poor baby stopped running around and stayed closer to the group. 

"We're almost there." Tech announced at some point and you were grateful. Your legs were ready to abandon you for a while now, although you pushed through to not burden anyone with your adrenalin-less exhaustion. 

"The ship is just after these trees." 

One feet before the other. You repeated to yourself. At this point, all of your concentration was on your feet, you let the environment to Hunter and his apparently enhanced senses. Right, left, right, lef- 

You bumped into Crosshair who had gained energy during the walk while you had the opposed effect. You waited for the harsh comment to come, but it never did. 

"Where's the ship Tech?" Wrecker asked, confused. 

"That's not possible! This isn't the same place! The coordinates are wrong!" He started to panic.

You dropped on your knees beside Crosshair, the open clearing without a ship was the last tol. 

"Describe it to me. " You muttered. 

"What?" The sniper asked, his glare finding your exhausted face. 

"Describe it to me. The place where you left your ship." You concentrated yourself on your breathing, noticing how you started to inhale too quickly. 

"There was a field of glowing purple flowers and a stream with a big rock on one side. There was a gigantic tree too. Way bigger than the rest." He remembered. 

You sighed, tried to get back up with your shaky hands only to be helped by the sniper who pulled you by the pit of your arm. You smiled at him in thanks.

"That's the Waytree." You pointed on your left. "20 minutes of walk in this direction." 

"But that's such a great gap between my coordinates and-" Tech stopped as soon as he met your tired eyes, reading perfectly what you were telling yourself. "It's today." 

"Exactly." You huffed, forcing your legs to start walking again. 

Hunter watched you intensely but you pushed forward, forcing your body to obey you and not fail. All it took was one word from Hunter and a movement of his head toward you. 

"Wrecker." 

Suddenly, you found yourself bridal style in his arms and were carried for the rest of the trip despite you affirming that you were fine and that you were perfectly able to walk by yourself. 

From your position, you had a perfect view of the sky, worrying you to no end.

"No pressure but I'm sure it'll soon start to ra-" A drop of water hit Wrecker's helmet right before your eyes. "Awesome." You sighed. 

[danger-xylophones]

A New Chapter (Echo x reader)

{masterlist}

Warnings: It’s implied that the reader has depression, some angst sprinkled in

.....................................

When Rex commed you to come to Anaxes on the next medical transport - you’d expected the worst. You were trying to prepare yourself to hear more bad news. You’d expected to be told that Rex had lost another one of his closest brothers and one of your dearest friends. You’d already lost so many...Echo, Hardcase, Tup, Fives..Echo’s death destroyed you first and left room for every following death to slowly chip away at your resolve. You feared that hearing you’d lost Kix, Jesse, or Cody might just do you in before you could begin to be there for Rex.

So, you frantically scrambled to steel yourself before the transport landed - keeping a death grip on the handle by your head to keep your self grounded. You knew that your fellow medics, clone and nat-born alike, were silently questioning you. As the head nurse you were expected to be composed, cool-headed, great under pressure, and a genuine calming presence. For you to be nervous enough for it to be reflected in your shifting stance and death grip was disconcerting. 

As the transport initiated its landing sequence you took in one long steadying breath and braced yourself for whatever news awaited you beyond the doors. They opened with a hiss and your fellow medics immediately sprung into action unloading supplies and gurneys while you waded through the sea of activity in search of a certain captain. He was waiting for you by the entrance to the barracks. With his helmet on, it was harder to discern what he was feeling but for the most part he stood tall and proud in a perfect soldier stance with his hands clasped behind his back. He was busily conversing with someone you couldn’t see. You were confused now - you’d seen Rex after a heavy loss. His shoulders always sagged, his whole form took on a heaviness to it that was only ever abated with time and the comfort of some good wine you’d often smuggle in for him. He was never this...normal. Rounding a few stacked crates revealed to you that the person Rex was talking to was actually three people consisting of Jesse (thank the maker) and two clones you barely recognized as clones. 

After a loud clearing of your throat you called out to him. Rex turned to you and removed his helmet in one fluid motion and you were surprised to see him beaming at you. “Vod’ika!” He chirped and started walking towards you with Jesse in tow whilst ignoring the intrigued looks of the other two clones - one had really long hair and a headband wrapped around his crown and the other, significantly shorter, peered at you with large eyes hidden behind a pair of blocky glasses. You met Rex in the middle and he quickly pulled you into a one armed hug that you barely returned thanks to being caught so off guard. “Glad you’re here.” He muttered next to your ear before retreating so Jesse could also pull you into a quick hug. 

“I’d say I’m glad to be here,” you began as you pulled away from the arc trooper, “but I don’t know why I am.” You finished with a pointed look at Rex that told him to start explaining. 

His smile fell a bit, though it didn’t completely disappear, “It’s...a long story and it’s better to just show you. C’mon.” He swung his arm for you to follow him, already walking towards the barracks. You hesitated, casting a confused look at Jesse who just offered you an impish grin in reply before strutting after the captain. With a steadying sigh you followed after the two kama wearing clones. 

You passed many troopers as the captain and arc trooper led you further inside the barracks, most from the 501st, some from the 212th, a lot from the 187th, and at least two who you couldn’t identify as being from any legion but they were wearing the same armor as the other two who had been talking to Rex and Jesse when you arrived. The taller of the two (the much taller of the two - was he even a clone? Or was he a Natborn that vaguely resembled the millions of brothers?) watched you walk away with his one functioning eye and a poorly hidden whisper to his friend. “’Think that’s the gal he’s been askin’ about?” 

“Looks like ‘er.” The smaller of the duo answered in a grating voice. 

Your brow furrowed - a lot of clones tended to ask about you given your tendency to move between legions and battalions but it was rare that they talked about you to the extent that someone who’d never met you could recognize you. If you were honest, it was a little unnerving. But, despite your best effort to keep the thoughts at bay, you were briefly reminded of a conversation you’d once had with Fives. 

“He talks abou’ you a lot, y’know.” The newly promoted arc trooper slurred as he heavily leaned against you. He vaguely gestured in the direction of his aforementioned brother where he leaned against the bar, armor glinting in the low lighting, after he timidly offered to get you a new drink. You’d protested, telling him it was his big night, you’d get the drinks but he took off before you could even get to your feet. “Just too shy to do anything but that.” 

“What does he say?” You asked the drunken trooper quietly as your pulse began to speed up. You, admittedly, hadn’t taken much interest in Echo at first - you thought him boring and stiff - but recently he’d been challenging your perception of him. And you’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t started to admire the capable, quick-witted, snippy, but kind, sensitive, and charming soldier. 

“Says ‘e likes you, wish he could work up the nerve to talk to you, thinks you’re the prettiest damn medic in the GAR, thinks you’re a kriffin’ genius...and, ‘m pretty sure he’s in love with you.” Fives took another hearty swig of his drink, shutting up for the first time in what seemed like hours, which gave you enough time to consider his words. While you didn’t want to put all your faith in the drunken mess of an explanation Fives had given you - he did know his twin the best and he’d never lied to you. Maybe - you took another good long look at Echo - just maybe, - you saw him take a deep breath as the bartender handed him your drinks, almost like he was trying to psych himself up - you’d take a chance. You met Echo’s gaze as he turned around, sending him a fond smile that he sheepishly returned. 

Rex led you to a separated part of the med bay primarily meant for rehabilitation where he finally came to a halt just before the door. “Now,” he began as he turned to you, Jesse stopped at your side with crossed arms and a strange, conspiring smile on his face, “I want you to walk between Jesse and I.” Rex ordered quietly as if scared of being overheard. 

Your brow furrowed immediately. “Why?” 

“In case ya faint.” Jesse answered back. 

With a roll of your eyes that could rival the likes of Wolffe’s, you turned to the ARC trooper. “Jesse, I’m a field medic whose spent most of her career on the front lines dealing with a menagerie of injuries. I’m sure whatever it is, I can handle it.” 

“Be prepared to eat those words.” Jesse muttered under his breath in retort but you elected not to respond, instead, you turned your attention back to Rex who was staring at you uncertainly. 

“All the same, let me go in first and make sure he’s ready.” Rex offered gently with a softly placed hand on your shoulder. He had an odd look in his eyes - somewhere between apprehensive, compassionate, and elated - as he looked at you. 

“You’re the captain...” You muttered, suddenly feeling on edge. Jesse must have noticed your tense form for he softly grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Rex nodded to Jesse then to you before strolling in to the room. The door slid into place behind him leaving you and Jesse for a few minutes. The ARC trooper didn’t let go of your hand till Rex came back and gestured with a nod of his head for the two of you to come in. Rex went back in first, followed by Jesse, with you taking up the rear. The air was strangely tense as you followed behind the two clone troopers so you couldn’t stop your mind from preparing itself to see the worst. While not uncommon for you to visit patients in the middle of rehabilitation it wasn’t why you were part of the GAR. It was just something you’d started doing after serving with the clone forces for so long. But never before had you been nervous. Without warning, Jesse stopped right in front of you causing you to bump into his back. Instead of laughing at you like you thought he would, Jesse angled his body enough for you step in front of him and gently encouraged you to do so with a hand between your shoulder blades. 

You came to a halt in front of him and the ARC trooper kept his hand where it was as if trying to steady you. Seriously, why were they being so weird? You still couldn’t see very far into the room - only the equipment shoved against the walls closest to the door - thanks to Rex who stood in front of you. There was no talking. Rex dipped his head at whoever was in the room and stepped to the side. 

Before you was a trooper dressed in red fatigues. His frame was thin, cheeks sunken in, and his skin unnaturally pale. And he was missing an arm which had been replaced with a computer interface arm one would expect to see on an R-series. His head had also been shaved which revealed small, port like protrusions out of his skull. And upon glancing your eyes downward, you noticed that the trooper’s legs had been replaced with mechanical ones. Not to be flippant but he looked like he’d been through hell and back. 

With a deep breath, you let a mollifying smile slip onto your lips and a sympathetic look fill your eyes. “Hello,” you kept your voice soft too, just in case the trooper was nervous, “My name is Dr. L/n. What’s yours?” 

His brow furrowed and it was only now, after his expression had changed, that you noticed that it had once been almost hopeful. Now, he looked confused. Or more accurately, conflicted. His pale brown eyes were frantically darting back and forth as if searching your face for an answer to a question that was left unasked. “I-it’s me.” He finally spoke in a frail voice. You cocked your head to the side. That was adimttedly an odd name but who were you to judge? Just as you were opening your mouth to speak, he continued. “Cyare, it’s me.” Your mouth clamped shut as the first word slipped from him as the instinct to snap briefly took over. Only one person got to call you that. 

“Trooper, forgive my bluntness but-” 

“Meshurok.” Hearing that word made it feel as though ice had been injected into your body. Shivers ran up and down your spine and goose bumps formed all over. No one had called you that since...Echo. 

“How...?” You felt your body start to fall back only to be stopped by a hand between your shoulder blades. Jesse was still there and Rex was standing just off to the side. They were both real. But was he...?

“When I first worked up the nerve to ask you out, you were wearing a necklace with a kyanite pendant. I asked you where you’d gotten it and what it was.” The trooper took a careful step forward and you felt your heart begin to speed. “You told me it was gifted to you by a young Twi’lek girl you helped when you were on Ryloth with the 187th.” He took another step. “She’d gifted it to you and told you that it was it represented new beginnings.” You took a step forward, eyes wide. “I asked if I could be a part of your new beginnings.” You took another step forward. 

“And I said ‘only if I get to be a part of yours’.” Your voice was wispy, choked with old ghosts. “Echo...” Before you knew it, you were wrapped in his arms. “Echo.” You didn’t care that your voice trembled with barely restrained sobs or that Jesse and Rex were barely three feet away. All you cared about was how familiar he felt - familiar and safe. Home, your mind supplied. “I-I, but the citadel and the ship - I...you...oh god.” You pulled back, almost giving yourself whiplash in the process as your instincts took over. Your hands reached up to gently hold the sides of his face while you reevaluated his appearance. “How did you survive the ship?” Your fingers were busily skimming all the alterations that had most likely been forced onto your cyar’ika. You noticed that his eyelids fluttered closed at the sensation of your fingers on his skin and it made your heart squeeze in both affection and the need to protect him. 

“I don’t really know, mesh’la. I just remember trying to take the ship, it exploding, and then waking up being dragged.” Echo whispered, keeping his hand stubbornly fixed on your waist. Behind you there was the sound of the door sliding closed which you guessed was Rex and Jesse making their exit. 

“Kriffing droids, how dare they touch you,” At some point in your speedy assessment you started to mutter, “I should go there and tear each one to scraps with my bare hands.” 

Echo chuckled and it was enough to bring tears to your eyes, your hand paused just above the computer interface arm. “Who did this to you?” Although it was whispered, Echo heard you clear as day. 

He sighed and gently rested his head against yours, “Seps, techno union - they don’t matter.” 

“They hurt you - I’m going to find them and kill them myself.” 

“I thought your whole thing was ‘do no harm’.” Echo quipped and the smile that followed, though no where near as wide as you were used to, was warm and genuine and enough to pacify you for now. 

“I can make exceptions.” You muttered but the fire had died down. Another puff of air brushed against your face - another reminder that Echo really was here. 

“Later then.” He pressed his lips against your forehead and drew you closer. You sighed and melted against him, the happiest you’d been in a long time as the first few words of another new chapter formed before your very eyes. 

Taglist: @apocalypticwafflekitten / @cherryxcyarika / @pinkiemme / @justalittlecloud 

[damerondala]

🍒 Okay tub time with Kix? 😗👌🏻 Exquisite. So good. Where do i find such a caring man ugh and a clean bathtub chores suck

New Cherry Thot of the Week… This one’s hella self-indulgent but don’t worry bestie, i’m dragging you along for the ride too… Picture it: The Marauder, 19 BBY (did i spend 3 minutes looking that up for this dumb joke? yeah…) Somehow, you and I have joined up with the Bad Batch on some kind of mission. Details don’t matter because the important thing is we’re sharing a tiny spaceship with 5 hunks. 🥰 But obvs we have our favorites… I’m going with Wrecker for you (i know you love Hunter too, but just hear me out, this thot has a purpose) and Crosshair for me.

But here’s the thing. We somehow figure out they like us back (maybe Tech spills the beans), AND they have a bet going… Who can win us over first? Because these 2 are always competing over something with each other right?

