#cloneshipping fic

[loverboy-havocboy]

*slams fist on ur blog* 11 FOR CODEX

a kiss to the neck - cody/rex

full story (~1500 words) on ao3

Cody?

Codes.

Co-

“-dy, wake up. It's a nightmare.”

Cody's chest heaves violently as he breaks the surface of sleep, plunging upward into the waking world with a ragged gasp.

A nightmare, the voice tells him. He doesn't remember having a nightmare.

He can't tell where the voice is coming from - not in the darkened barracks, and certainly not in his disoriented state. This feels just like dive training. Like being submerged in the churning seas of Kamino until the only thought your brain can conjure, repeatedly and desperately, is how much your lungs burn; how much you need air and can't have it, because to breathe in is to die. Like finally getting your head above the waves only to be blinded by the rush of salt-thick water running from your curls into your eyes, then into your mouth.

But water is cold.

What he feels now - this is warm. This is- this is blood.

[wolveria]

Really side-eyeing the folks who write Bad Batch group sex x reader fics and are ADAMANT it's all plantonic brotherly love. Like not sure how you can maintain 5 brothers fucking one person and not have any balls touching, but okay then.

[elthadriel]

Five Times Cody Didn’t Score and One Time He Did

Author: @elthadriel Artist: @chocomars Beta: @trudemaethien

Created for @clonebang

Summary: Everyone needs a coping mechanism to deal with the horrifying reality of being a replaceable cog in the machinery of a galactic war. For Cody, it’s playing hopscotch with the line between professionalism and insubordination. For Rex, it’s an irredeemable obsession with space football. For their friends, it’s apparently playing peanut gallery to their relationship.

Snapshots of Cody and Rex’s relationship throughout the war and beyond overshadowed by Rex’s love of limmie and Cody’s inability to understand it.

Read on Ao3

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"I could stand to be convinced..."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Echo, Crosshair, Hunter Relationships: Echo/Crosshair, Crosshair/Hunter Word Count: ~13.8k Rating: E (18+) Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Echo declines to join the Batch on a night out, but Crosshair stays behind to try and convince him.

Art by the awesome @letshareapapou of the gorgeous Echo and Crosshair! Thank you so much for this gorgeous, sexy, sketchy pic and letting me post it with my fic, everyone go view letshareapapou's original post HERE and tell them how great they are! <3

“You not coming out?”

“You boys go on without me. I’ll… have a night to myself.”

Part of Echo yearned to take the Batch up on their invitation. Join them for a night of carousing to celebrate their mission successes on their too-infrequent planet-side leave.

Clone Force 99 worked hard, and played hard. As their Sergeant, Hunter expected a lot of them; their methods may be unorthodox, but they could be as regimented and efficient as the best clone troopers.

He also knew when to let his brothers cut loose and relax. Their hard-earned downtime was a chance to let off steam between the ever-revolving grind of different missions.

Wrecker was already half out the door, hanging back to hear Echo’s response only as a courtesy. “Suit yerself,” he said with a genial shrug, “but yer missin’ out!”

And Tech backed him up with his usual analytical approach. “Unstructured leisure time can provide much-needed opportunity for the squad so strengthen their social bonds.” It was a pointed critique, his brows creasing above his goggles as he spoke. “I regret that you have chosen not to join us.”

After his initial stand-offish manner as he grew accustomed to Echo’s presence with the squad, Tech had become quite particular about making overtures of friendship towards him. His disappointment was almost palpable, but Echo still shook his head.

“Another time, maybe,” he said, an evasion rather than a promise. He glanced at Hunter, offering a nod that he hoped was reassuring. “Don’t worry about me. Have fun out there.”

Hunter only grinned wolfishly, his smile bright with teeth against the dark ink of his tattoo. “I plan to,” was his answer, rough voice edged with excitement. Even the sergeant could only maintain the illusion of discipline for so long, a wilder side of him baying to be set free of his responsibilities for a night.

The first – and thus far only – time Echo had been out on shore leave with the Bad Batch, he had underestimated how hard the defective clone squad would party. They rivalled even him and Fives in their ARC days with the 501st, and Echo had been left sitting awkwardly in the bar sipping his drink whilst each of the others busied themselves with the company they had picked up for the night.

The boys weren’t choosy about their partners, and they didn’t mind sharing. Echo had baulked when he had been offered a pass at a smiling if willing girl, just as inebriated as the Batch was, and fled back to the Marauder.

It’s not that he wouldn’t. In his ARC days, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Hells, he and Fives had shared more than one menage-a-trois, sometimes more even than that.

But that was before he had been half-made of metal; before people had looked at him like something to be pitied.

He didn’t want to be anyone’s pity-fuck. Especially not next to the Batch, each of them supremely confident in their deviancy, at home with the mutations that made them so different from their brothers.

He didn’t have that confidence. Not any more. Better to hang back and let the Clone Force 99 boys have their fun, without spoiling the evening for them or getting into a morose mood himself thinking of all the things he couldn’t have.

Echo glanced up from his thoughts to find Crosshair leaning in the doorway, arms folded as he fixed him with one of his particularly penetrating stares. Echo shifted uncomfortably, quickly dropping his eyes from Crosshair’s intense gaze to instead watch the movement of the toothpick around his mouth, the tense shift of his shoulders, then down to the floor.

“You, uh, need anything?” he asked gruffly, reaching into his locker to retrieve his maintenance kit – anything to avoid the heat of Crosshair’s attention. He set the case on the side and quickly flipped it open, retrieving one of the small tools and flipping it idly in his left hand. “Because if not, I was going to use this time to… y’know…”

He indicated his prostheses with the tool. Risked a glance at Crosshair.

The sniper’s expression remained impassive; he would pass for disinterested, if Echo didn’t recognise the gleam in his eyes as he tracked every move Echo made.

“Why aren’t you coming out with us, reg?”

The question may have been spoken in Crosshair’s usual acerbic drawl, but there was an undercurrent to his tone, something that made Echo straighten with a lick of annoyance.

“You don’t have to stay behind to check on me,” he said defiantly. “Or do you not trust me alone on your ship?”

His relationship with the prickly sniper of Clone Force 99 was the most unpredictable of the group, Crosshair’s mercurial moods swinging between benign tolerance and merciless antagonism in a heartbeat.

Echo knew he wasn’t special. Crosshair was like that with all of them. It still stung, though, when he turned his harsh brand of criticism on the newly rescued ARC trooper.

