#oc clone trooper trigger

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐏𝐓 𝟐)

PAIRING: sergeant hunter x fem!oc reader

SUMMARY: the aftermath of order 66 for the bad batch, and the reunion of a jedi and her squad.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS + RATINGS: general audiences, mature themes, angst, fluff. happy ending to this chapter! female oc, use of she/her, mentions of death and order 66. series. follows the bad batch timeline.

NOTES: part tew. peep the masterlist!

STAR WARS MASTERLIST THE GREAT FIGHT MASTERLIST

Things were tense in the Marauder, the air thick and suffocating as they finally departed from Kaller. They had remained there for longer than the other clones on the planet, for they had suffered a loss of great devastation. 

Miri Rocksled had been an exception to their isolation from the rest of the GAR, she was one of them and perhaps she had been all along; thus was why approximately eighty percent of the Bad Batch was more than certain she was not guilty of the things the Jedi had been accused of. All, except their own sniper—Crosshair had never been one to express the warmest of emotions to the world around him, but he was unusually callous on the status of his former General. 

It had started with the kid, how he reacted to the orders to kill the padawan that struck something in Hunter. Orders or not, this was not something Clone Force 99 stood by; to claim they had been avid followers of the rules to begin with would be a shameful lie, but to choose such a time to start raised concerns in the man. And it was his reaction to Hunter’s reaction to realizing Miri was in danger that triggered such tension. 

“Hunter, we cannot go look for her,” Tech stated, voice stern as he spoke from the front of their ship. “Do you realize how that would look to the other troopers? To whoever gave us this order?” 

“When have we ever cared?” Hunter shot back. “You know her, there’s no way this is true.” 

From the back of the ship, like a creature lurking in the dark, Crosshair's voice filled the space. “The Jedi are traitors.” All eyes turned to him, sitting alone with his helmet still on, and he leaned in closer from his hunched position to put emphasis on the next blow. “We were given orders to execute those guilty of treason, and your Miri was no exception,” he sneered. 

An unexpected eruption came from where Wrecker stood, and everyone soon realized it was the large man launching himself at his brother.

Wrecker, with his heart on his sleeve and his fists bared, would not stand for such talk of his General. It took all three men to pull him off of Crosshair, but eventually they were able to separate the two. “Wrecker, enough!” Hunter grunted, shoving him into a seat. 

“Listen,” he panted slightly, holding his hands up to diffuse the situation. “This is getting us nowhere. Tech’s right,” he finally agreed, the prior exchange having knocked some sense into him. “It won’t be a good idea to go looking for her, we don’t wanna catch the wrong attention.  But—” he gave a pointed look at Crosshair, “we all know Miri isn’t a traitor. She’s almost loyal to a fault, something the other Jedi never seemed to stop giving her a hard time about. Whatever it is that they’re saying the Jedi are guilty of, we need some more information before we start blindly following orders. Got it?”

One by one, they all nodded their heads, Crosshairs albeit reluctant. But in his true nature, he couldn’t help but have the last laugh. Quietly, almost as if he didn’t want the others to hear, he questioned Hunter. “Besides, what would you even do if you found her body?” 

As they entered hyperspace, Hunter held himself together with the hope that she had gotten away. That her death was also falsely reported; the padawan had gotten away but nobody really needed to know that. Perhaps Miri, that clever one, was able to escape. This hope resided in them as they walked into the facility on Kamino, it was what kept their heads high and facing forward as everyone around them acted even more strange than usual. 

The sight of red and white armor once again raised alarm in Hunter. “Shock troopers?” He questioned as his head turned to watch them walk by. “What’s the Coruscant Guard doing here?” His attention was broken by the words over the intercom, the modulated voice repeatedly announcing ‘level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams, report to the command center.’ 

He looked to Tech, and without fail he had the answers. “This isn’t a drill,” he stated, sounding surprised to hear such information. 

“Oh man,” Wrecker whined. “What did we miss now?” 

“The end of the war,” a Shock trooper answered as he walked by. 

 Hunter stepped forward, as per usual. “Say again, Trooper?”

“General Grievous was defeated on Utapau. The Separatist leadership has collapsed,” he answered. “The war is over.” A statement spoken so casually, yet possessed the weight of thousands of tons.

