#he was taken to kamino for reconditioning and was sent to the kamino guard

[sulevinen]

canonically speaking dogma could still be alive

[advertingpizza]

my little corrie

throws coruscant guardsmen at you and runs away

this is for an au where waves gets reconditioned and sent to the coruscant guard after deserting from the 321st

lore, ref n randoms below cut

i haven't been able to draw in a while because i got a pretty stink concussion. please forgive any mistakes

LORE HERE

basic tldr is waves defects with sykobe instead of keeping him around with the 321st, but naturally gets caught because he is waves and also cannot exactly run away from a squad of commandos after getting shot in the back. taken to kamino, mentally reconditioned and all that good stuff before being reassigned to the coruscant guard with lion (middle clone, black hair) is his commander and timeless (left clone, piercings) is the cmo.

being one of the original corries, lion had been responsible for a lot of atrocities, from having to kill other clones to frame their deaths as separatist attacks to taking senators hostage and killing them based off orders from the top. he knows it's wrong but it's part of the war. he is used to watching his vode die at his hands and after a certain point, he just shrugs it off and moves on. he learns about waves after doing some post mission reading on clones to keep an eye on. seeing waves' file is enough to deeply confuse him (arc trooper from an extinct company that somehow survived everything from health struggles to sheer physical trauma while also having successfully defected and smuggled spice/people alongside a sjaell cult member. genuinely more of a "who the fuck" moment than anything). by the times waves is officially part of his precinct, lion has more questions than answers.

timeless did not start out in the guard, but was transferred as a stand in after an increase in hostility towards clones on coruscant. he is extremely mellow and honestly just wants to vibe (his superior officers have caught him getting stoned off his ass more than once but they let him get away with it cause he's too good at his job when he's chilling). the corries like it whenever he's manning the medbay because he smuggles in speakers to play music and will OCCASIONALY share what he smokes with a vod who can handle it. he probably collects chains and wears them because he likes feeling like a Normal Human :tm: rumor has it that he has snuck out more than once to go to a venue for artists he likes.

the three of them tolerate each other at first. waves barely has any memory and timeless is… himself… so they are very good at finding things that are against regulation to do. it really pisses lion off but he can't go without a medic and waves is too good at infiltrating smuggling rings to discard. together, they shall fite crim

[one-real-imonkey]

Decommissioning is different on Coruscant to the rest of the GAR.

Well, for one, it was stopped pretty quickly by the Jedi for the GAR and officially there is no decommissioning or reconditioning done on Kamino. That injured soldiers that go there ‘die’ of survivable wounds is always explained away. But officially the GAR has no decommissionings or reconditionings or reason to fear it, not that the Corries know.

But for the Guard, well, Palpatine and the Senators decided ships to Kamino were far too expensive, and too obvious.

It has its upsides and it’s downsides.

The upside is that for most requests for a Decom or a Recon, the Senators believe Fox is obedient enough that he’ll do it, that a clone couldn’t possibly be smart enough to think around their orders or disobey, and that gives Fox the opportunity to swap things around which means the majority of requests are never actually fulfilled and all that’s needed is the number and shift swap. Those Recons and Decoms are easy to avoid and he protects his little siblings as best he can, he’d rather the extra work than losing someone he loved.

The downside is that Palpatine makes sure his requests are fulfilled as well any requests that go to him directly. Those ones can’t be avoided.

And like he didn’t want to pay for the ships or be obvious, Palpatine had to find a simple way to deal with all the bodies without wasting money on the Corries. The budget cuts also mean any bodies that come from the Guard on patrols or in attacks or for any other reason need to be dealt with and while there are a lot of places on Coruscant bodies won’t be found, he needed someone specific and big enough. That there were two twin long since large air ventilation pipes going from one of the secret passageways in the Senate building and Corrie base that led down to a large and defunct sealed hall below, well, Palpatine was nothing if not pragmatic.

And a lot of things are easy to hide if there’s nobody looking.

The Corries called it the Pit, or the POR, Place of Rest. They hate how easily it became a part of their lives…

Almost worse are the recons. They’re not like the ones on Kamino, all clean labs and serums and shocks and pain. No, they’re ordered to a private room, locked in with Palpatine and the Red Guard, and they come out different. And it is different, notably so, in its results.

Clones reconditioned by the Kaminoans retain their skills but lose their personalities, lose every memory of before, they come back black and ready for orders. The Corries come back shaky, aware enough of who they were that they’re clawing for memories they can’t reach. They never lose everything, in fact they typically barely lose anything, only what Palpatine wants to take, what he didn’t want them to see or an aspect of their personality jus to see if he could or because it was that the Senator in question had taken issue with. He’d typically also add a little obedience in the process and anything else he wanted while their minds were cracked open and vulnerable, waiting to be sewn closed again. Other times he does strip away everything, but that never lasts more than a few weeks before their memories and personalities are back. A few horrible times he’s left their minds open, shields and mental barriers ripped to shreds, and watched them slowly pick up the pieces from afar.

The headaches take weeks to fade, the feeling that someone was clawing through your mind even longer. It makes them follow the Orders they’re given quickly and efficiently, but it’s more often than not the fear of losing yourself again and not knowing whether you’ll be able to fit the pieces back together next time that drives their speed and obedience, rather than because the Recon worked.

Those Recons only happen when the requests are sent to Palpatine directly, and Fox desperately fields the rest, even going as far as to try to intercept them before Palpatine can see them. He’s willing to take the punishment that will come if and when he’s caught.

Some things never come back, and all the Corries know they’re missing something, just like they know they can be turned on and off by numbered Orders, like they know Palpatine is doing something to stop them speaking out. Every Corrie knows something is wrong, rotten, evil, Sith, it’s just how life in the Guard goes.

And all they can do is survive.

[detroitbydark]

Part Seven

Character: Commander Fox x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+. Sexual intercourse. breeding kink. You’ve been warned.

Summary: He just can’t stop wanting more

A/N:  So, yeah. 6800+ words. Foxy Babies this is for you. This was supposed to be a simple Fuller chapter and well.... I lost control.... 

All parts can be found here on my Masterlist.

The fourth floor sparing room in the tower of the Coruscant Guard was the favorite place of many a Guardsman. Offering reprieve from the public eye and an avenue to release pent up frustration, it was rarely empty. 

The walls, a flat neutral beige devoid of character, helped the men concentrate (according to the Kaminoans) on their lessons, sparring, and the occasional (unsanctioned) fight.

Fox enjoyed his time there, one of his favorite places in the building. That being said, he’s unsure if he’s been in the position to study the ceiling so well before.

Rule reaches down and clasps his forearm, pulling Fox from his back into a sitting position. The younger Sargent folds to a cross legged position across from him, sweat catches along his temples as he grins like a fool. Fox can’t help but grin back at his kit. To say he was proud of what Rule and Wren were becoming was a gross understatement. The fact that Rule had now bested him two out of three rounds and he was still able to find amusement in it was testament to that.

“Getting slow, Commander”

Thire and Wren plop down near them. Thire takes a long pull of water from a bottle before using the excess to spray over his sweat soaked hair.

“Too many late nights”

Thire is his second in command, the one he trusts at his back no matter what the situation. He was serious, pragmatic, and observant. Also, a complete shit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren asks propping his knees up and laying on his back. Rule looks between his commanders and then to his batchmate. 

“Commander Fox has been missing from the  barracks more than he’s been there lately”

“Missing?” Wren is a damn good sargent but sometimes he’s as naive as a Padawan learner. Rule spells it out.