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Oh, he was in one of those moods. Take-no-prisoners Crosshair wouldn’t let up needling his brothers until his chosen target exploded, and yes, the detonation sometimes seemed cathartic, but Echo had hoped he would never find himself on the receiving end of the experience.

He waved the multi-tool, a clear indication of his intent, accompanied by an exaggerated eye-roll. “Why don’t you head out after the others, enjoy your night?”

And leave me in peace, added a small internal voice, whilst an even smaller, more honest part of him said, to wallow in miserable solitude.

With leonine grace Crosshair pushed up from the doorframe, stalking across the small space of the Marauder to cast a disparaging glance into the maintenance kit.

“I happen to know that you tuned your prosthetics three days ago,” he said, dropping one hand to trail along the bits of wire and bolts in the kit, before confidently plucking the multi-tool from Echo’s hand. The cyborg clone made a noise of protest but Crosshair ignored him, inspecting the tool before placing it carefully back into the kit. “The only reason it would be necessary to do so again was if they had taken a hit in combat. Which they haven’t.”

“What do you want, Crosshair?” challenged Echo, letting a hint of impatience creep into his tone.

Crosshair only huffed a laugh, that familiar sardonic grin spreading across his face that Echo sometimes wished he could wipe off with a well-aimed left hook.

“You were keen enough to come carousing with us last time we were on shore leave.” Now instead of focusing on him, Crosshair’s gaze slid away from Echo, roving about the Marauder as though the target of his conversation was merely an afterthought. “Right up to the point when things got… intimate.”

Despite himself, Echo felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t deign to respond, instead retrieving the confiscated multi-tool and bringing his scomp arm around to inspect the elbow joint.

“You not gonna react to that, reg?”

Echo sniffed. “Nothing to react to. You’re being juvenile. Go out with your brothers.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Dark brown eyes glinting in the low light of the Marauder, Crosshair turned back to face Echo, settling against the opposite bunk. “What if I’m right where I want to be?”

“Here bothering me?” scoffed Echo.

The noise Crosshair hummed sounded like an affirmative, and now he sank down to sit on the edge of the bunk, sharp chin resting in his palm.

Echo flicked his gaze to him and then away. He missed the screw he was aiming for on the first try; his hand was trembling, just a little, acutely aware of Crosshair’s proximity and the burning weight of his attention. He engaged the tool on the second attempt, and took a steadying breath as he tightened and tested the joint.

“You know, it’s usually Tech who makes me feel like a specimen on show when I’m adjusting my scomp link.”

“You’re a technological marvel,” drawled Crosshair, but when Echo flinched at the words he pulled up short, straightening and blinking.

“Yeah,” said Echo, the word choked past sudden tightness in his throat. “A marvel.”

Silence hung between them, palpable and discomfiting. Keeping his gaze deliberately downcast, Echo counted his breath slowly in and out, working to get the stab of self-loathing back under control.

When he was confident that he had mastered his voice, he finally glanced up at Crosshair and asked with calculated nonchalance, “You still here?”

Crosshair hadn’t moved from his position, alert and watchful as he met Echo’s gaze with an inscrutable look. The toothpick danced on his lips as he opened his mouth, as if to speak, then shut it again with a frown.

Then all of a sudden he was moving, a rush of fabric as he lifted his upper blacks, baring the narrow musculature of his chest.

“Cross, what-?” Echo began to ask, trailing off in confusion as the sniper turned his back to him and hunched over, the position stretching the knobs of his spine against his skin.

“See that?” Echo could hear him clenching his teeth around the toothpick as he spoke. “They surgically altered me, too.”

Hesitating a moment, Echo laid town the small tool and instead reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips along the thin vertical scars that flanked Crosshair’s spine. The sniper flinched, an instinctive hiss of displeasure escaping him, then stilled to let Echo track the surgical scars down the pale expanse of his back.

“I thought you and your brothers were made by enhancing your genetics,” said Echo softly, careful to modulate his tone into something that wasn’t a question, but rather an invitation to continue.

Tension radiated through Crosshair’s frame as he dropped his head between his shoulders.

“It wasn’t enough.” Echo didn’t miss the shift as Crosshair’s arms tightened around himself, fingers clawing into the fabric of the blacks he held up to expose his spine. “So… I know.” His voice twisted bitterly as he spoke. “I know what it’s like to have someone look at you like you’re a specimen. To only see how you were altered.”

Echo lifted his fingers from where they lingered against Crosshair’s skin, tucking them against his own chest and rubbing the implants hidden under his blacks.

“At least yours aren’t so obvious,” he said.

He’d meant it as a jest, something to lessen the tension between them, but the words came out sour and jealous nonetheless. Crosshair glanced at him over his shoulder, eyes narrowed appraisingly.

“I didn’t say they were,” he countered, cool and disparaging. “I just said I understood.”

He pulled his blacks back into place, secreting away the scars once more. Come to think of it, Crosshair was the most intensely private out of the Batch when it came to changing and baring skin. Even Echo had fewer qualms about stripping off at the end of a long, grimy mission than Crosshair did.

Echo settled back, arm and scomp link folded across his chest, and Crosshair twisted to sit straight again and mirrored his position. Now the staring contest was a battle of wills, unspoken thoughts darting behind each of their stern countenances as they both silently dared the other to be the one to speak first.

“How else did they enhance you?” Echo asked in the end. The Batch knew all about the extent of his ‘enhancements’; the cybernetic alterations that had been made to his body when he had been a prisoner in the hands of the Techno Union, and later the upgrades the Kaminoans themselves had applied. But he didn’t know much about theirs, he realised.

“How do you think?” asked Crosshair bitterly. Echo stayed quiet in response to the rhetorical question, gaze roving over Crosshair’s face around the detail of his eyes.

He had always assumed that the fine breaks in the ink of the sniper’s namesake tattoo were shoddy penmanship. But then, he had never studied them closely enough to realise that his eyes were framed by an array of fine scars.

Imagining the Kaminoans cutting into Crosshair’s face was an unwelcome image which summoned a sympathetic itch to his implants.

“And the others?” he asked quietly.

“To a greater or lesser extent,” confirmed Crosshair. His expression was painted with something that Echo couldn’t quite identify. Then, abruptly, “So are you going to come out with us?”

Echo snorted a dry laugh. “You gonna tell me why you’re so insistent about it?”