Behind him, Tech looked over at Wrecker. “Just like I said,” he quipped seriously.

Wrecker gasped dramatically. “It is just like you said,” he marveled, earning a side eye from his brother in response. Hunter was hardly paying any attention to this, however, as two troopers carrying a gurney walked by, a body with a sheet covering it laying motionless. Just as they passed him by, a lightsaber fell from under the sheet, and the shock trooper he was speaking with crouched down to pick it up.

When he rose to his full height, his eyes were trained on Hunter and the look he was wearing as he watched this scene unfold. He had tried to mask his emotions, but evidently he wasn’t doing that good of a job at the moment as the clone questioned him with slight hostility. “Is there a problem?” 

Though he made no effort to put some trust in his gaze, Hunter answered immediately. “No problem,” he replied, glancing over at Wrecker and then at Echo as casually as possible. “We’ll just head to our barracks then.” 

“Best hurry,” the trooper responded as he turned to walk away. “There’s a mandatory general assembly at 1500.”

And this assembly, one of the first the Batch had committed to attending, shed light to the situation while, somehow, leaving a dark shadow behind. 

“And the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.” 

Chills ran down Hunters back at the words coming from the cloaked figure of what was said to be Chancellor Palpatine. Claims of an attempt on his life leaving him scarred and deformed echoed in his ears as his eyes drifted to the gallery, when the higher ups of Kamino watched from above. But what had caught his attention was a little girl, already watching him. 

She smiled when they made eye contact, but his focus shifted as Tech spoke up from behind him. “What is it?” 

When he looked back, she was gone. “Nothing.” His eyes remained there as Palpatine's voice grew louder and louder. 

“...the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire!”

Briefly, a memory came forward of Miri meditating on the ship while they were stuck in hyperspace for who knows how long. She had been uneasy as of late, yet she tried to hide it. Meditating was something she did often, but what was peculiar to them was the scrunch of her face as she sat still as stone. They tried not to bother her when she did this, understanding it was…just something Jedi did, when she looked so distressed they felt inclined to keep watch. 

It was when she began to breathe heavily, almost gasping, that Hunter stepped forward. “General?” He questioned lowly, not trying to startle her, but she jolted at the sound of his voice anyways. “General, are you alright?” 

She had not responded, only looked at him with wide eyes as her chest rose and fell quickly. “Miri,” he tried again, formalities slipping away in his worry, “are you okay?” 

“Something is…going to happen,” she began, voice slightly frantic as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I—I don’t know what it is, or when, but it’s heavy. It’s…” She sighed, rising from her seat and running her hands through her hair. “It’s dark, and I don’t think anyone is going to see it coming, and if they do it’s just going to be too late.”

That feeling had persisted throughout the end of the war, nagging Miri any chance it got. It was ever present, when she rested, when she relaxed, when she was dispatched for missions and campaigns as well. Constant, the shadow was for Miri Rocksled, and now the curtains had been drawn and it was displayed right before their very eyes. 

Around them, troopers cheered at the revelation, unaware of the looming darkness that weighed heavy on Clone Force 99. “Still don’t think the clones are programmed?” Tech questioned, side eyeing the men around him. 

They would soon find that they were, in fact, programmed. Everything that transpired on Kamino before their forced departure was an echo of Miri’s prediction. She had been so unfortunately correct; it was heavy, it was dark, and it had been too late for anyone to stop it. The plans, orchestrated by someone they could not yet pinpoint, were already in motion, and all the Bad Batch could do was play the game as they always had; and it would seem the game had always been rigged against them. The food fight in the cafe with Omega, the live rounds during their battle simulation for Tarkin, Omega’s warning to not return, the supposed insurgent retrieval mission they were sent on. The undeniable and jarring change in Crosshair, the revelation that Omega was one of them, the weight of the fact that Miri would never leave a child in harm’s way, the devastating betrayal of one of their own. 

It had been made clear that the Empire had no room for Clone Force 99. It was time for them to leave, and Omega would be coming with them. They had a Jedi to look for. 

Many rotations had passed before the need for a pitstop was brought to their attention. Rations, medical supplies, and fuel were running low; and the severe lack of resources for a child was something Hunter had not thought of when he asked Omega to join them. 

