#murder tup

[zealfruity]

Meme dump, eat up.

[ariadnes-red-thread]

The Last Word: Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE: LOOKING TOO CLOSELY

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter [coming soon]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Fives/OFC

Chapter Summary: Mal settles into the 501st, but running into a familiar face in a clone army is the last thing she expects

Chapter Warnings: Some swearing (mostly in mand'o), Mentions of Umbara/past trauma and past sexual situations

Chapter Word Count: 3.9k

Recommended Listening: Looking Too Closely by Fink

A/N: Whoops, so maybe by "Coming Soon", I meant 14 months later. Sorry, I was crippled by self-hatred, perfection paralysis, and fears of my own incompetence. I'll try to be more cool writer girl next time. Thanks to everyone who connected with Mal and with my writing, and reached out to remind me that this might be a story worth telling. I love and adore you forever.

Ao3

Taglist

“Welcome to the 501st.”

Rex extended his hand out to Mal. For the briefest moment, she stared at his gauntlet, decorated in blue and white. The gap between them felt lightyears apart, and she was almost surprised at how quickly her hand closed the space. Taking his hand, she turned her eyes up to meet his and smiled, trying to reflect the Captain’s own warmth back at him. Mal gripped his hand firmly as she tried to shut out the hundreds of soldiers marching around the 501st’s hangar. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her discomfort. This was an opportunity, and she was grateful for it. It just felt odd, like putting on someone else’s clothes. The size was right, but the fit was all wrong.

Calling it the 501st’s hangar wasn’t entirely true. In a day or so, this battalion - her battalion, Mal quickly reminded herself - would ship out, off to a different star system, and another troop would take over this space for their leave. But for now, it swarmed with blue and white troopers. This system was designed for convenience and space-saving, but it gave Mal, and all transfers, an advantage. She already knew where everything was, from the medical supplies to the fresher. Still, after a briefing on protocols (all of which she learned a long time ago), Rex insisted on giving her a tour.

As he led her through the stacks and pointed out where the medical supplies were being kept, Mal had a feeling he was trying to distract her and that her feeble efforts to mask her unease hadn’t gone far with the blonde clone. She wasn't surprised.

Mal spent most of her life taking care of other people. It had taken a long time for her to get used to the way the Wolfpack watched over her. But she smiled, realizing that all the ways they had helped her made her softer now, more ready to let someone else in. So she tried to relax as she followed Rex, letting him point out where the extra gauze was stored, which fresher to use, and where to find the ration bars if she needed a meal.

Despite herself, Mal soon found herself feeling almost at home. Wolffe was right. Rex was the best. She watched as he would stop occasionally to check in with a passing soldier.  He would slide an arm over their shoulder or rest a hand on the pauldron. Sometimes the check-in would be wordless, just a nod between the two men. Sometimes, Rex would mumble a bit of mando’a, and his brother would smile. Just as quickly, his attention would be back on her. There were a couple of moments when she thought she might have seen a shadow pass over his face as his eyes lingered on a soldier for a moment longer or as he scanned the crowd, looking for someone he couldn’t find. She might have imagined them, though, because, in the next breath, he would turn back to her with a charming grin and point out where someone named Jesse had hidden more snacks.

As Mal peered over his shoulder while he rifled through a med-pack and showed her the simple, familiar contents, the tension started to leave her shoulders, and a wave of ease settled onto her brow. There was comfort in the sameness. And comfort made Mal curious.

“So, who am I working with?” She turned her attention from the med-packs back to the throngs of troopers scattered across the platform.

Rex followed her gaze. With battlefield precision, he scanned the crowd, searching out his medic. The Captain spied his target in split seconds.

“Oi, Kix!” Rex’s voice boomed over the thunder of boots on durasteel.

At least two dozen men jumped to attention as their commanding officer’s call echoed off the soaring walls of the vast space. There was a clattering of dedlanite as a trooper dropped a container of DC15Ss. Across the bay, a clone with a medical sigil on his shoulder peeled off from a group of soldiers. A collective sigh went up through the troopers as they each realized it wasn’t them who was being summoned by their CO.

The medic, Kix, jogged across the hangar to where Mal and Rex were standing with only the lightest sense of urgency. Mal eyed the medic as he got closer. Crux was clinical and quiet, a man of science born from science. Their only heated battles (recently anyways) came when he felt like she was acting on her gut rather than evidence. Kix didn’t appear to be cut from the same cloth. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and she could see how brightly he smiled as he threw greetings and quips over his shoulder at brothers who whistled and cat-called as he ran by. His appearance was as bold as his crossing, with hair closely shaved into intricate lighting bolt patterns and an Aurebeseh tattoo on the left side of his scalp. When he got close enough, Mal could finally make out the writing, ‘The only good droid is a dead droid’. Mal couldn’t help the smile on her face. It was a sentiment she could get behind. The 501st medic came to a halt next to Rex.

“This is Kix.” Rex clapped the medic on the shoulder. “You’ll report to him. There’s the CMO Coric somewhere too but you’ll meet him later. Kix here is the head medic for Torrent Company and the most dedicated medic I’ve ever met. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Aw shucks, Captain.” Kix laughed at Rex. He shifted slightly under Rex’s grasp, just a little further from the Captain. “Nice to meet you…”

He held out a gauntleted hand as he waited for a name.

“Mal.”

“Nice to meet you, Mal.”

Rex watched for a moment before he began to shift from foot to foot. He wasn’t a man who sat still for long, Mal noticed. She wondered if he’d always been like that or if this came from being burdened with so many responsibilities. Wolffe was the same way, his attention jumping from task to task, somehow always simultaneously present and attentive, but still somewhere else.

“I’ve got a meeting with the generals.” Rex finally said as he clapped his gloved palms together. “Kix, you mind helpin’ her get settled?”

“On it, sir.” The medic replied, brightly.

“Thank you, Captain.” Mal turned to Rex. "I feel very settled in."

"Wolffe wouldn't have let me live it down otherwise." He said, waving away her gratitude.

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go to the mess.” Kix motioned for Mal to follow him, already spinning on his heel. “You can meet some of the men.”

“Good luck.” Rex cheekily yelled after them.

“I can handle the 501st,” Mal called back over her shoulder, “I put up with the 104th for years.”

Rex laughed and nodded as though she won a hand of sabacc. With a small salute, he turned in the opposite direction and disappeared into the gears of the GAR.

“He’s just being dramatic.” Kix rolled his eyes as Mal caught up to him. “The boys are all good fun.”

She fell into step beside the clone as Kix started to make his way down the long durasteel hallway to the mess. Mal lost track of time while Rex was showing her around, but it must have been getting close to dinner because most of the other clones were starting to head in the same direction.

“You get the full tour?” Kix raised an eyebrow as he flashed a knowing eyebrow.

“Captain Rex was very thorough,” Mal smiled back, instantly at ease with the small gift of an inside joke.

Mal watched the medic out of the corner of her eye as they walked. He nodded to every soldier that passed, but the ones with decorated armor got a verbal greeting or a pat on the shoulder.

“How long have you been with the 501st?” Mal asked, curious about her new CO. 

It had taken a long time for her and Crux to warm up to each other. They started at the same time, joining the decimated 104th as it was rebuilding. Crux wasn’t thrilled to be serving with a civilian, and Mal had her own grudge, which was no fault of Crux’s. She knew it was irrational to dislike him for not being Tye, but she couldn’t help it. Still, once they stopped yelling at each other, they found that they worked well together. Crux’s strength was in his analysis and his textbook memory. Mal’s came from her quick thinking, calm under pressure, and her well-trained gut instincts. They came at problems from different routes, but almost always ended up at the same answer. Another ache passed through her as she realized their last mission working together would be just that. For now anyways, she tried to reassure herself.

“Just after Teth. Got assigned to Rex after that disaster, and he’s been grumpy about it ever since.” Kix flashed a cheeky smile at Captain Rex’s expense. “I’ll be honest, this is the first time we’ve had a civilian medic.”

Mal shrugged. It wasn’t surprising. There weren’t many civilians in the GAR, and even fewer were medics. The government official that helped her at the recruitment office had tried to talk her out of signing up in at least fifteen different ways as she was filling out the dataforms. 

“How about you?” Kix asked, “How long have you been with the 104th?”

“I joined after Abregato,” Mal answered. It wasn’t a lie.

“Hmm, I remember that one.” Kix frowned as he rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved palm. “I helped take care of Wolffe and the other two when they got back. Commander Tano still talks about it sometimes. Rough stuff. Glad that was before your time.”

Mal had heard a lot about Commander Tano, and even seen her from a distance on the Venator a few times. The Togruta Jedi padawan was hard to miss and liked to visit General Plo when she could. Boost, Sinker, and Wolffe spoke about her in hushed, grateful tones. Mal supposed that she did too. It wasn’t surprising, given that the whole of the 104th would have been wiped out if not for Commander Tano. Mal knew exactly to whom she owed her friends’ lives.

“You must have started with Crux, then.”

Mal looked back at the clone to find him watching her with a glance that was trying to appear more casual than it was. He must have seen something in her face change at the mention of Abregado. The clones in the 501st were good at distraction, Mal was starting to notice, but she was grateful for the change in subject.

“You know Crux?” Mal tried to match the Kix’s bright tone.

“Yeah, we went through medic training together,” Kix said. “Crux and I shipped out after Geonosis. Both the 501st and the 104th had hard times of it. Trained with Tye, the first CMO for the 104th, too, but he would have been before your time.”

Mal’s spine stiffened at his name.

A flash of a smile.

“You deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Mal agreed, even as her heart clenched. “Before my time.”

“Heya, Kix.”

A clone with a large Republic cog in the middle of his helmet fell into step beside Kix. He elbowed his friend as his helmet tilted towards Mal. She could feel his eyes as they looked her up and down before he spied the medical sigil on the shoulder of her jumpsuit.

“Rex finally get someone to replace you?” The clone elbowed Kix again.

“You’d be dead without me,” Kix replied without missing a beat. “Mal, meet Jesse.”

“Hi!” Even through the modulator, the man’s greeting was warm.

The clone named Jesse stripped his helmet from his head. He tucked it under his arm as he flashed Mal a sideways smile. The cog that had decorated his helmet matched a tattoo that covered most of the upper half of his face, spanning from just under his left eye to the top of his clean-shaven head. His smile stretched across his face, bringing a glint to his eyes and wrinkling the edge of the cog.

“Nice to meet you.” Mal couldn’t help but smile back. “Nice tattoo.”

“You like it? I lost a game of sabacc to Hardcase, but I’ve grown attached.” Jesse ran a hand over his clean scalp as he grinned a little wider. “Spotchka may have been involved.”

“It suits you.”

It did. The clone had an animated face, his expression written all over it, and the tattoo emphasized every look. Mal imagined he wasn’t very good at sabacc.

“I like her.” Jesse turned to Kix with an air of grievance. “You never compliment me.”

“She doesn’t know you yet.” Kix chuckled.

“You’re just mad you’re not the prettiest medic in the 501st anymore.” Jesse snapped back.

Mal winced at the comment. She had a feeling Jesse was just kidding and that the joke was more at Kix’s expense than hers, but it was irritating all the same. Mal had never met a clone who thought less of her expertise because she was a woman. Still, there were plenty of civilian mechanics and medics who did. Any other day, the comment would probably have rolled off her. Instead, Mal thought of the clone from the night before. Would he think less of her if she ever had to treat him? Would he trust her? She quickly pushed that thought aside. No point in considering it. In an army of a billion clones, that wasn’t something she would ever have to worry about.

“Hard to compete with Kix.” Mal quickly spoke.

Just like that, the worry was gone, and Jesse was reaching around Kix to slap her on the back.

“I like you,” He let out a belly laugh as he repeated his approval.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret introducing you two already.” Kix rolled his eyes before they suddenly flashed.