Crosshair’s thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It will be fun,” he said. "We could get drunk, dance. Find a dark corner I can press you up against as I kiss you–"

He trailed off sharply, as though biting off a thought he hadn't meant to voice aloud. Echo did a double take nonetheless.

"What did you say?"

The sniper didn't repeat himself – just watched with narrowed eyes, half-way between challenge and something entirely unreadable, as he waited for Echo to process his words.

Echo shook his head slowly, meeting Crosshair's gaze with watchful caution.

"You've got to be joking," he said after a moment, looking for an out to defuse the tension.

Crosshair merely shrugged, pushing up languidly and stalking with deliberate grace to the door.

"Maybe. Maybe not," he said evasively, and the glance back over his shoulder might have been coy if not for the way his eyes sparked with interest. "Want to try it?"

Echo tried for a laugh, but his mouth twisted in a self-deprecating grimace. "You don't mean that."

"I don't say things I don't mean."

For a span of heartbeats they stared at each other in silence. Echo’s mind danced along a web of possibilities that kept leading back to a single point; Crosshair was making fun of him. This was a ruse.

He grasped at the ugly core of self-loathing in his gut and nursed it, milking it for the rejection he expected before it could come externally. “If you did, I’m sure it would only be because you’d been drinking,” he managed at last.

Crosshair huffed a snort through his nose, and the weight of his attention was an unbearable torture.

"The alcohol helps," he acknowledged, voice deceptively light.

Echo's laugh was bitter on the exhale. "Because you'd need to be drunk to sleep with me?"

The sniper ignored him, unfazed. "With handling the rejection,” he said, a carefully measured statement. “Or with us both pretending I didn't mean it when we have to face each other again the next morning."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Echo asked, "Have you been drinking now?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"Want me to prove it?"

Before Echo had time to react, Crosshair leaned over his bunk, one hand curled on the edge of the mattress, the other resting against the wall behind him. The position trapped Echo in the loose cage of his arms, but not as effectively as the intense look in the sniper's eyes.

Echo swayed back, unexpectedly stirred by the proximity. Crosshair’s face hovered inches from his, his mouth parted, just a little. Inhaling more deeply than he meant to, Echo’s lungs filled with the warmth of their shared breath as a whole-body shiver of anticipation tingled across his skin.

"Okay," he croaked, swallowing against a dry throat. "No alcohol. I believe you."

He leaned back as Crosshair closed into his space even further, desperately refuting the lick of excitement that coiled in his gut as he let himself be pressed down against the pillows.

As he retreated Crosshair followed, one knee coming up to rest on the edge of the bunk. Not a single part of their bodies touched, but Echo’s skin lit up electric as though the sniper was already on top of him. It felt like his mind might explode with the pressure of all the questions swirling through his thoughts.

There was a moment’s hesitation – deliberate, as Crosshair dropped his gaze from Echo’s eyes to his lips. Then he closed the last couple of inches to seal their mouths together.

The maelstrom of Echo’s doubts quietened the moment their lips met, and the only thing that mattered was the soft, sure, press of Crosshair's mouth against his. He angled into the kiss, willing, welcoming, and the sniper brought one hand up, carefully tracing his fingertips along the edge of Echo's cranial implants.

Crosshair broke the kiss and knelt back with a calm, slow blink.

"There," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in triumph, and there was a satisfied edge to his voice.

Part of Echo’s psyche sang with the desperate yearning to feel Crosshair’s unexpectedly gentle lips against his again, even as he reeled from the turn of events. He hadn’t considered that his fractious relationship with the sniper could take this turn, and now the thought of it consumed him.

But uncertainty reared up to dowse that small flicker of hope, the space between them enough to allow his doubts to come flooding back.

"How can you want me like this?” He didn’t mean for the question to ring so hollow with loathing, but he dropped his gaze from Crosshair’s and rubbed his scomp unconsciously against the metal plate that took the place of his sternum under his blacks.

Annoyance flitted across the sniper’s face, his dark eyebrows drawing together in a frown. Echo flushed, ready to stumble out an apology, before Crosshair’s expression smoothed. The intensity was back in his gaze, but this time it was tempered by a softness Echo hadn’t noticed before.

"Is it so hard to believe that I wanted to do that?" Crosshair’s voice was no more than a murmur, impossibly gentle.

Not moving from his position pressed into the pillows, Echo shook his head mutely.

For once Crosshair's smirk was affectionate rather than mocking. He picked at the edge of the blankets, letting his gaze rove back to the door of the Marauder.

"Changed your mind about coming out with us?"

"Maybe," said Echo, cursing the slight croak to his voice. He reached for the steely well of his ARC confidence, propping himself up on his elbows as he added, "Or... we could skip the drinking and dancing part? Go straight to the, uh... third suggestion?"

Crosshair’s attention returned to him sharply, and the expression which crossed his face could only be described as gleeful. He leaned in and captured Echo's lips once more in a less careful, more enthusiastic kiss.

"So you believe me now... that you are desirable?"

Echo swallowed the soft rasp of his words, his left hand coming up to tentatively run his thumb along the stubble of Crosshair's jaw, skim under the tattoo that circled his eye.

"No," he admitted, breaking the kiss with a soft ache of doubt. He pressed his forehead to Crosshair's, breathing in his proximity. "But I could stand to be convinced."

Enjoyed this so far? Want to find out why this fic has an E rating? Find the rest on AO3!

(More art from the fabulous @letshareapapou! <3 But you gotta read chapter 2 for this illustration to match the story ;) Original post Here)

[letshareapapou]

@hobbititties I deleted your ask on accident trying to post IM SORRY but it's a

TREAT~

I just loved your fic ;)

[sergeantgoggles]

Prompt: Allergies Ship: Jesse/Kix Rated: G .

Kix never sneezes just once. It’s always a series of sneezes, some loud and obnoxious, some cute and dainty, and adorable, if you ask Jesse. 

“Why do you sneeze so damn much?” He teases. 

Kix smirks, wiping his nose with a handkerchief as he replies, “I guess my allergies to your banthashit are acting up again.

Jesse gawks, “Rude!”

[cloneshipficquotes]

“Swiped something from the senators’ break room.” He wiggles the box, and Fox takes it, his curiosity overriding his annoyance at being interrupted. He’s careful with the silky red ribbon tied around it, the crisp white tissue paper inside.