They had learned from their visit with Cut and Suu that the Empire was spreading quickly, and travel between planets was growing much more difficult. They had to go out of their way to look for places seemingly untouched, or as much as they could be, by the heavy presence of stormtroopers. Options were running out as their journey was only just beginning, but they had no choice but to make do with the cards they had been dealt. The village they found themselves in was seemingly alright, people milling about but minding their own business; excitement was minimal and danger was mostly undetectable, a rarity these days. 

However, Hunter could feel something. A nagging feeling, that someone was out there. Watching, waiting, plotting, he did not know; but they were there. It was hard to ignore, impossible to shake off as Omega rambled about whatever had caught her interest in the market, and his eyes scanned their surroundings over and over again. He could not put his finger on it, though, for no matter how many times he looked, he came up short. He tried not to let frustration fester where caution resided. 

Until his eyes, squinted and serious as they flit over the horizon, caught a flash of a cloaked figure in his peripheral. A smaller frame shrouded by the loose fabric, identity shielded by the wide brim of their hat, he lets himself hope that it is Miri. A foolish and desperate hope, made as the figure turned away from him in the distance, disappearing in the blink of an eye.   

The hunch he had was far too big to just let this go. The feeling, still lingering on his skin as he quickened his pace to catch up with his brothers, was familiar because it was her, alive and breathing. It had to have been. 

To test this theory, he told everyone to finish gathering whatever they needed, as they were headed out, but instead of making their way towards their ship, however, he led them into the forest with arms full of supplies and faces full of confusion. Their feet carried them past the treeline and deep into the greenery, and still Hunter offered no explanation. Wrecker whined, Tech and Echo fired off logical explanation after logical explanation, and Omega was left looking around in wonder. So caught up in what was potentially ahead of them, he didn’t even notice the body tailing them from behind. In fact, it was Omega who pointed it out, feeling the eyes on her from afar. 

“It feels like we’re being watched,” she whispered, looking up at Hunter with furrowed brows. Worry was etched onto her face, but he didn’t really know how to soothe that worry at the moment. Miri was always better at this than he was. 

“That’s because we are,” he answered gruffly, as if it was no big deal. Nonchalance was something Hunter wore well, but they had so much to lose now that Omega ran with their crowd that so little care in a situation such as this was out of character for him. 

“We are?” Echo shot back through gritted teeth, alarm evident in his tone. “Hunter—”

“I think it could be Miri,” he interrupted, not looking back at Echo. The sergeant found himself almost hesitant to reveal the information he had been hoarding for the last little bit for how it would make him sound. Yes, she was special in a different way, but she was still their general and he knew her. He knew her, and what she felt like, and he was almost certain this was her. The fact that he didn’t hear a branch one snapping coming from their watcher, the fact that she remained out of their sights while keeping them in hers, the fact that nobody ever followed them with intentions of just watching; it all made too much sense to not make any at all. 

“The likelihood of that is quite low,” Tech started, holding a finger up but he never got the chance to continue for Hunter held up a closed fist, a signal for them to stop in their tracks. His eyes were trained not on ground level, but up in the trees, and he spun around as he searched for the lost Jedi. 

Unbeknownst to him, his brothers share skeptical glances. They did not like it, but they had stepped closer to accepting that Miri Rocksled may never show her face again for one reason or another than Hunter had. His desperation, while understood, was painfully obvious. 

But, always one to prove someone wrong, the missing woman made her presence known from a thick branch above them. Hunter had ventured too close for her liking, it would seem, and she stepped into view with her saber drawn and pointed at him. Perched there perfectly, draped in the same neutral colored poncho he had seen back in the village, Miri Rocksled was alive. 

The orange blade hummed lowly as the glow illuminated the expression she wore. Brows furrowed and eyes wide in a horror Hunter didn’t recognize from under the brim of her hat, her knuckles gripped the weapon so tightly the skin had gone ghostly white. Once again, the brothers exchanged glances, this time one of shock. Wrecker’s gasp cut through the ambient noise of nature. And Hunter, who could only stare up at her in awe, could not think of what to do or say. Instead, his limbs remained frozen as his eyes took her in for what she was, his greatest love. 