And like hot damn, but also ohh there’s so much we can do with this info 😈 We both start teasing our respective guys, leading them on a little, not giving in to their flirting or anything so they can’t say they’ve won the bet for a while. They get more frustrated. More… pent up… And… well… so do we…

Uh oh. Maybe we can’t play this much longer. Maybe one day it’s too much, and one of us races to our crush prepared to just kiss them silly, only to find they had the same idea. And then afterward we try to find the other, and discover they couldn’t hold out with their guy either 🙈 And maybe it’s awkward, maybe Wrecker and Crosshair argue over who actually won forever, but it was kinda weirdly fun anyway. We’re happy, and happy for each other. /EndofSappyStory 🍒

cherry. my love. my life.

this might be the best thing that you have ever gifted me holy fuck the way i BLUSHED while reading this??? whooooooo jesus i love this so much!!! 😭 okay lots to unpack here:

1. excellent golden girls reference again. made me giggle and i appreciate the research tech would be proud of u hehe

2. you and i being bffs in this thot made me so happy aw

3. EXCELLENT CHARACTER CHOICE FOR US OMFG i couldn't stop thinking about the "don't worry wrecker you'll top him next time" "no he wOnT" while reading bc omfg those lines applied to this kind of bet????? AAAAHHHHH IM HAVING A CRISIS

i'm gonna write this in sections, actual encounters with the boys happen in sections 3 and 4 with our sexy murder toothpick man being up first! also this is gonna be pre-omega but post-echo joining the batch 

self indulgent filth and fluff in the form of some reader insert thots below ;) 

18+ as always kiddies. i really hope you enjoy! this was so fun to write 

section 1: the bet 

so i imagine this happening right after you guys joined the squad

and it certainly didn't take long for crosshair and wrecker to realize their feelings for you two beautiful women, although one was more brazen about his feelings than the other

one day when hunter had sent you and your friend into a market to pick up a short list of supplies, they got to talking 

crosshair made an offhand remark about his girls’ ass which made wrecker fidget, he never was very composed when it came to pretty girls and this caused all the other members of the batch share knowing looks and smirks

“wrecker if you’re trying to be discreet about your feelings for ___ you’re going to have to do stop fidgeting.” tech noted, rolling his eyes when wrecker started stuttering out excuses but he was cut off by echo

“give ‘im a break. at least he isn't as vulgar as crosshair” 

“you’re just jealous she doesn't flirt with you, mir'osik” (i had to search up insults in mando’a and this one means shit for brains and when i tell you i died laughing okay anyways sorry)

this made echo roll his eyes, deciding it wasn't worth it to fight over whatever stupid insult the sniper threw at him

wanting to stir the pot juuust a bit, hunter proposed a challenge for his vod. he should be the good influence on his brothers, but he couldn't help but want to see where these crushes would take them

he could hear the girls’ heartbeats intensify around their respective crushes anyways, so he had a pretty good feeling that they felt the same about his batch mates

“don’t know about the rest of you, but i want to see who can win his girl over first” this was met with a smirk from crosshair, a blush from wrecker, and side glances shared between echo and tech

“easy.” crosshair drawled, he knew he had this in the bag

he may be quieter than the others but boy was he was observant, taking note of the way her words had a hard time flowing out of her pretty mouth when he was in close proximity of his girl

wrecker on the other hand didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, in his eyes she was just so sweet. innocent, really. she wouldn’t want the same treatment he knew crosshair had in mind for his girl

the peering eyes of his squad made the large man cave with a sigh, “fine.”

section 2: the slip up

weeks had gone by since the boys established their little competition and you, your friend, and tech were working on some small repairs around the ship

you and your friend had noticed some increased...flirting from your respective guys

crosshair paid more compliments and lingering touches that seemed genuine

and wrecker flirted the best way he knew how; lifting too heavy objects and reaching for items in the tall cargo holds, handing them down with a gentle smile

tech, being the most blunt member of the squad, commented on the whispers you exchanged, dropping a surprising truth on both of your ears:

“well of course they are trying to flatter you. how else do you settle a bet to win each of you over the fastest?” 

tech watched the two women freeze before him, sharing shocked looks before turning their attention to him, realization hit his gut like a crate of durasteel, and he swallowed under your stern gazes

“what do you mean, goggles?” 

“they...like us?”

tech’s cheeks burned red hot, was his brow beginning to sweat? maker, it felt like it 

this was the one time he didn’t feel like explaining himself, instead choosing to coyly excuse himself from the two pairs of watchful eyes

he left you and your friend to stare at each other before both rolling your eyes, “well now we know who spills secrets the easiest” your friend chuckled, shaking her head 

after a few moments of silence you both spoke up, deciding there wasn’t that much harm in playing along with the two members of the batch. you were fond of them, after all

you both continued chuckling about the situation, mostly out of disbelief that the flirting and teasing wasn’t just a hopeful facade your minds made up

once the repairs were completed, you both retired to opposite ends of the ship, minds full of deliberation of how you would handle this new information 

section 3: the gunport 

you were sat in the gunport, musing the situation you found yourself in, hands picking at your fingernails in an effort to curb your nerves 

on one hand you didn’t want to ruin the bond you had with the marksman

what if he was just flirting out of pure boredom? there isn’t much to do in a confined ship like this anyways, he might as well pass the time flirting with a woman in his general vicinity 

but it just had to mean something

no way the whispered compliments - most of them accompanied with a wink, no less - meant absolutely nothing to him 

you decided that you had enough, this was going to eat you alive if you didn't get to the bottom of what was going on in that head of his

with a huff, you stood straight and turned around to exit the space

but you were met with a silver haired man climbing up the ladder

you both froze, both internally freaking out at the basically forced confrontation

oh gods what is he doing up here? did he read my mind??

...shit what do i do i forgot everything i was going to say to her 

you nervously chuckled, figuring that you were going to go talk to him anyways so might as well get this over with

“crosshair... um i need to ask you something”

“no, i need to tell you something cyar’ika. i’m tired of sitting here and watching you walk around all day, not being able to show you how i feel.”

now that left you speechless, mouth slightly hanging open in shock to which he deeply chuckled at, “hope this isn't the first time i leave you speechless.” 

there it was, that smug attitude that made you roll your eyes but also ignited a heat in your lower abdomen

with a smirk, you decided to play it back to him. two can play at this game, lanky

“well it’d be pretty rude to not demonstrate what you had in mind, trooper”

this was the green light crosshair needed, quickly heaving himself up the last few rungs of the ladder, his hands immediately finding your waist and snatching you close, pressing a firm kiss to your lips

your hands flung up to catch the sides of his sharp cheeks, humming at the feel of his scruff under your palms as you coyly push your tongue through his lips, hoping he’ll welcome your tongue into his mouth

he does, and you are exploring each other in the most delicious way, causing soft moans and sighs to leave both of you

while you were entranced by crosshair’s mouth on yours, you didn't realize he was pushing you back onto the chair of the gunport until you were sat down and he was kneeling in between your legs, his nimble fingers clutching your thighs and hips

in a matter of minutes crosshair had managed to get your bottoms completely off, your slick panties hooked on one ankle, and your thighs over his shoulders

for a man who could run his mouth, he sure proved it 

expert fingers entered your weeping cunt while his tongue prodded your bundle of nerves with sharp, quick strokes

he’s beaming at the way you’re trying to support yourself on shaky arms and trapping his head to your cunt with the backs of your calves, the sight of your head thrown back and the whimpers coming out of your mouth making him harder than he had been in a looong time

his fingers and mouth brought to your orgasm quick and hard, nearly screaming his name as your toes curled in bliss 

he took his time in working you through it, making sure he could draw it out. he could get used to this.

when you can finally open your eyes and look him in the eye, you’re kissing him again, enjoying the moan he lets out at the feel of your tongue tasting yourself on him 

you decide it’s his turn, and you’re pushing him into your previous spot, smiling at the way his eyes slightly widen at the way you took charge 

crosshair wants to say some sexy remark, something that he knows will get you to sheepishly smile and look away but he can’t, not with the sight of you sinking down to your knees and slowly pulling down his blacks, keeping eye contact and granting him a playful glint in your eye

you can't help but want to tease him just a bit, running your tongue over the bulge in his blacks

he tries his hardest to not be loud but maker, is he loud when you finally take him into your mouth and down your throat 

you’ve quickly found that he enjoys eye contact while in this vulnerable state, nearly shaking when he sees your eyes brimming with tears trying not to choke on his length 

one hand sneaking down to alternate cupping his balls is what pulls him over the edge, crying out with your name living on his tongue 

you swallow his release, again utilizing eye contact to your benefit and drawing out another prolonged moan from him 

it makes you smile in pride, loving how this hard, unyielding man turned into such a mess while you had your way with him 

crosshair pats his lap and expectantly looks at you, waiting for you to perch up onto his lap, straddling him 

despite being a skinnier guy, crosshair wraps you up in the warmest, most secure-feeling snuggle you have honestly ever experienced 

after sharing such an intimate moment with you, he began whispering sweet nothings into your ear, about how gorgeous he thinks you are, how much he cares for you 

it’s honestly kind of shocking but welcome nonetheless, cross can be kind when he wants to and you are very glad that this was the outcome of your dancing around each other for months 

section 4: the interruption 

you retreated back to your room, honestly just wanting to sleep and get your mind off the day

it was becoming harder and harder to not just pounce on wrecker, but you didn't want to just give it up so quickly 

and to be honest, you had a bad feeling that tech was full of it

you struggled with self esteem issues for as long as you could remember, so it was difficult to believe the 'genious’ of the batch when he said that wrecker had feelings for you 

despite your trepidations, your mind couldn't stop thinking about him, his broad shoulders, toned arms, huge thighs...

your hand slithered down your torso, slipping underneath the waist band of your bottoms and slowly circling your clit as images of wrecker effortlessly lifting anything that crossed his path filled your mind, honestly wishing it was you he was lifting

perhaps lifting you to brush your pussy on his nose, his tongue exploring your womanhood enough to make you shout his name

but apparently that last part was not all in your head

although you didn't shout it, wrecker definitely heard the way you whispered out his name in a moan in the dark room

he really hadn’t meant to barge in, but after a few knocks with no answer  he began to worry

he came by to tell you how he felt with absolutely no expectation of sleeping with you. truthfully, he gave up on trying to get into your pants, he was willing to lose the bet with crosshair, he knew he wasn’t as smooth as his brother anyways 

while he obviously would never be opposed to making love with you, he figured that you deserved to be courted beforehand, and he thought there was no way you’d want to share your body in such an intimate way with somebody like him 

but the sight he was greeted with was enough to prove himself wrong

you, spread out on your bed with your hand moving diligently under your thin lounge shorts and you moaning his name made him subconsciously let out a loud gasp 

that you absolutely heard, eyes snapping open and hand coming to an abrupt halt, ripping out from under your bottoms

“wr-wrecker! what are you doing here?!”

“i- uhhh- i didn’t see anything! erm, i'm sorry, mesh’la”

by now you had your blankets covering you, despite being fully clothed, and were looking at him with mortified eyes

wrecker still stood in the doorway, unsure if he should let this opportunity pass him by

if you had told him to leave he would, he’d do anything you said, but the fact that you made no move to force him into leaving made him linger

“i'm...sorry if im overstepping mesh’la but i just- i can't stop thinking about you. and well,” he gestured to your form, still cradling the blankets to your heaving chest, “i think you think about me too”

of course you couldn't deny it, he had just seen you pleasuring yourself and moaning his name, what the hell kind of excuse could you come up with? none, that's what 

his sheepishness made your heart soar, realizing he probably was just as nervous as you

deciding to cut him some slack, you slowly rose up, blanket falling to the ground as you sauntered over to his frozen frame

whispering, “you're right. do- do you want to stay?” 

you had the poor man at a loss for words, eagerly nodding at your proposition and allowing you to take his hand and lead him to your bed, pushing him down so you could straddle his lap

his large cock bulging through the thin fabric of his blacks and pushing against your already hot cunt made you cry out

pure adrenaline coursed through both of you, hushed moans leaving your mouths as you steadily ground down onto him, his hand tangled in your hair and the other kneading your breast

your lips broke away from his mouth and you smirked at the look on his face, absolutely fucking giddy that this was finally happening, he had been dreaming about this moment since he first saw you

the sounds he made while you sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck encouraged you to slip a small hand down the front of his blacks and pull his thick cock out, heat flooding your body at the hiss he let out when you started slowly jacking him off 

your legs were in the perfect position for him to push your shorts down and over your ass, fingers picking up where you left off and circling your clit, working you open to take one of his massive fingers

the more you squeezed his throbbing shaft, the louder wrecker became 

and not wanting anybody to hear you two fooling around, you glued your mouth to his, tongues mingling in heat

the excitement of the entire situation made it not last very long overall, but you both had intense orgasms regardless

wrecker curled his - now two - fingers inside you just right, and your continued squeezes and strokes of his cock made him finish, his cum coating your palm 

both of you were shaking, muffled groans and gasps filled the room until you were coming down from your simultaneous orgasms

after coming back down to the moment, wrecker chuckled and flopped down on his back, bringing you with him to crash onto his chest

you both giggled like a couple of smitten teenagers who were experiencing their first love, relishing in the butterflies in your stomachs, we just did that

“been waiting a long time to do that, doll” wrecker’s big hands rubbed up and down your curves, closing his eyes and smiling at your laugh, “i know”

his head shot up at that, “you know?” the way his eyebrows furrowed up made your chest tighten with admiration, smiling cheekily down at him, “of course i do. tech told us gals.” you leaned down to place a peck on his chin, “you think you won the bet?”

“dunno. but I feel like i just won the entire galaxy.” 

it honestly didn't make much sense in your post-orgasm daze, but the endearing tone made you smile and kiss him once again

section 5: the hallway 

after your respective encounters with your boys, you ran to your friend, bumping into her in the hallway, the tight space echoing your giggles and shrieks of excitement throughout the entire ship

you both were so flustered and giddy that you were talking over each other, just needing to tell her about what just happened 

“i just sucked-”

“you will not believe-” 

you both stopped and laughed even harder, holding onto each other for support, then your friend took a deep breath and smiled, “you first.”

the sounds emitted from you two not only made your boys smile and their chests swell with pride but also coerced some chuckles from the other members of the batch 

they all knew how long these...events were in the making and how eager cross and wrecker were becoming 

and in all honesty they were glad their brothers had found happiness in two girls like yourselves 

nice, funny, and obviously in love with their brothers

they really could’t have asked for better women to take care of their family 

~

taglist! (fill out this if you’d like to be added): 

@djarrex, @pastelpanda19, @rebelpitstop, @sageislostinspring, @shiny-mando

[clonecest-bin-account]

tup/cody: handle with care

(Probably came out a bit more angsty than anticipated, but it still ends well, you I hope you enjoy it!)

It seemed like such a good idea at the time, to get a pet. Now that they’re not bound to regulations anymore and are living on their own, they’ve been talking more and more about it.

Cody at first wasn’t entirely on board with it, but only because he’s had plenty of bad experiences with animals thanks to General Kenobi - or should Tup say Master Kenobi now, since he isn’t a General anymore? - and his interest in them, but he quickly warms up to the idea, if anything because Tup clearly had no intentions to stop asking for one.

“Fine, we’ll get one,” he says. “But you better take care of it, alright?”

“Yes, dad.” Tup rolls his eyes. He’s not a kriffing kid, c’mon.

Oh well, at least they’re finally getting a pet.

 In the end, they choose a tooka. The one they’ve picked is truly adorable: he’s a small baby boy, with his fur of a similar orange of the one Cody used to paint on his armor, but presents lighter spots all over his body. In particular some on his muzzle really look like mustaches, so they’ve decided to call it Boil jr. in honor of his horrible facial hair; said trooper is not amused.

As much as Cody was reluctant to have a pet, as soon as his eyes lay upon the tooka, he immediately melts and warms up towards him; you wouldn’t be able to tell that Tup had to insist in order for them to get him.

Ironically, the one who is more afraid of their new pet - well, not truly afraid, but still anxious - is Tup, which is something that Cody doesn’t miss, but addresses it only a couple of days after welcoming Boil jr. home.

In this time, he’s noticed something: every time he takes Boil jr. in his arms, Tup always looks like he wants to join, but he never does. Uh, this is weird.

 Eventually, Cody asks for some clarifications once he has the occasion, which presents itself on a lazy afternoon, while he’s sitting on the couch, scratching Boil jr.’s ears as he naps on his lap; it’s such a cute view that, as soon as Tup walks in them, he almost melts on the spot. He manages to resist, though, and he decides to join them on the couch; he almost stretches a hand towards Boil jr., but eventually he decides against it.

It’s now that Cody finally asks: “Why won’t you touch him?”