Mal followed his look down the hallway. Just ahead, two troopers walked with their helmets pressed close together like they were strategizing. One was dressed in clone trooper armor, and the other wore the unmistakable kit of an ARC trooper. His kama swayed around his hips as he walked, arm over the shoulder of the other trooper. They seemed to catch Kix’s attention.

“Now, these two, you definitely need to know. Gotta watch them closely.” Kix spoke, his voice raised and playful. “They spend more time in the medbay than the rest of the battalion combined.”

They stopped and turned at Kix’s words, the sound of mocking modulated laughter coming from their helmets. Kix and Jesse paused with them, forming a small crowd in the busy hallway, like rocks in a river.

“This is Mal, our new medic from the 104th.” Kix gestured.

The clone troopers pulled their buckets from their heads. The first man smiled sweetly, a contrast to the single teardrop that decorated the lower lid of his left eye. Mal barely registered him, though. She was too busy gaping at his friend. The second man flashed a knowing, familiar grin. Even without the temple tattoo, Mal would have recognized him anywhere.

Fives.

The first thing Fives saw as he rounded the corner into the mess hall was Jesse’s face. His vod immediately looked annoyed and that put an extra spring in Fives’ step. Nothing like the sheer pleasure of irritating Jesse without even having to put in the effort.

“Ah osik, I bet Tup 5 credits you’d miss roll call.”  The lieutenant frowned at Fives over two steaming paper cups of caf.  

“Come on, Jess.” Fives grinned at his older brother. “You know me better than that.” 

Fives picked up the two cups before he turned, seamlessly slipping the drinks out from under his vod's nose. Jesse leapt up and yelped but, short of leaping over the table, there was no stopping Fives.

He kept moving down the hall, practically gliding, as Jesse’s swears faded behind him. He hummed, sipping on the black caf that Jesse had poured for himself, and savoring each jolt to his taste buds. Fives meandered his way through the maze of the base, nodding to brothers that greeted him. Faces, armor, and haircuts were all distinct. He recognized them all but most of the names escaped him. It was becoming harder and harder to keep track. There were so many, and they came and went all too quickly. It made him feel old in a way that an eleven year old probably shouldn’t. Was it eleven? Or was it twelve now?, he wondered. Who could keep track of decanting days anymore? That was Echo’s job and, without his twin, he wasn’t ever in the celebrating mood. Finally, Fives slipped into one of the main supply rooms, where he paused before a large supply shelf. It was pressed up against the durasteel and tucked in the back of the dark storage space. 

“Hey, Tup. You there?” Fives called.

“Roger, roger.” Tup called back.

The long-haired clone popped his head over the edge of the fourth shelf, about eight feet off of the floor. He perched there for a moment, chin resting on his hand as he smiled down at Fives. Fives grinned back up at his vod. Tup found the empty shelf the first day after the Umbara deployment, and he dragged a mattress up there to turn it into a getaway. Fives didn’t ask why he wanted one and Tup didn’t volunteer the information. Instead, Fives just helped him redirect several blankets and a mattress from shipping to an “ARC training mission” and, in a comical heist that involved General Skywalker nearly catching them, assisted Tup in smuggling the large bedding into the supply room.

“So, how was the night, vod?” Tup winked.

“A gentleman never tells,” Fives smirked up at his brother.

“Well, luckily, you’ve never been a gentleman.” Tup laughed as he swung down from the shelf, landing gracefully beside Fives.

“Hey! I brought you caf and everything.” Fives held out the second cup to Tup, who took it without hesitation.

“Ah yes, three creams. Just how Kix takes it.” Tup chortled as he sipped on the warm liquid.

Fives smiled back at the younger clone. Losing Echo left a hole in his heart that he knew would never be filled, and it had been a long time since he had felt a connection with one of his brothers like that. Tup was different though. He reminded him of Echo in some ways. He was quietly smart. A little nerdy. But he could still merk a Seppie in seconds and without hesitation. He was clever, more clever than most people realized. Fives was still impressed with the plan Tup came up with to capture General Krell. While he knew he could never replace his twin and he wasn’t looking to try, he felt a little more whole lately when Tup was around.

“Now, come on vod.” Tup threw his other arm around Fives, “Tell me about the night.”

He filled Tup in on a few of the details while they made the walk to roll-call. He skipped the feeling that she had given him when he made her laugh or the way he wished someone would bottle up her scent. Instead, he talked about the other stuff, like how great her tits were and how hot the sex had been. Tup dutifully listened to all of it with a small smile on his face. 

They made it to roll-call right on time. Jesse glared at Fives over a fresh cup of caf. Fives gave his fuming vod a wave just as Rex called them to attention. The Captain marched down the line, inspecting his soldiers. He paused in front of Fives.

“Nice to see you made it back,” Rex muttered, cocking an eyebrow at the ARC.

“No idea what you’re talkin’ about, Sir,” Fives smirked at his old friend.

Rex let out a familiar sigh of exasperation as he shook his head and continued back down the line.

It was Fives' least favorite kind of day. Drills, strategy meetings, and more drills. The drills drove him crazy. It was all pretend. There was no room to be creative or stakes to make the shineys take it seriously. It seemed like they were getting sloppier and sloppier, and nothing he said would get through to them until the blaster fire was real. The strategy meetings weren’t bad, but it was all a lot of talk and pretend. He knew it was important. Fives got that. But there was never a day that he didn’t want to be out there, in the fight, instead of planetside doing drills.

“We’re gonna have to reconsider how we’re using our resources holding Felucia,” Tup was still thinking about their last meeting as the day wound down and they made their way to the mess. Fives was only half-listening, having had his fill of strategy talk for the day, but Tup kept going, his enthusiasm obvious though his modulator. “Focusing on hyperspace lanes instead of the planet itself could help us protect the whole system. We keep fighting these high-cost, low reward battles on the planet’s surface.”

“S’not a bad idea.” Fives heard enough that he looked his vod up and down.

“It’s a great idea.” Tup looked back at him and Fives knew, even through the helmet, exactly the teasing look his vod was giving him. “Don’t you run to Rex and steal it.”

Fives snorted and wrapped an arm around Tup’s shoulders.

“I would never dream-” Fives started to protest before a voice rose up behind them.

“… these two, you definitely need to know. They spend more time in the med bay than the rest of the battalion combined.”

Fives barked out a laugh. Tup joined him as he tilted his helmet at Fives. He rolled his eyes at Tup and knew, in the same way that Tup knew what expression he was making; Tup was rolling his eyes too. They paused their walk and turned towards Kix's voice.

He was glad he had his helmet on. Standing there, walking with his vode, was the woman from this morning. Her form was now hidden behind a civilian medic jumpsuit, and her long red curls were pulled back away from her face, tied back into a low bun, but he knew her in moments. 

He knew the light in her eyes as she laughed at Kix’s words. He recognized the smile that danced on those soft lips. He knew the smattering of freckles he could map out on her nose and her cheeks. He knew the way her skin would feel if he were to dig his fingers into those hips, barely hidden by the bulky jumpsuit. Maker, he knew the way she smelled still and could taste it in the air. Or maybe that was just him and the way she lingered on his skin.

Pull it together, Fives. He warned himself. His heart wouldn’t slow, though. He couldn’t believe his luck as he took in the blue markings on her jumpsuit. She was here, and she was theirs. 

“This is Mal, our new civilian medic transfer from the 104th.” 

Fives barely heard Kix as he stripped the bucket from his head. He waited for Mal to squeal, to laugh, for the joy to spark in her eyes like it had last night.

“This is Tup.” His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as Kix droned on, “And this is Fives, our resident ARC.”

“And resident pain in the ass,” Jesse added loudly.

Fives ignored Jesse as he pressed his lips together in a knowing smile. She knows, you di’kut, he wanted to shout, but Mal spoke first. 

“Nice to meet you.”

[istillbelieveinmagic142]

Wtffff! 😭🤯

Anakin SEALED Rex’s report??

HOW didn’t I realize that. 😭🤦‍♀️ Where does it say/show that in the show/Wookipedia? It’d be nice to have for arguments that ‘AnAkIn DiD nOtHiNg WrOnG! 🤪🤪’ crowd. Lol. 😂💙

Just saw someone say "Anakin couldn't have been complicit with the enslavement of the clones if he didn't know it was happening" girl they were shooting children

[blackkatmagic]

For the clone character meme, Fox of course!!! If you've already got him, Tup?

“Have you seen Thorn?” Fox asks, annoyed. A missing senator is normally nothing to call in off-duty troopers over, but Padawan Skywalker is making himself a headache, and Fox is tired of it. Thorn can at least pretend to be polite. Fox can't be bothered, especially to uppity, snarly padawans who give him a headache.

“No, sir,” Hound answers, a step behind Fox with Grizzer at the ready. There's no trail to find, though; Amidala's scent runs up to the start of the port and then disappears. “He’s not answering his comm.”

Fox growls under his breath, because Thorn knows they're not ever supposed to be out of contact. Even being off-duty is a polite fiction to make some of the bleeding hearts in the Senate feel better about running almost a billion men into the ground without pay or the most basic consideration, and Fox is going to get the biggest karking earful about some of his men not being on the case. Particularly since Skywalker managed to get Palpatine’s ear somehow. That’s giving Fox a headache, too.

“Keep trying to reach him,” he orders. Thorn’s the most familiar with Amidala, given his work as her guard on diplomatic missions, and Thire and Stone are both off-planet, so the Guard needs all its commanders working. His comm chimes insistently, and he gives it a dark look, sends back an affirmative, and pulls his helmet back on. “Take the lower platforms, see if you can pick anything up. I'm going to brief the Chancellor.”

“Sir,” Hound answers sharply, and Fox veers off, stalking down the busy corridor. He’s annoyed enough that even watching senators scatter out of the path of his murder-walk isn't satisfying, though, and he mutters a curse under his breath, keying the lift open and stepping in, then turning to level a killing glare at the aide who’s just trying to sidle in.

Immediately, the aide finds something better to be doing, veering off like that was her plan all along, and Fox rolls his eyes. Cowards, all of them. It would be funny if Fox didn’t want to drop-kick every person in this building down a mineshaft.

Something cream and white and gold catches his eyes just before the doors slide shut, and Fox shoves a hand out automatically, something in his chest turning over.

Well. Maybe not every person. That’s a little extreme.

“Commander,” the captain of the Temple Guard says, perfectly polite, tone as warm as ever as he ducks into the lift, careful not to crowd Fox despite his size. “Going to see the Chancellor?”

If Feemor is being sent to see Palpatine as well, it probably means Knight Kenobi bent some ears too, Fox thinks, maybe a little grumpy about it. Not about seeing Feemor, but—a padawan shouldn’t be able to stir up this much of a fuss. If Skywalker was a cadet, he’d get shunted off to sanitation for making so much noise.

“Yeah. About Amidala, right?” he says gruffly, and waves the door shut before anyone else can intrude. His chances to actually get any time alone with Feemor are all like this, stolen moments between crises, and Fox is entirely willing to tweak the rules a little to make the most of them.

If he’d known Feemor was here, he’d have picked a slower lift, too.

Feemor nods, tipping his head to watch the floor numbers rise, and Fox takes the chance to study the way golden hair curls around his throat, slides out from under the white hood like a temptation. “Senator Amidala has always been a friend to the Jedi,” he says, and Fox can hear the smile in his voice. “Whatever I can do to help, I will.”

It’s hardly nothing, having a Jedi Master here to help, and Fox grunts in satisfaction, only partly at the idea of Feemor sticking around for a few hours or a few days. It’s probably wrong to hope that they don’t find Amidala too quickly, but—well. Fox doesn’t give a monkey-rat’s bald ass about a senator, even a relatively decent one. He’s stuck on Coruscant, and they're the sole reason.