“The Commander is sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

For all the engrained training and military bearing he held, Wren can’t help the ‘O’ of surprise and the wide eyes he turns on Fox.

“Di’kut” Fox grumbles with only fondness coloring his voice. Rule smiles cheekily.

“Sir? Really” Wren seems genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, really?” Thire deadpans. Fox gives them a flat look.

Wren looks from his batchmate to Fox, “does this mean Mouse is available-“ he must notice the almost imperceptible stiffening of Fox’s spine because recognition shows. “Oh. Oh”

“Shut it, all of you” Fox grumbles. He and Mouse had discussed the need to keep things private. He wants to crow from the rooftops and he can’t. It was kriffing banthashit is what it was. 

It hadn’t been a topic he'd wanted to broach but like everything Mouse was looking out. He remembers the nervous look she’d given him, peering up from her spot, draped sleepily across his chest the night before. He remembers the soft way she’d asked what this was. 

Laughing at the question had not been the appropriate response. It has taken near pinning her to the bed after he’d barked one out to get her to listen. He’d need to be more careful in the future. 

They couldn’t put a name on what they were doing but it didn’t stop Fox from wanting to. Maker, he had wanted too. He wanted to run headlong into whatever it was they’d fallen into. He’d never known a feeling like he did when he was with her.

Just a few nights spent curled around her and all he wanted was to spend the rest of his nights the same way but he had responsibility and a duty to the Grand Army.  He didn’t have the freedom to make choices or plans. One slip and he could risk being demoted, or worse, sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Mouse didn’t know about reconditioning and he wasn’t going to tell her. She was risking enough as it was, both her job and her career if it ever came to light what they’d begun.

As much as they’d given in to their desires there was a line they couldn’t cross. She understood that. She understood that he couldn’t give anything else. The soft kiss she’d given him had told him as much. 

But when the war was over, then- 

He was thinking too far ahead again. 

The only way for them to be safe was to keep it under wraps. He should have known though that his men were too observant for any sneaking he did to be of any good.

“Keep it under your buckets, would you?”

There’s nods of ascent and matching “yes sirs” from the two youngsters. Thire gives him a raised brow as if he’s going to argue but nods as well. “She’s a good kid. Deserves better then the likes of you.” He jokes. Fox laughs, pushing off the mat.

“You act like I don’t know it.” He reaches for Wren and helps the younger clone up, “ready for the next round?”

He manages to take Wren three in a row.

Thire catches him in the locker room as he’s attaching his kama. The two sergeants have gone their separate ways and the few stragglers milling about pay them little attention.

“You and Mouse? She worth the risk?” Thire asks quietly, his eyes searching Fox’s. 

Fox isn’t offended by the question. He’s asked himself the same one a half dozen times.

He woke early this morning, eyes open by 0445 as usual, and had to disentangle himself from the grasp of the small woman curled around him in nothing but his black undershirt. All that hair had worked itself into a convores nest of tangles. Her lips had been slightly parted as her brow knit together. She’d grumbled and reached when he’d pulled away and like that he’d learned that his cyar’ika was not a morning person. He finds he likes learning all the ins and outs of her. The fact that, given the option, she wouldn’t open her eyes before 1000 made him appreciate all the more the warm smile she had for him each morning when he’d get to the office.

“Definitely.” The single word answer seems to please Thire who nods once.

“Good, that means Hound owes me a weeks worth of traffic ops”

Because, of course, there had been a betting pool. 

——-

The offices are two levels up from the gym and training room, just seconds by turbo-lift. Thire’s office and his own secretarial droid are on the opposite end of the floor from Fox’s. It doesn’t stop him from walking side by side with Fox. He doesn’t respond to Fox’s grumblings. He’d been keen on seeing Mouse since he’d left her warm bed this morning and he didn’t feel like tempering his enthusiasm for an audience. Even if his second hadn’t given him an official blessing- because officially nothing was going on- he still wasn’t going to be anything other than professional with another set of eyes in the room. Which was a problem because when she looks up from her work when he rounds the corner he feels anything but professional.

“Good morning Commander Thire” 

Fox feels a little disgruntled that Mouse hadn’t said it to him first-

“Good morning Commander Fox” and he doesn’t miss the slight blush that creeps into her cheeks when she says his name or the way she shyly bites back a smile. She motions with her eyes to the mug of caf waiting for him. So maybe he puffs his chest out just a little bit. No one could fault him. Thire muffles a laugh behind a poor excuse for a cough.

“Mouse that’s a nice scarf you’ve got today” Thire notes. Mouse’s fingers go to her throat and the silken scarf tied in a neat knot to the side. She smiles and fiddles with it nervously.  

Fox knows he should probably feel guilty about the love bites littering her skin, instead he’s only slightly miffed no one else can see them. It was some of his finest work to date.

Her eyes dart away as she offers a quiet thank you. Thire can’t hide the chuckle that escapes his mouth as he slaps Fox on the back. “I’ll see you later and we’ll discuss the assignments for the rest of the week and through the weekend. It looks busy.”

Fox sighs, allowing work to put a damper on his good mood. Busy was an understatement. There were far too many senators needing a detail and too few men to do the job. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” He offers as encouragement.  Thire gives Mouse a wave as he retreats back to his side. 

“Commander? I have the Senate schedule for the week. Also, the Chancellor has personally requested your presence for his detail the beginning of next week” she glances down at the datapad resting across her arm. A small frown flits across her face as he heads towards his door. She’s on her feet following him. 

Fox smirks as she continues chatting, “he has two days in Senate hearings than off world for-“ the door slides shits behind them and he turns to see a sour expression on her face. It was almost as if…

“Are you pouting?” Fox cocks his bucket as she stares back up at him. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her lower lip sticks out just so. “You’re pouting.”

“I am not-“

“Says a precious girl trying to convince me she’s not pouting.” 

Mouse's eyes narrow at him as she pushes past him. He can’t help the smile that’s taking up space under his helmet. “Aww come on now, I was just teasing. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The Supreme Chancellor is going to be off world for at least a week.”

And suddenly he understands why she was sulking.

Getting assigned duty to the Guard made a clone the shebs of many a vod’s joke. Being called a desk jockey was the nicest thing a new recruit was bound to hear. They weren’t in a ‘war zone’. they got zero credit for the work they did and even less recognition that it held any importance. It seemed to Fox that unless you were blocking blaster bolts from Jedi with your body you weren’t going to get a pat on the back from anyone. 

The work they performed was just as integral to the protection of the Republic, just as vital as the boys on the front lines. They didn’t see it that way. It got to the point where the Guard had to deal with resentment not only from citizens -happy to act like war was a dirty word that happened to other people- who didn’t want a military presence in their city and their own brethren, who looked down on them as less than equal. 

The old adage that the only people that liked the Coruscant Guard were members of the Coruscant Guard was true as far as Fox was concerned. One of the few things a member of the Coruscant Guard had to look forward to was a fairly routine existence, about as close as a clone was going to get to normalcy, on Coruscant. Fox hadn’t been gone from the Triple Zero for more than four, maybe five days tops since reporting.

Now, just as he’s starting to suss out what he was doing with Mouse he’d need to be gone on assignment? He was unamused but his hands were tied. This was a clones lot. You went where you were told and did what you were ordered.

“It won’t be so bad” he lies, trying to make his voice just as convincing as possible. Mouse’s jaw is set in a hard line that indicates she does not believe him as she moves past him. “You know I have no choice in the matter.”