Tup stays silent for a couple of seconds, then he replies. “The vendor said that we should handle him with care.”

“So?”

“I don’t know if I’m capable of it…”

 Ah, so that’s the problem.

Tup isn’t the first person Cody hears saying something like this: they are soldiers, bred for war. Nobody ever thought about how their life was going to be once they achieved peace, nobody has prepared them for it.

Cody considers himself lucky for the fact that he had already some ideas in his mind about what to do after the war, but that’s not the case for all his brothers; some didn’t even expect to make it out alive, so why should they have busied themselves with thoughts about a future that they weren’t going to get?

It’s a learning curve for all of them, so it’s fair that one might be afraid of inadvertently damaging - literally and metaphorically - something or someone they love. It’s a sad reality, but it’s theirs.

 Still, Cody refuses to remain stuck in this limbo, and he intends to take as many as he can with him, especially Tup, that’s why he gently picks Boil jr. up and, without saying anything to Tup, puts him on his lap. “Here.”

Tup goes rigid immediately, expecting the tooka to leave, or at least to protest this change of location, but that doesn’t seem to be what Boil jr. wants, who actually curls up in a ball and closes his eyes. He looks relaxed, which is weird for Tup. Shouldn’t he be more wary?

He turns towards Cody for help, but Cody just smiles at him and does nothing to remove the tooka from his napping spot.

“C’mon,” he even encourages him. “Try to scratch behind his ears, he loves it.”

Tup lowers his gaze towards Boil jr., chewing his lip. Should he do it? He wants to, but what if he accidentally hurts him? Maybe this was a mistake after all…

“Tup.” It’s Cody’s voice again.

“Yes?”

“Don’t think about it, just do it.”

 This time, Tup moves, although hesitantly, but he gets closer and closer with his hand until he’s able to do what Cody just told him to do and…

Boil jr. purrs, leaning against the touch, allowing Tup to keep petting him - he really seems to enjoy the attention.

It’s… it’s easier than Tup imagined. He can’t help but to smile a relieved smile as he keeps scratching Boil jr.’s ears with tenderness.

He’s not hurting him, unbelievable.

 He looks towards Cody, who has a proud smile on his face. “Cody… I’m doing it…”

“You are,” Cody replies, snuggling closer to Tup and resting an arm around his shoulders. “You are…”

Now that he’s doing it, Tup feels so dumb for worrying. It looks so easy now, not at all like how he imagined it.

He’s here, he’s alive, he’s with Cody, he has a house, he even has a pet now!

It will take him a while to get used to it, get used to this softness, but he’s more than willing to wait for it. It will surely be worth it.

Tag list: @maulusque​ @snap-p​ @menac-ika @captainrexwouldnever If you want to be added feel free to let me know! Just know that if you are a minor you’ll be tagged only for the sfw fics.

[generallynerdy]

I wonder if he can taste the sadness (Ahsoka Tano & Anakin Skywalker & Rex)

Summary: Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and— “Master!” she cries, leaping up. Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation. “Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?” In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved. She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”

Warnings: major character death, lightsaber wounds, lots of children die but only one is shown, canon genocide, canon divergence but only to make it sadder Word Count: 1,826

Prompt: Angstpril Day 4 - Betrayal

Author’s Note: WOWWW why do I do this to myself lmfao. I was like ‘oh hey what if Ahsoka was in the Temple during Order 66 would that suck or what’ and then I. Wrote it. For some reason. I’m sick and twisted. Also, not to make you sadder or anything, but can you imagine Obi-Wan finding her body? Shit dude. Anyway, you might think Anakin wouldn’t go to the dark side if the whole Ahsoka thing hadn’t happened, but, like...he already murdered a village of Tuskens before the Clone Wars. I do not doubt that it would’ve happened somehow. I know this is super late but I wanna get all my Angstpril stuff written down no matter how late it is or else I’m gonna feel terrible about it. Title is from My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes. (Also, Jinnel, the Kiffar, and her future Master are my ocs. Zett is a canon character but he has barely any appearances so, uh, dibs.)

Read on AO3

*

“Master Nu! I was just looking for you in the archives.”

Ahsoka bears a wide smile as the old Master of the archives turns to her. The young Padawan, though not so young now she thinks, bears a couple of datapads, old ones she’d borrowed before her last assignment.

“Ah, Padawan Tano. Apologies, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

She gestures behind her, where a youngling Clan chatters excitedly. At the sight of Ahsoka, one Nautolan girl lights up and turns to her friend, whispering furiously.

Ahsoka smiles and waves a little, getting a few waves back. “Sorry, Master, I didn’t realise. I can come back later,” she offers.

“That’s quite alright.” Master Nu waves her off. “Just leave it on my desk, and I—”

She stops. Her gaze drifts to the far end of the hallway, but when Ahsoka follows it, she finds nothing there. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then she feels it, too: a roil of darkness and fear.

“What is that?” she whispers, unmoving.

The younglings finally notice, a long moment after their seniors, and begin speaking frantically.

“Is the Temple under attack?”

“What do we do, Master Nu?”

“What’s happening?”

“I have to go find my Master!”

With a raised hand, Master Nu silences them all. “Quiet.” Quickly glancing around, she spots a meditation room with an open door. “Quickly, into the meditation room. Padawan Tano, watch our backs.”

“Yes, Master.”

The younglings file into the room obediently, still whispering to one another. One girl, a young Kiffar, bursts into tears, so Ahsoka pulls her aside immediately.

“My Master left to go to the Senate Building,” the Initiate blubbers. “She doesn’t know we’re in danger! I have to find her!”

(She’s too young to have a Master, Ahsoka realises, and doesn’t have a Padawan braid. The Master must’ve found her on a Search and bonded with her.)

“See if you can contact her on your comm, but you need to stay here until we know what’s going on, okay?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t leave her!”

“I understand. My Master is out there somewhere, too,” Ahsoka tries to reassure. “But I can’t let you leave alone, either. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go find her together.”

The Initiate wipes at her eyes and nods, following the rest of her clan into the meditation room. Ahsoka looks back to Master Nu, who is glancing down the hall with wide, horrified eyes. Something has pulled in the Force.

Someone skids to a stop around the corner.

It’s a young human boy, a Padawan that Ahsoka has seen trailing behind Master Drallig for the last few weeks. On his sleeve, a scorch mark has burned through the fabric to his skin: a blaster wound.

At the sight of Master Nu and Ahsoka, his face twists in relief and he runs toward them.

“Zett,” Master Nu breathes out, taking his arm as soon as he’s close. “What’s going on?”

Through panting breaths, he speaks the impossible. “The clones—the clones are killing us!” he cries. “They got Master Drallig and I can’t find the Council—”

“What?” Ahsoka questions fiercely. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I really saw it! It’s the 501st, they have their armour and everything and they’re killing everybody—!”

Master Nu squeezes his uninjured shoulder. “Breathe, Padawan. I believe you.”

“What!?” Ahsoka turns on her. “They would never—!”

“It may be someone else in that armour, but you know he’s telling the truth, Ahsoka. You can feel it,” she says warningly. “Don’t let emotion cloud your instincts.”

She backs down, but her chest tightens. “Yes, Master,” she says quickly.

“How many of them are there?”

“All of them. Master Drallig—” Zett chokes on his name. “—he told me to go to the landing pad, to get out and find help.”

“I’ll go with you!”

Ahsoka jumps when the young Kiffar reappears, running up to Zett.

“I’m a good tracker,” she says quickly, “and I know where my Master’s going! We can find her!”

Zett looks to Master Nu at the same time she does, uncertainty in his bright eyes. The old archivist casts her gaze to the end of the hall, where the chaos is starting to get louder. With a deep breath, she kneels before the younglings, a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Do not stop, especially for anyone in clone armour. Don’t trust anyone you don’t recognise and whatever you do, do not return to the Temple until you are given the all-clear, do you understand?” When they both nod, she reaches for their hands and presses them together, letting Zett take the girl’s. Master Nu gives him a firm look. “Hold onto each other. Do not let go. This is not a game.”

“Yes, Master,” they say at the same time, equally shaky.

She stands. “Go.”

The pair run off, Zett tugging the Kiffar girl closer to him as they dash down the hall. Ahsoka watches them go, waiting until they’re around the corner to turn her attention back to Master Nu, who has apparently done the same. Before she can speak, the archivist puts a hand on her shoulder as well.

“Stay with the younglings. Lock the door behind you and defend them with your life,” she instructs.

The girl’s eyes widen. “What? You’re leaving?”

“If the Temple is being attacked, there are things I have to do,” is her grim reply. “No one can get their hands on the archives, Padawan, no one. I’ll come find you when I get the chance.”

If I get the chance. The thought is there, though unspoken.

Steeling herself, Ahsoka swallows roughly but nods. “Yes, Master.”

With a glance over the Padawan’s shoulder, Master Nu lowers her voice. “Above all, make sure they make it out.”

“May the Force be with you,” she says quietly, a hope more than a comfort.

Master Nu smiles, a little sad, a little proud. “It is always with us, Ahsoka. It is always with you. Be brave.”

Her words echo in the young Togruta’s mind even as she departs. When she finally pulls herself together, she rushes into the meditation room, counting heads and closing the door behind her. She enters a code to lock it down completely before turning back to her charges.

“I need you all to listen carefully and do exactly as I say, okay?”

There are scattered nods and ‘yes, Padawan Tano’s, so she gives out instructions.

They build barricades throughout the room, providing cover for themselves. Initiates with lightsabers pair up with those without and the latter group gets a few weapons from Ahsoka. Her clone troopers—the ones killing Jedi—gave her quite a few vibroblades and pocket blasters over the years and she’s kept them all. It’s more than a little useful right now, she thinks as she hands them to the younglings.

“Keep your heads down and trust in the Force,” Ahsoka orders, ducking behind a gathering of meditation chairs and tables with three Initiates. She places a hand on the shoulder of the youngest, a small Mirialan with teary eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

Footsteps thunder from the hallway outside. The younglings fall silent in an instant, poised for battle.

Something catches in Ahsoka’s chest. They’re ready for this. They’re children and terrified but they’re ready for a fight. Is this what her Master used to feel when he looked at her, 14 standard and standing on the front lines? Like something was desperately wrong with this picture?

“The scanners indicate life forms in this room, sir.”

Ahsoka freezes.

It sounds like a clone, though she can't place who. Could Zett have been right? Are the clones—the 501st, of all battalions—turning against them? What in the Force would make them do that? Something here is horribly, horribly wrong.

There's some beeping on the other side of the wall and someone out there must have the codes, because the door starts to slide open.

Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and—

“Master!” she cries, leaping up.

Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation.

“Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?”

In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved.

She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”

Light washes over her, the stark blue of his lightsaber being lit. She glances down to get a look at where he’s pointing it, what he could possibly be defending her from in a room of younglings. But then pain strikes her abdomen, squeezing her lungs. A choked gasp drags itself from her lips and she finally sees it.

The saber in her chest. Anakin’s saber in her chest.

A youngling screams and blaster fire echoes throughout the room, but Ahsoka can’t see what happens. She can’t even cry out for the Initiates she was meant to protect. All she can do is look back up at him.

His expression is blank, untouched by her apparent agony. He stares down at her with those yellow eyes—

Yellow eyes?

Her mouth falls open a little, her legs wobbling. She loses her balance, falling into him. And he catches her. There isn’t any sort of purpose to the movement, but he catches her.

He has yellow eyes.

Ahsoka thinks of Dooku, of his last moments spent glaring at her and her Master, those burning yellow eyes. She thinks of his red lightsaber fitting perfectly into Anakin’s hand and how nauseous she’d become at the sight.

“Anakin?”

It’s weak, hardly there. She doesn’t even know if he hears it.

And then she’s falling, falling to the floor. He drops her, lets her crumble underneath him, unable to hold herself up.

He walks away.

Breathing raggedly, Ahsoka wants to reach out, wants to grab the bottom of his robe before he can leave her. But her hands won’t cooperate, her entire body screaming at the scorched wound she bears.

The meditation room has fallen silent, leaving the troopers to follow after Anakin. They start to leave, but one notices she’s still breathing, still trying to move.

He lifts his blaster and she finally sees him.

“Rex,” she breathes out.

The jaig eyes on his helmet, carefully painted, give him away instantly. He lifts his pistols and she wants to cry. She doesn’t have the strength for even that. But she doesn’t need any strength to see that his hands are shaking. Ahsoka will never know what’s going on in his head, what’s driving him to lift his blasters in her direction. All she knows is that his hands are shaking.

“It’s okay, Rex,” she says, sounding far from it. “It’s okay.”

He fires.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Reblogs are better than likes and deeply appreciated!

If you tag this as an Ahsoka ship, I will block you so fast.

Masterlist

[lynn-writes-things]

Good thing u reopened ❤. Since the new trailer i cant stop thinking about my big boy Wrecker...so you can do whatever (even a post war au-everybody lives with a bit of struggling) and u can get spicy if u want (im a big girl cant handle it...or him 👀) so i thought make a donation to request. If u need a prompt, a soulmate is one of my weakness....

Thank you so so so much for the donation!!! and the request, I had so much fun writing this!! I really really hope you enjoy this, and if not, let me know and I’ll redo it!! Thank you again!!!! <3

Word count: 2330

Warnings: nsfw at the end, mentions of sex, ptsd, nightmares, mentions of violence and injury

You’ll never forget the day it was announced that the war had ended. You’ll never forget the moment, you were waiting at your apartment for Wrecker, when you heard over the radio that the war had officially ended. Chancellor Palpatine had been exposed as a Sith Lord by none other than Fox, who had gotten a recording to the Jedi of Palpatine giving orders to Dooku- Dooku even referred to Palpatine as Lord Sidious, removing any trace of doubt. When Wrecker came through your door, you were already crying tears of happiness. You couldn’t believe it- you just couldn’t.

That night, Wrecker took you to 79’s to celebrate with the boys. It was where the two of you had met. Now that the war was over, he had a very important question to ask you, and he wanted his brothers to be there to experience it.

-

The air was cold, and your dress was entirely too short. You had been practically abandoned by your friends, who had convinced you to come out for a couple drinks. Admittedly, you felt foolish for thinking that they would’ve stuck around once they finally talked you out of your house. You had been so busy studying lately that you never got time to have any fun, and though they should’ve been having fun with you, they chose the company of a few clone troopers instead.

“Hey,” Came a voice from behind you. You turned, and came face to… chest, with the largest clone you’d ever met. “You look a little lost.” He commented with a kind smile. Only one of his eyes had an iris, and you found that it sparkled so radiantly that you couldn’t look away.

“Yeah, my friends sort of ditched me.” You said sheepishly.

“That’s not very nice of them,” He commented. “Want to grab a drink with me?”

“I—” You usually would say no, but you figured- fuck it, why not? He was cute, and seemed nice. What’s one drink? “Yeah, actually- I’d love that.” The two of you make your way to the bar, where you both sit and he orders you a drink.

“What’s in this?” You ask, sniffing the brightly colored beverage.

“It’s a surprise!” He laughed. “It’s nothing too heavy, trust me.”

“No offense, but I think we have drastically different perspectives on what is or isn’t a heavy drink.” You joke, and Wrecker belts out a laugh, just happy that you’re finally starting to relax. He couldn’t get over the way you looked- he wanted to take you back to meet his brothers, but he knew that it was way too soon for that sort of thing. He wanted to ask you to be his girlfriend on the spot, but again, he knew better. You try a sip of your drink, and you hum in appreciation for the sweet flavor of the beverage. It hardly tastes like alcohol at all.