“Good,” is all he says, trying to hide his pleasure, since it’s probably not appropriate right now. “If you're willing to come with me to the undercity, I want to check the levels below the Senate Building—”

A jarring, shuddering wrench jolts the whole lift, so sudden and sharp that Fox is thrown right off his feet. He slams bodily into Feemor, feels Feemor hit the wall even as one arm snaps up to hold Fox steady, and feels the sudden, wrenching drop right in his bones. The lift plummets, and Fox snarls, grabs for the waist-height bar but misses as they hit something that spins the lift to one side. The impact hits an instant later, hard enough that Fox’s vision goes black for an instant, and he hears Feemor cry out as metal gives way—

They spill out onto cold metal decking, reeking of rust, and Fox rolls right to his feet, blasters in hand, up and aimed and ready. Feemor is behind him, on the ground and not getting up, and the air is dark and humid and reeks of wet metal in a way the Senate Building never does. Far below it, that probably means, and Fox triggers his helmet lights, then stills in surprise, eyes narrowing.

A clone is sitting in front of an old pile of scrap metal, slumped back against a beam, and it takes Fox a long, long second to recognize Colt, stripped of Rancor’s intricately painted armor, with a pile of something bright and sleek and metallic beside him.

Weapons, Fox realizes belatedly. Colt has a pile of weapons Fox has never seen before next to him, and he’s smeared with ash, arms scattered with slick, shiny burns, his face slack with exhaustion. His eyes are closed, and for an instant Fox almost thinks he’s dead.

Then, with a sound of concern, Feemor is past Fox, limping slightly but quick on his feet. He crouches down next to Colt, raising a hand—

Colt catches it, almost too fast to see, and opens his eyes.

In the darkness, reflecting in Fox’s helmet lights, they shine like forge-fire, an unsettling, unearthly glow.

“Commander?” Feemor asks, quiet, gentle even as Fox’s unease rises, full of teeth. “Are you all right?”

Colt looks right at him, then shifts his gaze, eyes tracking straight to Fox. Then, with a groan and a heave, he shoves to his feet, dragging something up out of the pile with him as he takes a few unsteady steps forward.

“This one’s yours,” he says, and shoves it right into Fox’s hand, so that Fox has to fumble, drop his blaster and catch warm metal before it can clatter down to the floor.

“Colt, what the hell?” he asks, deeply suspicious, because if Rancor Battalion’s top commander is having a mental break—

And then, like a flash of mercury, liquid and hot, something slides off the handle of the axe, drips down his fingers and over his wrist beneath his armor, and Fox wrenches back with a sound of alarm, scrambling to get his gauntlet off, to get whatever is on him away from his skin—

Like molten metal, something iridescent and shimmering settles into his skin, and Fox scrapes with his nails but can't get it off, swears at Colt as he backs away. “I'm going to karking murder you,” he snaps. “Colt, wake the hell up!”

“It’s tradition,” Colt says, like that’s an argument, and it sounds raw, like he’s been breathing in smoke, or maybe like he’s been screaming. “There's—there's a lightsaber crystal I need to find. I rebuilt the hilt, but I can't find it.”

Lightsaber. Something cold fractures in Fox’s chest, and he jerks around, looking for Feemor—

A figure in the shadows. A Mandalorian in rust-red armor, a golden faceplate on his helmet, already reaching. Fox shouts, but Feemor isn't moving, and Fox lunges, swings—

The axe Colt forged cuts right through the Mandalorian like he’s a ghost, and Feemor crumples to his knees, a keening, desperate sound breaking from his throat as he claws at his mask. Something shimmers around him, something rises, and just for an instant Fox can see a man in tattered Jedi robes, more rip than cloth, with brown hair and brown eyes and a black mark seared between his brows. His body is imposed over Feemor's like a hazy afterimage, and he’s reaching for the Mandalorian, expression hard to see but desperate, and the Mandalorian reaches back, seizes him even as he tears his helmet away to reveal grey skin and yellow eyes, simian features. Cups his face—Feemor's face—and kisses him—

Fox tackles Feemor out of the way, right over the edge of the platform without hesitation. One arm tight around Feemor’s chest, the other still clutching Colt's axe, he tumbles down, down, down into darkness, fury biting hot in his veins.

In the whirling darkness of their fall, Fox catches a glimpse of another figure in armor, watching as they near. Red-gold armor this time, bright as copper, wearing a woven cloak with long tassels and a conical helmet, a familiar battleaxe in hand. It’s the twin of the one Fox is holding, and he jerks as they tumble straight towards the Mandalorian—

Fall through him, and Fox feels the sudden crackle of power, as bright and vicious as lightning, eating its way down to his bones. Maybe he screams, or maybe he passes out, or maybe he burns, all the way down with Feemor caught up in his arms and a god in his head, settling in like coming home.

[theunoffical501stblog]

some "Incorrect quotes" from the 501st

You know what, posts incorrect quotes about the 501st

Captain Rex: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Jesse will and will not eat. Fives: Grass? Yes! Captain Rex: Moss? Yes!! Fives: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Captain Rex: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Fives: Worms? Sometimes! Captain Rex: Rocks? Usually nah. Fives: Twigs? Usually! Captain Rex: Kix's cooking? Inconclusive! Anakin Skywalker: How did you… test this? Captain Rex: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Anakin Skywalker: ... I don’t know how to feel about this. Kix: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Captain Rex: Is having a penis fun? Fives: It has its ups and downs. Jesse: Sometimes it’s a little hard. Hardcase: It’s a pain in the ass. Kix: Oh, Jesus, fuck, guys, come on. Captain Rex: Nothing in life is free. Kix: Love is free! Jesse: Adventure is free. Hardcase: Knowledge is free. Fives: Everything is free if you take it without paying. Captain Rex: I’ve done a lot of dumb stuff. Fives: I witnessed the dumb stuff. Jesse: I recorded the dumb stuff. Hardcase: I joined in on the dumb stuff. Kix: I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM DOING THE DUMB STUFF!!! Captain Rex: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Kix: 'Prettiest Smile' Jesse: 'Nicest Personality' Hardcase: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Fives: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one' Captain Rex: Anyone d- Kix: Depressed? Jesse: Drained? Hardcase: Dumb? Dogma: Disliked? Captain Rex: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people ... Captain Rex: Favorite horror movie? Fives: It Jesse: Saw Hardcase: Annabelle Kix: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics Captain Rex: Good morning. Tup: Good morning. Jesse: Good morning. Fives: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit. Hardcase: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS Captain Rex: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Fives: Several traffic violations. Jesse: Three counts of resisting arrest. Hardcase: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Kix: Also, that’s not our speeder. Captain Rex: You kidnapped Obi-wan Kenobi!! That’s illegal! Jesse: But Rex, what’s more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing Kenobi, or destroying our dreams? Captain Rex: Kidnapping Kenobi, Jesse!!! Hardcase: Captain, listen, whatever I may think of you right now- these guys are counting on you to inspire them! Fives: What, to kidnap people?!?! Hardcase: To work together! Captain Rex: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!?!?! Kix: Captain Rex, we all agreed a jedi is a not a people. Captain Rex: What does 'take out' mean? Kix: Food. Jesse: Dating Hardcase: Murder Fives: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A COWARD.

[vodika-vibes]

Okay, so. Consider.

Dogma kills Pong Krell, and the Jedi definitely deserves it. At best, Krell is just a traitor. At worst, he's a murderer. So Dogma isn't all that bothered by his actions.

But he's still going to be decommissioned. Which is a problem.

And, naturally, they don't send vod'e to bring him back to Kamino for decommissioning because no vod'e would do that to a vod. So he's being escorted by natborns.

And Dogma basically goes, "In for a penny..." and he hijacks the ship. He knocks the natborns out and deposits them and their ship on a planet with a bustling spaceport and gets a job as a Mandalorian bounty hunter playing bodyguard for a desperate cargo ship.

His plan is to ditch the fake identity on the next planet and reach out to Rex, but then he's hired by a group of people who raid slave ships to free the people before they're sold, and Dogma thinks, "Just one more job."

In the end, he stays with that crew, especially after the fall of the Republic. They get his chip removed, and they work with a geneticist to help with his increased aging.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so I'll stop here.

But he does grow his hair out to Tup's length because he misses his Batchmate

[five-oh-thirst]

I was watching a YouTube short about prison tattoos and they brought up the teardrop.

I did some extracurricular research because it piqued my interest regarding Tup's tattoo.

There seem to be two trains of thought:

1. Signifying that you've killed someone

2. Signifying that you were victimized

Both of these are within the context of prison, which, as far as I know, Tup has never been... or has he? (anything is possible in sw)

On one hand, it could be a simple harbinger of Tup killing (murdering) Tiplar, which sets off the chip conspiracy arc.

On the other hand, it could be a symbol of some type of trauma or violence that Tup went through during his time as a shiny.

Honestly, I think both ideas have merit, but the second one is more fun to think about.

There's another thing about all this that intrigues me. The more teardrops a person has, the more people they have killed or the more times they have been victimized.

Tup has a teardrop on both of his shoulder bells AND his bucket, equalling 4 total.

So... Did he kill 4 people? Before he murdered Tiplar in cold-blood, did he kill 3 clone troopers on Umbara during the unbeknownst betrayal? Were all 4 teardrops a foreshadowing of what was to come?

Or... Was Tup victimized 4 times? Were there 4 different instances where Tup succumbed to some kind of violence or trauma in the years leading up to him joining the 501st?

Or or... Could it be a double symbolism of him killing 4 people AND being victimized 4 times? Let's be honest, Umbara victimized everyone; sentients and non-sentiants alike.

It's too bad that in his death scene, he didn't release a tear because how poetic would that have been? To be victimized one more time by the malfunctioning chip, to have his own body be the killer of himself, and have a 5th tear roll down his face before his last breath.

I don't know how to wrap this up, but I do know there's a lot of angst potential wrapped up in this baby-boi-shaped baby boy 😢

[mamuzzy-creates-stuff]

When your brothers keep forgetting that you are also a certified murder machine who is perfectly capable of tearing droids and people apart, but somehow you still play along with their bullshit because you love them:

Fives: Tup'ika, do you know where babies come from? Tup: Huh? [Everyone stares at him] Tup: (T-these expectations again...) Tup: The Aiwha brings you one if you kiss a girl you like! uwu Hardcase: You are so cute. That's how exactly is. Fives: You don't need to know, okay~? Tup: I'm kriffin' done with your expectations.

Have I actually finished an animatic??? Hell yeah, I did!!! Whenever Tup is treated like the baby of the squad, Kigu from Joshiraku comes into my mind who has enough of her friends' shit sometimes. :D

[seeking-elsewhither]

Currently woozy but guess who watched the Umbara Arc in one sitting

I'm in my Rex feels right now, because Anakin remarks that Rex used to be very uptight like Dogma which implies that it took Rex some time to ease up. And he's the only blonde in the GAR, a cosmetic "defect" sure but he's also a gen 1 clone. He must've struggled so hard to ensure he wouldn't get decommissioned, must have stuck to the rules and followed orders to the letter just so he'd survive.

And here comes Krell demanding about his insubordination. Threatening against it. Don't tell me Rex wasn't thinking of his cadet-hood when Krell called him by his CT number. My man was going through it.

Tangent!

Okay, see, the thing is, when I watch the clones, I can literally see the times their past life on Kamino and their cadet-hood bleed into their present behavior.

Take Hunter, for example, when he's quietly doing as Shand tells him to in s3. I wonder how many times he's had to comply as a cadet for the sake of his brothers' safety.

Take Crosshair on Tantiss, resisting torture at every step of the way. Maybe he was trained for it. Maybe he trained himself for it.

Take Omega on Tantiss, keeping herself busy, never once giving up hope. I wonder if that's how she lived in Nala Se's private lab, always hoping to reunite with her brothers and eagerly waiting for a chance.

Basically, I've always felt like tcw and tbb give us the past of the clones implicitly in their behavior. Or maybe that's just me reading too much into it.

Okay, back to Umbara

@margindoodles2407 from whatever I've seen of Fives so far, your analysis is spot-on.