She stops at his desk and takes a deep breath. Fox takes in the way her shoulders dip. “I know you don’t.”

He feels like a used speeder salesman, like he convinced her anything with him was a good idea and now she’s beginning to see the shabla ride she signed up for. 

“Ok then” he murmurs moving slowly behind her. Fox wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest. 

She lets out a contented breath as she settles willingly against him. Maybe she still hadn’t figured out what a kriffing bad deal she’d signed up for just yet. He wasn’t about to point it out.

Turning in his arms she reaches up and pecks him on the helmet.

“No fair, cyar’ika. Couldn’t feel it through the bucket.” 

She laughs. He’s gotten spoiled with that laugh over the last couple days. 

“You’ve got work, Fox.” She says primly, “finish that and maybe you can get some more where you can feel them” the twinkle in her eye has him already half hard. He’s learned what that’s meant too. 

“You’re trying to bribe me.” He notes, smiling underneath the helmet.

“It’s not trying if it’s works.” She says slipping from his grasp and moving out of arms length. “Now, you sit and you do the work.”

Fox tosses her a lazy salute, “yes, ma’am”

“That’s more like it.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Fox likes the way she blushes before she turns to leave. He doesn’t miss the way her hips sway as she moves to the door or the way she peeks over her shoulder to make sure he’s watching. 

“Out.” He demands “or I’m not going to get anything done.”

He doesn’t miss her peel of  laughter as the door slips shut.

———

As with most days, timelines and schedules change on the fly. What once was a meeting with the Jedi council for tomorrow turns into one today. 

Fox and Commander Thire leave shortly after lunch and you don’t see either before it’s time to punch out. This was the way.

 You’d become accustomed to the rapid change early in your time with the Commander. Now that you and Fox were... well you didn’t know exactly what you were but now that your relationship with the clone commander had changed you’re still trying to figure out just what your expectations needed to be. 

Besides low. 

Of course, this wasn’t going to work out. You knew this. You were sure he knew it too, he just wasn’t saying it. Unfortunately you already found your head and your heart had reached a disconnect between wants and expectations. While your head told you to enjoy the physical attention of a very attractive, very competent man but keep your distance emotionally, your heart was trying it’s best to drag you all in.

His office door slides open as you punch in the code, taking a lap around to make sure everything was in place. Fox was typically fastidious in his cleanliness. Everything had a place and it was rarely ever out of sorts. The only thing you notice today is a stray datapad parked in the corner of the desk. The same one you’d put there this morning. The same one that only has signatures on half the things you need to file it all. 

Because Fox was a sly little shit.

You hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight. He’d made mention that some of the boys were onto the pair of you and he thought it was a good idea if he didn’t come to your place for a few days. You’d agreed wholeheartedly. Of course, you come to realize, he hadn’t meant he wasn’t going to see you at all. You just had to go to him. You can’t help but shake your head as you pick the pad up and leave the office. You slip it into your shoulder bag after putting your coat on and head toward the barracks. 

Located on the first two expansive subfloors, the Coruscant Guard’s barracks levels were expansive, housing the entirety of the clones who patrolled Coruscant and served the Senate. You smile nervously at faces you see, some familiar and some not so familiar. While it wasn’t uncommon to see a civilian face in the barracks apparently a female one, this late in the evening was. You try to keep your head down as you make your way to Fox’s stateroom, knocking lightly and trying to avoid the curious looks you're getting.

“Well hey, sweetheart. What are you doin’ down here?” You don’t recognize the clone and offer a nervous smile.

“She’s here to see me trooper.” Fox looms out of his door as it slides open. The trooper snaps to attention. “Is that an issue?”

“N-no Commander Fox”

You glance at the Commander in the doorway. Even dressed in just his blacks he cuts a striking figure. “Well? On your way then.” He orders, his voice offering no room for argument. The trooper snaps a quick salute and begins his journey down the hall at a quickened pace.

“You didn’t need to scare him” you fight back a smile as you enter his room and he closes the door behind you. “He was just being friendly.”

You're taken off guard as your back is pressed up against the door and Fox presses himself into you.

“Too friendly” he mutters, leaning in and slotting his mouth over yours. You lean up and wrap your arms around his neck as he licks into your mouth. He hums appreciatively as you press further into his chest, sucking gently on his tongue as it slips past your lips. You sigh as he pulls back, hands moving to cup your bottom. “Took you long enough to get here” he mumbles against the crown of your head. 

You swat uselessly at his chest as you squirm out of his arms. You roll your eyes as you fish the datapad from your bag and toss it to him. He catches it readily. “You’re rotten.” You mutter, “could have just asked me to come over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He doesn’t seem fazed by your skeptical look, “no fun at all because now you're going to finish your kriffing work.”

He barks out a laugh, “and what do I get if I do?”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” 

A sly grin crosses his face as he stalks toward you. The room isn’t large, a bed in the corner, an armchair next to a dresser and a desk scarcely large enough for a child to work let alone a grown man. You back up, giggling, until the back your legs hit his desk.

“What about kidnappers?” He looms over you, taking your chin in hand, “I don’t plan on letting you out of here anytime soon, Little Mouse.”

Warmth spreads through your belly at the low tone of his voice. You inhale sharply through your nose and he knows he’s got you. His hand slides down your neck working loose the scarf you’d worn all day. His thumb strokes over the dark, bruised marks he’s exposed. “Stay tonight.”

“Is that a question or a command?”

The smile he gives you is absolutely wicked and full of promise, “what do you want it to be?”

It’s hard to pull yourself together, he barely had to try and you found yourself falling under his sway.

 “Work then play.” You mumble softly. You wait for him to push because that’s what he loved to do, but he doesn’t.

“Work then play” he concedes as he takes the few steps to the armchair wedged into the corner of the small room. You watch him sink into the cushion, legs spread wide and inviting. He pats his lap, “come sit with me. Keep me company while I finish.” He sounds innocent enough but you know him to be anything but. Your arms cross over your chest. 

“If I had known you were going to hold me hostage, I would have brought a change of clothes.” The scarf is removed completely and dropped unceremoniously on his desk. Your faux indignation does little to dampen his mood.

“You could just take it all off” he leans forward grinning lasciviously before setting the datapad down and pulling his shirt over his head, “or you could wear this?” You catch the black shirt he tosses at you as he picks the datapad back up.

 Two steps toward the 'fresher and Fox is clearing his throat. You stop and look over at him. You don’t miss the way his tongue wets his lips or the hungry look in his eyes. “Right there, Mouse.” 

Your tummy flips at the order- because that was what it was. You’d heard that tone before, Fox used it with his men. Your teeth press into your lower lip. You’d been sleeping with him nearly every night for the last week but something about this is different. 

The buttons of your blouse come undone slowly underneath your nervous fingers. You can feel Fox’s eyes leaving a heated trail over your skin as you let the blouse slip to a rumpled pile on the floor. 

“Skirt next” he demands. His posture appears relaxed, maybe even lazy but you can see the play of his forearms as his hand grips the chair. You turn your back to him as you unzip your skirt next. It slips to the floor and, along with your shoes, is kicked off. 

The low rumble from behind you lets you know he appreciates the view. Straightening, you glance over your shoulder, trying to offer your most innocent look. If he wanted to be the boss you’d give him every opportunity, “what next?” you ask sweetly.

“Panties. But don’t turn around. I want to stare at your ass a little bit longer.” 

The admission sends a bolt of electricity to your center. Hooking your fingers in the waistband you slide the simple black underwear down over your hips.