He had missed her so terribly, more than he thought a close was capable of, and yet he had carried through every rotation she was missing. The weight of it was suffocating, and just seeing her lifted it from his tired body tenfold; he was light with his eyes on her once again, for she was the answer to every problem he could ever have. 

“Miri…” The words left him of their own accord, coming out as a breathy whisper pointed towards the heavens. 

His voice, the sound of it in her ears, made her face screw up even tighter, eyes drawn to slits and lip quivering ever so slightly. “Stay back,” she demanded lowly through gritted teeth as tears brimmed her eyes. They stung, and she blinked rapidly to keep her sights clear on them. She tried to keep the fear at bay, tried her damndest, but to finally be face to face with her clones after Order 66 had dread settling itself in the pit of her stomach. Against her order, Wrecker took a few steps forward, eyes wide as he looked up at her. “I said stay back!” She shouted, voice harsh as it echoed throughout the forest. “I don’t want to hurt you guys; please, please, don’t make me,” she begged, words shaky as emotion threatened to take over.

Hunter repeated her name, snapping out of his daze at the genuine fear that they would try to kill her. Fear, it was not something he was used to seeing on her, and he didn’t like it one bit. His hands went up in a show of peace, demeanor that of a man approaching a cornered animal. “It’s okay. The chips didn’t work in us, we didn’t follow the order,” he explained, desperation hiding behind his words. When she remained still he gave her the smallest of shrugs and the smallest of smirks. “Defective, remember?” 

Tech took that as his signal to step forward, for he knew that Miri needed all the details then and there in order to clear the air. “What he means by that is the inhibitor chips the Kaminoans implanted in all clones did not show signs of controlling us. We have since discovered that is how Order 66 was administered, and that is why we did not participate in it; well, all except one,” he rambled, eyes never leaving the General in a show of true honesty, though Tech was never one to lie. “That is why Crosshair is missing, he…he now works for the Empire.” 

“Crosshair…” she whispered, voice low and hesitant. “It worked on him? He—” she looked away, sadness taking over for but a moment. “He would have tried to kill me?” 

“Yes,” Tech affirmed. “He believed that the Jedi were guilty of the accused treason, because that is what we were told by the Emperor himself.”

Oddly enough, Miri appreciated the bluntness of Tech’s delivery in that moment. One would feel the need to soften the blows, but they had since been dealt. Dealt the moment she had to fight for her life on Kaller against her own allies turned enemies. The facts of the matter almost helped ease the sting of betrayal she had harbored since, knowing that it had not been personal. They could not help but turn their weapons on their generals and commanders, and Crosshair could not help the change in his ideology. 

With this information, she had deduced that the Bad Batch were not a threat to her any longer. They did not display the behaviors other clones did in the presence of a Jedi, and that was the largest indicator that what Tech had said was indeed true. But it was also the look on Hunter’s face that swayed her heart when she tried to keep it stoney. 

A man in love, a man lost in his love, looked up at her as if she was the angel he had been hoping for. The grief of her presumed death, and the denial of acceptance, had worn him down along with everything else, and she could see how he had been changed. He would not harm her, could not harm her; that much she believed. 

There was one question to be asked, however. “What happened to the padawan on Kaller?” 

When Hunter stepped forward to answer, her weapon moved to point at him once again. It startled him, pausing in his tracks as he held his hands up once again. “I let him get away,” he answered, the words spilling out of him. “Lied to Crosshair about it, lied to the Empire about it.”  

She eyed them all one by one, gaze lingering on the little girl tucked away in the back with Echo by her side, before she retracted the blade of her saber, orange light disappearing into the intricate hilt. Her arm fell to her side, but her feet were still planted firmly on the branch. Miri had been in survival mode for so many rotations that she was finding it difficult to let it slip away, even if slightly. Her heart beat rapidly and almost painfully in her chest as she took a deep breath in an effort to steele the resolve to relax. 

With that, she clipped her weapon to her waistband and effortlessly leapt to the ground below. Her feet hardly thudded as her boots made contact with the dirt floor, and she looked to Hunter. She felt herself being pulled to him by something greater than the both of them, and she couldn’t even try to fight it. He watched her as if watching a ghost glide toward him, helmet at his feet as he had dropped it upon seeing her once again, and his hands had begun reaching out for her without even knowing. She almost tripped over the piece of armor as he yanked her into him when she was within reach.  