Even Jesse's far more chill than him.

And HARDCASE MY BELOVED <333

Please, he's such an optimistic feller. He would've loved Hevy, Cutup, and Wrecker.

I was cheering every time Fives got to say a bad word on Krell.

Love how the episode moves from Rex bending under the weight of Krell's nature until he decided he could take it no longer and snapped upright. "It's Captain, sir."

Rex and Fives are such father-son, I swear. Such first and second-in-command, what with all the times Rex pulls Fives away to talk with him.

Okay, so Tup is officially the baby of the 501st, right? And by baby I don't mean he acts like one, I mean he's the vod'ika that every clone will coddle because he's new, even if he does murder in cold-blood.

Rex giving off huge eldest son vibes with his "I have a duty to protect these men."

Hate that Rex had to stoop that low and use the "They're not just clones. They're men!" rhetoric. As someone who firmly believes where you come from should have no effect on your worth as a person, this irked me as much as it must've irked Rex and the other clones.

Petition for Fives to deck Krell.

I mean, yeah Dogma gets him good at the end, but Fives should have got the chance. He knew just what Krell was going to be like from the first moment he saw him. Retribution would've been sweet (neither the Christian nor the Jedi way, but c'mon! we all hate this guy)

What sort of hologram is that? With cubes and stuff? It looks so cool, but why is it like that?

Is tcw just going to constantly test Rex's beliefs the entire time? First Cut, then Fives.

Hardcase and Fives laughing and giggling as they flew in those Umbaran ships and blasted the enemy had me crying because they're so happyyy :')

Sorry but Krell calling Rex by his CT number those first two times is hilarious, how do you keep a straight face and say it like that?

Rex, on the other hand, seemed like he was traumatized on so many levels.

Fives is just. So brave, so bold, so fearless. He stands for what he believes in, he will not bow down or cower in the face of adversities. He's got that touch of recklessness, but there's an air of sternness and cleverness about him. He knows what he's doing. He's the madness to his method.

And he's a poet. No take backsies. Some of the best speeches have been given by him. He literally used the word "ire".

He's like a knight of yore. He's got the chivalry, the nobility, the honor, the courage. He's unflinching, he will look death in the face and slay it with his bare hands.

Even at his end, the speech he gave was not with his life in mind but the lives of his brothers.

You've heard of great men, you've heard of good men. And then there are men of high valor like Fives.

Rex's uncertainty is obviously meant to stem from his awkward stance as the bridge between Jedi and clones, but I can't help but see him thinking of his time when he was another defective clone cadet trying his best to survive.

Hardcase why'd you have to gooooo

That reveal, that tear running down Waxer's face, the little Numa painted on his helmet, I'm gonna cry.

Dang, wouldn't want to cross Tup.

"You sound just like Krell." I'd rather be shot with a blaster than be accused of mirroring that demagolka.

When Krell refuses to call for Kenobi, I just knew Rex felt the sinking feeling that he was going to be on his own.

Krell's freaky because throughout the entire thing he never once shows the signs of being a Seppie. Sure, his hatred for the clones is as clear as day, but otherwise, you never realize it's him.

That's all I have for now. Margin, feel free to add on, because the last time you did, you managed to cover stuff I'd been thinking of but had forgotten.

[pinahallowsevecloneparty]

Pineapple's Halloween Clone Party 2024 MASTER LIST

October was crazy, so if you see something missing from this list or find a bad link, please let me know! 🍍

Demon Haunted by @reader6898 (fic-NSFW)

Devil You Little Devil by @tlmtwelve (art-NSFW)

Dragon Dragon Howzer by @tlmtwelve (art) Sea Dragon Crosshair by @noblelightfighter (art)

Fae Bad Batch Toxic Love/Ferngully by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art)

Frankenstein's Monster Frankenstein Echo by @cloned-eyes (art)

Ghost, Haunting, or Thing Unseen Bloody Crosshair by @tlmtwelve (art) The Ghost of You by @lightspringrain (art) Gree in a Dark Forest by @tlmtwelve (art) Haunted Jesse by @clonemedickix (art) Hissing Tooka by @tlmtwelve (art) Fox Just Wants to Forget by @tlmtwelve (art) Nightmare on Clanker Street by @lonewolflupe (fic) A Powerful Read by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic) Stir of Echoes by @lonewolflupe (fic) Tech with a Book by @apocalyp-tech-a (art)

Greek Mythology Centaur Wrecker by @tlmtwelve (art) Demigod Crosshair by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art) Dryad Mayday by @tlmtwelve (art) Erinys Dogma by @tlmtwelve (art) Gorgon Tup by @tlmtwelve (art) Healing by @clone-anon-after-dark (fic) Satyr Jesse by @tlmtwelve (art) Sphinx Tech by @tlmtwelve (art)

Headless Character Headless Aayla by @tlmtwelve (art) The Headless Guardsman by @eclec-tech (fic) The Headless Guardsman by @lonewolflupe (art) The Headless Guardsman (headshot) by @lonewolflupe (art)

Halloween Movie AU TBB Halloween Town, Part 1 by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art) TBB Halloween Town, Part 2 by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art) TBB Halloween Town, Part 3 by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art)

Mad Scientist Apple Alchemy by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic) Candy Apple Tech by @apocalyp-tech-a (art) Dr. Techyll and Mr. Snyde by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic) Tech with a Drink by @apocalyp-tech-a (art)

Merpeople Merman Hunter by @tlmtwelve (art)

Murderer Vibroblade Hunter by @tlmtwelve (art)

Pumpkins, Parties, Costumes, and Candy Candy Rex by @tlmtwelve (art) Clones in Costumes by @tlmtwelve (art) The Great Tech by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic) Holidays in Hyperspace by @frostycatblr-fandom-files (fic) It's the Great Lurca, Charlie Brown! by @apocalyp-tech-a (art) A Murder of Corries by @wolviecat (art) Mute Button by @tlmtwelve (art) The Operational Brains by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic) Precious Moments by @letsquestjess (fic) Pumpkin Omega by @the-little-moment (art) Tech-'o-Lantern by @apocalyp-tech-a (art)

Snake Naga Nemec by @tlmtwelve (art)

Spider The Spider and the Fly by @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf (art)

Unicorn Unicorn Omega by @cloned-eyes (art)

Vampire To Thine Own Self Be True by @biscuityskies (fic-NSFW) Vampire Crosshair by @cloned-eyes (art) Vampire Hardcase by @lonewolflupe (art) Vampire Kix by @tlmtwelve (art) Vampire Tech by @cloned-eyes (art)

Werewolf/Shapeshifting Clone Phases by @clonemedickix (art) The Fox and the Hare by @523rdrebel (art) Full Moons by @lonewolflupe (art) Thire's Emotional Support Werewolf by @haybellewrites (art) Werewolf Echo by @tlmtwelve (art) Werewolf Wrecker by @cloned-eyes (art)

Wizard Tech with a Kitty by @apocalyp-tech-a (art) It's So Wizard by @apocalyp-tech-a (fic)

Wraith Something Goes Bump In The Night by @vodika-vibes (fic)

[dangraccoon]

As Ever

Day 21 ~ time loop ~ (Alt. Prompt)

Fives

Word Count: 2097 Content: Bio Chip Arc, Fives dies, actually he dies multiple times, the time loop resets if he dies or gets reconditioned, so because time loops can get fuckin dark, so I'm saying a soft Mature 18+ (recommended), Sheev Palpatine is his own warning anyway

“The mission… the nightmares… they’re… finally over.”

“Fives? No, Fives…”

—

His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the harsh light of the medical room.

“I… what…”

“Do not worry,” AZI chirped brightly. “Brief confusion is normal when waking up after a surgery.”

“Surgery,” Fives repeated, his hand coming up to the side of his head.

The patch. From the surgery. The chips? “You removed the chip?”

“Yes,” AZI said, whirling around to pull the two slides from his drawer. “Identical in structure.” He held the slide up side by side. “However, it appears that the one I found in your friend had mal–”

“Tup’s chip malfunctioned, but mine was fine,” Fives thought aloud.

“That is correct,” AZI chirped. “There is no way of knowing what will happen to you now that we have removed your chip.”

Fives’ mind felt clearer in this moment than he’d ever remembered.

Hadn’t he done all this already? He could so clearly remember seeing the chancellor–you don’t forget when a seemingly kindly old man orders his guards to murder you–escaping, finding Kix in 79s, and talking to General Skywalker and Rex. Oh, Rex. The memory of his ori’vod holding him close, crying as the second of the shinies he’d practically adopted faded away. 

Is this what happens when you die? He thought bitterly as he scowled at the floor. You have to relive the worst parts of your life? What’s next? Umbara? The Citadel? Kamino?

“Are you experiencing anything out of the ordinary? Anything that could be a potential sign of the mental decline your friend experienced?” AZI broke him from his bitter thinking.

“No, no,” he said, waving him off. “I don’t… think so. Maybe–do you think he had deja vu?”

“There is no way of knowing what Clone Trooper Tup experienced before his death, however feelings of deja vu are not a common indicator of an impending mental break.”

Fives sighed, pushing off from the table to pace the small room. “I swear, it feels like I’ve done this before.”

“Like you’ve done–”

“All this,” Fives groaned, his hands gesturing vaguely. “You removed my chip, we go to the records hall. They take me to the chancellor, he–”

Fives went still, his mind working over his options. 

“ARC Trooper Fives?”

“AZI, I think this goes much deeper than the chips in our heads.”

—

“General, you have to believe me, I can show you–”

“You’ve gone too far, Fives.”

“Stand down, soldier!”

“No, Fives!”

—

“General Ti,” he said. The general came to his side. “The-the doctor injected me with something… I-I don’t feel well.”

“I’m sure it was just to help you relax, Fives,” she smiled sympathetically. 

“No, no,” Fives shook his head. “It… doesn’t feel like last time. This one… this one’s gonna kill me. Please–”

“Fives, I do not understand–”

“I…can’t see’i- ‘nym–”

“Fives? Fives!”

—

“Fives, what are you doing in here?” Shaak Ti questioned, still in her meditation pose. “You are meant to be completing the tests necessary to put you back in the field.”

“General, when we were cadets, you helped me and Echo find our place in our squad. You did us a huge favor and I have just one more to ask of you before I’m sent away.”

He could see the skepticism in her eyes, but she nodded. “What can I do for you?” 

“I need to know something about you. Something you’ve never told anyone before– something that you’d need to investigate if someone said it back to you.”

“Fives–”

“I know, General. But please, once I go back to that testing room, I’ll either be sent to the front to die or I’ll have my memory wiped. Either way, I know too well that I’ll be a dead man.”

Fives could feel something touch his mind. He let his eyes close, allowing the Jedi to prod him for answers.

“Something small,” he pleaded quietly. “Just something that would tell you to talk to me.”

As the general’s touch eased from his mind and she simply searched him with her eyes, he began to lose hope.

“Apologies, General Ti,” he said finally. “I’ll leave you to your meditation.” He gave a slight bow and turned for the door.

“Fives,” her voice reached his ears right before he opened the door. “Nannariums.”

He turned to look at her, finding a soft confusion still covering her face, but her eyes were curious. 

“They are my favorite flower. No one else knows this.”

Relief stole over him. He nodded his thanks to her, then walked to his seemingly inevitable death.

—

“Perhaps it would be best if clone trooper Fives and I discussed this without your presence,” the Chancellor said, his smile warm and sickly sweet. Fives fought the urge to punch him.

“Chancellor, I must object,” General Ti scowled.

“Please, Master Jedi,” the Chancellor cooed. “Trust me. I will not be alone.”

Whatever that aiwha-bait doctor dosed him with was fogging his mind. 

“N-no,” he protested, instantly sure that this must have been the pivotal moment. This is where everything went wrong. “General, please. Don’t leave me alone with him,” he pleaded, stepping towards the kind Jedi. “He’s not the one at risk, General.”