“Nice and slow.” He encourages. 

Bending at the hips you make a show of sliding the fabric over your thighs and down your legs. You hear him move restlessly in his seat as you stand back up. The hooks of your bra are easy to unclasp and you let the straps slip down over your shoulders before slowly turning around. 

Fox’s eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide. “Take it off” he rasps. The garment falls to the floor. You should feel nervous, maybe embarrassed, but the look you see on Fox’s face is longing, reverent. You feel like a goddess and he’s worshipping you with his eyes. Your thighs squeeze together to relieve the tension that’s beginning to slowly sparking low in your belly. “Gorgeous girl. Now put the shirt on and come sit on my lap before I change my mind and we skip right to the fun portion of the evening.

You slowly pull the black fabric over your head. Fox is larger than you and it shows when his shirt is in place. The hem of it hangs down enough to cover all the places he’d been eyeing minutes before. Nearly all the points where the shirt fit snugly against the clone, it fits loose to you, except where it clings gently over the slope of your breasts and your taut nipples. 

Fox follows every movement you make as you walk to him. He holds a hand out for you to take as he guides you into his lap. His chest is bare and your eyes trace the light scarring you see across his left pec and the small scar - that you’d been told was a blaster burn- on his right flank. The scars stick out, pale against the deep tan of his skin. They were a roadmap across his body that you never seemed to have enough time to explore. 

Fox sits you on one thigh as your legs are draped over the opposite one. You tuck in to his bare chest as you breath the scent of him. He’s just as tense as you feel as you lay your head on his shoulder, your fingers begin a slow slide up over his skin, tracing the marks you found, like playing a game of connect-the-dots.. 

With a harsh breath of his own Fox picks up the datapad, “work first” it’s said to himself more than you. You watch as he opens up the to do list you’d made and scans it quickly before opening the first series of documents. 

“How was your day?” You ask softly. One hand smoothing flat against his chest while the other strokes over the short hairs at the base of his skull. He is nearly purring as he clicks through the work, signing his initials where needed. Work is intermittent as he pauses to let his eyes slip shut and enjoy your touch before he silently reminds himself what needs to be done and goes back to it.

“Long.” He murmurs, “the council meeting was useless. We need more boots on the ground here but we’re not going to get them. There’s a siege starting on Anaxes and they’re diverting the 501st that way in a few days.” He explains, head leaning back into your touch. You make a soft hum of understanding.

He wraps an arm around your waist to readjust you, the firm press of desire is easily felt through his blacks along your bottom. 

“I’m working Mouse. Stop wiggling” he chastises as you squirm against him. Inhaling deeply, you force your body to relax. It’s hard, knowing what Fox is capable of and being made to wait, you’ve gotten spoiled very quickly. This was a trial for the both of you.

He moves onto the next series of documents, related to the recent trafficking incident, “I just want to make sure I’m doing everything right. Not just for my men-“ 

Fox reaches up to his head, pressing the heel of his hand hard against it.

“Headache?” You frown softly. He makes a sound of confirmation.

“I finally looked at the Fives file again today.” He explains softly. You hum for him to continue, “I can’t- everytime I get into it my head starts hurting. It’s got to be stress. I think I missed something and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Let it rest for tonight?” 

He nods slowly.

“I’ll try. Maybe you can help me forget?” You highly doubt that but willingly accept the kiss he turns to give you. Unlike the heated one when you first come over this one is soft, tender. Like the one earlier, it’s over way too soon as he returns his attention to his work, “almost done”.

He scrolls through one interrogation than the next. Finally, he pauses at the picture of the children that had been rescued. You watch as his finger traces over a tiny Twil girl, 

“Adorable.” You note softly. With her pale green skin, gap toothed smile, and sparkling eyes she was absolutely captivatingly sweet. Fox tenses under you.

“You like children?” He seems surprised when you laugh and you're not sure if you should be offended or not.

“Of course I like children. They’re darling, what’s not to like?” Fox makes a small sound and rushes to the next screen. Silence falls between you and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong. 

He retreated into himself sometimes and, when he did, you were at a loss as to what he was thinking. The best thing to do was be patient. If you’ve discovered anything it was that pushing Fox accomplished nothing, he was too stubborn for it and you’d only frustrate yourself.

Your gentle touch not only soothes Fox but it begins to lull you, lazily you nuzzle against his neck, occasionally pressing dry kisses along it. The only indication that he notices is the slight tip in his head offering more for you to kiss. 

“Do you want children, Mouse?” Even given the previous idle chat you found yourself freezing. Fox lays the datapad off to the side and his strong hands begin massaging your thighs. The full strength of his gaze is focused on you.

“I- I hadn’t put much thought into it.” A bold lie if you’ve ever spoken one. 

You did want children, had thought about it since you were one yourself. Growing up in the children’s home you’d been the one to help look after the tiny infants and small children. You were the one that always woke up with a little one in your bed after they’d had a nightmare. You were the one they ran too when they had boo boos that needed tending and comfort to be given. As you’d come of age you’d had to put the idea out of your head. Taking care of yourself in the world had to come first because there was no one else to look out for you and that was ok. You got your apartment and held down  your jobs. You threw yourself into work and helping those around you. Relationships and motherhood became an afterthought and eventually, a pipe dream. Nice to think about but out of reach. “What about you?”

Fox’s hands knead the soft flesh of your thighs, teasing your legs slowly apart and sliding higher. “Officially or unofficially?”

“Both” it comes out in a breathless way that makes him smile. His touch is featherlight as he rubs tiny circles into your skin.

“Officially, my mission is to serve the Grand Army to the best of my capabilities, laying down my life if necessary. The GAR is my purpose and I have no need to want for anything else.” He sounds like he’s repeating a slogan that has been drilled into his head. You frown. it probably had been.

“Unofficially?” A conspiratorial smile cracks his serious facade and your heart flips at the spark you see in his eyes.

“Unofficially? I want a whole pack of them.” His fingers knead slowly, opening your legs for him. 

“Yeah?” You let out a breathless giggle as he turns his head and nuzzles his stubbled cheek against the column of your neck. Goosebumps spring to life over your arms. The thought of Fox with a baby in his arms and one clinging to his armored leg flashes in your head. It’s...attractive, to say the least. “How many?”

There’s a slight hesitation when he answers but he manages the response with a question of his own. “How many would you give me?”

“Fox…” he ignores your sigh. 

He couldn’t just say things like that. You want to chastise him for even thinking such forbidden things. For getting your hopes up for a future that didn’t exist but you can’t because now that you know about this desire of his, your tummy flips excitedly when you imagine-

“Shh, precious- you can tell me later” you can feel his grin against your throat and you want to grumble at his arrogance but the hand sliding up and over your belly beneath his shirt and the other moving to cover your breast feel too nice to interrupt. Through the material he gently plucks and plays with your nipple until your back arches delicately and your hips are grinding down against the growing hardness between his legs. His teeth sink gently into the spot behind your ear as you moan softly.

Hands fall back to your hips as he lifts you. You feel him bridging his hips off the chair and pushing his blacks down over his hips just far enough to let his cock spring free as he repositions you. Your legs fall to either side of his. Straddling him, you're now able to glance down at his cock between your legs, the head deep red and leaking precum. When you look back up there’s an uncharacteristic hesitation in his eyes.

He takes himself in hand as you rise on your knees. You're already soaked as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds collecting the lubrication. 

“All for me, precious girl?” He questions, voice low and harsh, “I’m spoiled- always so wet and ready for me.”