“This is really good,” You comment.

“I told you!” He cheers, taking a swig of his own drink. “So, what happened with your friends?” He asks. You were sort of surprised that he remembered you even mentioned them. You had almost forgotten that you had mentioned them.

“Oh, they do this every time they get me out of the house,” You say with a sigh. “I don’t get it. They always want me to come out, but they never want to stick around me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” He answers. “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with you?” He asks earnestly, and you can’t help but blush.

“You hardly know me.” You say with a lighthearted roll of your eyes.

“Well, I like what I know about you so far.” He smiles, and you can’t help but return it. “And I think you’re beautiful, so I don’t see who wouldn’t want to be around you.”

-

The bar was quiet tonight, unlike the night you first met. But that was okay. It meant for more privacy, which meant Hunter could actually breathe. He was the only one who knew what was going to be happening tonight, and he found that he could hardly stop smiling. He was just so excited and proud of his little brother. The first of them to get married was a big achievement, one that Crosshair would never be able to hold over his head. When you caught on to all of his smiling, Hunter just brushed it off by saying he was just happy that the war had finally ended. You had bought it.

“Hey,” Wrecker nudged you, you had him trapped in the booth. “Can I get out?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” You said, standing up. He did the same, only before you had the chance to sit back down, he dropped to one knee and pulled out the ring he had been holding onto for months now. He knew he wanted to propose to you for ages now, but he always just felt he had to wait for the right time. And, well, this felt like the right time.

“Y/N,” He starts, clearing his throat. Tech starts recording without your knowledge. “I’ve known you were meant to be mine from the first moment I saw you here, years ago.” He says. “I knew from the first time I looked into your eyes that you were the only one for me. You’re my soulmate, Y/N.” He’s tearing up, which is making both you and Hunter tear up as well. You had your hand over your mouth in shock. “Will you please make me the happiest man alive and please be my wife?”

“Yes!” You yelled, gaining the attention of every clone in the bar. “Yes, Wrecker- yes!” You’re crying now, and everyone in the bar cheers. Wrecker stands, and places the ring on your finger. You jump into his arms and kiss him as hard as you could. It was salty, the combined taste of both of your tears. The boys are all cheering the loudest, even Crosshair is smiling.

-

“Okay, okay, my turn,” You began, popping a fry into your mouth. You’d moved to a booth in the back, bonding over beers, shots, and fries. “Would you rather have sex with a Togruta or a Twi’lek?” You ask, alcohol swimming in your veins.

“Depends, which one’s hotter?” He asks, and you snort.

“They’re both pretty hot.”

“Are you there?”

“Why would I be there?” You laugh.

“Because if you’re there, I’m picking you regardless.” He promises with a wink.

“Okay, that was a good one.” You laugh, shaking your head. You couldn’t remember when you started holding hands across the table, but you were reminded by the warmth.

“My turn,” He states. “Would you rather fuck me or a reg?” He asks with a smrik.

“I don’t even know what a ‘reg’ is, but I’d definitely rather fuck you.” You answer, blinking with both eyes, causing both of you to burst out laughing. You laugh so hard that beer comes out of your nose, which makes Wrecker laugh so hard he’s pounding his fist on the table. When the two of you sober up, you agree to head back to your place for the night, with promises to show you why they call him Wrecker.

-

You wake up for the third night in a row to Wrecker yelling. He’s sitting up, covered in a layer of sweat. He’s horrified, again. It hurts you deeply that there isn’t more you can do to help him – he is your soulmate after all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask gently, your arms around him.

“Tech,” Is all he says, and you know all of the details without him having to talk about them. He has had the same nightmare every night since the war had ended and he’d been away from his brothers.

In the dream, they were back on the battlefield, and it’s during a battle that doesn’t go to plan. It starts off fine, though it doesn’t stay fine for very long. Droids get airdropped in from every direction – faster than they can take them out – and they’re overwhelmed before they even know what’s going on. Tech gets captured, and by the time they all find him, he’s badly injured and barely alive. But, in the nightmare, Tech doesn’t make it, and Wrecker’s the one to find him. He blames himself.

“Do you want to call him?” You ask. “He might like to hear from you.”

“I… Yeah.” He says with a shaky sigh. You comm Tech, who’s still awake, and he and Wrecker talk for the better part of two hours while you cuddle up with Wrecker. You gently caress him and place gentle, soft kisses anywhere that you can reach. By the time he hangs up, you can tell Wrecker is feeling better.

“I wish there was more I do to help you, my love.” You say, kissing his cheek.

“You’re here for me,” He says. “That’s all I need from you.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I know.” He smiles softly. You kiss his lips now that he is no longer on the line with Tech, and he kisses back eagerly, passionately, trying to show you just how “okay” it was that you did everything you could to help him when he needed it. To show you how much he appreciates you taking care of him.

“I love you,” He sighs against your lips.

“I love you too,” You whisper against his. The kiss deepens, his tongue prodding for entrance, which you happily allow.

-

You don’t even end up fucking that night, you both agree that neither of you are sober enough to make that choice. But, you agree to spend the night together anyways, and see where things go in the morning. You can ride out your hangovers together.

You wake up first, to find the human equivalent of a heater curled around your body. You melt into his touch, and it’s the closest to heaven you think you’ve ever been. You wiggle out of his embrace, and promptly go throw up in the refresher, brushing your teeth afterwards and getting a glass of water. You down two pain killers with the water, and refill the cup, setting two more pain killers on the bedside table on Wrecker’s side, along with the refilled cup of water.

When he wakes up, you’re in the kitchen making caff, needing the caffeine.

“Morning, gorgeous.” He smiles at you. He barely even squints at the morning sun, and you’re reminded once more than being as large as he is must have it’s advantages.

“Morning, handsome.” You smile back, sipping your mug of caff. He walks over and places a soft kiss to your lips, humming at the taste of caff. “Want a cup?”

“I’d love some.” He smiles. You fix him a cup of caff, and you both sit and watch the morning news.

“So, about last night…” He begins, and you feel your heart sink with anxiety. “I really would like to get to know you better.”

“I… I’d like to get to know you better too, Wrecker.” You smile. “You seem like a really kind, funny guy.”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, angel.” He says.

“I want you to be yourself,” You laugh. “I like you quite a lot.”

“I like you, too.” He smiles. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you while Wrecker thinks of something – something you can’t read in his eye. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks at last. You beam at him.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Wrecker.” You answer happily.

­-

The kissing grows to him laying you on the bed and rutting against you, his lips never leaving yours. You breathe out that you want him, and Wrecker doesn’t hesitate to start fingering you, stretching you open with care. He knew he was bigger than most, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you – so he did this every single time the two of you had sex.

By the time his cock finally enters you, you’re keening, fucking yourself on his cock. He chuckles at your attempts, before finally giving you what you want. The most amazing part about fucking Wrecker is that he fills you up so perfectly, he manages to hit your g-spot and your cervix without even adjusting his angles – it just naturally happens. You’re convinced that he’s your soulmate, every detail proves it to you, even down to the size of his dick. He starts a slow and sensual pace, before the pleasure starts to get too much for him, and he can’t help but speed up. You’re a moaning mess, crying out in ecstasy with every thrust of his hips.

“Where?” He asks in a pant, and you don’t even need to hear the full question to know.

“Well, I was thinking,” You start, and his pace slows just a little so he can intently listen. “Since we’re engaged now…”

“I… Yeah? Really?!” He asks, sounding enthusiastic and in disbelief.

“Put a baby in me, Wreck.” You plead, and he groans. His big, calloused fingers find your clit, determined to make you come before he does. It doesn’t take long to send you spiraling over the edge, crying out his name as you came messily all over his perfect cock. Wrecker grunts animalistically as he comes inside you, not stopping until you’re filled to the brim with his seed. When he’s done, he stays sheathed inside of you, holding his come in you for several minutes before finally pulling out and laying beside you, pulling you close. You relax into his grip, still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You’re going to be such an amazing mom,” He says. “I’ll have so much fun making you one.”

“I love you, Wreck.” You say softly, nuzzling against his chest. “You’ll be an incredible father.”

“I love you too, angel.”

[siennahrobek]

Future Past

19 BBY

Obi-Wan’s farewell to everyone he had left was rather numb.

He felt numb, even though he knew everything was breaking inside. It was all just movements and motions, barely thought provoking as he strode through the facilities of Polis Massa and later, Bail Organa’s ship. He felt like he was choking on air and nothing at all, breathing was difficult.

He only had a few minutes with Leia, and he had a feeling that he may never see her again. He almost wished he wouldn’t. He would love to, of course, because he loved her so much, but if he did, that probably meant she was in grave danger. He would go the rest of his entire life without seeing or talking with her again in exchange for her being safe and happy. That’s all he wanted.

That was all he had ever wanted for those he loved.

He wondered if he would ever stop failing.

Luke was set within a hospital cradle bed while Obi-Wan said his goodbyes to the tiny girl, the little shining light that should have been his family. Bail had assured she always would be, even if she never got to meet him again. Obi-Wan would be forever grateful that he had a friend in someone like Bail Organa.

Cradling Leia in his arms, she had paused from her constant wail and screeching, rather attempting to reach up and grab his beard. She had gotten a fistful but had not pulled too hard and he let her. Perhaps it was the start of a bad habit, Obi-Wan didn’t know, but he figured this would be the last time with him. Her hair was already a little mop upon her head, dried off with a soft towel. The color reminded him of Padme, especially when she had been younger. When Obi-Wan had met her during her teenage years and reign as Naboo Queen.

Rocking the child gently, he wrapped her up within part of his cloak, although a bit tattered and dirty. She didn’t seem to mind, one hand grasping his beard. She had taken his pointer finger with the other, tightening as much as her little grip would allow her.

He nearly tried to tug it away, but Leia’s face just scrunched up in determination as she held even tighter. Obi-Wan just found a chair to sit in. Perhaps this goodbye would be slightly longer. It was okay.

“I didn’t think babies much look like anyone in particular but you seem to look so much like your father. I know everyone would say your mother,” he started quietly. “But I know, I think. Perhaps I didn’t spend enough time with babies; I wish I did. Now…now they are all gone,” he whispered, lowering his head closer to hers. “Just you and Luke are the only younglings left. I am so sorry that you don’t have anyone else. But Bail will give you a good life, he will always do his best. That you can count on.”

Leia just gargled, blowing out little raspberries in his face. Obi-Wan just chuckled. “Anakin would have loved you so much. So would Padme. Once upon a time, you had wonderful parents, my dearest.”

One of her hands left his beard and traveled up to his cheek, patting it gently.

Something shifted on the ship and Obi-Wan could feel presences coming forward quickly. “I must leave you soon, darling,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. She didn’t have much strength in her tiny hands but what little she did, she tried to bring him closer. “This is my farewell to you; I know you will change the galaxy; it has always been your destiny. How you will do it is completely up to you. You will be beautiful and stronger than anyone else, don’t let a single person tell you otherwise.”

Leia just stared at him, her dark eyes wide and curious. Her fingers moved and curled around his singular pointer finger.

“May the Force be with you, dear Leia, always,” he whispered, projecting the one feeling he knew he wanted her to feel for the rest of her life. If she was to associate his presence with anything, he wanted her to feel this, know what he felt for her.

Complete, unadulterated and untainted love.

***

Leaving Polis Massa was harder than Obi-Wan had expected. Yoda left with little fanfare, a few words of wisdom and the notification about his old master’s presence, with more lessons to be taught. Obi-Wan had always been for learning, he was a seeker, not a saint. He loved to learn and to teach, to see and explore and study.

But for some reason, this felt more like an obligation.

He wondered what it would be like, feeling his presence and hearing his voice again. Qui-Gon Jinn’s. Obi-Wan had thought about him often but tried his very best to keep those memories happy and bright. To remember him in the best light he could.

The goodbye to Bail was a bit bitter, as he was taking away one of Obi-Wan’s loved ones, but he trusted Bail to treat her well. He didn’t think he could trust anyone else more with her. He seemed to understand, at least to some extent, and consistently reassured him of that his love and care for her.

They set up a contact system for the two, just in case. Obi-Wan hoped with all of his heart that it would never be the case. “If anything happens, contact me, Master Jedi,” Bail Organa insisted even going as forth to squeeze his shoulder as for reassurance.

“I will,” Obi-Wan promised, quietly. “Hopefully, that will not be necessary.”

Bail glanced at him, sympathetically and pressed a case in his hand. “There is some currency in there. It was a rush job, getting wuipipi and the transition isn’t exactly great, but it was what I could get on such short notice. If I can, I can try to send you more later.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bail,” Obi-Wan shook his head, keeping his voice quiet. A makeshift slung was created and looped around his neck and shoulders, baby Luke snuggled up closely to his chest. He shifted from foot to foot, hoping to keep the child asleep for at least a while longer. “We shouldn’t attract any more attention to ourselves than necessary. I will make do.”

“You always seem to have a way of surviving, Obi-Wan,” Bail nodded. “But if you need anything, just, try and let me know. I will always help you.”

“Thank you,” he dipped his head. “I should leave before anyone tracks us here. It has been quite some time.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Jedi,” Bail took a step back and bowed lightly.

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to risk such a gesture with Luke to his chest. “And with you, Senator. Be safe.”

He took a few more steps back. Obi-Wan turned and walked to his ship, or, rather, General Grievous’ old ship. He would get to a planet to sell it so he could receive passage to Tatooine. It would be quite the undertaking his imagined.

Bail had watched him leave, even after he had left the station, Luke and a few other supplies tucked away.

The next couple of weeks were spent selling the little ship and finding passage to the planet he needed. He had to work extra hard to find a buyer that would give him a fair amount, away from the new Imperials. His heart cracked a little more every time he saw the blank faces of the clone troopers, now in shifting armor. It was changing. Everything was changing.

He accepted them as family. The jedi had accepted them as family. They had tried so hard. Perhaps it wasn’t enough, but they had tried. Obi-Wan could eventually understand them wanting to shoot down generals, him especially, for how many had he brought to war? How many had he sent to their deaths with his plans in war. How many were sacrificed in the name of the greater good. He could understand their seething hatred for him. He was the one who had done that.

He had been the one who led them.

He could accept that.

He would have gratefully and happily given his life in exchange.

If that was what they had demanded.

But they had marched on the Temple. There were few warriors in the sacred place. In their home. There was the elderly, who had spent a lifetime helping people, who had no part in the war and never had. There was the injured and sick, helpless to fight back. There was no reason to murder them. There was…there was the children, the younglings, the babies.

He couldn’t imagine the clone troopers they had trusted so much to have gone to their home and massacred all of their children. Their babies: those who didn’t do anything wrong, nothing to them. Who didn’t know better.

The youngest baby at the Temple had been three months old.

She had been even smaller than Luke in his arms.

He had seen her, or, at least, what was left of her.

The thought of it nearly made him throw up and his throat gagged at the thought. Tears swelled up in his eyes and suddenly, they were streaming down his cheeks, steadily.

He tried to stop, he wanted to stop. There were other people on the ship, being smuggled across the galaxy. It wasn’t there were many; as there wasn’t, but there was enough to notice. He choked back a sob, trying to stay as quiet as he could.

He could feel their stares.

A warm hand barely brushed up against his cheek. Trying to will the tears away, he blinked several times and glanced down. Luke was awake, bright blue eyes staring up at him, wide and curious. He murmured something unintelligible and reached up again. Obi-Wan lowered his head down to grant Luke better access. The baby just giggled and waved his hand over the older man’s face, apparently liking the texture.