The General startled. “Fives, what are you–”

“This is obviously the delusional ramblings of a defective clone,” Se protested.

“On the ship, on our way here,” Fives breathed, all too aware of the glare boring into him from the Kaminoan. “The doctor injected me wi-with something and I can’t… Please just stay with me.”

Shaak Ti’s eyes scrutinized him. 

“You can… you could see if something was affecting me, couldn’t you?” he said, his eyes searching hers as much as she searched his. “Making my head all foggy?”

“Master Jedi?” Palpatine probed. 

He could feel the general’s gentle touch at the back of his mind.

Fives tried to calm himself, pulling only one memory to his mind. Too many would confuse her–he found that out last time.

A quiet meditation room on Kamino. The quiet confusion and curiosity on her face.

Her own voice.

“Fives. Nannariums. They are my favorite flower. No one else knows this.”

Shaak Ti gasped quietly, her eyes going wide. She thought for a moment. “If it would be a comfort to this trooper, perhaps it would be better if I stay.”

“Thank you, general,” Fives sighed, relief flooding his body.

“Of course,” Palpatine said, his voice still that of a kind old man, but his expression soured as he looked at Fives. “All will stay present, but perhaps we should all just let the man speak.” He looked to the general and the doctor, who both gave a nod.

Fives’ teeth ground together. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please, Fives,” General Ti nodded. “Tell us what is going on.”

Fives could feel his hands shake, his focus solely on the General. “There is a plot against the Jedi, General. There is a Sith in this–” his eyes nervously turned towards the chancellor. “In the Senate. They’re controlling this war from both sides.”

“This is lunacy,” Nala Se muttered. “Chancellor, this clone has clearly gone mad without his chip. He must be–”

“Doctor, we all agreed to let Fives speak,” the general said, fixing her with a stern look.

“The chips have… orders written into them to kill the Jedi. We would be forced to obey the order without a second thought,” he said, determinedly continuing to speak over Nala Se’s renewed objections. “It isn’t supposed to happen until someone triggers it, but Tup’s malfunctioned and it caused him to execute the general.”

Shaak Ti’s face betrayed her whirlwind of emotions. 

“Master Jedi, I find I must agree with the good doctor,” Palpatine muttered. “This is obviously a very, very sick clone.”

“General, I swear on- on nannariums, I’m telling the truth,” Fives insisted.

“I am taking ARC Trooper Fives to the Jedi temple for evaluation,” the general said suddenly. “He has made many… disturbing claims, yet I can sense that he truly believes them.”

The chancellor stood aghast, stammering “But Master Ti, I believe–”

“I will bring him to plead his case before the Jedi High Council and our temple’s best mind healers,” she said, her voice exuding confidence. “I’m sure we can all say that we want what is best for the Republic, yes?”

“Well, of course–”

“And what is best for the Republic is to learn the origin of this clone’s… delusions.”

Shaak Ti ignored the protests from the doctor and chancellor as she pulled Fives from the room by the arm.

“Thank you for believing me, General,” he practically gushed. “I don’t know how to tha–”

Before he could finish, Shaak Ti spun on her heel, her saber hilt pressed to his chest. “How could you know that?” 

“G-general?”

“That is something I’ve not told even my dearest friends,” she elaborated. “Clones are force-null; you cannot have seen it in a vision, yet the memory felt real.”

Fives’ eyes darted around the room. It was empty except for them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

“Take me to the Council, General,” he pressed. “Please.”

She fixed him with a hard look but placed her lightsaber back on her belt. “I will.” She turned back to continue.

He sighed. “Thank you, again, General. I’ve been–” 

She stopped, eyeing him over her shoulder. “Do not speak until we are before the council.”

He tensed and she looked away and sighed. “I have already been… biased, but the rest of the council must receive the full story.”

A chill ran down Fives’ spine. “Yes, General.”

He sat in silence as the transport took them to the temple. Over the last… oh maker, he’d lost count of how many times he’d been through this–this was the first time in a while he started to feel that tiny spark of hope deep in his chest–perhaps a little further down than where Fox had shot him about half of these days. If he thought about it too hard, he could feel that hole burning into his chest, he could hear Rex’s anguish. He’d do anything to stop that from happening again, to stop hearing that broken cry of his name spilling over his brother’s lips. If all of this was real and he was being given so many chances to get this all right, he’d do it for Rex, for Tup, and for all their brothers.

“Your thoughts are… quite loud,” the general hummed as they arrived at the temple, her eyes–filled with curiosity–meeting his for the first time since leaving the Senate building.

He felt his cheeks flush. “Oh! I’m sorry–” 

“No, no, it is alright,” she waved his concern off. “Perhaps I should not have been eavesdropping.”

“That’s okay,” he murmured. 

“While I find your… situation… to be perplexing, your dedication is commendable… and perhaps a bit inspiring,” she smiled as the doors to the transport closed behind them. 

“Uh, thank you, General.”

“Fives, you are aware that the things you have claimed are extremely unbelievable, yes?” she said as they entered the halls. Idly, Fives wondered how many clones had entered these halls before.

“Yes, sir,” he nodded, adding that “it was unbelievable to me too, the first dozen times” under his breath.

She took him directly to the High Council Chamber, telling him–and the pair of guards by the door–to “stay put. I mean it, Fives. Do not lose this opportunity” before entering the chambers.

He glanced at one of the guards. “I’m not going anywhere, but if I don’t move my legs right now I’m going to lose my mind.”

The guard didn’t answer save for a small nod. He thanked them and began pacing.

“You’re not the first to wear down the floor out here,” Plo Koon said, the chamber door closing behind him. He couldn’t be sure, but Fives was fairly certain he was smiling beneath that mask. “And I am certain you won’t be the last.’

“General Koon,” Fives chirped automatically, standing up at attention. 

“At ease, Trooper,” Koon answered. “If you are ready, the Council is ready to hear your story.”

Suddenly, the weight of everything happening to him seemed to hit him. Not just his own fate, but the fate of all of his brothers rested squarely on his shoulders. The fate of Tup’s honor sat there, as well. If he could prove that what happened with General Tiplar wasn’t Tup’s fault���

“Fives?” Shaak Ti whispered. He hadn’t noticed her come out. “Are you ready?”

Fives took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, General.”

« Previous Day Next Day »

Thanks for reading! - River

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist DangRaccoon Masterlist Taglist Form Read on AO3

Tags: @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @nomercyforthewarrior @padawancat97 @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

[keep-calm-and-drink-caf]

Clones As Things My Friends Have Said:

Wolffe: If I don’t have my coffee in the next few seconds this whole place is going to shit

Kix: So sorry, there’s no cure for pure stupidity. Or for being a dumbass. Sorry for the inconvenience, have a nice day!

Fives: There goes my maturity, straight out the window! …Oh no, it crashed somewhere on Uranus

Echo: Everyone keeps telling me that my twin is so well-behaved and competent and I’m just holding back the urge to show them a picture of him eating shampoo out of an open container because it was dark and he thought it was melted ice cream.

Hardcase: So uh. Good news and bad news. The good news is, we have an excuse to finally cook our food properly! The bad news… we maybe kinda blew up the microwave. Oh, and the pizza oven. Sorry about that.

Jesse: I wish I could say I was the mostly sane one out of these people but sadly I cannot. Echo has that title. Maybe because I tangled all his cables so badly that he spent two hours untangling each one of them. He still hasn’t forgiven me for that one.

Howzer: Life keeps hitting me with bricks. I would throw some bricks back but I’m definitely a sweetheart and throwing bricks doesn’t sound like something a sweetheart would do.

Tup: Help I tried to be Ariel and now there’s a fork stuck in my hair. Please help me I can’t get it out-

Rex: Remind me why I’m here, please? I don’t remember getting in trouble with all of you, but I guess I have to back you up now…

Crosshair: A conscience? What’s that? …A voice in your head? That sounds like a mental illness, not something encouraging you to be good.

Hunter: Can a butter knife be a murder weapon?

Tech: I am surrounded by pathetic, less-than-competent onion skins with the brain capacity of a small-sized potato salad. …Hey, it’s better than calling you all idiots.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hi Mimi 🥰

Congrats on your follower milestone!!!

For your event, may I request "Here Comes The Sun" by the Beetles with Tup x Fem!Reader? (I decided against the bass 😂)

Please and thank you 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Thank you so much love @the-bad-batch-baroness!

This was such a good request, not only do I love the Beetles, but I love Tup, and we were robbed of his screen time.

I hope you love my take on this song.

Also 'euk cyar'ika' means little darling/sweetheart. Close enough. ;)

Love oo.

Here Comes The Sun

Warnings: Mentions of tattoo meanings, discussions of slavery, murder, prison, killing, saving, surviving, tenderness, kissing. If I miss anything, please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

You had a crush on Tup from the first moment you met him.

It didn’t surprise you when you both quickly became friends, after all he had a calming and friendly personality, which made it easy for him to become friends with just about anyone. You smiled as you tilted your head while you had lunch with him.

“What is it, mesh’la?”

“Why a teardrop tattoo? I don’t get it. I mean it looks good, but usually a teardrop tattoo signifies a prison term or the fact you’re a murderer. Which you aren’t.”

“Aren’t I?” Tup lowered his utensils and looked at you, a soft smile on his face, “I may not be in prison, but I am an indentured servant to the Republic. I may not have killed out of necessity, greed, or even passion, but am I not killing when I’m in battle?”

“But you’re a soldier.”

“Does that make it more acceptable to take a life?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry mesh’la, maybe this is a bit too heavy-handed a topic for lunch.”

You reached your hand forward and took his, “Is that what you think of yourself, a prisoner who commits murder?”

“Am I wrong?”

You let out a sigh, as you tugged him to his feet to follow you. You guided him to your quarters, and pulled out a holopic display that hung on one of the shelving units. He watched as you swiped through several pictures, until you found the one of your village. 

“This was my village.”

“Was?”

You nodded, “Separatist droids came in and wiped most of them out. There’s only a handful of us left. What they did,” you pointed to the picture, “was murder. You aren’t killing people, Tup. You’re saving them. It’s because of soldiers like you, that my village … whatever is left of it is able to keep surviving. Plus you’re not killing your dismantling droids.”

Despite the turmoil within him, he couldn’t help but feel a weight had lifted off his shoulder. As his eyes drifted to your face, he could feel his soul healing, as though the long, cold, lonely winter that had been his existence since he emerged from his growth chamber had finally started to melt.

He felt his first genuine smile return to his face as he looked at you, he let out a slight chuckle, “You surprise me mesh’la.”

“Me?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded as he put back your holopic display back to its original spot. “No one has ever … no, no one was ever concerned about my thoughts or even asked me about the teardrop tattoo.” He turned to look at you, “No one bothered to ask, about what I felt inside. What had been tormenting me since the very beginning, but you…”

He closed the distance between the two of you, his gaze was full of his own heart’s desire. He wanted to tell you so many times, countless times of what you meant to him. He gently reached up and gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin under his finger. 

“You’re the only one that sees me. It’s as though you’re my sun, you make everything alright, just with your smile alone.” His other hand reached up to cup your cheeks, almost keeping your head there, looking up into his eyes.

“Because of you, euk cyar’ika, the ice that has surrounded my heart since the day I was born has finally started to melt. Because of you …” he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your face. 

Your hands moved, holding his forearms, you weren’t sure if it was to steady yourself or to keep him close.

“Because of you, there’s sun in my life, ner euk cyar’ika” he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours, wanting, needing to pour out everything he had felt for you since the moment you came into his life. 

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites

[bibannana]

Fives *holding up a fancy set of dice*: Dice are just math rocks.

Echo *shudders in disgust*: Excuse me?

Fives *unfazed, unaffected, undisturbed*: You are excused.

Jesse *catching a dice Fives threw at his face*: Why are you calling them math rocks?