Caf additives, the expensive kind. Flavours he loves – caramel, vanilla, hazelnut – and ones he’s never seen before. White chocolate raspberry… now that’s a thought. He’s a little bit tempted to just pour that directly into his mouth.

“Sooo,” Stone prompts, nudging a toe against his.

“Thank you,” Fox whispers as he looks up. He’s not good at saying what he wants out loud. What he has. What he’s so scared of losing, if anyone finds out. He’s not sure what he’s hiding. Just all of himself, really. Except in moments like this. “Stone, I’m… You’re… This…” He stops, helpless, with no words to describe what the gift means to him, never mind the man behind it.

— lizardwrites, from can you make it feel like home if i tell you you're mine

[adhd-coyote]

We've got a double update today! The last chapter of 'Cause I'm Not Giving Up, and the first chapter of part 5, So Don't You Give Up on Me

Chapter 21: Now We Are Free Chapter Rating: Gen Summary: The results of the vote. And the echoes across the galaxy. Content Warnings: Mentions of off-screen child death (Kamino), Mentions of off-screen medical trauma

The results came back. They’d won. They’d won.

So Don't You Give Up on Me Chapter 1: A Torrent of News Chapter Rating: Teen Chapter Summary: Torrent Company has been far away from the Galactic Core for a while. Their missions needing secrecy and silence, they've been on a comms black-out until now. Poor Rex. He needs a drink. Content Warnings: Mentions of Palpatine's Death, References to Anakin Skywalker's Temper, Rex Deciding to Apply 'A Certain Point of View' to the Situation

Rex dragged himself to the door and opened it, glaring. “What is-“ Fives shoved a datapad in his face. It was a news article. Republic Passes Sentient Rights Bill

[cacodaemonia]

Fic Self-Recs

Fic authors self rec! List your favorite five fics that you've written, then tag at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

(Yes, this was originally an ask game, but I know some folks, myself included, have closed asks due to spam, so I guess it's a tag game now 😂)

Thanks for the tag, @elismor! These kinds of things are always so tough, haha (also, it could be kind of cool if there was an art version, since most of these tag things are focused on fics...)

My Heart's Red Muscle - (E, for one smut scene) I think this is probably my best fic, and also one of the longest. Cyborg!Waxer has no memories of his life before he came online. Paired with ARF trooper Boil, who doesn't seem to know what to do with him, Waxer has no idea how to fit in among clones when he's so very different. As he makes connections with those around him, he and Boil try to figure out who he might have been—and more importantly, who he is now.

Kinktober 2022 - (E, obviously) Set in the giant Open Skies AU. Where's that Trojan Horse smut post... Yeah so the fic is basically this for Waxer/Boil 😂

We Could Breathe Underwater - (T) What if shiny Waxer and Boil were both a bit Force-sensitive, and—oopsie, created a Force bond?

Interference - (T) Set in the RCAU/Open Skies AU, but it can be read as a standalone. It follows some OCs and canon characters as they figure out what Krell is up to on Umbara. The problem is that Torrent Company and Waxer's platoon are already on a collision course...

Fading Light and Cooling Space - (T, but heed the tags on this one) After Boil suffers through the horrifying events on Umbara, something nudges him to steal a strange necklace from Krell's body that teleports him to an even stranger place (and time?).

The last two fics are a bit older, so I'm sure they have a lot of room for technical improvement, but I still like them overall.

No-pressure tags: @lizardberries @theproblemwithstardust @come-chaos @valkeakuulas @whiskygoldwings

@marbled-polecat @petrifiedforests

[insertmeaningfulusername]

Fanfic writer interview

Thank you for the tag @sinvulkt 💙

What fandoms do you write in?

Literally just various Star Wars media atm. The main focus for 2024 was the prequel era, mostly The Clone Wars and some Bad Batch.

How many words have you published in 2024?

172,387 according to my stats. I wrote more than that though, and I still plan on posting and backdating approximately 5 one-shots I wrote in 2024 but never got around to post.

What are your top three fics you’ve written this year?

I despise/love them all equally I guess if I had to choose, I'm still really happy with these three: Wanted, a gift for @omaano in which Dogma gets morning snuggles from Tup and Fives. Idk why this pairing is so rare, they're underrated!! The Meaning Is Ours, the first fic I ever wrote that's entirely original characters, for the 2024 Trans Clone Week. Both Hunter and Prey, my fic for the DinLuke mini bang in which Luke is a vampire and on the hunt for a certain Mandalorian. I just think it's hot sklfjadlksfj.

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

Oh boy... maybe writing the gift fic for the Star Wars Rare Pairs exchange. It just kept getting longer and longer!! Which, really, I should have probably expected, because among other ships my giftee requested Polybatch with a focus on Echo getting railed and I just couldn't resist, and of course all the Batch members wanted a turn. And the fic kept being a thorn in my eye even after it was posted because people would request another fic based on a flashback scene that's maybe one paragraph long, all without complimenting the 13k I'd already written 😭 like, you really expect me to write more fic for you when you can't even comment on the fic that's already there??? Idk what to tell you but fanfiction writers aren't content machines where you can just press a button that says "Next story, please!"

What have you learned?

That people will love the fics you think are hot garbage and entirely pass by the stories you put a lot of thought and energy into. It's an old lesson but one I have to keep re-learning.

Did you beta any fics? Any faves you want to shout out?

I betaed or cheerread two or three things but I don't know if they've even been posted...

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

I have to admit that I don't read a lot of fanfiction, but these three I've found in my bookmarks: Ready Room by countessofbiscuit, in which Fi and Corr make out - ultra rare pair content from the Republic Commando novels and so sweet and silly (like Fi) and just a tiny bit bittersweet! Nine-Seven by Trudemaethien, with some platonic Sev & Niner. It's just so refreshing to see aroace headcanons finally arriving in fandom. Save an AT-RT (Ride an ARF Trooper) by BilbosMom, WaxerBoil, containing both smut and humor - my favourite combination!!

What ideas are percolating for next year?

Nothing concrete so far. Maybe finish some of the WIPs in my pile, try to write more than one fic for the Codywan First Kiss Bingo so I'll at least get a bingo, and try to write something for the @cloneshiprarepair monthly ships (go check out this event btw, there are some crunchy ships getting served up!). Probably try to sign up for fewer exchanges because I can feel my interest in Star Wars slipping.