After so many hyperspace trips of crying and wailing from the cold, it was nice to have a moment of quiet.

“Isn’t that a rather darling boy,” an older Mirilan woman cooed, leaning over to glance at the bundle against Obi-Wan’s chest. “You and the missus must be very happy and proud.”

“He’s not mine actually,” the words tumbled out of Obi-Wan’s mouth before his mind could catch up. “He’s my brother’s, but he and his wife are…they can’t take care of him anymore. We are going to a planet with more family.”

“I am so sorry,” the woman said, sympathetically. It laced her voice into something that made his heart crack. He hadn’t felt that from someone else in quite some time.

The woman was pleasant and even helpful for the rest of this leg of the trip, even snapping at other passengers when Luke’s wailing got too loud, in their defense. She scooted closer sometimes, her presence bringing some comfort to the baby; perhaps because she was a female. Obi-Wan knew that babies tended to bond with females closer due to the nature of their relationships.

When they parted ways, she gave him a little knitted hat for Luke…and then even one for Obi-Wan. He hadn’t even seen her make it, but he took them gratefully. They had fit perfectly.

The weeks were long and difficult, hopping from one smugglers ship to another, doing his very best to avoid the imperials but, eventually, he got himself to Tatooine. There was some investigating he had to do, in search of Anakin’s family. He had known that his mother had been freed not terribly long after Anakin had left; a reason why when Padme sent one of her handmaidens to free her, she hadn’t been able to be found.

Ben had picked up a few things from Quinlan, as his old friend was into more investigative and shadow work. He had even done a few of them with him. Ben wondered if the Kiffar was even still alive. Everyone else he loved was dead.

Although Shmi had passed away a few years ago and not terribly long after, her husband, Cliegg, her stepson and daughter-in-law still held up their moisture farm out in the deserts. Ben had eventually learned this, but it had taken some time. He found refuge wherever he could but unfortunately, most places to stay temporarily were around, above or connected to bars. And there were a lot of bars around the planet, especially in the city.

He supposed they had to do something to pick themselves up on such a wretched planet.

It had only been a couple of days since he and Luke had finally arrived at the planet of his family’s origins. Or at least, what was left of his family. It was the cheapest place, but it wasn’t a beautiful hotel either and it was, of course, above a bar. Luke didn’t seem to mind the noise, even trying to clap with some of the music sometimes and the heat didn’t seem to bother him. It was the cold that he really hated.

Ben had been scouting the bar, Luke strapped to his chest, playing with a little toy he had made during their travels. He loved that thing, for reasons Ben couldn’t quite understand.

He wasn’t sure how it had started or who started it or why but of course, with his luck, he ended up in a bar fight.

A bar fight.

With baby Luke strapped tightly to his chest.

Although he certainly disliked being the warrior that he was, Ben was grateful for his education, capacity and competence in the martial and combatant arts. The bar had ended up in an uproar and Ben had restrained himself from pulling out his lightsaber. For the moment he did, he would reveal himself as a Jedi. The destruction of the Order was too new, the bounty on Jedi head too high, for him to make that risk just yet.

The Empire may not have gotten to Tatooine yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Ben had been extremely careful when fighting off brawlers. None of them could particularly fight well so taking them down or avoiding their blows was probably the easiest thing Ben had done in years.

He had nearly been the last one standing. Any others had fled.

Apologizing to the bar keep, he tried to get away, but the Rhodian just laughed, loud and hearty. Ben didn’t quite understand but he wasn’t one to look a gift Tooka in the mouth.

Eventually, he had gotten enough information to buy a steady eopie and start his travels to the Lars homestead.

His heart ached. He knew he was dreading the hours to come.

And honestly, he nearly turned back.

He didn’t know these people. He had never even met these people before. He wasn’t even sure if Anakin had met these people before. To put Luke in their hands may…may have been safer from the Empire, but would it be safer with them? Were they good people? Would they teach Luke well or would they teach him to be resentful and have hate in his heart?

It had taken hours to get to the homestead, even on the strength of the eopie, but Ben had just mulled over this continuously. His heart was breaking, and his chest felt like it was going to be ripped open. Luke was fairly quiet, only babbling softly once in a while and trying to grab at anything near Ben that he could, generally his hair or his beard.

It was sunset when he had finally saw the homestead.

And he nearly turned back.

Giving Luke away was amongst the hardest things Ben had ever done and all he could give him was projecting the strongest feeling he had for the boy and once in a while, throughout the years, small little hand carved wooden ship toys, that he would leave on his grandmother’s grave.

***

The Lars couple, Owen and Beru, were good people. Even Ben could feel that.

Owen just hated him.

He wasn’t exactly subtle in his feelings either. No matter what Ben tried to do over the years, to help, to protect, anything, Owen lashed out at him, blaming him for the death of his stepbrother.

Stepbrother, Ben thought. How could a man be so angry and hate him so much on the behalf of someone he didn’t even know. Ben had spent over thirteen years with Anakin, training and raising and loving him. If Owen had met Anakin, it must have been very brief, and probably only once.

Ben tried not to be resentful.

He found an abandoned little hut cave out in the Judland Wastes, far enough for Owen’s liking but close enough that he could keep a feel for any dangerous the Lars may face over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He didn’t mind. He never needed much anyways.

He had always wanted a peaceful place out of the way to spend his time meditating.

It took Ben quite a bit of time to open up to hearing Qui-Gon’s voice.

It took even longer for Ben to accept his tutelage.

But, like everything else Qui-Gon had ever asked of him, he did so.

18 BBY

It had taken Ben bare a few months to start protecting the Lars and surrounding areas and farms from Tusken Raiders and Jabba’s men. The Tuskens, although ritually and historically furious at the offworlders (even though technically many of them were born on the planet now) taking over their planet and taking their water, had been easier to work with. Once he had figured out some of their language, it was easier to communicate. He always had a knack for languages, he knew. Not only did he learn to be fascinated with them and cultures in general, but when working with and travelling with someone like Qui-Gon Jinn, one had to learn to apologize and ask not to be killed in nearly every foreign language of every planet they had been on.

Because if there was one thing that Qui-Gon Jinn very often did, it was making trouble.

It was exhausting but in the end, Ben had learned a valuable skill and found an enjoyable hobby of learning new languages.

Learning the Tusken sign language wasn’t too difficult, but what had really gotten them to be more open to negotiating was simply a test of strength and prowess. Ben, as much as he was loathed to admit it, was a warrior in the end. And to that point, he could take down near anyone on the planet just with his experience, knowledge and training.

The Tuskens had learned that quickly and ended up leaving him alone.

But it didn’t protect Luke.

That would happen a few months later. One of the Tusken tribes had been having a terrible time with a krayt dragon, a native beast to the planet and one that was said to be even force-sensitive in some cultures. Ben didn’t know if it was true, but the Tuskens were losing people and had resorted to taking others from outside the tribe as sacrifices.

This, of course, had put Luke in grave danger. Whether it had been that year or any year in the future. The Tuskens at first, were skeptical, with his offer to become the next sacrifice, but in the end, his manipulation worked.

The Krayt dragon was a bit bigger than Ben had heard from the stories, but its ferocity was no small thing. But, in the end, Ben had always had a small talent for bonding with beasts of all kinds and in the end, the krayt dragon was no different.

He had sent her on her way with the quiet request to leave them alone.

He wouldn’t reveal what had happened between the two of them, or how the communication went, but he came back in one peace, telling the Tuskens that the dragon would leave them alone, but they had to leave the locals alone as well, for if they didn’t, they would be responsible for their actions. This in turn, protected most of the people around the Lars homestead, including Luke and any friends he may have in the future.

Sometimes, when Ben meditated out in the middle of nowhere, he could feel the rumbling of the dragon under the shifting sands.

14 BBY

Once upon a time, all Ben wanted was to sit in a quiet cave and meditate.

Now, five years later, he just wished he could be back. Even if it was the war, as horrible as that time was, the Jedi would still be around, he could still feelthem and he would have the loyalty and care of his troops, even if it did end up being fake.

Tatooine, at least with its terrain, wasn’t the worst Ben had ever encountered. Yes, the sand got everywhere but it never seemed quite as course and rough and irritating as Anakin had made it out to be. The storms were terrible, don’t get Ben wrong, and he disliked them quite passionately. Sand stung at his eyes, whipping at his skin mercilessly. It was a pain.

But lying in the sand when there was little wind, just a gentle breeze, not enough to stir the land, he could feel some peace. Sinking into the soft grains and able to let everything else melt away.

He just wished it could have been sand in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by loved ones and the light of the Force.

11 BBY

He was too late.

He was always too late.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even surprised anymore.

Because it seemed, in the end, he would always to be too late. He would always be not quite fast enough, not quite smart enough, simply not quite enough. Never quite enough.

It wasn’t exactly the Force that gave him the warning, but it did give him awarning.

Let’s just put it to rest that he now believed the krayt dragons were force sensitive.

Plenty.

Ben’s eopie was old now but she did her very best to get to the Lars homestead as quickly as she could. She gave it her all, that was for certain. Ben remembered him cursing himself for letting Owen force him to live further away, further from Luke, further from the homestead. If he had lived closer, perhaps things would have ended up differently.

The Empire had come to Tatooine barely the year before and Ben had done a fairly good job of keeping out of the way.

But somehow, for some reason, they suddenly had it out for the Lars family.

And whoever sent them, they sent clones.

Ben felt only sympathy for the soldiers as he cut them down in defense of Luke. Owen and Beru were already gone, sprawled over the floor, bleeding and glassy eyed. He had let go of his bitterness and anger quite some time before. It was no use. What was done was done. No one could change anything. And revenge, even being not the Jedi way, would do nothing for Ben. It wouldn’t bring the Jedi back. It wouldn’t bring the younglings and babies back.

There was no satisfaction when he fought them.

Although, honestly, it wasn’t much of a fight.

For the first time in years, as Ben bundled shocked Luke up in his cloak and robes, grabbing some of his things, worrying over the fact that more may come, he had ended up contacting Bail Organa.

Ben knew Luke didn’t remember much of that time and in all honesty, neither did Ben himself. It was like going through some slogging motions, but Bail had come on his word and sent him a nondescript space craft.

Ben had sold it and bought a different one. Just in case.

Everything had changed now, and he knew things were never going to be as simple as it had been on Tatooine. No matter where they went, no matter where they would go.

Luke was eight or nine, Ben had thought, musing to himself. Was it ironic, that it was around the age Ben had started teaching Anakin?

Was the outcome to be similar?

Or was Ben to lose yet another Skywalker?

He supposed, like nearly all things, only time would tell.

Present Past

Ben

His head is full.

Awakening was a cloggy mess and a sluggish, laborious process, like trudging through the impossible terrain of the Dagobah swamplands. His feet felt as if he had to relearn rudimentary functions and relearn them in a hurry. The Force pressed against him, light and warm and impatient. Taking the largest and longest inhale he was capable of, he forced himself to open his eyes and then sit up. Step one complete.

Rolling his shoulders and arms indistinctively, he noted they felt sore but lighter than usual, cleaned of sand and grime. The cracking of joints he had been so used to hearing every time he moved, especially after sleep, had ceased significantly.

Looking down, he caught sight of his hands, encased in lack gloves. He hadn’t worn gloves with fingers attached much anymore, he thought absentmindedly. He wondered where they had come from. Bringing them closer in his sight, he studied them further. These were standard issue GAR gloves. And attached to the standard issue GAR gloves was standard issue clone trooper vambraces. These had not worn these in years, certainly not by him. He still remembered the day he had to sell his armor pieces which included the vambraces. His finger trailed up one of his arms through a groove in the plastoid, up to the scratched and slightly faded paint in the middle. His breath caught as he lightly traced the open circle symbol.

Taking a deep breath to fill his lungs, he attempted to stand, keeping a firm grip on the cot and tried to steady himself. His legs were a bit weak and his head a bit dizzy – adding to the full feeling in his mind, but it only took a few minutes to regain his balance and equilibrium.

Even sixteen years later, the medical bay of a venator was still familiar to him as he looked around at his surroundings. Now, what did that say about him? Taking a tentative step forward, his feet slowly started to move and took him to the lavatory, where he filled a cup of water and guzzled it down. Running a hand through the water from the faucet, he raked it slowly through his hair and down his face.

He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t know why. But he did anyways.

There was not a time he could remember having seen himself with so much color. Color in his hair, color in his skin, color in his eyes. His hair had brightened, no longer bleached by nearly ten years under the twin suns of a desert planet, a mix of blonde and brown and ginger. His greying and stretched skin were once again flush with pigment and peach colors. Eyes that were usually tired and dull and grey had a stone blue color come back to them. The wrinkles on his face had lessened considerably. Taking another deep breath, he stepped back to study himself. Amor parts were stuck to his body, not just the vambraces but the pauldrons and gorget and greaves as well. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this; the mix of soft robes and the protection of the pauldron, the vambraces, the greaves. He should have worn them when he had fought Grievous, he mused.

He was dressed for battle, for war. It was not quite how he was during the beginning of the war, but more of the middle of the fighting, a bit into the skirmishes and conflicts. Hands trailing down the armor and robes, they came down to his belt and the clip that was attached there. His lightsaber wasn’t on his belt. He wasn’t particularly worried.

He sighed, unsure of what to make of this.

In the mirror, it was him, for sure. It looked like Obi-Wan, but he knew he was Ben.

Quinlan

Quinlan wondered how this invasion had gone through the first time.

He felt rather out of place throughout the entirety of the incursion. He was present for the briefings, barely putting in his two cents, generally when it came to anything resembling sneak attacks or espionage. The Resolute and the Negotiator had both broken through the Separatist blockade with surprising and remarkable ease, swiftly rendezvousing with General Tiin’s venator and his forces. He was on his own ship, calling most of the shots as the most senior available general present, and directing the battle within the space around the planet. Although Master Tiin portrayed mostly calm during his calls with the other leaders coming to help him, he looked determined but still a bit rattled and definitely tired. General Krell was on the surface, getting battered down by the local militia. His communications kept cutting in and out, but he demanded reinforcements.

That would come in the form of the 501st, much to Skywalker’s displeasure.

Quinlan could understand, to an extent. He had worked with some clones before, but he didn’t have his own battalion or legion or squad. He would work with whoever was on hand and whoever could work on his current mission, if anyone. But he did know that many of the generals were rather protective of their respective troopers. Not only did generals often get used to the type of troopers and personalities, but troopers themselves often got used to the type of leadership style their general had and often tailored their ways and plans around that. Switching up leaders and troops didn’t always work out incredibly well, especially with invasions and long campaigns.

Commander Cody would leave Quinlan, taking much of his forces of the 212th down to the surface with him. Not to reinforce Krell and his side attack, marching for the Capitol, but rather to assault from the other side and box the Umbarans in. It was a good plan that Commander Cody had come up with, although by the look on his face, General Krell clearly wasn’t entirely convinced. Quinlan apparently had a lot more faith in the commander than Krell did, which seemed rather odd considering Quinlan probably had a lot less experience with the clone troopers.

Just as Master Windu had claimed, Anakin Skywalker himself would lead fighters to pick off the forces in space and if needed, provide direction for the bombers, if necessary, on the surface below.

Anakin himself would lead much of the space fighters as well as the bombers for the surface below. Quinlan had heard plenty about how great of a pilot Anakin was and how much he loved to fly. He found it rather amusing since, once upon a time, Obi-Wan himself had felt the same way. It was almost interesting on how things changed.