Fives *throws another dice hitting Kix on the forehead, that falls straight into his caf*: Because they're rocks??? With numbers on them???

Kix *ready for murder*: Fascinating.

Pickup *watching as Kix pours hot caf over Fives hand that threw the dice*: Uhhhh what if the dice are made from plastic?

Tup *watching Fives throw a handful of dice from his belt, only to throw them in Kix's face*: I don't really think that matters.

Rex *walks into the room only to slip on the dice all over the floor*: Agh-!

Hardcase and Coy *keels over wheezing from laughter*

Taglist: @soliloquy-of-nemo @nekotaetae @staycalmandhugaclone @jiabeewrites @sexy-rex

[mwolf0epsilon]

Is it Really Self-Hatred When You're No Longer You?

Summary: '22 is a resentful man.

Warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts!

[The counterpart fic to Fleeting Memory. Where Tup is struggling to deal with his grief and feelings of inadequacy, '22 has to deal with everyone else's guilt and their desire for him to "heal" and become Dogma once more. As you can imagine, this has a rather negative effect on him...]

---

Inevitably, '22 begins to resent Dogma.

It's not something he can help but to do. Not when everyone looks to him and wishes with all their might that, by some miracle, '22 would just seize to be and their lost brother was returned to them. And this is not mere speculation on his part. He's heard the whispers behind closed doors. Listened to every single word that slipped from the lips of clones that thought him too inept to understand that he wasn't wanted. That they only allowed him to stay out of pity.

He's watched from the shadows (a strange hollow feeling in his chest) as Tup asked Fives whether or not it was selfish of him, that he wanted Dogma to have truly been killed instead of being turned into '22. If it was cruel to wish for his brother to be at peace, instead of being forced to roam the halls as something lesser than a man.

Tup's words are always the ones that hurt the most.

Despite the growing annoyance (and burning hatred), he never confronts anyone about it. '22 much prefers to avoid conflict when given the choice. On Kamino peace and quiet had been just about the only luxuries he'd ever gotten. Rewards for being an agreeable little pawn that did whatever its masters told it to do without complaint.

If he didn't fight... If he didn't scream... If he did his tasks with the utmost efficiency...

The lab existed as an alternative to the dismantling and repurposing of defective units. It wasn't the better alternative, mind you, as reeducation was simply not an exact science. But it was certainly less messy in a more physical sense.

Clones who were not up to par in the field could be remade anew for a purpose that better served them.

Temperament issues, speech impediments, disobedience, independence... Those were symptoms of mental deficiencies that the lab could "fix".

Ultimately, Dogma had been defective. Disobedient in a murderous degree. Killed a superior officer (a Jedi no less), and then been sent away and never inquired after ever again. The 501st hadn't cared when they thought he was still alive and well. So why did they now, when '22 had taken his place? When they'd been shown the results of the Kaminoan's "corrective efforts"?

He's heard what the medic with the incision tattoos had to say.

How they ranted and raved with unrestrained fury that everyone was being a disgusting hypocrite. How none of them had actually liked Dogma prior to learning about the reconditioning. And yet, suddenly, everyone and their brother was crying gryzard tears over a vod they had often compared to a rupturing appendix.

The medic's honesty and outrage had been just about the only thing that had comforted '22. If just because at least someone (other than the little black and white critter that stared at him with understanding yellow eyes) didn't expect the impossible from him.

Dogma was gone and '22 had ownership of this body now.

It was never his intention to resent Dogma.

Anger, hatred and other heart-rate raising emotions were, quite frankly, counterproductive things that only caused trouble. Placidity and amicability were qualities that should be striven for. Especially if they made your chest hurt less, and your eyes and nose stop burning. What use was there to hate a dead man anyway?

Crying over something outside of his control was never pleasant. It made the headaches and the tremors worse. And then he'd vomit and the sour taste would remind him of all the times he'd nearly aspirated, during one of the many tests he was subjected to on Kamino.

Sour and salty things make him shudder and gag violently. The smell of cheese alone makes him lock his jaw on instinct. All his foods have to be coated in copious amounts of sweet sauces or other artificial sugars, for him to be able to choke them down.

'22 hates that everyone keeps giving him cheese when it clearly distresses him. Because it was Dogma's favorite. He always gives their offerings to DB instead, who eagerly eats them and then nuzzles his fingers gratefully in return (the little Bean is his only true friend).

Intentional or not, resenting Dogma comes naturally.

And it's not even his fault. It's everyone else's and their single-minded insistence on trying to push him to become someone he's not. With every comparison, every inquiry over memories or inside jokes he's not privy to, every attempt to tease him over a quality he does not possess, every single interaction where no one sees him for who he is... The burning in his chest increases.

And as time passes, his resentment of Dogma extends to Tup as well.

Tup who consistently torments '22 with the futile hope that his "actual brother" will one day return to him. Tup who is a despicable terrible man who dragged '22 out of the only place that ever made sense to him. Tup who he fantasizes about smothering with a pillow in the night so as to put an end to the perpetual misery.

He can never bring himself to do it, even when he knows he's the only one awake. The only person currently looming over the more tangible object of their ire, with clenched fists, gritting teeth, and a cold horrid burn in his withering heart.

Instead he always finds his way up onto the roof and sits on the ledge overlooking the cityscape.

Trying to desperately stamp out the wickedness that overtakes him, whenever his head gets too full of the buzzing anguish that comes with wanting someone he hates to love him just as much as he clearly loved Dogma...

One of these days he might just jump. It'd be easier after all, if he were simply dead.

At the very least easier than pretending anyone might ever come to love '22, when all he was is a reminder of someone they apparently hadn't even liked all that much if they'd let Kamino spirit him away into nothingness...

Well, someone that isn't DB and the maintenance droids at least. The little Bean and his mouse droid friends seem to be the only beings in this galaxy that give a damn about '22's well being. They're the only thing keeping him from doing more than just sitting at the precipice of his demise.

And, pragmatic as ever, '22 considers that to be enough for now.

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Ten

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Chapter contains drug use, violence, canon-typical racism, and absolutely no Eris.

Aisling had been hoping to continue playing the recluse after her night with Eris, but typically, her luck didn’t hold. She had wanted to stew and sulk and sort through her feelings in private, contemplating what it meant to have a mate. On the surface she knew, but she wanted to turn the knowledge over and over in her mind until she understood.

Mates were property, both in Night and in Autumn. Anything but acceptance was unthinkable – and mates were sacred, so rare it was a blessing. But to be mated to the heir of the Autumn Court…. Aisling had a sinking feeling that she hadn’t thought through the full weight of it when she sulked her way out of his chambers.

Eris plagued her thoughts ever since, though. She had felt the ghost of his hands on her, the phantom drag of his lips on her neck; it had felt like he’d branded her with how thoroughly he’d laid claim to every inch of skin. The bite mark he’d left on her neck ached, and she pressed on it absently as she thought of the way his hair shone like molten metal in the firelight.

She wanted him again. That was the worst part - that despite his arrogance, despite him refusing to understand the danger he’d dropped her in, despite his refusal to explain himself at all, she wanted to touch him again so badly her teeth ached.

Aisling groused that she had to show her face at court as Maeve helped her dress. The timing was poor. It was an execution, and watching was enforced on all occupants of the City. She hadn’t known the female – some lower gentry wife – and had been too withdrawn lately to hear the gossip, but the female’s offense was vow-breaking. A grievous insult: vows weren’t magically binding, but the social contract was strict and demanded satisfaction. Aisling didn’t feel much sympathy, too preoccupied with thoughts of Eris.

Eris, and his arrogant, laughing voice. The width of his shoulders as he spread her legs. The glow of his skin, luminous in the firelight.

It was only after the unfortunate female’s head had been branded with the Court crest and mounted on the gates that Niamh sidled up to her, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I missed you,” she whispered, linking her little finger with Aisling’s. “Why have you been hiding? Padraig is away, on the border. Come play house with me.”

She was not so outcast, then. The dizzying swoop of relief, the relief of female friendship and of everything Niamh’s offer meant – Aisling squeezed her little finger, followed obediently. It would be good; to pretend nothing had changed, that her plans for her life hadn’t been wiped clean.

“I heard Eris Vanserra strangled you and killed you,” Niamh said later, once they were sat on her couch. Aisling choked on her tea, tucking her bare feet under her like a little girl. Niamh laughed at her.

“From whom?” Aisling spluttered.

“A guard in the palace tups my maid. She told me,” Niamh said, eyes sparkling. “What could he have heard that made him suspect murder, I wonder?”

Aisling avoided her eye, making Niamh laugh harder.

“Very wicked,” Niamh said teasingly. “But your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that you enjoyed yourself and shall say that you suffered bravely for the sake of our Court.”

“Only so long as I tell you every detail?” Aisling guessed, pouring another cup of tea for both of them.

“Exactly,” Niamh said with a triumphant smile and lifted a small jar from the table beside her. “And only so long as you’re wicked for a little while longer.”

Aisling took it, lifting the lid. Immediately, the smell of mushrooms stuffed itself up her nose – earth, a bit of rot, a lot of magic.

“Niamh…” Aisling winced, replacing the lid.

“Oh, please,” Niamh wheedled. “Padraig is away. It will be fun, just as when we were girls. Did you have any plans, other than sulking and sending Eris filthy dreams?”

Aisling didn’t mention that she hadn’t been planning on even doing that. She knew the nightcap mushrooms very well – it was impossible not to, they grew commonly in the lower, damper levels – but it had been a while since she’d consumed any. The resulting night could be freeing, or haunting; she’d experienced both. The mushrooms were unpredictable, though some explained it as picking up the magic of the Fae nearby, saying you had to be careful where you plucked.

They were ritually taken at the Summer Solstice, and habitually by anyone with a yearning to open a door in their mind and leave the City for a few hours. It wasn’t exactly difficult to get them - Niamh certainly didn’t have to go as far as the floating markets - but the practice wasn’t encouraged among gentry females.

Little was encouraged among gentry females, actually.

Niamh didn’t really have to press her. The idea of escape, even temporarily, was dangerously seductive. Maybe she’d see something other than Eris’ elegant hands sliding up her legs when she closed her eyes. Just once, she thought. A little reprieve.

Niamh smiled in delight as Aisling shook one out, carefully splitting it in half with one of Padraig’s daggers. It took an hour or two to take effect. They spent this giggling and descending slowly into absurdity, somehow ending up sprawled on the floor. A maid stepped over them as she cleared the tea tray, fetching wood when Aisling asked.

“I have a riddle for you,” Aisling said, the room suddenly feeling as pleasant and warm as a bath. Niamh was beside her, blonde hair spilled across the blue carpet. It shone silver-gold, sparkling with Niamh’s magic when she moved. Niamh rolled onto her back to look at Aisling, eyes curious and bright, all pupil. “A male and a female -”

“That’s a jigsaw puzzle, not a riddle,” Niamh giggled stupidly, setting Aisling off.

“Let me finish. A male and a female, but he is as changeable as -”

“A fire?” Niamh said, laughing as Aisling blushed. She could feel the blush, and pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide it but it wriggled under her hands, escaping from her.

“He professes endearment, but leaves the female behind when he goes. He says he’ll return for her,” Aisling said, as Niamh traced some pattern on the rug, eyes half-closing. She was speaking very slowly, or perhaps Aisling was merely listening to every single word very closely.

“No riddle,” Niamh said. She was glowing with life, Aisling noticed suddenly. They were so alive, the two of them. “A tale as old as the mountain, that one.”

“Will he come back?” Aisling asked the moon, which she felt that she could see, staring at her through miles of stone. It loved her, even if they had never seen each other, and she loved it. If she ever saw it, she would tell it that. The moonlight would feel like silk, and Aisling could imagine it now, silken against her cheek.

“Padraig?” Niamh said, stroking the rug over and over, like a cat. “I hope so. I’m with child.”