The head of his clock presses hot and heavy at your entrance. “Take it, cyar’ika” he urges lowly. There’s no denying him, why would you ever want to?  Slowly, painfully so, you begin to sink down over his length, inhaling sharply at the fullness that comes along with him.

“That’s it- that’s perfect. So fucking perfect” Fox groans as you take him all the way until your body is tucked neatly against his. The stretch of him was still something that you needed a minute to accommodate for. Fox leans in and kisses along your shoulder, still wearing his shirt, before he’s carefully rucking it up. His mouth descends to your breasts and he lays soft kisses in the cleft between them before letting his mouth slide over the soft curve and catching a rosy-peaked nipple in his mouth. Your head falls back and again, you feel like a goddess. He laps and sucks until you’re squirming and unable to hold still, the tiny electric shocks of pleasure become an uninterrupted current flowing through you. Then he’s switching to the other side and repeating the process until you feel like you’re going to come apart from his mouth alone. 

Your cunt flutters around him and Fox bucks up once, making a strangled sound in his throat, half-way between a cry and a snarl. 

“Imagine- imagine cyar’ika,” the words spill from his lips in a mad rush “that when I finally spill inside you, it’s with purpose...” 

There’s something different about his voice, less controlled than usual. It stirs something in you. Fox was always so put together, even during lovemaking he managed to exude the air of a disciplined soldier but that’s not what you're hearing now. There’s an edge of something raw and desperate to him. You don’t know what it is that he needs but you want to give it to him. You want to give him everything.

You had the implant, you remind yourself, there was no harm in indulging a fantasy.

“Tell me” you demand breathless. Slowly, your hips begin to circle, testing the position. That electric current arc and sparking in your belly ebbs and flows. You chase the spark, rising up to your knees you mewl softly at the drag of his cock inside you before sinking back down and sheathing him fully. Fox lets out a hiss.

“You want to hear?” There’s something broken and rough in his voice. You shouldn’t encourage this line of thought because nothing could come of it but it’s too enticing not to. 

A sharp thrust has you inhaling sharply. Fingers twist in the hair at the base of your skull, firm and unyielding. “You want to hear how I want to bury myself in you. Again. And. Again?” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips  “Coming inside you day after day until it takes and my child is growing inside you?”

You gasp out his name.

“Yes… wanna- wanna feel- wanna be a good girl for you and take it all” Fox buries his head into the crook of your neck and growls lowly. Strong arms wrap around your waist as you feel him rise from the chair. Instinctively your legs wrap around him as he takes the three short steps to his bed and presses your back into the mattress. The look on his face is wild and intense as he begins to thrust slow and deep into your willing body. It feels like heaven because it’s Fox and you-

“Always so good for me” he grits out as he sinks into you. “Can’t stop thinking about you. All day you're in my head. Want to Keep you safe. Protect you-” The words spill from Fox’s lips. “My precious girl. So good to me.”

“I need- more- harder please” you manage out, the achingly slow torture of what he was doing not enough, only making you desperate for what you knew he could give.

One hand is tangled in your hair and the other supports your lower back, angling you just the way he likes, “don’t want to hurt you.” He grits.

“You won’t-“ you feel desperate, the raw need he was radiating only managing to stoke your own.  You almost cry when he pulls from you completely, the cool air chilling your skin where his body had once warmed it. You sob uselessly. “Fox-“

“On your hands and knees, Little Mouse.”

You rush to comply. His hand smooths over your back as you get into position, fingers sliding down the base of your spine than over the round globes of your ass. He gives an affectionate squeeze. “Love your ass…” he mutters, voice thick with want. 

You wiggle your hips temptingly and Fox gives you a light slap that sends more sparks racing direct to your core. 

“Impatient.” There’s a fondness to his muttering you can’t ignore but you don’t have time to think about it because than he’s pushing into you and- oh Maker- you hadn’t tried this position with him yet and he’s going so deep, making you feel so full that you can barely breath. His hand smooths over your lower back, his thumb brushing across the pair of dimples on either side of your spine.

“Good girl-“ he grits, moving inside you. That feeling building inside you grows by the second. You focus on on the sensation, a ball of electricity crackling deep in your belly, ever expanding and engulfing as Fox continues to fuck into you. The hard snap of his hips, the rough thrust of his cock in stark contrast to the loving praise he doles out.

His name becomes a prayer on your lips, later you’ll wonder how loud you were? Could anyone hear you? In the moment, you can focus on nothing but the way your bodies connect to one another and the primal feel of him behind you.

“You're too far away, cyar’ika” Fox growls, frustration evident in his voice as he leans over you and wraps an arm around your waist. He bring you with him when he sits back up, your lower back arches obscenely so he can hold you and fuck you at the same time.

 Everything feels tight and tense. Too much and not enough. Your head falls back along his shoulder and he buries his face into your neck, growling against your ear.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to pull out.” You would laugh if you weren’t so precariously close to the edge. 

“No” you manage to get the word out as his free hand slips between your legs and begins quick circles over your clit.

“I’m going to come inside you unless you tell me to stop.” He sounds almost desperate, afraid that he can’t control himself. Your body pushes back in time with his thrusts.

“So close- so close- Fox, do it” you plead, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You're desperate and you need to feel him.

His strokes over your clit become erratic as words spill brokenly from his mouth. Praise and curses and feral sounds all twisting together. “Come” he demands finally, “be a- a good girl and come. I’m close- I’m-“

Fox’s hips stutter and you feel it, the way his cock jerks inside you, the warm flood of his seed filling and coating as he pulls you tight. You can feel the low rumble of his groan through your back, the way he bites down on your shoulder to hold the sound back.  The combination is enough to throw you over the edge and then you're falling apart too, keening high and long as lightning travels through your body, white-hot and fast. Your mind blanks out as you ride the sensations, feeling it more deeply, more intensely than any orgasm you’ve had before. It’s as if you’ve shattered into a million beautiful, glittering pieces and your slowly being pulled back together. A  tiny sob escapes your lips as Fox places wet open mouthed kisses across your shoulder, his cock still deep inside you twitching in time with your body. 

He strokes you softly, lovingly as his own movements inside you gentle. His voice is soft, soothing as your cunt continues to flutter around him, milking him for every last drop. A single tear rolls down your cheek. Fox wipes it away.

“Ner cyare… shhh… Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” 

You don’t speak Mando’a but the words sound pretty, particularly coming from his mouth. 

“That sounds nice” you rasp out, your throat is dry and you swallow spit trying to correct it. Fox tenses then hums in acknowledgement as his arms surround you. He eases his spent cock from your body. You feel like a rag doll, boneless and pliable and he’s careful to move your limbs into a more comfortable position, laying you on your side and pressing in behind you in the tiny bed.

“It’s very nice” he says with a sigh.

“What does it mean?”

He inhales softly the scent of your hair and gives your hip a playful, if not exhausted squeeze. “It means nosy little mice should learn more mando’a.”

You're pretty sure that’s not the case but you're too tired to argue, safe and warm in your lovers arms, sleep takes you without a fight.

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 30

CT-1304 had gone into battle once before, under the command of Jedi General Pong Krell. He had done everything his training demanded and had followed every rule in the hopes that, some day, he might get acknowledged by one of his superiors. They never had the chance. CT-1304 had been to battle once, and all of his supervising officers had died right in front of him. The number of troopers that survived that battle were all reassigned to different battalions, those with the most experience went to Generals like Kit Fisto or Ayla Sekura, but CT-1304 had not acquired any experience before that gruesome battle on a planet he couldn’t remember the name of. 