No pressure tagging @lesbiankiliel @wolveria @loverboy-havocboy @violentcheese @bilbosmom-belladonna @forloveofcodywan @anxiousotters @five-oh-thirst @the-starry-seas @hastalavistabyebye @theproblemwithstardust @violetjedisylveon @elimaryholmes @rooksunday @ladylucksrogue

[loverboy-havocboy]

@theproblemwithstardust haha it was based mostly on vibes, because i think the only way to get boil to talk about his feelings is by force. although, the first fic i ever wrote on my own was a trapped waxerboil love confession - albeit, with lower stakes.

change of plans on ao3, if you're interested.

and i can't be sure off the top of my head, but this feels like something @cacodaemonia has to have written at some point

[robininthelabyrinth]

quantum valebant - ao3

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars Pairing: Boost/Sinker/Wolffe For the @cloneshiprarepair 2025 challenge (February) Summary:

The second kiss they shared was a revelation. Fireworks, butterflies, joy – the whole shebang. The first one was, in comparison, something of a snoozer. It wasn’t until the fifth kiss that Boost started worrying.

[elthadriel]

Bly/Cody/Fox and uhhh. Impulsive kiss? Virginity? Cockwarming?

I went with cockwarming and them being the worst

Periodically Fox’s cock remembers he’s got Bly’s shoved up his ass and starts to harden. It was understandable at first, but after so many times it comes accompanied with frustration. Bly had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t intend to fuck Fox—and Bly is as stubborn as they come and impossible to sway on such matters—but Fox’s body remains disgracefully optimistic.

Fox doesn’t move, resists the urge to rock back into Bly’s cock, squeeze around him, or anything else that would reveal that his arousal has ticked up again.

Bly notices anyway, because for all the words he’d used to coax Fox into this position—it’ll be relaxing, Fox. We’ll just lay down for a bit, Fox, maybe just sleep—he was clearly anything but relaxed, watchful for any flicker of weakness from Fox.

Bly hushes him, kissing his shoulder and running a hand down his side. It’s almost soothing, but it’s also Bly. The gentleness is a precision strike against Fox, patronising and mocking. Fox’s cock throbs and pathetically pleads with him to respond to the insult by fucking himself on Bly properly, instead of just letting Bly fill him.

That would be letting Bly win.

Fox takes a slow breath and Bly laughs softly behind him, chest shaking against Fox’s back.

“Easy, Fox,” Bly whispers, breath tickling through the short hair on the back of Fox’s neck.

“Go fuck yourself,” Fox hisses, only realising he’s matched Bly’s low tone after it’s too late to correct.

“We can swap after if that’s what you want,” Bly says, and then yawns, nuzzling his face into Fox’s neck.

It’s not worth giving an answer to, so Fox doesn’t.

He’s warm despite the blanket kicked to the end of the bed, Bly a furnace at his back, his wandering hands leaving warm skin in their wake. Bly’s cock in him fuelling a different sort of heat in him.

He won’t think about it. The bed is soft even and the room is dark. They have a few hours yet. It would be nice to sleep. It would be beating Bly at his own game.

Fox’s cock admits defeat and slowly softens again.

It is nice—a solid body behind him, and the easy stretch of being held open around a cock.

It would probably be better if it was anyone but Bly. Thorn would be happy to repeat this. Thorn would just as happily fuck him properly, and he could sleep in the afterglow which would just less nonsense all around.

The door beeps, Cody stepping into Bly’s room like he owns the place.

Bly’s lightning fast, hands tightening on Fox before Fox can wrench himself off Bly’s cock and murder Cody before he even has time to close the door.

“Bly. Ten-ten,” Cody greets, the door sliding shut behind him.

“Did you invite him?” Fox snarls, and almost manages to twist right the way around and off Bly’s cock.

“No, I invited you,” Cody says, shrugging off the jacket of his greys and tossing it onto Bly’s desk, then to Bly adds, “You should have stuffed his mouth up instead.”

“You’re welcome to,” Bly says, petting Fox’s sides like he’s a spooked tooka and not a furious marshal commander.

“Come here and try it,” Fox warns. Like shit Cody is welcome to.

“Have you got something that’ll stop him from biting me?” Cody asks Bly, more of his clothes pulled off and left to spill out across the floor.

“Why would I? He never bites me,” Bly says.

Cody grunts, making the smart choice to not put his cock near Fox’s mouth.

Bly’s petting turns into more deliberate pushes, trying to encourage Fox to settle back down. An elbow backwards isn’t enough to put him off the idea.

The last of Cody’s clothes are abandoned across Bly’s room and naked he slides into the bed next to them. Fox’s traitorous cock is swelling up again hopefully, as if Cody will do anything but make this worse. It does mean he needs to decide between being flush against Bly, Cody, or telling them both to rot and leaving.

He won’t let Cody chase him out.

He goes back down to the mattress, shuffling away from Cody and into Bly. Cody doesn’t follow, letting Fox have his inches of space. Cody does something much worse; he kisses Fox with unforgivable tenderness. Fox bites him. It’s not hard enough to taste blood—pity—but Cody does jerk away, superior facade broken as he glares at Fox.

Bly pinches him. “Stop it, Fox.”

There’s no way to insist that Cody started it without sounding petulant and childish. Out of sight of Bly, Fox bares his teeth.

Cody huffs and doesn’t go back in for another kiss. He stretches out next to Fox and claims the space between them instead.

Cody isn’t hard, not even a little, and that takes all the indigent heat out of Fox.

Cody reaches over him to find Bly, their hands tangling. They don’t put their joined hands on Fox, but Cody’s arm is heavy over him, and they’re pressed up against him on both sides.

Fox softens against Cody’s leg, and Cody doesn’t try to antagonise him over it.

Fox’s thoughts come slower and slower, until they’re thick, heavy things that slip through cursory attempts to catch them. He could—if he wanted to—he could snatch them back with two hands, but it doesn’t seem necessary. Bly’s breathing into his neck, his cock buried deep in Fox but removed from any further demands of his body. Even if Fox’s cock twitches a little every time he drifts too close to dwelling on what this sort of position would usually mean, it lacks real desire.

Fox breathes and Cody’s mouth is almost against his, their foreheads together, their noses brushing. One of them lifts their jaw and they’re kissing again, and this time the sweetness untainted by whatever angle Cody had brought to the bed. Fox keeps his teeth to himself, sucking on Cody’s lip. Maybe if it wouldn't involve moving he would let Cody put his soft cock in his mouth. He could hold it there without sucking on it, just like Bly is filling him without fucking him.