He held her close, arms wrapped tightly around her as if she would disappear again if he let go, and he breathed. He breathed clearly for the first time in what felt like centuries, lungs able to expand to their full ability instead of being constricted by constant worry. He breathed her in, the scent of her still lingering after all this time of chaos and turmoil. She was her, alive and persisting, and he felt as if he could weep as her body weight felt so solid in his hold. 

“I knew you were still out there,” he whispered into her hair, voice cracking. 

“You found me,” she whispered back, throat tightening as she fought off the same feelings. Hunter, her Hunter, had found his way back to her. She had been so worried that what they had was forever lost, that what she had with them all had been forever tainted, and to let go of that felt incredible. 

He shook his head the best he could while having her so close. “No, you found me, Miri,” he insisted, not caring about anything else besides this moment. “You found me.”

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[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter V

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.6K

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

3 Helona

“These symptoms are extreme for this stage of her illness,” Healer Natasha said.

Kazi didn’t respond as she studied her sister. 

Asleep, Daria looked fragile. Easily breakable. Like the glass dolls common in Reformist households on Ceaia. The dolls with unblinking eyes, perfectly plain skin, and rosy lips. 

Sweat glistened on Daria’s forehead. Her breathing was shallow yet slowing, courtesy of the anesthetic med-spike Kazi stabbed her with an hour ago.

The fear in her sister’s eyes—the sheer terror—when Kazi pinned her to the ground was imprinted in her mind. 

It happened so fast. 

Kazi had only just returned from work. Exhausted, she visited Neyti’s empty room to place a new stuffed animal—a space whale—on the pillows. On her way back, she caught sight of Daria in her room, staring at a wall, rocking slightly.

“Daria?” Kazi asked hesitantly. 

Daria flinched. “Where are we?” she whispered. “Why am I here?”

The fear in her sister’s voice moored Kazi to the floor. She was so tired—mentally and physically worn to the bones—that she could only stare at her sister. Confused. Uncomprehending. She took one step forward but Daria collapsed to the floor. Her hands flattened against her ears. Her body curved into a ball. She panted for air. 

It was the sound of her panicked breaths that snapped Kazi into action. She snatched the med-spike from the hallway closet. The medicine had sat there, unused, for months. 

She had never expected to use it.

And she hadn’t expected Daria to start crying, begging, her not to hurt her. 

Scared and unnerved, Kazi stabbed Daria with the med-spike. Her sister fell limp beneath her. 

The only good thing about the situation: Neyti was downstairs sketching, and Commander Fox and trooper Nova were gone, so no one witnessed the ordeal. 

“I thought you said her medicine was supposed to prevent these symptoms.” Kazi faced Healer Natasha, folding her arms across her chest.

After endless appointments with Ceaian healers unwilling to treat Daria, Kazi was relieved to meet Healer Natasha. 

A decade older, Healer Natasha was quick to diagnose Daria, create a treatment plan, and enforce necessary care all within two weeks. The healer was dedicated to Daria’s treatment. Determined to ease her suffering and preserve the stability of her mind for as long as possible. Her kindly personality and patient attentiveness made her respectable and trustworthy.  

However, months ago, Healer Natasha claimed a morning and nightly potion would curb Daria’s symptoms. That severe episodes of forgetfulness and panic were improbable the first fifteen months of the disease’s three-year timeframe.

The disease wasn’t supposed to progress for another eight months. 

“The potions should be working.” Healer Natasha studied Daria’s pulse and scribbled a note onto her datapad. “Their efficacy is tested and proven. There must be something interfering…”

Kazi swallowed a bite of fear. “How much time do you think she has?” 

“Possibly a year.” Kazi blanched and Healer Natasha offered her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I can ease the symptoms as much as possible until the next stage.”

“The next stage is—”

“Loss of memory. I advise moving her to the medical center for 24-hour care.”

“You said Stage Two won’t happen until Telona of next year. At the earliest.” Her heart was beating far too fast, and she swallowed, forcing her breaths to calm. “You said she had at least two years to live from Telona. She’s only been sick for seven months.”