Quinlan felt uncomfortable and odd in the position he was in, standing on the bridge of his best friend’s ship, trying to help and order out calls that would bring them closer to victory. He was used to small forces, sneaking around with more missions that included investigating and espionage; it was something that he was good at now. Undercover, intelligence. He was usually the one giving the Generals advice and plans; next and vital places to hit or defend. He wished Obi-Wan was awake.

His friend was much better at this sort of thing.

“Let me know when Obi-Wan wakes up?” Anakin asked gruffly as Quinlan escorted him to his fighter. They had talked a bit on what would happen as time went on after the briefings and breaking easily through the blockade, and Skywalker hadn’t been exactly intently keen on leaving his master to fight in space as much as it was fairly obvious that he was eager on flying.

“Focus on the mission,” Quinlan answered instead, trying to sound like he could give good advice. Somehow, he always felt like this was easier with Aalya. Maybe it was because she wanted to hear his advice and actually tried to listen to him sometimes. “Keep your attention in the here and now. Obi-Wan is safe and he would want you to be too. At least, as much as you can be in this scenario. If you worry too much, it could put you and your men in jeopardy.”

“Fine,” Anakin huffed.

“I’m sure you will be one of the first people he will want to see when he does wake up,” Quinlan pointed out and then paused briefly. “And figures out that he has time traveled.”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably as he glanced at the Kiffar master. He looked rather uncertain, most likely about this entire thing. “If that’s what happened.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’m just saying that it might… not be the case,” he pointed out, a bit slowly, watching Quinlan like he could get all the answers that way. Quinlan couldn’t really tell what the knight was thinking, for someone so passionate and emotional, sometimes he could be hard to read. Maybe because there always seemed to be toomuch emotion there. Did Anakin not want Luke to be right?

“Luke is telling the truth,” Quinlan answered and looked for Anakin’s reaction. There was very little to work with, he just kind of stared. “However,” Quinlan shot back, gravely. “It is not a bright future.”

He looked away, his brows furrowing. “Well, if it is time travel… then we can change it,” Anakin suggested in some form of insistence, but he didn’t seem too sure on what to think about this. Quinlan thought back to their earlier conversation how their friend may have changed. It wasn’t exactly something either of them wanted to think about too hard. “Obi-Wan won’t be on the run again.”

“We will try our best,” Quinlan agreed carefully. There were no absolutes, no guarantees. He didn’t want to make the future worse but with what he had learned from Luke, he wasn’t sure if that was possible. It was, deep in his heart he knew it was, but he couldn’t quite imagine them changing things so poorly, knowing what they knew, and it coming out even worse than the future that Obi-Wan and Luke knew.

“Is he still with Obi-Wan?”

“Luke?” Quinlan asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Of course, that was what he meant, and Quinlan knew it. His mouth just ran off with him. “Yes. I figured if he just stayed there, it would keep him out of trouble.”

Anakin hummed but didn’t seem completely convinced. They had arrived at the docking bay were fighters and their pilots were doing last checks before they would head out and join General Tiin’s forces. Anakin’s togruta padawan shouted and waved him over. Anakin glanced at her with a gesture before turning back towards Quinlan. “That is my cue. See you at the end of this, Vos.”

“May the Force be with you,” Quinlan nodded.

“And with you, master,” Anakin winked.

Ben 2

Regaining his complete composure and erasing the wrinkles within his equanimity and clothes alike, Ben glanced around the medical bay just to sate his curiosity. The door wasn’t locked, medicine and tools, even ones that could conceivably be used as a weapon were not taken away or padlocked and sealed away. Pulling on his boots and making sure his greaves went over them, he simply just walked out the door. The venator and star destroyers were not completely different but there had always been noticeable differences. Whoever was doing this certainly did a good job of restoring the old Republic ship. If Ben didn’t know better, he would have even thought that this was his own flagship, the Negotiator.

It even feltlike the Negotiator.

He nearly felt dreadful for feeling like he missed it. He walked down the halls, they were mostly vacant, although Ben couldn’t say he was terribly surprised. Whoever had set this up did a remarkable job with the ship itself but finding any clones, especially ones that would be willing for this little charade would have been more than just a little difficult. There was also the little obstacle that the clones looked quite a bit older now than they had during the war. All the same, he avoided those that were through the halls, although there weren’t many. They were even dressed in clone trooper armor, much to Ben’s bitter surprise. The armor type itself was a rare find these days.

Often finding himself running his hand along the smooth walls, Ben could only feel mournful. It was a terrible time, the war, of course. He abhorred what they had to do, even though he knew it was right. To protect. He hated what they had been forced to do, he couldn’t stand that he had to lead people such as the clone troopers to their deaths. There was no choice on any end and then, once it was all said and done and the jedi and cloens had done their part, they had been just disposed of.

And no one had even cared.

The Jedi had been exterminated, murdered by those they tried to protect and those they had loved as family.

The clones had been brainwashed and enslaved, stripped of their minds and free will and forced to kill the people that cared about them and loved them as family. Then slowly, as the programming ate away at their mind and psyche, they were killed off on desolate planets as canon fodder and sacrifices.

Tears swelled up in his eyes, his feelings bubbling up in his chest and mind, pressing, pressing, pressing against him in such a terrible friction that he couldn’t get away from. He had tried not to think too hard on what he had lost for some time, there was no use on thinking about it so much. No use on dwelling on things one could not change. No matter how much he wanted to. If he could change anything, what he would give.

Ben hadn’t even realized he had stopped, leaning against the wall, his forehead cooling against the metal of the hallway barriers. He took deep breathes but it didn’t seem like enough. Nothing felt enough.

Sometimes he regretted forcing Boil to leave them. Luke had loved him and having another person around had done wonders for him. Boil was a friendly face, despite how grumpy he often acted during the war, and his skill and loyalty was somethings Ben had always admired from him. He remembered the clone’s desperation, begging him to stay, giving all the reasons he could be useful.

As if usefulness was the reason Ben would have wanted him alone.

Ben knew that it was much too dangerous. Vader would just take another loved one away from him and Luke was in danger enough as it was. But he couldn’t keep Luke away like he could with Boil. He hadn’t been able to subject Boil to the life he was forced to lead, running from and fighting off someone as the likes of Darth Vader.

He still regretted it sometimes though. It had been so nice to have someone else around.

Ben hoped he was happy with Rex. Happy wherever he was, with whoever he was with.

“Sir?” an achingly familiar voice asked, uncertainly.

He sighed and turned, still leaned against the wall. In front of him was a clone trooper, mostly within armor sans his helmet, which was hanging on his belt. With a fairly standard haircut, his face was void of tattoos, but he sported a small scar near the hairline. A bit of scruff was starting to come in around his chin.

“Hello there, trooper,” he greeted, pleasantly. There was no need to be mean to any of these actors or constructs. It was an incredible likeness, he noted. Whoever or whatever this was, the resemblance was uncanny. “May I inquire your name?”

“Seven, sir,” the trooper saluted, perfectly. “But most brothers call me Sev. You can, if you want. O-Or not, that’s fine too. I don’t have much of a preference,” he rambled, shrinking back and a little with a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Thank you, Sev. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

He didn’t remind Ben at all of Alpha-17, but his name had made his mind call back to him. Ben wondered what may have happened to the old captain. Was he stripped away of his free – and very strong – will and forced to become nothing but a droid made of flesh and bone, bowing to the whim of a government and military that used him like he wasn’t even a person? Ben had a hard time thinking the programing and brainwashing would even work on Alpha-17, just because of who he was, how independent and intense he could be. But then again, Ben mused, it had completely erased Cody’s steadfast loyalty and determination, it had taken everything from one of the strongest people Ben had known.

The trooper hesitated; eyeing Ben like he wasn’t sure if he should speak. “Are you alright, sir?”

“Just a little tired,” he admitted. “I’m not entirely sure where I am.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. Sev certainly seemed to have an idea.

Sev straightened and brightened a little. “I can help you sir! I know this ship like nobody else! Don’t get me wrong, I fight a lot, I do my part! But I don’t sit still very well so when I’m not in the field, I’m going around the ship. Sorry, I’m kinda rambling again aren’t I. I can take you to the bridge, sir, if that is where you want to go. I mean, I’d imagine you would want, considering we are in the middle of a battle, but you know, ya never know…”

Although he continued to ramble, Ben’s hearing faded. In the middle of a battle? How did one construct that? It seemed a little extreme in attempt to convince him.

“That would be nice, Sev. Thank you,” he announced suddenly, breaking whatever sentence the trooper was in the middle of. “I would love your help, mind escorting me?”

The soldier nodded, eagerly and Ben straightened, launching himself to stand next to the youngster. He offered his arm. “I’m just a bit unsteady, would you mind?”

“Of course, sir!” Sev nodded and wove his arm through Ben’s so the older man could lean on him if wanted or if he fell, Sev could easily catch him. He took a careful step, just to make sure that Ben could move with him. Ben wasn’t sure if he had surprised the trooper or not but their steps in time got quicker to a normal, but abit brisk, pace.

Few soldiers that they had passed, as limited as there were even, batted an eye, although many of them had their faces covered in helmets. He wondered, although a bit absentmindedly, where one had gotten all these actors to play their parts in such armor.

He wanted to reach out into the Force, if only to try and feel the unwavering and constant calm he knew that had once practically oozed, the sense of loyalty that made him truly believe that they would always be by his side, no matter what they had gone through, no matter what they would go through. Once upon a time, he had taken such comfort in knowing he had such good men watching his back, and his sides and he, theirs.

Closing his eyes briefly, he imagined him feeling it, but he didn’t reach out. He couldn’t be disappointed like that again when he didn’t feel it, when all he would feel was the murky, cold harshness of the dark side, smothering all good things.

“It’s good to see you up and at ‘em sir!” another soldier greeted as he passed. Ben opened his eyes and trailed him. He sounded like a trooper too.

He tried not to think too hard on it.

“Oh wow! General, you are up! You gave us just a tad bit of worry there,” yet another clone they passed spoke as he slowed his gait. “We weren’t that worried, we had complete faith in Helix and that you would wake up.”

He sounded like a trooper too.

Something felt caught in his throat.

“Are you alright, sir?” Sev asked, shooting him a concerned glance.

It felt so real. He could almost feel the trooper’s concern in the Force. Ben pulled back. No, he wouldn’t go through that again. Even if there weretroopers here, even if Sev was somehow a clone from back in the war days, there wouldn’t really be anything to feel if did reach.

He wanted to reach.

“I am fine, thank you,” he replied politely.

It was mostly silence from then on to the bridge but Sev had pause to swipe his card for the door open so they could get inside. Ben had stopped and took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever was on the other side. He didn’t believe he would like it.

***

Quinlan 2

“Which system are we currently in, Admiral?”

Out of all the things Quinlan had expected to hear at that very moment, Obi-Wan’s voice was not anywhere near the top of the list. In fact, for a moment, he had even thought that it had been just him hearing things, maybe some wishful thinking. But no, looking over – everyone looking over – Quinlan’s childhood friend stood at attention nearing the front of the bridge, gazing out at the space battle before them.

“Obi-Wan!” he yelped, wide- eyed as he reached for him. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised and shocked.

Obi-Wan shifted away from him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hmm,” he hummed, dryly. “Fascinating.” Then he turned back, no longer interested, towards the admiral and other troops at the helm. He looked tired, even more so than when he was asleep or in his unexplainable coma, but he held himself the way Quinlan had always seen him carry himself during the war, or when he had been with politicians, even before the war had started.

Next to him was a young trooper, face and armor barely marked or scuffed up. Either he was extremely new, or he just kept his armor nice and clean. It could have been either, if Quinlan was being honest.

“This is Seven,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the clone that he was attached to. It was a matter of fact, as his tone had been thus far. There was no room for debate for whatever reason. “Harm or touch him, I will take off your heads.”

That…was not a threat that one heard from Obi-Wan very often but by the way he said it, Quinlan had believed him. He was, in fact, quite good at relieving appendages. The stares had gotten even wider and incredulous. Even Seven’s expression was shocked as he stood still with the general. Quinlan was impressed; he figured most would have tried to flee by then.

But then again, Obi-Wan was threatening for Seven, not at him.

“Hey buddy,” Quinlan lowered his voice, as if trying to placate him. He kept his hands a bit casual but open where Obi-Wan could see them. He knew that something would happen when Obi-Wan woke up, although he hadn’t been sure what and he had thought that he wouldn’t have woken up now, of all times. He was probably just confused. “Look, Obes. It’s me, Quinlan Vos, your friend.”

“I know who that is,” Obi-Wan scoffed.

“Alright cool,” Quinlan nodded. “So, you were in this unexplainable coma for a bit, not super long. Not even a day really, but it did kind of freak people out.”

“I would request your hallucination end, please,” Obi-Wan interrupted, his voice cold as steel his eyes flashing in reflection of that. “I am aware of what is happening, and I am telling you, it is not necessary.

And wasn’t Obi-Wan just full of surprises today. Time travel, new padawans, and now belief that this was a delusion or mirage.

“This…this isn’t a hallucination, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan sputtered, trying his best to keep his disbelief under control. It was rather uncharacteristic of him but the thought that his friend didn’t think any of this was real, it broke his heart more than he would dare to admit. It was such a contrast between Luke’s sure thinking and Obi-Wan’s intense cynicism and skepticism.

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan just hummed, his words biting on sarcasm, but he didn’t even glance over at Quinlan. “This is very real, Sidious. That is fine. You probably used this battle thinking you could use it to torture me and one of my great many failures. But the joke is on you, emperor, I will move forward to save as many lives as I can, even as this is an illusion.”

“You think…you think I am a Sith,” Quinlan’s response ended up falling a bit flat, somewhere between an observation and a question. He wasn’t completely in on all of the Council’s theories and findings but knowing one of the Sith’s name was something that higher level shadows knew, especially those who were investigating it. It appeared, from how Obi-Wan was acting, he knew exactly who that person was.

That was going to change everything.

“Hmm. Well, Vader would certainly not care for this type for mind manipulation,” Obi-Wan pointed out plainly, tightening his grip ever so slightly on his clone companion. “He is much rather the type to just torture and kill me. Especially me. You understand. So yes, Sidious.”

“Why is he me, specifically?” Quinlan asked. He knew who Vader was and the fact that he did made what Obi-Wan said all the more horrifying. What could have possibly been done for Anakin Skywalker to absolutely loathe and abhor Obi-Wan, someone he was generally fairly possessive of?

“My first wartime assignment with Master Vos was the hunt for Ziro the Hutt, which you should know, since it was public record,” Obi-Wan listed, calmly. He seemed a little irate, however, like he didn’t want to explain something that shouldn’t have to be explained. “And I remember any other times I’ve worked with him after that. It was not on a planetary campaign such as this,” he paused, his brows furrowing as he seemed to think more about what he was saying. “…what system is this trooper?” Obi-Wan suddenly asked, his question turning kind and soft as he directed it towards one of the nearby clones.

The clone glanced between the two of them. “Umbara, sir.”

“Master Vos,” Obi-Wan replied confidently, still continuing with the bite of sarcasm. He would have been nearly proud if his friend hadn’t been disillusioned by what was happening and thought that this wasn’t real. “Had not been present at the invasion of…” he stopped abruptly and stared at the planet through the viewing board, his arm dropping from the clone trooper he had been hanging onto.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan questioned, taking a small step forward.

“Umbara,” he whispered, breathy and horrified. His pupils dilated and his brows scrunched up into something of dread, like this was worse than he was imagining. Something terrible happened here, Quinlan could see.

“Sir?” Sev questioned, nearly poking at him to get his attention.