He had survived because he had been lucky, and the thought that he hadn’t been as worthy of living as many of his brothers who had died there, haunted him each and every one of his waking hours. He knew this because when no one offered him a place in another battalion, his superiors contacted the one they hoped would take him, the one who took every trooper no one else wanted: the 104th. 

The Wolf Pack they called themselves, a title one of their commanders had bestowed upon them. CT-1304 thought it was pretentious, but he kept his mouth shut. He had learned, under the care of his first Jedi General, that there was no room for sentiment on the battlefield. He had learned that protocol and rules were there to be followed, and failing to do so only got you sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Sentiment, and freedom of ideology and speech had no place in war. 

When he arrived on Coruscant to meet with his new battalion, he identified them immediately, the gray markings and canine imagery on white armour were hard to miss. The first thing that surprised him was that the Jedi Commander herself was there to welcome him, an honour he had not expected a lowly clone like himself to receive. Although Zabraks were an intimidating kind, there was nothing hostile in the way his Commander welcomed him. There was, in fact, a certain warmth to her as she showed him around and introduced him to the men. She even asked for his name, not his designation, and the face she made when he told her he didn’t have one was one of confusion and sadness. That look had stayed with him for a long time. Commander Foreas was young, but her friendliness did nothing to take away the aura of authority she carried with her. She held herself confidently, with her head held high and her body language relaxed, at ease. 

It did not take long for him to be given a name, one of his brothers, Art, had found him sketching away on his datapad while he was off duty. He was immediately baptized Sketcher. Now, with a new name, new brothers and new leadership he could let his guard down around, Sketcher went to battle once more. 

They had been tasked with occupying a planet, and their forces had been divided to cover as much terrain as they could. That was the first time he saw his Jedi Commander fight. Kriari Foreas had been a force to be reckoned with, tearing through enemy lines with ease and protecting the men, his brothers, at the expense of her own safety. She had almost died in an explosion trying to save one of his brothers. From that day, Sketcher decided he was no longer fighting for the Republic, he would be fighting for his Battalion, for his brothers, and yes, for his Jedi. It was a decision that he never could bring himself to regret. The Wolf Pack had embraced him, given him a name, a place to belong to and people to fight for. The 104th battalion never made him question his loyalties like General Krell had, they had never given him a reason to be afraid. 

Until now.

The wind made visibility hard as it picked up snow and ice and wiped the outside of his winter armour, and still he could see them both perfectly, facing each other and engulfing the area around them with a presence, a pressure that would suffocate him. Commander Foreas had abandoned her fighter the second she found out Wolffe had engaged the assassin. Now, she stood with her back to them, lightsaber drawn and stance wide. Sketcher knew then, she was just as dangerous as the woman in front of them, if not more. She was protecting them both, Sketcher knew, she was protecting him and his wounded Commander, who seemed on the very doors of death. The bald lady, Ventress The Commander had called her, would have split Wolffe’s head in half had he not dodged her strike on time. He hadn’t come out of the encounter unharmed. Now, he lay in his brother's arms, missing one eye and bleeding more than he should have been. And their Commander was there to protect what was left of them. 

Sketcher knew this, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was drowning in Kriari’s grief, her rage, her urge to kill, to maim, to avenge, but most of all, her urge to protect. Sketcher had never been afraid of a Jedi, until now. The woman in front of him was powerful, more than he could have ever imagined, more than her friendly demeanor and her warm countenance would ever let on. But now, as she struggled to keep her emotions in check, as the assassin in front of them boasted and teased and mocked her, she felt like the most terrifying thing the trooper had ever seen, had ever felt. 

The wind flapped and snapped her robes around her, and the snow in the wind created an eerie glow around her green blade. They were speaking, but Sketcher couldn’t hear them over the howl of the incoming storm. He tried to take his eyes off the warriors' face off, his brother needed first aid or he would die.

He forced himself to look down at what he knew would be a gruesome sight. The image he saw would haunt him forever. The helmet had melted under the heat of Ventress’ saber, fusing itself to his brother’s skin and making it impossible to remove without hurting him even further. The medic of their squad had been killed, and their comms were down in the face of the incoming snowstorm. He was Wolffe’s only hope for survival, and he would not let his brother die, not that day, not in his arms. 

Sketcher got to work immediately, taking the vibroblade Commander Foreas had given him when she arrived. Ventress had destroyed all of their weapons and had left them unarmed. “You need to get him out of here” his commander had told him when she threw the blade at his feet, “if you see me fall, don’t look back, Sketcher.” He had never seen his Commander look so grimm, so conflicted, but so determined. He understood she hadn’t been giving him an option. Kriari Foreas knew that, in desperate situations, orders saved lives. 

Without thinking too much about it, Sketcher cut his brother’s helmet open with their Commander’s blade, taking great care to leave the edges of the wound alone. Those pieces would have to be taken out by someone who knew what they were doing. For now, he wanted to stop the bleeding and prevent the wound from getting infected. He got his medical pouch loose from his belt and put all of the bacta wipes he had on Wolffe’s face. He then took his only bacta shot and injected it into his brother’s neck. Sketcher then bandaged his brother’s head as generously as he could, not only to keep the wound clean, but to avoid him getting frostbite. 

When he was done, Sinker looked up to see the fiercest battle he had ever witnessed in his life. His Commander had engaged the woman with the red sabers and was locked in a battle that looked like it belonged in legends. He had only seen Kriari fight droids up until then, but this was much different. Green and red flew from side to side, clashed in a hypnotic show of lights, speed and skill, and disengaged only to start all over again. 

The red lady was clearly much more experienced, but Kriari was being pushed forward by something, a feeling, a being, an entity, a force that drove her, guided her and allowed her to meet her adversary blow by blow. She seemed more calm, more in control of herself, infinitely focused on her task. Revenge no longer raged in her eyes, instead, there was determination and the will to protect what was hers at any cost. 

And Sketcher knew they were hers, and she was theirs. And for the first time in his short life, Sketcher felt seen, felt like a unique being, felt like a man and not a clone. Because his Commander was fighting for him and his brother to live, because his commander had asked his name when they met, because his commander was willing to die to save two clones in an army that had hundreds of thousands of them. Sketcher felt like a man because right there, right then, Kriari Foreas was fighting for him and Wolffe and nobody else. A Jedi, a peace keeper, the warriors who had fought and beaten the mandalorians, the very people who had trained them. A member of the most prestigious order in the galaxy, who were not allowed emotional attachments, was fighting so that he and his brother would live. 

Sketcher would make sure her efforts weren’t wasted. 

He took his brother and threw him over his shoulder. Once he was sure Wolffe wouldn’t slip, he grabbed his Commander’s blade in a steel grip and started marching back to where he knew the rest of the troops were. Once he got Wolffe the care he needed, he could send reinforcements to Commander Foreas’ position.  

The storm gave no signs of letting up, comms were still jammed by the wind’s interference and visibility was very low. But he would not let a damned snow storm prevent him from getting his brother to safety, from getting his commander the backup she needed. The Republic could buy all the clones they liked, but only a few Jedi could say they had their unreserved loyalty, Plo Koon and Kriari Foreas were two of them. 

Sketcher’s legs were burning and the inside of his helmet’s visor was starting to fog with how hard he was breathing, but he refused to stop. He would get his brother clear, he would get help for his commander. Sketcher repeated the words in his head and under his breath like a mantra, like a prayer. He said the words once and again and again as if the reminder was the only thing that kept him on his feet. 