They make do with lazy kisses.

“Told you, you’d like it,” Bly mumbles into his skin, seeking the last word.

Fox is too comfortable to do much about that. 

[five-oh-thirst]

In Your Head

Pairing: Fox/Thorn

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Tags & Warnings: 18+, character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.4k

Notes: So, this is a fic I wrote on my non-cloneshipping blog, and I repurposed it into a cloneship fic. All that I ask is that you please don't go looking for the original. I want to keep my two identities a secret. Thank you in advance 💙🫶💙

Read on AO3

Music Vibe:

Fox sat hunched over his desk and anxiously rapped his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He'd read the report five times now and each pass yielded the same results. His CC number was littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember any of it.

He looked up at the chronometer again and shook his head. Time had moved, but he hadn't. He'd been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report stated otherwise.

It wasn't just the strange lost time that concerned Fox either, or the fact that his CC number was in a report. That was normal. What bothered him about this report was the fact that it clearly stated in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone.

And no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn't remember it. He hadn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp put the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox rapped his stylus faster and tapped his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he?

The Coruscant Guard had stunned countless rowdy reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even 'bad' clones deserved to explain their actions, but those were few and far between.

It must've been a mistake–a typo. There had to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number was in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he had this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not have been a mistake.

The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company–one of Rex's men. Fox had sent a simple comm message to Rex offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worried him. It wasn't like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox dropped the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaked when he leaned back. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and brushed the damp curls out of his eyes. It must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation.

He didn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must've been a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he didn't get the best sleep. His caf was cold, so obviously time had passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dinged and Fox leaned forward to see what the notification was for. He sighed and tapped on the icon to open it, and his brows furrowed as he read the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident was now available and had been attached to the report.

Fox huffed. This should clear up everything. He tapped the icon to play the recording and watched intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'd have a stern talking to later on… but it wasn't.

Fox's breath hitched and his eyes widened. That wasn't some random corrie. That was him. That was his armor. He had the fleeting thought that someone had stolen his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realized he was still wearing it. He hadn't taken it off since he put it on that morning.

Panic rose in his gut and he continued to watch the recording. He flinched at the moment he pulled the trigger–a blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explained why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea before the incident, Fox don't! stabbed him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an already egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed was ARC-5555–Fives–one of Rex's best men.

Fox only remembered the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other–because of him.

Fox had seen and read enough. It was him, he knew that much, but he still didn't remember being there. He didn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It was like he was sleepwalking, even though not a single clone out of millions had ever been noted to do so on record.

He found it even more odd that he was on-scene for the shooting and then left. It wasn't like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even write this report. If he didn't, then who did?

Fox yelled in frustration and kicked the leg of his desk. Why couldn't he remember? How could he have forgotten he shot and killed a brother? How could he have forgotten Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he have forgotten leaving his office or coming back?

Fox felt sick. Not only had he killed a brother, but he also killed one of Rex's–a beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox didn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he did.

Fox pulled a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserted one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicked and he pulled it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clinked together as he searched for a specific one.

Finding it, he pulled it out of the drawer and placed it on his desk. He leaned down to grab a glass, hesitated, then closed the drawer without taking it. He twisted the cap off the bottle, grabbed the neck, and tilted the opening to his lips. It was time to forget even more.

"Fox?" Thorn whispered as he peered into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groaned in response. His torso rested on top of his desk and the side of his face lay on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighed and shook his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox said, his words slurred and his body twitched.

Thorn ignored Fox's inebriated order and pulled up a chair to sit opposite the desk. "Talk to me."

"Nothin'... to talk about."

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn said. He grabbed the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and set it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picked his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggled to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he spat, then laid his head back down on the desk so the room would stop spinning.

Thorn tapped his fingers against the desk surface next to Fox's head to get his attention and Fox flinched at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groaned, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox said as he slowly picked his head back up to look at his stupid boyfriend. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirked. "Part of my charm."

"Kark… ing… banthas… have more charm." Fox's head swayed as he tried to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolled his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asked. He reached for the bottle and Thorn leaned over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn said flatly.

Fox huffed. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn said with a shrug. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reached for the bottle again and Thorn moved it again. "I'm… not effective."

Thorn raised an eyebrow, stifling a chuckle. "Yeah, I can see that. You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox said, then reached for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asked, clearly annoyed at the silent game they were playing. He lifted the bottle out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirked through heavy-lidded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn placed the bottle back down onto the desk and pushed it towards Fox. Fox grabbed it, sat back in his chair, and shot the last burning drops down his throat, then slammed the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn said. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckled. "I don't know."

Thorn knitted his brow. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilted his head to the side and studied Fox for a moment. Even when drunk, Fox usually made some sense, but this particular time he was making zero sense. It wasn't that hard of a question, but his avoidance of answering it was making Thorn worry.

There was something Fox wasn't telling him and he needed to know what it was to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard wasn't going to get anyone anywhere fast. 

"Fox," Thorn prodded.

"Don't Fox me," Fox said. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn said. "Just tell me what happened."

Fox shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember shooting a vod?"

"Nope."

Thorn pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox said, his agitation grew at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounded his fists onto the desk, causing Thorn to flinch.

"Easy, cyare," Thorn soothed. He reached out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yelled. His body jerked weakly as he batted Thorn's hand away. "Is snot. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with Fox this drunk and worked up, so he decided to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he said before getting up from his chair. He looked down at Fox's dilapidated state, shook his head, then turned to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox said.

Thorn turned around and scoffed. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabbed the empty bottle and threw it towards Thorn, but it hit the wall by the door instead and shattered into a million pieces. "Shabuir."

Thorn sighed. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turned back towards the door and left Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbled and laid his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He wasn't truly angry at Thorn, as annoying as he was. No. He was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he couldn't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain refused to put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where had his memory gone? Had it grown legs and walked away from him? Had it left him or did he leave it? Was that even possible?

Fox would stay lying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back was beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guessed. He needed to try and make it to his couch where he could stretch out and fall asleep.

At least while asleep, he wouldn't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then his beloved Thorn butted in and ruined it further.

Fox tried to peel himself off his desk, but his body was heavy. He managed to sit up, but then slumped back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groaned at the pain and rubbed the aching spot.