Aisling couldn’t hear her while she built a fire in the hearth. Niamh was speaking too slowly, anyways. The room was warm but Aisling wanted to be warmer, wanted to be boiling hot. She wanted the smell of woodsmoke, wanted to see nothing but amber and crimson.

You’re my mate, he’d said. You belong to me.

“You belong to me,” Niamh told her womb, eyes fully closed now, one hand stroking her belly. Had she said that aloud?

The act of building the fire felt very important. She imagined Eris doing it, imagined his hands alongside hers, showing her. The texture of the wood felt glorious so she held it for a while, thinking of the life the tree had led and where, the life she would lead and where, how she had ended up holding the wood of the tree that grew elsewhere.

Perhaps it grew in Autumn. Perhaps in Winter. Maybe the pine forests of the Steppes. Aisling held it and felt she was also in these places, because she touched the wood that had touched these places.

Aisling lost time when she was staring into the fire, seeing the patterns in the flames so clearly that it enraptured her. She felt warm and happy, and the memory of Eris over her and in her wasn’t a phantom or a ghost but a warm blanket, surrounding her. She fell asleep on the floor beside Niamh, thinking of that, wondering if Eris felt warm and happy, too.

———————

Azriel awoke from his nightmare abruptly. He was disoriented, the taste of blood in his mouth; it took him sitting up to remember it was the taste of the wine he drank last night. That’s right – he had been drinking at the River House with Cassian, Rhys, and Mor until the early hours of the morning. He had wanted to leave earlier, but Mor had wheedled him into staying.

It will be just like old times she’d said, brown eyes wide as she smiled slyly. How could he refuse?

The nightmare was already slipping away in the blue light of early dawn. He’d dreamt of skin under his hands, giving way like tearing into fabric. It had been dark, as it always was in his dreams. A finger, he remembered. He’d taken a finger off in his dream like parting out a butchered chicken. Azriel frowned, rubbing at his head to clear it. Was that a memory, floating up unbidden? Something made up?

The wine conflated the two, he decided. More likely than not he’d done similar, ripping a finger off the bone, but he couldn’t remember a specific instance. His mind often enjoyed filling in the blanks for him of the things he’d forgotten.

Nearly five hundred years of violence meant that he’d forgotten a lot.

He had a meeting with Cass and Rhys this morning. They had meant to get stuck into it last night, but Mor had arrived, talking about Vallahan and the progress on the treaty there, then about her new adventures, then about their old adventures… it had spiralled out from there.

Azriel opted to fly slowly, stretching his wings, admiring Velaris as dawn broke and chased away the cobwebs of his dream. A beautiful city – more beautiful than anything he’d thought he’d ever see – he’d never get used to it.

What Rhys had built was good. He thought of it as he swooped down to the River House, about the refuge they offered here. They’d had more refugees lately as word spread, fleeing from the instability in Spring and the border violence in Autumn, the aftermath of the war. A great many of them were walking wounded. He thought of the Urisks he’d seen a few weeks ago, missing hands and feet. He’d seen the pain and the hardness in Feyre’s eyes at that, too.

“Come in, come in,” Feyre greeted him as he walked through the front door. Nyx was already in her arms, straining to be free. He’d started walking enthusiastically lately, often toddling into a run only to stumble and end up in a heap of wings and fat little limbs. Nyx was reaching for him, little smile wide.

“Cass and Rhys are just in his office. No, Uncle Az has very important business to attend to, you can’t play with him just yet,” Feyre mock-scolded Nyx, raising him to blow a raspberry on his tummy and sending him into a fit of squealing giggles.

Azriel couldn’t help the smile as he stepped through the door.

Rhys looked tired, but happy.

“Nyx,” he explained, waving away Azriel’s concerned glance. “He didn’t feel like sleeping, again. Up all night.”

“So was Cass,” Az said, deadpan, as Cassian yawned.

“Don’t tell me anything more. I don’t want to know,” Rhys said, rolling his eyes.

“You’d deserve it after all you put us through with Feyre darling,” Cass teased in return, refusing to be embarrassed. Azriel liked seeing his brothers like this, relaxed and happy and mated, even if jealousy also twisted like acid through his gut.

“Eris,” Rhys started, steepling his fingers and smirking as he changed the subject with the subtlety of a brick. He ducked the paper Cassian wadded up and threw at him smoothly. “I don’t like him cosying up too closely with the Court of Nightmares. No good can come of it. Everything they want there comes at a cost to us.”

“He’s plenty cosy,” Cassian snorted, propping a booted foot up on the desk. Rhys looked at it pointedly, which Cassian chose to ignore.

“Meaning?” Rhys said, looking to Azriel.

“They’ve given him a consort there,” Azriel said. “After they killed my spy, I sent a shadow to check myself. He met with a female. Escorted by a soldier.”

“Charming,” Rhys grimaced, but Azriel could tell he was glad that Feyre and Mor weren’t here for the conversation.

Eris knew Azriel’s shadows too well at this point – ever since he’d been caught in Autumn, the heir had taken pains to ward against them. It was notable when he didn’t, though Azriel got the feeling it was Eris directing his attention rather than slipping up. There had been a few instances, most recently a meeting between Beron and his sons about expanding into Spring. It had been difficult to shake the feeling of being manipulated but he had dutifully reported back to Rhys about it, only to have their offer of stationing Illyrian soldiers in Spring for stability rebuffed by Tamlin. They’d then arranged a meeting with Eris, who had looked sly as he offered to send his own loyal soldiers rather than Beron’s.

To ensure we keep control of the situation, he’d said, smirking, knowing he’d positioned himself as their arm in Spring. It was trademark Eris Vanserra – keeping them chasing his tail, letting them watch him when he wanted to be watched. Manipulating the situation to his own ends.

“He’s given them something, then,” Rhys mused. “They’ve been courting him for some advantage, to keep their role as allies. But what can he give them right now that they would want? What’s changed?”

“The female will be the weakest point,” Cassian said. “Keir and Thanatos won’t say anything. Az said the Darkbringers are difficult to break, so the soldier is out. The female makes sense to start with.”

Azriel kept his face blank, but he was balking; his shadows crawled over his shoulders, sensing his reluctance, seeking to hide him.

“Just -” Rhys said, trailed off. “Just a conversation. Keir will never let you speak to a female unsupervised there, so I doubt it will come to anything, anyways. But maybe they told her something, or perhaps Eris did. He likes to plant little surprises for us. She might give something away.”

This was met with an eye roll from Cassian, who had experienced running around after Eris’ little surprises himself. Azriel knew, glumly, that it had to be him – Keir would outright refuse if it was Cassian, and this wasn’t worth Rhys’ or Feyre’s time. Mor also wasn’t a possibility.

“Just a conversation,” Azriel said, quietly.

“Of course,” Rhys agreed, but Azriel couldn’t shake the sense that he didn’t. He was getting impatient with the Hewn City, wanting to focus on the treaty on the Continent instead, on kicking Tamlin back into his former strength to ensure Prythian was a united front. The Court of Nightmares growing mutinous and tricky was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Azriel also knew the second half of Eris’ bargain weighed on Rhys’ mind – Eris had fulfilled his end, leaving Rhys in his debt; something that had caused more than a few long strategy meetings between them.

Azriel went to the Hewn City, late in the day. The morning had felt rare and golden, and he wanted to prolong it, to savour it like wine. He left winnowing as late as possible.

The meeting room Azriel had been shown to after directing Keir to bring him the female was smaller than the council room, with a round stone table that he sat on one side of as he waited. He knew the female’s name, Aisling De Danann, and that she was a shockingly wealthy member of the gentry. There wasn’t much else. Azriel doubted there was much else to know; females in the Hewn City skewed subservient and quiet.

The female had a nearly-faded bruise on the arch of her cheekbone and an angry bite mark not quite hidden by the neckline of her dress, perhaps two or three days old. It was vivid against her pale skin. A fresher bruise was smudged against back of her neck, a shadow told him as it slid through the fall of her dark hair unnoticed. Eris’ handiwork, left stamped for Azriel to see.

She smelled like stone, as most people of the Court of Nightmares did. She also smelled like mushrooms, faintly. And rose and mist and… something else that he couldn’t identify but scratched at him irritably.

“Your presence isn’t needed,” Azriel said to Keir.

It was as Rhys said it would be. “And leave you alone with one of our females? I think not, brute,” Keir sneered in answer. He watched like a hawk, leaning against the wall by the closed door, a cruel indifference twisting his mouth. He was watching the female, though, not Azriel.

“What did Eris Vanserra want with you?” Azriel asked, studying the female closely. He didn’t bother with introducing himself – they knew who he was here.

Aisling had evidently been well trained. Her face was a blank, pleasant mask as she studied him in return. Her dark eyes flicked over his face, the siphons on his shoulders, skimming over the shadows coiling around his wings. Azriel kept his hands carefully beneath the table, away from her scrutiny. The corner of her mouth quirked up at his question, but she didn’t answer for a long moment as she evaluated him, and the silence stretched.

Too long for Keir. He crossed the room in three strides and slammed her head forward into the table. She let out a grunt as she hit the stone with a hard thud, hands bracing against the edge, but she couldn’t lever herself up against the force with which Keir pressed down.

Azriel kept himself blank.

“Don’t waste my time,” he hissed at her, grinding her face against the obsidian slab for a moment longer before releasing her abruptly and returning to his post by the door. The female’s head rose back up, an angry red welt across her brow where it had taken the brunt of the impact.

Keir didn’t even pretend to care about Azriel’s reaction. Azriel was a torturer here. Why would they expect him to give a shit about a little more violence, he thought bitterly, heart cold and hard. He also thought Keir was less concerned about his time and more concerned about what the female might say, judging by the way he kept his glare fixed on the back of her head.

It was a warning, then, and not done for Azriel’s benefit at all.

Azriel fucking hated this place. He hated Keir, too. It was too easy to imagine how many times it had been Mor’s head smashed off the nearest hard object.

“What’s usually sought at Night,” the female said finally, as if they were having a pleasant conversation at a cafe. She dabbed lightly at the blood starting to trickle from her nose with the corner of her long sleeve. The hint of a smile hadn’t fully gone, despite the way Keir just violently concussed her in front of him.

“Elaborate,” Azriel directed her softly. Keir sighed heavily and handed her a black handkerchief from his pocket, which she used to staunch the blood.

“Surely you know?” She answered slyly, smile growing a little unfriendly. Blood was smeared across her face, over the fading bruises. “I did not think Illyrians so different.”

She was playing with her words. Azriel didn’t scowl – he had better control of himself than that – but he thanked the stars Cass wasn’t here because he’d never hear the end of it. He’d forgotten how they spoke here, always saying one thing and meaning another. It was how Rhys’ father had spoken. Every word was a trap, waiting to catch him if he erred.

“Did he ask anything of you?” Azriel said.

“Plenty,” she said coyly, smiling wider now.

“Questions about the Court,” Azriel clarified flatly. “Magical favours. Bargains.”

“Why would he ask me for such?” She demurred, but the glance up from under her eyelashes had weight. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling the truth, either; performing some verbal sleight of hand. Some instinct about her kept pressing on the back of his mind.

“Aisling,” Keir warned darkly. “Enough. Answer his questions.”

Aisling made a graceful gesture with her hand.

“As you say, Lord Steward. Does he have any others for me?”

“No,” Azriel finally decided. He’d obtain nothing of use from her in front of Keir; he was almost certain he could get her to talk without him. No torture needed, he thought, with no small amount of relief. “I do have questions for you, though, Keir.”

“You can ask as we go through the mine,” Keir ordered arrogantly, snapping his fingers at Aisling and gesturing her to the door. “We have business there. You didn’t deign to inform us you’d be gracing us here, so you’ll simply have to work to our schedule.”

Azriel didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the power struggle; far easier to let Keir think he had control of the situation. More was always revealed when someone felt confident. He simply followed Keir, taking the opportunity to let his shadows have a furtive look around; it had been too long since they’d been here last, distracted with tensions boiling on the Continent. The murdered spy hadn’t helped. Azriel mused over how to get another source as he followed them down through the palace and into the mine.