“Daria’s disease is an anomaly, and one we have little information to study,” the healer said gently. “The disease has few similarities across patients and we still don’t know the cause or if it’s curable. I am operating based on what I have researched, but much is left to the unknown.”

Kazi knew all of this—they had talked about it before. But it didn’t make acceptance easier.

Seven months ago, she was working in Ceaia’s capital when she received a comm message from home. Nearly eight years had passed without word from her mother, and she had rarely spoken to Daria in that time. So the comm message shocked her. She didn’t know what to expect.

That night, she quit her job, packed her belongings, and bought a one-way ticket back home. 

The local healer didn’t know how to treat Daria and the few droids available were just as useless. Kazi threw herself into researching Daria’s symptoms, cross-referencing potential illnesses, contacting various healers across the planet and then expanding her search to neighboring systems. She argued her way into consultations with the most renowned healers. 

All of those hours researching, all of those days she spent trying to find a solution, were ultimately futile. The last healer they saw on Ceaia claimed the disease was a progressive destruction of memory and mental functions. There was no cure. 

In private, the healer had advised Kazi to stop wasting her time and monetary resources on her sister. To instead enroll Daria in a 24-hour hospice center. The pity on his face at her immediate refusal still rankled her. 

Through it all—the dozens of consultations and various healers—Daria became more withdrawn. Reclusive and quiet. Kazi assumed it was a combination of shock and grief. 

Their mother was no help. Daria was her pride, and her hope for the future, and Daria’s inability to marry into society left her depressed.

Her hopelessness didn’t matter much since she passed away a few months later. From heart failure. It wasn’t a shock considering she was in her early seventies. She didn’t have Kazi and Daria until her early forties, as Traditionalist and Reformist culture encouraged, and the combined stress of Kazi leaving home at eighteen and the onslaught of Daria’s disease was too much for her to handle.  

Kazi thought their mother’s death would upset Daria. To her surprise, her sister became less morose and reclusive. 

“I don’t have much time,” Daria said one day, her smile forcibly brave, “and I won’t waste it moping.”

Healer Natasha placed a hand on Kazi’s shoulder, her fingers dark brown and scarred. “You should prepare yourself for the possibility that Daria’s illness is progressing at a faster rate.”

“I understand.” Kazi observed Daria’s pallid features. “Thank you for coming by tonight. I know it’s not in your contract—”

“Daria is my only patient. I’m here for her.” Kazi nodded her gratitude while the healer packed her bag. Once her instruments were sequestered away, Healer Natasha straightened, a frown marring her features. “A question, Ms. Lucien: has Daria encountered anything at home that could have increased her stress levels in the past months?”

The last three months zipped through Kazi’s memories, like a holofilm fast-forwarded. The clones’ arrival was the sole anomaly. But had built a rapport with Commanders Cody and Fox, and on some occasions, she even cooked with the former. 

An indicator of high stress probably emerged from—

“We’ve had a few disagreements about the future,” Kazi admitted.

“The future?” Healer Natasha hefted her bag. “Her future?”

“No.” Kazi scrunched her nose. “Mine.”

Healer Natasha nodded in understanding, approaching the bedroom door. “It would be best to avoid stressful conversations as they can exacerbate her symptoms, especially conversations about the future. Patients suffering from terminal disease struggle with both the unknown and the desire for a future. Talks about what you will be doing in a year or two can increase distress.”

Late evening sunshine bespeckled the surrounding jungle when Healer Natasha left. Kazi locked the front door and leaned against the wall, pressing her palms to her eyes. 

Her head felt too heavy. Too full. Like it was stuffed with wet sheep wool and she couldn’t stop it from expanding and thickening. 

Deciding fresh air and the setting sun might ease her headache, Kazi wandered to the sunroom. She expected to find Neyti absorbed in a sketch. Instead, she stumbled on a puzzling sight.  

Outside, Neyti sat among the ferns, a canvas on her lap and a paintbrush in her hand. For a brief moment, Kazi was distracted by the canvas and paints. The ones Commander Cody had gifted Neyti a few days ago. She hadn’t seen Neyti use them before and the sight eased some of her tension. She made a mental note to tell the commander when he returned to the house from his mission. He would appreciate it. 