“Where are my troops?” Obi-Wan seemed to drop from his trance just as quickly as it had come and asked instead, his voice low and demanding, his gaze sweeping along the entourage of clone troopers at their stations.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan tried again.

“Where is Commander Cody and the 212th? Where is Lieutenant Waxer and his platoon?” Obi-Wan barked, his lip curling in the demand, eyes flaring into something of pressure, importance, and panic.

“On the surface sir,” a trooper replied quickly, sensing the urgency. “They’re launching a strike against the capitol. They intend to box the natives in alongside General Krell with the 501st once the latter take the airbase nearby that is supplying the capitol.”

Obi-Wan’s face completely paled, nearly devoid of color as he seemed to fall into that trance again. It lasted even less time this round as his diminished face did something odd, nearly darkening alongside his eyes, which had turned absolutely stony and cold. “Krell.”

The name had sent shivers down Quinlan’s spine. It wasn’t the name itself; he knew, Quinlan barely even recognized the name aside from his position in this invasion, but the way Obi-Wan had said it? Quinlan suddenly wanted to rip the besalisk’s head off. Which, even for Quinlan, that was rather extreme. He quickly realized that the feeling was coming from Obi-Wan. Something happened with General Krell and Obi-Wan did not appreciate him for it.

“Sir?” the trooper who had answered him, queried.

“Get me General Krell,” Obi-Wan demanded, his lip curling. “Get communications up with him immediately.”

“Sir, we can’t,” the brave trooper shook his head, biting his lip a little. It wasn’t exactly fear emanating off of him; Quinlan had yet to find a trooper that truly feared for themselves when it came to their general, but it was something else. Fear for the situation, perhaps. “The local militia has cut off communications, we can barely get anything through, barely a few words, much less consistent transmission.”

Obi-Wan cursed loudly in a language Quinlan wasn’t completely familiar with. The other troopers looked vaguely uncomfortable and glanced away. Perhaps they recognized it.

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan stared, as he stepped even closer. “Calm down. We can figure this out, whatever it is,” he said, trying to placate his friend when he…he noticed something was not quite right with this. He paused and straightened himself, looking around, curiously. This…this didn’t make sense. Where was… “Wait. How are you up anyways?” he asked, his brows scrunching up together in confusion. “I thought Luke was supposed to be with you?”

His friend stiffened and for the longest moment nothing happened. It was as if time itself had just completely shut down. Obi-Wan’s head swiveled around slowly towards him until finally, Quinlan abruptly found himself pinned to an open wall.

Everyone around them had jumped but didn’t dare make a move.

“How do you know that name?”

His voice was low and deadly. Quinlan hadn’t heard that since…since Anakin had been kidnapped when he was a teenager. It had not been a pretty time and Quinlan had nearly been the only other person who could keep Obi-Wan from completely destroying everything in the way of him and his padawan. Quinlan hadn’t thought he would ever hear that tone again.

“Obes….” Quinlan struggled out. Obi-Wan wasn’t choking him, per say, but his grip was enough that Quinlan didn’t dare to even try to move away with his friend’s armor digging into his chest. He didn’t actually think Obi-Wan would do anything to harm him and schooled his body to quiet himself. “Calm down, he appeared…. he appeared with you.”

Quinlan wished he had better words to explain.

“What have you done with him?”

“Nothing, Obi,” Quinlan stressed as he even leaned forward into his space. He stared straight at him, serious as he had ever been with this childhood friend of his. “I swear nothing. He hasn’t left your side since we found you.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment. He seemed to believe him and found something in his gaze so let him go and cursed again, although less loudly this time around. He looked back at the troopers and then surveyed the battlefield of space in front of him. “Umbara. Boil. Waxer,” he muttered to himself as he came to some realization. He straightened again and took another quick glance around before spewing out some words and orders that Quinlan didn’t quite understand. The others on the bridge certainly did and they took it completely to heart, using the communications to lay out a different plan of attack and defense than what was used previously.

Apparently, the plan must have been a good one.

Quinlan wondered if it was the same one Obi-Wan had used the first time.

No one dared to move when he stormed off the bridge, the only one immediately following being Seven, the clone trooper that had brought Obi-Wan in. The jedi had given the trooper a gentle tug and he had assumed that meant he had wanted Seven to follow him. Quinlan guessed he was probably right.

It was only moments before Quinlan ran after him.

“Obi-Wan!”

Said man did not stop, just storming through the halls, projecting a cloud of determination and fear. The trooper he had brought with him was no longer led around, just followed dutifully, keeping pace with his general.

He finally caught up but hesitated to touch him. Even though Obi-Wan was covered, from his feet all the way to neck, he didn’t want him to lash out.

“Stop!”

Obi-Wan did and spun around, blue grey eyes flashing. “If you truly aren’t a Sith Lord, you will let me go save my kid,” Obi-Wan snarled, his eyes flaring in such resolve that Quinlan hadn’t seen since Anakin was a teenager and still adored his master. His hiss held such vitriol, shoulders rolling into some kind of subtle stance, waiting for a fight.

“Of course, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan said, softening his voice. Obi-Wan eyed him warily. “I’m sorry I lost your padawan, I told him to stay by you for you when you woke up but apparently, he had other ideas. But if you are going to go after him, you need to calm down,” he insisted, gently, keeping his hands out where they could be seen. “You know how you get when you are all worked up before a conflict.”

Obi-Wan paused, mulling this over for a moment. Quinlan didn’t move while he closed his eyes momentarily, taking a few deep breaths. It was a start, he suspected. It wasn’t Obi-Wan’s completely usual mediation, as he would generally rather find a quiet place – he was fond of gardens and caves – to sit and stay, to calm and meditate. He exhaled.

“That feel better?”

Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan glanced at him, his expression smoothing into the calm and pacify. “That was sound advice,” Obi-Wan hummed, although Quinlan knew him, he was wary of the ulterior motives.

“I would like to come with you, to find your padawan.”

“Absolutely not,” Obi-Wan snorted, turning away and starting back towards what Quinlan assumed would be the docking bay. “I cannot trust you.”

That hurt, Quinlan thought but he told himself it was only because he thought this whole thing was fake and staged by an evil Sith. Quinlan wasn’t entirely sure how that would work but then again, Obi-Wan was the one from the future, he would surely know better than Quinlan would.

“You can trust me,” he insisted, pressing forward. “I know who Luke is, he told me.”

Obi-Wan stiffened and his stride had skipped a little.

“We met in the future again, after the fall of the Order on a tiny planet at a café,” Quinlan explained easily what he had seen in Luke’s memories. He ahd seen several but it Luke had seemed to make sure Quinlan had been able to see his and Obi-Wan’s reunion after the fall of, well, everything. He hoped this would help convince Obi-Wan that he was real, that he knew this and could help. “It was by chance, but it was almost sixteen years after the Empire rose.”

His intended target had slowed his gait a little more as he looked down and away. Quinlan ushered the soldier accompanying them away quietly. The trooper looked a little hesitant as he glanced at his general but eventually did what he was told.

“How…no one knew that,” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked a little.

“Obi-Wan, I am here to help you,” Quinlan insisted, stressing the phrase. “You can trust me. Here,” he unclipped and offered his saber, pressing it into Obi-Wan’s gloved hand. “Since I’m pretty sure the kid took yours,” he gestured to his friend’s belt.

Obi-Wan looked down and cursed once again, shaking his head. He was full of such colorful language, Quinlan would have loved it and teased him about it mercilessly if it hadn’t been for the circumstances. He took the saber and hooked it to his belt, carefully.

He looked at Quinlan and studied him, staring intently. “It’s so hard to tell,” he confessed. “I don’t want to lead the Sith to Luke, but you act just like Quinlan, you are doing things that a Sith probably would never do, you know things that only Quinlan would know or, if Luke had actually talked to him. And if he had, then why would you need me to lead you to him?”

“I’m not a Sith, Obi-Wan. I am just Quinlan Vos, always have been and this time, always will be,” Quinlan asserted.

The next thing Quinlan knew, they were tucked into their respective Jedi starfighters, making last checks to get to the planet surface. A little red and silver astromech droid spun over to them, screeching and beeping at him. Obi-Wan just stared.

“Hello Arfour. It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

The reply was slow and a bit mournful.

“Would you mind accompanying me on a mission? Just to the planet surface, your flying is much better and often fancier than mine,” Obi-Wan replied, looking down at the droid as his gaze softened. Quinlan wondered when he had lost the droid, to see it as some kind of familiar face. “I have lost someone quite dear to me and I need to find him.”

Quinlan couldn’t actually make out the droid’s beeps and whirs from where he was standing next to his own ship, but he could hear some sounds coming out. Obi-Wan just smiled, faint and tight and nodded. “I would appreciate that, Arfour.”

The droid got settled into the nest and port of the starfighter and Obi-Wan jumped into the cockpit of his ship. Quinlan quickly followed suite in his own.

Space never really ceased being cold.

To his credit, Quinlan had waited until they got into a lull of the battle. Shots were still being fired but they hadn’t been in the thick of it while he asked.

“Hey Obes, you mind asking me askin’ you a question?” Quinlan asked as he spun around to avoid some fire that chased in his direction.

“I imagine that no matter my answer you will ask nonetheless,” Obi-Wan just replied, rather dryly.

Quinlan took that as permission. “Look, I know it is a war zone and all, but why are you so frantic? He’s an older teenager and with you being around, I’m sure he has had plenty of training, enough to definitely hold his own no doubt. And besides, he’s got a bunch of the 212th around him, I have no doubt they will protect him as much as they can. They’re quite the bunch of guys you got there, buddy. I kinda like them.” In honesty, Quinlan had met very few of the 212thattack battalion at this point but he had met Commander Cody several times and rather liked him.

There was silence from the other fighter.

“Look buddy. I already know you went through this already.”

There was another moment of silence. Quinlan nearly thought that he wouldn’t actually answer but eventually Obi-Wan’s voice came over the commlink and communications, just one between the two of them. “Luke is friends with Boil. He knows Waxer dies during the war. I don’t know how he figured out this invasion is where it happened.”

“Are they your troops?” he knew the answer, really, but it was enough to keep the conversation going, at least for a moment.

“Boil and Waxer are some of my best.”

Quinlan didn’t doubt it. Obi-Wan did not just give out praise that high and blatant lightly. And if Boil had met and befriended Luke, that also meant he had survived the war. At least some of the clones did.

“Well, I suppose we should save them, shouldn’t we?”

There wasn’t much talk after that, as the two of them were more focused on not getting shot and blown away from enemy ships, avoiding them even more so as they breached the atmosphere, even taking out bombers and enemy ships on their way.

Quinlan had gotten a brief message through and even a short response with a place where the two jedi starfighters could land. Obi-Wan had nearly flown out of his cockpit once he had barely touched down. Commander Cody approached, having waited for their arrival with confused concern.

“General Vos, is there-,” the Commander started, his voice thick until he stopped, both verbally and physically once he caught sight of Obi-Wan. “General Kenobi! You’re up, sir, I…”

“Where is Lieutenant Waxer’s platoon?” Obi-Wan ignored him and walked up, although Quinlan had saw a flash of grief and sorrow in his face. He still thought this wasn’t quite real, he realized.

He could feel the hurt thumping from Commander Cody but to his credit, he took in stride. “My apologies sir,” he replied, rather stiffly, but otherwise completely cool and professional. “They had been at the southeast corner when, last I heard, they had received intelligence about natives coming up on their flank, trying to appropriate a sneak attack on them,” his voice turned mournful and wavering as he tried to keep Obi-Wan’s gaze.

Ben stared at him for a brief moment, his breath becoming quicker. His head whipped around, as if looking for the battle. “No,” he whispered. “It’s already happening.”

“Sir?” Commander Cody’s voice shifted. “What has happened?”

The jedi just spun around towards the southeast. “Commander, I need you to stay here. I trust your orders and plan will pan out; you know what you are doing,” he said quickly as he started towards the direction. Quinlan shot after him.

“General! Where are you going?” Commander Cody called after him.

“It’s a trap!” Obi-Wan yelled back. “Those aren’t Umbarans! It’s the 501st!”

*

The men they find are jittery and a just a tad bit slow.

They were on their way back to rejoin with Commander Cody’s forces and although jumped and pointed their blasters at the movement that was Obi-Wan and Quinlan barreling through the terrain, they didn’t fire.

They seemed to fear to.

When Obi-Wan demanded for the appearance of their leader, Lieutenant Waxer, a different clone appeared. That was rather apparent by the look on Obi-Wan’s face. “Where is your platoon leader, Freefall?”

The clone saluted easily but Quinlan could tell his hand was shaking. “He’s not here, sir. We…we nearly shot our own men. If it hadn’t been for the little jedi…” he drifted off, his eyes and voice a bit dazed at the notion.

Friendly fire, Quinlan realized.

Somehow, he doubted this was poor and unfortunate coincidence.

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan pressed, edging on the side of desperation. He looked on the verge of near shaking the clone as if answers would just fall out of him. “Where is your Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant Waxer told us to hold the ridge,” Freefall explained, trying to quicken his words to appease his general. “To protect Commander Cody’s flank. He and a few others went with the 501stand the commander.”

“The commander?” Quinlan questioned.

“The little Jedi,” Freefall pointed out with an unsure glance at him and then looked back at Obi-Wan. “We assumed he was a commander.” He hesitated and winced, clearly not wanting to speak what else was on his tongue. “Is…is he a General?”

“NO!” Ben cried, the sound tearing from his throat in some mix of emotions. “He doesn’t hold any rank! Where did they go?”

“They went back to the air base where the 501st had made their base.”

“Why?” Quinlan asked but for some reason, he feared the answer.

There was a hesitation so long that Quinlan nearly thought they wouldn't answer at all. Freefall and a few of the surrounding soldiers glanced at one another, something of fear and a touch of sympathy. "We think…they are going to arrest General Krell."

Quinlan blinked. He was missing something.

One of them continued. "He, General Krell, set this up, he told the same thing he told us to the 501st. We almost killed one another. The commander… the little jedi, he saved everyone."

Once again, Obi-Wan's skin paled into something greying and ashy. "No," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for at least Quinlan and Freefall to hear. "He's going to get himself killed."

Quinlan wasn't entirely sure if Obi-Wan's fear was completely founded. For some reason, he felt as though Luke stood, he better chance than he was giving the boy credit for. Then again, these were fairly extraordinary circumstances and Obi-Wan was worried, which was probably overreaching his usual calm and faith.

“Obes,” he said quietly, barely touching his friend’s arm. “How long have you been training Luke?”

Ben stared at him.

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan repeated, a little more forceful. “How long?”

“Since he was nine,” Obi-Wan choked out.

Wasn’t that just fascinating.

“Is he any good?”

Obi-Wan nodded. Good, he had some faith then. His worry, coupled with the extreme circumstances were just clouding things. Quinlan could work with that.

“Then he has a chance, bigger than you probably think.”

“Krell has double lightsaber staffs. Luke hasn’t even seen that before.”

Quinlan suspected that Luke hadn’t seen barely any lightsabers before, but he didn’t say anything to that. Skywalker had always been extremely talented with a blade. Although it wasn’t guaranteed his son would be the same way, he speculated that it was the case.

He has a chance,” Quin repeated. “Let’s go, okay? Let’s go to the airbase and find him.”

Freefall gave them a speeder. Obi-Wan had even let Quinlan drive without saying a word. Finding and getting to the airbase wasn’t difficult at all but it was eerily quiet. As Quinlan skidded to a halt, Obi-Wan had jumped off before the engine had stopped and jogged into the airbase.