Suddenly, out of the white wall of wind and snow that surrounded him, came one of his brothers. It was Art, he was saying something, but Sketcher couldn’t hear a thing. His brother changed comms channels and repeated himself. 

“Sketcher, what the fuck happened? Where’s the Commander?” His brother’s tone was agitated, almost desperate. They had all been trying to reach the three of them for hours and the storm had put a sudden stop to any attempt they made. 

“Wolffe and our squad went after the assassin, we are the only survivors. We wouldn’t be here if the Commander hadn’t showed up. Wolffe needs urgent medical attention, and the Commander needs backup.” He rushed through the words, almost choking on air as he tried to debrief his brother. “I’ll give you the coordinates of their last location- we, we need to help her, Art. She took on the crazy lady on her own, we need to help her.” He was frantic, he needed to get her back up, she couldn’t die, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she did.

Twitch took Wolffe from Sketcher’s arms and dragged him into one of the tents they had set up when they landed. 

“We will, trooper,” said Art, trying to hide his worry so as not to agitate his brother even more. “This is the Wolf Pack, no one is ever left behind.”

[one-real-imonkey]

New au idea (it's a little au of au.) After the kavado fiasco palpapunk gets Rex transferred to the corasant guard with the excuse that he would to unstable to be on the front lines in an attempt to make Anakin more reliant in him.

Sorry if spelled something wrong.

Yessss.

There is nothing wrong with an AU of an AU, half my Corrie Guard works are different endings post following Hound letting the information out, lmao. And don't worry about the spellings, sometimes I get things so wrong the spell checkers can't work it out.

I'd also like to clarify in advance that some of the opinions Fox has on characters or their actions will be how he perceives them etc and some of his thoughts or opinions on a character may counter what we from an outside perceptive know.

---

The news was crushing. Firstly that Rex'ika had been taken by those Zygerrian slave taking monsters, and then a ruling that his actions on the mission had been reckless so soon after the mess on Umbara and between that and his injuries he was being redeployed.

To Coruscant.

To the Guard.

Part of Fox would almost have preferred he be sent back to Kamino, almost, but not quite.

Rex'ika was coming to the Guard, his vod'ika, the little brother they'd taken into their batch so so many years ago.

He was coming to the Guard.

Fox was terrified, but he wasn't sure if it was because Rex was going to be in danger, or because he was going to learn the truth.

And then Rex would tell Cody and Wolffe and Bly and Ponds and the truth would come out and everything would get out and there would be chaos. The Guard wouldn't just be cowardly paper pushing meat droids, they'd be the weak cowardly paper pushing meat droids who couldn't defend themselves from some rich Senator who'd never held a blaster or thrown a punch.

Like being spat on and insulted wasn't enough already.

Vode an, except when you were in the Guard.

There was more to it, to Rex's joining them, he was certain of it. Rex'ika worked with Skywalker, Skywalker was close with Palpatine, Palpatine was... Fox wasn't sure what but he didn't want him near his brothers. Palpatine was the reason Skywalker hadn't been on Umbara, the reason that Krell had been allowed to play with the clones like toys, the reason so many of Rex's vode were dead... the reason for a lot of things.

Skywalker was the reason Rex was being transferred to them, at least the reason Palpatine was having him transferred. He wasn't certain why, but with how close Skywalker was to Palpatine, how he acted around them sometimes, especially after a meeting with Palpatine, that Jedi wasn't to be trusted. He was dangerous, saw himself above them whether he realised it or not, and he could have them killed if he wanted.

It they'd been sending Rex almost anywhere else, he'd have been glad his brother was getting away from Skywalker.

Getting closer to Palpatine was hardly something he wanted though.

.

.

.

Fox watched the LAAT arrive, and watched his vod’s so clearly unique blue armour appear.

He stayed to the edge of the landing pad until the LAAT had taken off again, and Captain Velt, who lead one of the Lower Level Security Teams and would be, hopefully, looking after Rex and keeping him out of the Senate Building, had introduced himself.

And then he strode over.

Velt knew what he had planned, and had in fact anticipated it, but it wasn’t often one of their vode was brought into the Guard rather than bringing in Shinies, and he knew well enough that Fox was going to be protective of his batch-mate, adopted or not. Velt stepped back as he approached, nodding to Rex and then going to his own squad.

“Rex’ika, with me.”

“What, Fox, where… shouldn’t I...?”

Rex gestured to Velt and his squad.

“No,” Fox grabbed him by the wrist and started pulling, not letting Rex resist, “you come with me, right now.”

He dragged his brother through the halls into the Command barracks, thankful that for all he was clearly annoyed about it, Rex didn’t fight him.

“What was so important, Fox? If you really wanted to catch up you couldn’t wait until I'd settled in?”

He had a meeting in 20 minutes he couldn’t miss, which meant he had no time to address the subtle barb he’d been offered, nor to sugar coat what was happening on Coruscant.

"Vod, you have a lot to learn about the Guard if you're going to survive here."

“Fox, I'm sure General Skywalker will try to get me back to the 501st soon. And I can manage a few weeks handling paperwork.”

“No, no, vod, it’s not paperwork and fun times here. Rex, it’s horrific, and I'm not letting them decommission you because you didn’t know how to protect yourself here.”

“It’ll be a few weeks...”

“Palpatine had you transferred here for a reason, I don’t know what, but I don’t trust Skywalker much better. He’s dangerous, vod.”

“I think I know my General better than you.”

“So you’ve never noticed how he acts after a meeting with the Chancellor, because last time he had one he shoved a shinie into a wall. He's dangerous, maybe not to you when he’s in a good mood, but... but that’s not what you need to know. You're here, you need to survive here. Besides, no-one leaves the Guard except in a body bag,” he left out the or worse, Rex didn’t need that yet, “Rule one...”

“Fox wait...”

“Rule one, you don’t ever, and I mean ever, fight back. Rule two, keep your armour uniform, so if you’re ever accused of anything or slated for reconditioning or decommissioning you can be swapped around. Rule three, no matter how weird or demeaning, you do what you’re ordered. Rule 4, if they call you it or clone or anything like that, don’t argue or try to impress on them your name or anything like that, just do what they say. Don’t react. Now I'm trying to get you put into one of the units that takes patrols rather than on Senate Security, but I can't make promises.”

Rex looked blown away, and a little shattered, but this was reality and he couldn’t afford to be soft on his little brother.

Not if he wanted Rex to live.

His comm buzzed a warning.

“Look, Rex’ika, I have a meeting, but the rec room and commissary are down the hall to the right, I’m sure someone can help you settle in and... I'll answer any questions you have properly tonight.”

He wondered if his voice sounded as defeated to his vod’ika as it did to him.

It didn’t matter, he slammed his buy’ce on his head and headed up to the Senate Building.

He couldn’t keep the Chancellor waiting, not even for his youngest batch mate.

———

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.

Thanks for the ask, I love the idea for this AU though I’m not sure yet how or if I’ll continue from here. If anyone has ideas or wants to take it on or anything like that go nuts (obvs let me know lmao).

Like I said at the top, Anakin is nice to the 501st, but all Fox sees is someone close to Palpatine and someone who is always aggressive to them after spending time with Palpatine. He sees Skywalker as a threat and he has to focus on his siblings first. Similarly the vode don't hate the Guard and wouldn't see them as cowards, but due to Palpatine's manipulations, on both Fox's mind and the vode as a whole, these are Fox's beliefs.