———————

A headache had been grinding into her all day, ever since the servant had woken Aisling up and she’d pried herself out of the bed she’d somehow made it to. Niamh had slept on, merely pulling the blanket over her head. It hadn’t been helped by having her head bounced off the table by Lord Keir, an entirely unnecessary gesture.

She wouldn’t have told the Illyrian anything, anyways. Everyone knew the Lord Steward was stealing from them. In Aisling’s view, it was deserved. Her tax burden was monumental, yet the High Lady only ever dressed in bits of ribbon. It would be less galling if she at least dressed like she was helping herself to a third of Aisling’s income. It did always make her wonder where the money went, though; not all of it could go to Lord Keir’s pocket, and it wasn’t as if the City received any notable investment. Aisling herself gave generously, though to no cause in particular. There was more than enough misery to go around, and always an orphanage or healer or school in need of help.

Besides, she hadn’t lied to the Illyrian. Eris hadn’t told her anything at all and had only asked of her what most males asked. The Illyrian could use his imagination. He was surely more creative than her.

Aisling rubbed at her temple absently, but the ache had shifted behind her eyes as the day had turned to evening. She couldn’t remember much of the prior night – it was all a garbled blur of sensation and emotion save for Niamh’s confession, which she had been sworn to wide-eyed secrecy about. But her eyes had stung from how long she’d stared at the fire like an idiot.

She’d followed Lord Keir and the Illyrian to the mine but stepped away to speak to the overseer about the problems arising in the new shaft they’d opened. As she understood it, the problem was water: the deeper they dug, the more water they found. This water had to go somewhere, and the river that flowed through the heart of the Mountain could not take it all, and would frequently burst its channels if they tried. They had begun flooding the very lowest sections of the levels where the coblynau who worked the mines had once lived. Aisling thought it obvious that this was not a sustainable solution, but knew better than to raise this issue with any other than the troll she stood with in a side chamber where the coblynau refined the raw stones into something beautiful. She preferred these rooms to the main shaft, where she had left Lord Keir and the Illyrian. It opened like a great gullet into the ground, spiralling down into darkness, with stairs and ramps that curled around its sides precariously.

She didn’t know how far down it went – the coblynau had no need of light so there wasn’t much to gauge the depth, only the distorted echoes of them working. The first time she visited as a child, she had nightmares of falling into the shaft endlessly for weeks afterwards.

The air felt like a blanket this far down. It was smothering and dragged in and out of her lungs with effort. The troll, Moglurch, towered over her, half again her height. He was the width of a column and as sturdy as a boulder. His skin was a pale green, like old lichen on stone; his lower fangs jutted out prominently and caught the light as he spoke.

“New shaft is good,” he pronounced to her, voice clattering like rocks that turned in the river. Aisling’s head throbbed painfully, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. “Productive.”

“What happens when you reach the bottom?” She asked, curious in a dull way.

The troll huffed impatiently, like she was being difficult. “We’ll never reach the bottom. Lasts forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” she said, frowning. Shadows crept against the walls where the light was falling, fading into the grey gloom of night.

“At the bottom is the end of the world,” the troll said, as if she were a stupid child. Aisling nodded sanguinely, as if this troll superstition made any sense to her.

Dust fell from the ceiling. She flicked it off her hair, annoyed.

“Could we pump the water seasonally? Perhaps in su-”

A rumble from beneath her feet, somewhere in the bowels of the earth, cut her short. She felt it more than heard it, travelling up through the stone and vibrating through her feet. She shut her mouth and looked at the overseer, who frowned.

“Mine noises,” he rumbled after a moment. “Stay, Sidhe.”

Aisling had no intention of listening to a troll. When he left, she waited a few moments before stepping after him, coming out to the stairs at the edge of the dark abyss. Air was dragging down into the great hole, tugging at her hair and dress. She peered first upwards, towards the mouth; the exit called to her, but she glanced down quickly. On the steps below her Lord Keir was caught in the light, a scowl on his arrogant face as he spoke to the Illyrian.

Azriel’s head snapped around to face her abruptly, but Aisling turned away. She was ready to leave without being dismissed, head banging like a drum. The air was stifling. She felt as if she could hardly breathe, even as the breeze suddenly picked up –

One moment she was there, facing upwards, and the next the world slid sideways with an almighty roar. It spun crazily for a moment, and then all she could see was stone. Her headache pounded worse, and she reached to touch it, disoriented.

Blood was on her fingers when she pulled them away, but it was impossible to say whether it was from her head or the way half her hand had been smashed open. The air was choking, hazy; it was like smoke. Eris, she thought, but it wasn’t smoke at all.

It hurt. She couldn’t breathe. She had to move.

Aisling tried to push herself – what was on her? Her legs were heavy and dull – and would have screamed at the pain that lanced up her arm, but her mouth was filled with rock and dirt and blood.

The Illyrian was there, leaning over her suddenly. He was saying something but Aisling couldn’t hear, all she heard was ringing. He reached out to touch her and she flinched back, suddenly panicked – he was taking her to kill her, he had just been waiting, ever since he asked her questions –

Darkness swept around them like a shawl as he grabbed her shoulder. Fear shredded at her, even as the air cleared. Eris, she thought again, lungs squeezing shut in terror. Why hadn’t he taken her with him? The blind longing for him – a want so strong she could feel it in her chest, with every beat of her heart, as if he could save her. As if he would bother, when he had already left her here once.

Aisling didn’t know when they had winnowed, or how he had brought her through the wards. She only realised time and space had passed when she heard him speak.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice pitched low and soft, like he was speaking to a wounded animal.

“Do not – don’t touch me,” she snarled, panicked despite his words, cracking her eyes open before flinging her hurt arm over her head. He let her go immediately.

Everything hurt. She lay like that, trying to take stock of herself, her head still rung like a bell. She was on a rug on a cool floor, smooth and polished beneath the fibres. Her mouth was gritty, tasting of blood and dirt. She could hear… she could hear…

Aisling’s eyes snapped open, then immediately screwed shut again as she hissed, near blinded. Instinctively she pulled darkness, wrapping herself in it, spilling from her hands. Wherever she was, it was bright; her eyes watered and head squeezed like a vice. But she could hear air moving. She could hear the wind.

“Az, what’s happened? I came as quick as I could. And what did you mean you needed to bring someone?” A voice was asking, footsteps drawing closer.

Aisling knew that voice. Everyone knew that voice. Her eyes sprang open again, mercifully cloaked in darkness this time, and she pushed herself gingerly up to face the violet eyes of the High Lord. The Illyrian – Azriel – stood by him, studying her with an inscrutable face. They loomed over her like giants.

“Eris Vanserra’s mate,” Azriel said, watching her like an animal. “Part of the mine collapsed. She was the female you had me speak to. It took me a while to realise, but she reeks of him once I puzzled it out. I thought it best not to let her get crushed to death.”

Aisling bowed her head, desperate to look away from them, to be anywhere else. Her hand pulsed with every heartbeat, which distracted her nicely from the dazzling pain in her head.

“Eris Vanserra has a mate?” The High Lord asked, voice dripping with amusement as he studied her, bleeding on his rug. His eyes suddenly narrowed and he whipped his head towards Azriel. “The mine collapsed?”

“Part of it,” Azriel confirmed, and the High Lord swore softly. “I’ll go back, try to discover what happened.”

“Not yet,” he directed. “It will take a while to settle. It’s unstable and dangerous until then. Too easy to get trapped. They’ll shore it up and we’ll all go back, together.”

Aisling struggled to her feet while they discussed, bracing her good arm on a plush settee to help her rise. She leaned against it, the room swimming drunkenly as she regained her equilibrium. It was lovely, wherever she was: pale moonstone walls and floors, gauzy white curtains, an elegantly carved hearth. Bookshelves lined the small room, comfortable chairs and chaises inviting her to sink down and sleep for the next ten years. The splitting pain in her head made that idea very appealing.

Her darkness hung heavy in the air, muting the colours, but the air itself was wild and crisp. Fresh and alive in a way Aisling couldn’t describe.

“I’ll send for a healer for you,” the High Lord was saying to her, but it was an effort to listen. “You seem to be bleeding quite a lot, and that rug was very expensive.”

“Did you know?” Azriel asked her, still staring at her unnervingly. “That Eris is your mate.”

“Yes,” Aisling ground out, dislodging a shard of rock that had been embedded in her gums as she moved her tongue.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, voice flat. It was as if he had no emotion at all. Aisling wanted to ask him how he did it, or if he genuinely didn’t feel anything.

“You didn’t ask,” she said, though it was so obvious she didn’t feel she needed to. Even a child in the Hewn City would know that and exploit that loophole.

The High Lord laughed darkly. “She has a point,” he said, as if this were all a dinnertime amusement. The room swam a little as she turned her head.

“Who would have guessed,” he mused, violet eyes flashing in the dark as he studied her. “But why leave you behind? What sort of male could stand to leave his mate in such a place?”

Aisling would have spoken up in his defence if she didn’t think she would be sick when she opened her mouth. When his attempt at baiting her didn’t succeed, the High Lord put his hands in his pockets, watching her carefully.

Something throbbed at her temple, mind squeezing inside her head. Aisling closed her eyes for a moment, letting it pass over her.

“He rarely does behave in a way that’s predictable,” the High Lord finally drawled, smirking now as he watched her. Had that been him, seeking a way in through the fog of pain currently swallowing her mind? “You can remain here, as my guest. As Eris is apparently so cavalier with your safety, it would be my pleasure to ensure it. Since he is evidently unable.”

His mouth said guest but she could read the meaning behind it plainly enough; she was to be a prisoner. Courtly manners alongside rotten treatment. Aisling was used to this, the pandering show of gentility while being handled roughly – Lord Keir, handing her his handkerchief after smashing her head into the table; Eris, calling her beautiful before holding her by the throat; her father, telling her he loved her after striking her neatly across the face.

The memory of Eris made nausea swoop again through her stomach, the realisation slowly dropping. It was as he said it would be – she was to be used as leverage over him, held to ensure his obedience for whatever ends they desired. It was exactly what Eris had sought to avoid. He had warned her, yet it came to pass regardless. Perhaps he would even reject her to avoid being manipulated, and she would be sent back to the City. Or perhaps Azriel would simply kill her, she thought wildly, sparing a glance at him.

“You could thank him for saving your life,” the High Lord suggested, noting the way she glanced, dark amusement in his voice. This was funny to him.

“You only saved me to serve the High Lord’s interests. I do not thank you,” Aisling said, refusing to be cowed by an Illyrian. She feared the High Lord, but she wouldn’t fear a lesser fae dog; he could kill her regardless, acting deferential wouldn’t spare her. More than that, she did not want to thank him and be in his debt. Debt was a form of obligation, in the City. Perhaps the Illyrians were exempt, but she certainly was not.

“She’s as arrogant as Vanserra,” the High Lord laughed as if she weren’t in the room. “You don’t think you owe him a boon?”

There were no right answers. Every word was a trap, but Aisling had played these games since she could talk. She had been born on this knife’s edge.

“I don’t think anything at all, Lord,” she said. There was a lot of blood on the floor, now. The puddle of it swam in front of her, doubling then tripling then sliding back together.

“I doubt that,” Azriel observed from behind her. They moved so she could not face them both at the same time, keeping her turning between them. She did not bare her teeth but every animal instinct screamed for her to lunge for the door, to run. But where? She was out of the City. Where was she?

“Just what we needed,” the High Lord smiled as he turned to depart. A charming grin, but with too many teeth and too little sincerity. “The Court of Nightmares to start thinking.”

After he had gone Aisling promptly vomited on the very expensive rug.

———————

A/N: I feel like faerie magic mushrooms works better in the setting than Crescent City's faerie coke and faerie weed