It was dark.

Quinlan had a bad feeling about this.

He caught up with Obi-Wan as they pushed through, going through levels and the doors of the base into an open room where communications and ships alike were held. They both had stopped near in time together.

It was so quiet.

Obi-Wan stood silently, looking and watching, almost in shock but Quinlan moved around to take a peek. There were a few bodies of troopers sprawled on the ground, most of them missing an arm or a leg or worse, a head. It wasn’t a massacre, exactly, Quinlan thought. There were only a couple, as horrible as it was, but over all, it was incredibly messy. The wounds and killing blows had been made from a lightsaber, that was for certain. It certainly wasn’t Luke who did this, even Quinlan knew that.

“Quin.”

Quinlan barely recognized his own name coming from Obi-Wan’s lips. He hadn’t called him that seriously since he had woken up. He hoped that Obi-Wan was coming to realize that this was real, that he had time traveled and it wasn’t a dream or hallucination or cruel Sith trick.

He looked over to where Obi-Wan was kneeling and jogged over to his side.

Obi-Wan hadn’t touched it and Quinlan surely wouldn’t.

It was an arm, thick and burly. It wasn’t a human’s, that was for sure. If Quinlan had to guess, it was Krell’s.

“It’s Krell’s arm,” Obi-Wan answered his unasked question and then carefully used a nearby prod to pry open the hand. A lightsaber tumbled out. “And one of his sabers.”

“He’s a bit like you,” Quinlan muttered, vaguely amused.

Even if Obi-Wan had heard him, he didn’t dignify it with an answer. “They are not here. Everyone is gone. There aren’t nearly enough bodies for this to be the entirety of the 501st.”

“That begs the question,” Quinlan added. “What happened and where did they go?”

[ahsoka-lives]

Apprentice pt. 4

Inquisitor!Cal Soulmate AU

A/N: Umm, I’m sorry!!! My life is very hectic and will probably stay that way for a long time :/ I still want to update my fics and talk to you guys when I can. Thank you for almost 200 followers already!! I hope this part will have been worth the wait, I rewrote it like three times!!! Please feel free to leave a comment or an ask in my box and I hope to update again soon!! 

P.S. I will either write a part 6 and continue Iris or write an epilogue, feel free to let me know what you guys prefer! It will take quite a while but it will come! As will updates to my other fics! <3

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 1671

Songs I listened to: A Guide to Live By by Remo Drive, Delilah by Florence+the machine, Misfit Love by QOTSA

-

Cal Kestis

“How much longer is this going to take?”

“Just another moment, Master Kestis.” The medical droid replied as it finished taping up Cal’s broken ribs. 

Cal was in a hurry, you could hear it in his voice and see it on his stress-ridden face. He woke up on that table, he guessed it’d been about 12 hours since you’d left him in that field of grass. A lot could happen in 12 hours.

The second that droid finished, Cal was on his feet and briefing the squadron. They rarely saw him like this. For the most part, he was playfully arrogant, his missions were always successful and he didn’t need much help from the troopers. Today, he was stern and to the point, only a flicker of excitement could be seen by those looking for it. 

“As you all know, this is not our usual manhunt. The target is one of ours, they are armed and force sensitive. The symptoms of withdrawal will render them unstable which will only feed into the effects of their conditioning, I don’t need to explain how vital it is that they be put back under supervision. Unfortunately for all of you, I will not be- ”

“Sir, s-sorry to interrupt...” Panted a very worn out officer. The officer clutched a datapad tightly to his chest and blinked rapidly as he tried to collect himself in front of his superior. “...we’ve gotten word that the target is on a nearby moon in the mid-rim but they’re on the move, sir. Intel says they’re scouting out a ship.” 

“A ship? They can fly?” Cal grit his teeth, his eyebrows drawn together in clear frustration. 

You’d think that was something worth mentioning. Cal was relying on your helplessness to get this job done faster.

“I-ntel d-doesn’t suggest they were looking for a p-pilot.” The man winced as Cal towered over him.  

With a deep breath, Cal stepped away from the officer and turned to the troopers. They stood stock-still, afraid that the simplest movement would finally set him off. 

“I want them on this ship alive by the end of the rotation, don’t disappoint me.” 

-Reader

Your teeth ground together as you gave one last tug on the robe that lay beneath the unconscious man. Your first choice was to buy one but that just wasn’t an option. This patron was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The uniform of the inquisition was drawing too much attention in the outskirts of the city you’ve found yourself in. Your eyes stared back at you in the mirror while you gave yourself one last pep talk. 

Once you left the refresher of this cantina it would be a few miles to the heart of the city. You needed to find a shipyard, any shipyard. Living on Bracca taught you the inner workings of a variety of ships, it was just time to put the theory into practice.

Eyes seemed to follow you as you left the refresher but it felt like that ever since you’d gotten off of Trilla’s ship. She was gracious enough to drop you here after you held the point of your saber close enough to your throat. A symphony of pleas from ‘Let me help you’ to ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into’ fell from her lips. Every one of them made the itch to do something a bit more drastic to grow stronger. 

There was something about you that was different, you couldn’t quite grasp it but your thoughts seemed to get away from you. It felt primal like you were being controlled more by instincts than morals. As you walked down the rainy dirt path, the question of what changed had already left. Too focused on the task at hand, you decided it was a problem for another time. 

So focused, in fact, that you didn’t notice the surveillance droid that was following close behind you. 

- 

Your boots splashed into the puddles on the concrete. The populous streets were providing much-needed cover, the business filled the air with the sound of tapping shoes and mild chatter. The streets were lined with troopers, there wasn’t a corner left unguarded. It seemed excessive for a supposedly unsuspecting city.

Eyes remained fixed on the ground in front of you. As you reached the end of the street you caught a glimpse of a ship, then another and another. Jackpot. Within moments your feet had carried you just in front of the fence surrounding it. 

As your eyes flickered over the ships closest to the fence you caught onto how suspicious you must have looked. Immediately, you looked around and to your surprise the street was empty. Gone was the chatter that filled your ears, only the slight whistle of the wind moving through the skyscrapers.

Panic struck you, this isn’t right.

Your heartbeat quickened and you started away from the fence, a strong sense of urgency pulling you back. Somehow you knew something was waiting in that shipyard for you. Someone or many someones if Cal stuck to any kind of pattern.

You secured the hood over your head once more and tried to cross the street as casually as possible, not that it mattered if what you feared was true. The safety of a crowed street felt all too far away. As you neared a skyscraper on the corner of the street you froze in place. Was that...

Your head swung around, looking to confirm your suspicion. Troopers wore heavy armor that clacked together ever so slightly at the knee, it was a distinct sound if you knew what to listen for. But there wasn’t a soul in sight. 

The atmosphere was feeling oddly artificial without the others walking about. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand, your ears were buzzing all too loudly. It felt like the world was crashing into your chest without a single warning. Your hand reached for the saber on your belt and your feet took hesitant steps away from the corner of the building. 

Eyes fixed on the reflective glass that met the concrete floors, trying desperately to see beyond it. You were so certain that any moment a stormtrooper would emerge and blast you. 

In your moment of concentration you failed to notice the wall behind you. Your back hit the sturdy concrete sending a shock through your system. 

“Well, that was easy.” The deep, modulated voice spoke.

You frantically pushed away from the voice and tried to turn to face him. Cal moved too quickly for you, he threw you up and over his shoulder before you could even get a word out. 

“How did you even find me!” You grunted and fought against him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, not that you can see much from up here.” He chuckled sarcastically.

You stopped your useless struggle and played along for a moment, there had to be something..

“You know, if anyone should be mad, it’s me. You broke my ribs, and let that irritatingly little padawan go. I will say, I am proud of how..” 

You were paying almost no attention to his rambling. Instead, you were fumbling with the only other weapon on your person. A switchblade securely strapped to your waist, a little too secure. Your heart jumped with excitement when you felt the button snap open. 

You quickly sank the small blade into his calf. Cal groaned and his grip faltered enough for you to push off of him and to drop to the floor. Without wasting a second, you took off running down the road. A quick glance over your shoulder showed Cal knelt on the ground speaking into his comlink. His wrist held just below his chin while the other hand crudely ripped the knife from his skin. 

He won’t be down for long. 

You were surprised to see he stopped at all.

You couldn’t stop for a second, you had to keep going, but where? The shipyard was behind him and the shipyard was your way out. You didn’t have much time to think as you heard footsteps picking up behind you. Just as you reached an intersection at the end of the street, troopers pulled out in front of you. They formed a blockade around you on their speeders and fixed their blasters on you. At least thirteen laser scopes pointed directly at your heart. 

You whipped hoping to go back down the street only to find an Inquisitor standing in your way. 

“Their weapons are set to stun but it’ll still hurt. Of course, they won’t have to shoot you if you come quietly.” His tone was completely different. In place of the somewhat welcoming voice he had moments ago, he presented as the negotiator, calm and emotionless.

You stayed silent, your eyes looked passed him to the shipyard that was barely in sight. 

“Really? That’s how this is gonna be?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Watch the face, everyone, I quite like it the way it is.” 

The next few seconds seemed to move by painstakingly slow. Cal gave the signal for the men to open fire and stepped back with his hands crossed behind his back. Without conscious thought, your hands quickly found the crimson lightsaber at your waist. You wished you’d had more practice with this thing. The troopers fire relentlessly and you weren’t able to keep up.

A stun got past your defenses then another, and another. Your ears rang loudly and the world spun around you as your back hit the floor. The firing ceased and the world around you grew quiet. Black leather boots took quick strides over to you and you felt a gloved hand cup the side of your face. Gently, you were made to look at Cal who had at some point removed the helmet. His eyes examined your face, turning it from side to side with a smirk. Even in your dazed state you couldn’t help but think he still had the face of an angel. 

“Mm, not a scratch. Great work, everyone.” 

Some angel.

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Shenanigans

More Obi-Wan x Padawan!Reader !!! Because @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol has enabled me and I am now overflowing with ideas (literally, its ridiculous XD)

So! Without further ado, this is during the war, towards the beginning so I picture reader being 12-13ish? Due to the newness of the war, she is very excited about the idea of battle scars and battle trophies (As young children are)

Tags if y’all want them? @princessxkenobi @sunshinepascal @rentskenobi @obaby-wan @maybege

Masterlist

You were running. Well not running per se but you were definitely not walking. Master Kenobi was somewhere around here but you’d be darned if you let him make you bathe.

Ok so maybe it was a little juvenile.

But it was your first battle trophy! Certainly none of the clones blamed you, they kept the scuffs on their armor, why were you any different?

Maybe because you were covered in oil, not scuff marks but. Semantics.

You round a corner just catching sight of the brown robe as it whisks away and you lunge backward.

“No General, I’ve certainly never seen Commander Cody teaching the Commander any moves like that, have you Boil?” You can hear the voice of one of your favorite troopers, Waxer, (who always brings you candy) who is no doubt being grilled by your Master. You’re hoping his lie is about to get a lot more convincing because you can feel the suspicion of your Master from here.

“You’ve never seen him teaching her to kick droids?”

Ah. This must be the tail end of conversation then if he’s getting directly to the point. Drat. Maybe there’s enough time to go the other way, maybe you can still get to the air duct if you go around, it’ll take longer though.

“…Well I don’t know about Waxer Sir” Boil cuts in, “but I haven’t seen anything like that, why? Did you, see? The Commander, kicking droids? I certainly didn’t, did you? Waxer? I feel like we would have seen—”

You take advantage of the terrible attempt at a lie and make to sprint across the open hallway, all you have to do is make it two more steps---

The shout of your name from your Master almost makes you stop but not nearly enough for him to take off after you before you sprint away.

You turn another corner in an effort to lose him but apparently too late as he wraps you up and makes to carry you away.

“NO! NO I WILL NOT I EARNED THIS!! ITS MINE AND I LIKE IT!!”

You’re proud that though your shout echoes off the wall, none of the clones stare, if anything they hide smiles.

Benevolent as always, your Master responds in the calmest of tones. “We are due to report to the council.”

Oh.

“I think there’s still time you may be able to wash at least your face—”

“General!”

“CODY!” Comes your exhuberant yell. “Tell Master Kenobi I don’t need to wash! I did that move just like you taught me and it---- Um.”

Cody now looks incredibly pained.

Your Master sighs. Well, might as well plunge on.

“I did it just like you said, nailed him right in the circuits! I caught the edge of his oil line with my saber though, even though you told me to be careful, I forgot just like you said I shouldn’t, and yeah!” You gesture to your clothes the best you can from you place under your Masters’ arm. “Now I’m just like you!”

You think Cody’s eyes might soften as they flick up to meet your Master’s, but if they do it’s nearly gone by the time they make it back to you.

“I wouldn’t report to the council without a compulsory wipe down at least Commander, its standard procedure.”

You huff. Surely an exception could be made.

“However General, the council has already called the bridge, I was a man short to fetch you so I came myself.”

Now it’s your Masters turn to huff (and you don’t smile gleefully, not at all).

“Very well then.”

He at least has the decency to set you down before you go in. Though you make the conscious effort not to fix your robes in any way. Art must be preserved, Master Nu always said so.

He greets Master Windu and Master Yoda and then both of their gazes settle on you. You straighten up proudly puffing out your chest to better showcase the stain.

“I see you have yet another Padawan who has a deep appreciation for mechanics, Master Kenobi?”

“Oh no Master Windu!” You cut in tactlessly “This is from a battle droid! I killed it with my bare hands! Erm, well, feet, but they weren’t bare, but my hands aren’t either because of my vambraces I guess and—”

Your Master places both hands on your shoulders and gently moves you to lean against his front. “My Padawan did an excellent job displacing the Sepratists today. The Republic is lucky to have her.”

You turn to look up at him, nearly shocked by the praise and his eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments before he winks and returns his attention to the briefing that Commander Cody has already begun to give. If he squeezes your shoulders and sends a warm ‘as am I’ through your bond, neither one of you mention it. Cody winks at you too, later, when everyone’s discussing silly things like supply lines and cargo, unless the cargo is rations, then its interesting.

The call ends (finally) and the troops have their orders, Master Kenobi keeping a firm hold on your shoulders as you move to leave.

“You will not, sleep like that Young One, I insist you at least change your robes.”

You’re about to respond, turn to him indignantly but he speaks again before you can.

“After all, we can’t frame them if you’re still wearing them.”

You stop short as his hands fall from your shoulders, frame them?

“Master?”

Cody pauses at the door frame and your Master pauses beside him before turning back to you.

“Well, it’s against Republic law to put a living individual on display as a trophy, you’d have to change.”

“Battle trophies are against the rules of the GAR, General” You think Cody meant it to be a statement but it sounds an awful lot like a question, like he’s not really sure that is the rule.

“Well, perhaps so, but I certainly don’t know of anyone in our company doing anything like that, do you? Commander? Why? Have you, seen someone with--?”

Commander Cody cuts in, almost as if he and your Master are having a whole other conversation at the same time that you don’t know about. “No General, I’ve never seen anything like that. Not in all my time as a trooper. Certainly not since I started working with the Jetii.” You think there’s a funny look in Commander Cody’s eyes, like he has a joke with your master.

General Kenobi nods, “Well everything seems to be in order then, I believe we are due for meditation my young Padawan, Commander Cody, would you like to join us for tea?”

Cody does, like he has every night you’ve been on the negotiator for the last month. Even if you’ve only known him three months he seems to fit in well. You like him. And Master Kenobi does too.

Which you don’t plan to do anything about. Thank you very much for asking.

Other than just, nudge, maybe.