When he opened his eyes, the room was spinning, and it made him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckled to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hadn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox planted his hands squarely on his desk and rocked to push himself out of the chair. He tried once and couldn't get it. He tried twice and still couldn't get it. He tried thrice and finally, he was on his feet, although he used a little too much force and fell forward onto his desk. Maybe it was better if he crawled to the couch instead of walking there. He let the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he was sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leaned past the desk and turned his head to see where the couch was, but he leaned a little too far and slumped over onto the ground. He groaned. This was a terrible idea. He wished he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he had to make it on his own.

With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolled himself onto his stomach and crawled towards the couch. Usually, it was closer, but right now it felt klicks away. Maker, he was tired. Why did he put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why couldn't it come to him?

Someone should've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic was too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continued to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scooted closer. With one final push, he made it, but accidentally bumped his head against the leg. He cursed it again.

Now, it was just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he could finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial was causing him grief. Why was it so high up? Why was the floor so far down? Why wouldn't the room stop spinning?

He wished he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body was heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabbed one of the cushions, pulled himself up, and flopped onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolled off of his stomach and settled himself with his back against the back of the couch so he didn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, it didn't sound like such a bad idea.

He chuckled to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him if he left him like that. Only his boyfriend would find a way into the afterlife and kill him all over again for being such an idiot. Although, to Fox, it was a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if they tried to hide it from everyone, they were still a couple. Some days, when they fought, it didn't feel like it, but when push came to shove, there was no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together and falling in love, he figured.

Fox released a wide yawn that made his stomach churn, but he was happy that his body wanted to rest. With a few slow breaths, he let himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he would wake up and finally remember or if his memory would still be adrift.

Fox groaned as he stirred from his sleep. He slowly opened one eye and saw that it was still dark out, which meant either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He didn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle.

Even more surprising was the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also meant Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him–the idiot. He'd need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he saw him.

Fox carefully shifted to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounded from the hangover. He hadn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'd have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was.

Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looked around the room but frowned when he saw the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. He wouldn't buy another one of those anytime soon. Such a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoisted himself up off the couch and grabbed the arm to steady his shaky legs. He didn't feel woozy, but his body still felt heavy, like there were rocks in his head weighing him down.

He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, and then arched his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae made a popping sound and he groaned. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch sleeping was still not as nice as a bunk. He needed some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbled his way to the refresher connected to his office and was–once again–thankful for the amenities he had access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would've been embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself.

Thorn would've gotten a good laugh, though, the jerk. He would have said something stupid just to piss him off. But that was the game they chose to play because Fox had embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox stepped into the refresher without flipping the light switch on and twisted the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cupped the rushing water in his hands and splashed it onto his face. The cool water felt good on his hot skin and soothed his throbbing headache.

He splashed the water on his face a few more times and then used one last good splash to smooth over his unruly curls. He patted his face dry with the towel and stared at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection was… off.

Fox rubbed the towel across his face again, thinking he had some water stuck in his eyes that made his vision blurry, but the reflection still looked odd. He then used the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that didn't clear it either.

Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opened the mirror cabinet and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. He popped a few and swallowed them dry, wincing as he felt them go down his throat, and then closed the cabinet.

Hi Fox, a voice said.

Fox startled and stumbled back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" He turned his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he wasn't there. "Thorn?" he called, but there was no answer.

He peeked his head out of the refresher to see if there was anyone in his office, but it was still dark and empty. It was just him; he was alone. He'd never had a hangover that made him hear things before. At least not that he remembered. Fox's heart raced with adrenaline.

Fox, the voice said.

Fox flinched at the sound of his name and whipped his head around to try and find who was calling his name, but there was still no one there. "Thorn," Fox said with a warning tone. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you if–"

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice said.

Fox froze and his blood ran cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, yet he was still alone in the refresher. His instincts screamed at him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he was hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't have been hearing voices, or at least he didn't think he should've been hearing voices.

Fox closed his eyes took a couple deep breaths to calm himself and hoped that whatever it was would go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know, the voice said. Especially dead people.

Yup, he was crazy. He was one hundred percent certified crazy. Not only was he hearing voices, but he was hearing voices of the dead . What had he done while he was drunk and asleep? Conjured a demon? Summoned a spirit? Invited a deity to chat over some caf? The other option was that he was still plastered and hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sounded equally as insane, but did they make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox said. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the refresher door to leave, but it slid shut before he could exit. He stared at the closed door and took another deep breath, then released it slowly.

He slid his hands over his holsters, but the blasters were missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he never noticed. He mentally kicked himself for being so absentminded as to leave them on the couch, but in his defense, there weren't many who would attack him in his own office.

Fox ran his tongue across his teeth and puffed his chest out before turning around to face whatever was messing with him, but when he did, there was no one else in the refresher besides himself. He bit his lip and nodded his head.

It must've been a dream. He was living in a dream and he couldn't wake up. That had to be the answer. There was no other explanation. Once he woke up, he was going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this nuttiness wasn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting, the voice said impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox gritted his teeth and thought for a moment. If he answered the voice of the dead, was something bad going to happen to him? It wasn't like his life could get any worse. He was already a dog of the Republic, he'd shot and killed a brother, and he was probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There wasn't much else they could do to him.

Fox was startled at the sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… a clone he killed. Fox's heartbeat pounded ferociously in his ears.

He took a few steps towards the sink and peered into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came into the refresher that it didn't dawn on him to wonder what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right.

He stared at his reflection, and tilted his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studied the image, and then his eyes grew wide when he realized that the reflection hadn't followed the tilt of his head. He moved in closer.

Boo, the reflection said with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screamed and out of reflex, he punched the mirror, cracking it. He heaved in heavy breaths and pulled his fist out of the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighed and sidestepped into the part of the mirror that wasn't as broken. Really?

Fox was on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline took control of every muscle in his body. His reflection was talking to him. It was moving without him. But it wasn't even him. He could see that now.

Fox took a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor was white, like a shiny's, their head was shaven, and they had a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw dropped. It was him . It was the clone he'd shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asked, sounding bored.

"You're…" Fox tried to speak, but he still wasn't sure what he was actually seeing.

The name's Fives, the reflection said while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember since you killed me.