Also Anakin is kinda unstable due to palpatine manipulating things, and similarly that why the Jedi can't see whats happening to the clones on Coruscant, but normally (and if/when they find out) they'd be horrified and do what they can to help.

Inbox always open. (-:

[one-real-imonkey]

Oooo tell us more about Pup!

Ooooo thanks for asking. I have a lot on him so this is a pretty long post. I hope you enjoy it though, he’s one of my fave OC clones.

———

When he was a cadet, he was very talkative. He loved interacting with everyone he could. In fact he was nicknamed Natter. But the Trainers and Kaminoans felt his personality wasn’t suited to being a soldier.

The Kaminoans reconditioned him (though something went wrong during the process and screwed up some of his memories as well as being far more of a change than they’d planned) and ever since he’s been shy and quiet, he’ll hunch his shoulders and make himself small and keep to the shadows and out of the way. He can get anxious in a loud room with too many people or when he’s singled out for being different.

He kept his bookish want to learn everything personality, but went from being talkative and wanting to tell people to being isolated and keeping it to himself.

He’s still a very skilled shot and fighter and passed all his tests, but he was very isolated and would far rather sit and read than spend time hanging out with his vode. It was a complete 180 and not much more desirable than Natter had been. Of course he didn’t remember being Natter, and he was placed with a different squad. He had a lot of issues on Kamino, never fitting in. He was always a little lonely and never felt like he fit in.

Not only is he shy, but he’s also 2 inches shorter than the rest of the clones. They don’t know why, but he’s closer to Fett’s height than a normal clone’s. Fix will later theorise it had something to do with the decommissioning gone wrong, the mix of chemicals and the issues they had with it, but at the end of the day it was a miracle that he managed to get through Kamino without being decommissioned.

All of these things are reasons he was sent off to the Guard, but it was better than being decommissioned, which would have been the other option, Jedi intervention or not. (You think the Kaminoans really stopped after the Jedi showed up).

When he first showed up he was assigned to be a Senatorial Guard, but within a week he was reassigned to the ARF unit.

He’d been on shift and he’d been singled out for being small, including jokes by the Senator talking about sending him back to Kamino because clearly he wasn’t done growing yet, and as soon as he’d been able to get off shift he’d found a supply cupboard and shut himself in and curled up behind the items in there to cry.

Hound had been walking past with Grizzer and Grizzer had stopped by the door and started pawing at it. Hound of course investigated and met a shiny having a panic attack. He helped him through it and sat with him and made sure he was ok and knew he was safe and that his brothers wouldn’t let him be sent away for his defects.

Grizzer curled up on his lap and he kept himself calm by scratching behind his ear. Hound asked if he’d be more comfortable with the mastiffs and being a part of the ARF and that was that.

His siblings had never put him in harms way before, and a few even tried to cover for him, but he’d never fit in and they’d never gone out of their way to help before. So he latched onto Hound.

Within a month most of the Vode had nicknamed him Hounds little shadow. He’s always a few steps behind him.

Hound trusts him with everything, including his plans to help his vode. Pup is the last person anyone would expect to be a part of anything like that. The library card and access to reading resources was for him more than anyone else.

Whenever Pup finds something that catches his interests, he’ll learn everything he can about it. That’s nothing new, but since his reconditioning he’d keep it all to himself. He didn’t even remember Natter, but he knew the holes in his personality and shaking hand and problems he had came from having been too talkative. Hound is always willing to listen no matter how random it may be and proves himself that it’s safe for Pup to talk. That nothing will happen to him if he does.

It’s actually helped Hound with cases or saved his life more than once. He never thought he’d need to know the difference between yellow tipped giant butterflies and yellow point hawk moths but it saved Hound and a dozen civilians. He gave Pup the biggest hug and a bag of chocolates in thanks.

Pup loves the Mastiffs. The first time Hound ever saw him smile properly was with them, and for too long it was the only time they’d see him laugh or talk. That he’d talk to the mastiffs about everything, conversations his vode were horribly upset to realise he’d never have with them. Hound had noticed, but the others also brought it to his attention. They worried about him, but Hound assured them he’d open up in time if he wanted, and that if they proved they’d listen, he’d start to talk. There were more important things than conversations anyway, and making sure every member of the CG feels safe and comfortable at the very least with each other is a large part of that.

Pup got his name, as previously stated here, after a group of rowdy drunk GAR soldiers made a scene on shore leave. Hound and Pup were on patrol and stepped in. The other clones started mocking them for being paper pushers and spending all their time playing with the doggies and one of them recognised Hound.

They all started making jokes about Hound and his new little pup, mocking his size and the way they stood with Hound slightly between him and them in case they proved a threat. In the end Hound and Pup arrested all five of them, (two taken down by Hound, 2 by Pup and 1 by Grizzer) and they were all thrown in the drunk tank.

While filling out the paperwork Hound called him vod’ika and he relied with Pup.

Hound just smiled and offered a hug.

Pup went back to that supply room for panic attacks or just to be alone and think more than once after that first time, but was more and more willing to call Hound for help. Eventually Hound cleared it out and added other things so he could go there if he needed seclusion without the chance of someone accidentally walking in looking for the supplies.

The Guard is very isolated from the rest of the GAR, but they try to make sure no one ever feels isolated within it. Finding out that Pup had felt that way upset them, but they understood it and understood that sometimes Pup wanted to take some time for himself.

There’s a difference between isolated and taking some time for yourself.

They’re all fine with Pup being on his own when he wants to be, but they want to make sure he never ever feels isolated or alone. That he always knows his siblings are there for him. He slowly started opening up to them too, and he still keeps to himself, but he’s not lonely anymore. He has people to go to and talk to if he wants to now.

It wasn’t long after he got his name that he started to help vode after nightmares. He couldn’t sleep and had been reading when one of his vode had woken with a cry. He’d remembered what Hound always did to Gelo people, and did the same. He’s not sure when it stopped being him going to help and started being their coming to him, but he doesn’t complain. He didn’t want to.

He loves helping them because it’s right and because they accept him and love him. He’s never lonely anymore.

Pup, as I said, is 2 inches shorter than normal clones. His eyes are the typical amber and he kept his hair regulation cut at first, but started to grow it out so it could be longer and curly once he settled into the Guard. He’s wanted to dye it more than once but can never decide on a good colour and as far as the rest of the vode know (except Inky) he has no tattoos. Inky did one on his inner ankle of a mastiff pup. He has a lot of scars, many from trainers on Kamino for growing slowly or hesitating of anything he did wrong. He has scars he doesn’t remember earning he thinks Natter earned. He also has a few from the Guard including missing a chunk of his ear and a scar on his lip. He also has some scary ones on his neck he refuses to tell anyone about. He’s missing two fingers on his right hand, the pinky and ring, but he found a way to pad the glove in his armour so as long as he’s wearing gloves no one ever knows. His medical file states he lost them in a training accident, that’s all he’d tell Fix anyway. (Fix knows he came from a Senators office and not the training yard, but he doesn’t push. Pup isn’t the first to lie about an injury dealt by a Senator who hates the clones, he won’t be the last.)

His favourite colour is the CG red, he painted little paw prints on his armour along with the typical cog and gear designs and his helmet has similar grey and red markings to Hounds but the red and grey are in opposite places. In an act of defiance he painted the two missing fingers on his gloves red too, the rest of the gloves are black.

———

So anyway, that’s Pup. He’s one of my fave OCs and deserves love. :-).

Thanks for asking. I love talking about this AU and my characters within it.