Fox was speechless and wide-eyed. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew who Fives was, but he still didn't remember shooting him. He never even met him, and the only images he had of him were in his ARC armor, not whatever he was wearing now.

Fox thought back to the recording that was attached to the report and remembered seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He had found it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox said as he backed away from the mirror. " You're not real! You're dead!"

The reflection snorted. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yelled, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touched the hard durasteel wall and he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asked. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulled his knees to his chest, clasped his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving, the voice said. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox screamed. "Leave me alone!" His breathing became labored and he felt like he was going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox, the reflection chuckled, then pushed itself out of the mirror and folded its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next two rotations had Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror wasn't just a voice anymore. It was a full-body apparition that followed him around wherever he went. He couldn't even take a piss without that thing watching him.

He still wondered if it was the actual Fives or if it was just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he felt for killing the clone. He wanted to tell Thorn about it, but even he had limits on disbelief, and besides that, he was at some senate event so he hadn't seen him since he threw the bottle at him.

Hour after hour, the apparition asked Fox if he remembered killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still had the same answer–no. Maker, he wished it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it was just for a couple of minutes. He needed peace.

There was nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watched him from across the room with its cold, dark, dead eyes and smug expression. If this was the real Fives, then he didn't understand why Rex liked him so much. He was an annoying piece of work for sure.

However, the third rotation was strangely quiet. The apparition was nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox was taking the much-needed alone time to catch up on the reports he'd been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There was always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thought.

Fox looked up from his data-pad when he heard a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nodded. He was glad Thorn was back from the event, even if he didn't say it out loud.

Thorn walked into the office, placed the cup down in front of Fox, and sat leisurely on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabbed the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhaled its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorted. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name-calling."

Fox winced at the vague memory, then took a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"Your di'kut," Fox smirked.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asked as it appeared next to Fox.

Fox startled and accidentally dropped the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startled and jumped off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

Fox sighed. "Yeah. Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walked off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod, the apparition said as it watched Thorn with interest. Is he your cyare?

Fox chose to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know, the apparition continued. It hopped up onto the desk to sit in front of Fox, legs dangling over the edge. I had a cyare once–actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glared at the apparition and snarled. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckled. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reached out to touch Fox, but its hand went straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your cyare.

Fox continued to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition said. Thorn was more than just his boyfriend, but this was his issue to deal with, and he wasn't going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. 

Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation went a long way in his mind. He just needed Thorn to see it once, then he could feel safe again–feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asked with concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabbed the towel and patted himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn didn't look convinced, but he also didn't argue.

I'm not fine, the apparition said. I'm dead.

Fox wanted to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room made him wonder. He turned his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asked, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox said and tossed the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Never mind."

"Fox," Thorn said hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox, the apparition added. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue. Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaimed as he slammed his fists onto the desk. Thorn flinched and Fox bit his tongue and sighed. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still didn't look convinced, and he shook his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't, the apparition said. You shot me.

"Thanks," Fox said. His eye twitched. It was hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it was even harder when he had two people talking to him at once and only one of them was actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn said. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Fox's shoulder and squeezed. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too, the apparition said.

"I appreciate that," Fox said, trying to give him the best fake smile he could muster.

Thorn threw Fox another look of concern but turned and left his office all the same.

Fox immediately turned his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No, the apparition said. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox dropped his head onto his desk and yelled in frustration.

The apparition hopped off the desk and knelt so its face was on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispered. And I'll go away.

Fox clutched the side of his head with his hands. "I'm trying," he choked out. "But I can't remember."

It had been a week and Fox was on the verge of losing himself. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't do anything. The reports were piling up and questions were being asked. Thorn continued to pry, and he appreciated the thought, but he wished he'd just drop it.

Every time Thorn came into his office or snuggled into his arms in bed, the apparition stared at him like he was a piece of meat. Fox knew the apparition couldn't hurt Thorn, at least, that was what he'd been made to believe, but what if he was wrong? What if it could hurt Thorn?

He couldn't let it get Thorn. It could torment him all it wanted, it could even kill him if it wanted to, but he would not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn was too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hadn't killed any clones. He probably hadn't killed anyone.

There was no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It was Fox the apparition wanted. The clone's blood was on his hands, not Thorn's. Thorn had nothing to do with any of this and Fox would do anything to protect him. He would die for Thorn in a heartbeat.

Hi Fox, the apparition said while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox said with disdain from where he sat behind his desk.

The truth, the apparition said with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox said. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough, the apparition said as it pushed itself off the door frame and approached Fox's desk.

Fox stood up, his chair violently scraping across the floor. "I won't let you hurt Thorn."

What are you talking about? the apparition asked.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox yelled. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunted. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox clutched the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunted further. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!"

C'mon, Fox. The apparition walked closer. Just tell me.

Fox drew one of his blasters and pointed it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition said, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathed heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirked. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yelled, then fired a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watched as the apparition fell to its knees and clutched at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting–Thorn?

Fox panted as his senses began to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipated, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping the bleeding hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted his face as he looked at Fox.

No. This couldn't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he just shoot his lover? But it was the ghost! The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasped. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox had done hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widened, tears brimming at the surface, and his voice quivered. "Thorn?"

Thorn collapsed forward onto the floor and Fox rushed to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambled as he rolled Thorn over and applied pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yelled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears fell from Fox's eyes as he tried desperately to explain.

Thorn reached up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabbed it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn said weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand dropped as his body went limp and he breathed his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yelled, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, cyare." He pulled Thorn's lifeless body close to his chest and rocked him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appeared once again, crouched down in front of Fox, and looked apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shook its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looked at the apparition. He was still in shock.

Oh well, the apparition said with a smirk. A vod for a vod. At least you'll remember killing this one.

Tagging a few people who were interested: @brokenphoenix99

[sergeantgoggles]

Prompt: Cuddle Ship: Fox/Fives Rated: G .

Fox doesn’t cuddle, especially with overly cocky, bratty ARC Troopers with obnoxiously charming smiles. 

“They let you get away with this in the five hundred and first?” He sneers as his face is pressed into Fives’s bare chest, and he admits that maybe it’s kind of nice to feel this sort of intimate contact outside of needy, desperate sex. 

“And more,” Fives chuckles as he cards his fingers through the guard’s hair, slick with sweat from previous activities. 

“Disgusting,” Fox replies with a soft sigh, and decides maybe it’s not so bad to cuddle after all.