And then she took in the entire situation, and former elation gave way to exasperation.

Rather than painting, Neyti was scowling, her knuckles white against a paintbrush. Scowling at Commander Fox and trooper Nova.

The clones must have returned from the Marketplace while Kazi was speaking to Healer Natasha. Each carried a bag of groceries, but it was Commander Fox who also held a cup in his hand. He stood a few meters from Neyti and was gesturing to the cup. Behind him, Nova grimaced. 

Commander Fox took a step closer. He started to kneel. 

Eyes narrowed, Neyti brandished her paintbrush and stabbed it in his direction.

“Oh my fucking gods,” Kazi muttered under her breath. 

The commander lifted a hand in surrender, and he slowly lowered the cup to the ground. Neyti swiped at him. Again. Kazi hurried outside.

“Neyti.” The girl blinked at her. Kazi gave her a long look. “We don’t hit people with paintbrushes.” She turned on the commander. “And if she doesn’t want whatever you have, don’t pressure her to accept it.”

Commander Fox shrugged, his casual demeanor forcibly unruffled. “I was going to leave it there and walk away.”

Kazi turned her attention back to Neyti, lifting an eyebrow. Neyti glowered at Commander Fox and then lowered her brush. A frustrated huff spoke her true feelings. 

Sharing a look with Commander Fox—the clone’s mouth pressed in a hard line—Kazi accepted the cup he placed in her hands. Lemony shaved ice filled it to the brim, and she felt herself start to smile as she knelt on the ground. Neyti eyed the cup suspiciously.

“This is a treat,” Kazi explained, spooning a lump of ice.

“I told her that,” the commander said. A distinct line wrinkled between his eyes. “I thought younglings liked dessert.”

“They do.” Nova’s voice was quiet, softer than Commander Fox’s. His hair was longer than any of the three commanders and a yellow tattoo of a rising sun lightened his left cheek. “Guess the problem is you.”

Commander Fox rolled his eyes. 

Ignoring them, Kazi offered the spoonful of ice to Neyti. The girl hesitated. 

“It’s really good, I promise,” she encouraged. 

When Neyti continued to eye the cup, Kazi shrugged, taking a bite for herself. Commander Fox had opted for a simple flavor: lemon with a hint of mint. It wasn’t half bad, though she preferred lemon and lavender. 

“You know,” she said, meeting Neyti’s intrigued gaze, “shaved ice is popular on Ceaia.”

The pointed comment was a theory she had developed the last few weeks, and Neyti’s reaction—her lips parting and former suspicion melting into interest—partially confirmed it. 

Neyti set aside her canvas and paintbrush, and Kazi handed her the cup. Carefully, Neyti spooned a small mouthful of the ice and took a tentative bite. 

Her eyes widened. Fascination, and subtle delight, lit her face. She took another, larger bite.

A quiet, hoarse chuckle emanated from the clone commander, and Neyti stiffened. A disparaging glare darkened her face. To Kazi’s slight amusement, Commander Fox winked. An angry flush darkened Neyti’s face. The little girl shoved herself to her feet, huffed her annoyance in Commander Fox’s direction, and stomped toward the closest tree, collapsing among its knotted roots. 

“Good going,” Nova said. Shoving the commander in the shoulder, he grabbed both bags of groceries and strode into the house.

Commander Fox slid his hands into his trousers’ pockets, watching Neyti. “You have your hands full. With that one and your sister.”

The amusement in his tone—the suggestion behind his comment—made Kazi stiffen. He had no right to judge Neyti and her sister. He had no right to make them his entertainment. 

“Don’t talk about Neyti that way,” she said coldly. “And don’t talk about my sister, either.”

The commander blinked his bemusement. “I wasn’t—”

“I have work to do.” Stepping away, she settled her attention on Neyti. “You should go inside. I think it’s best if you don’t bother her.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw but Commander Fox inclined his head, retreating into the house. 

The moment the back door snapped shut, Kazi grimaced. Maybe she was too quick to judge him. Maybe she shouldn’t have snapped at him. And she probably should have thanked him for thinking of Neyti. For buying her a treat. 

But Kazi couldn’t muster the energy to care. To feel ashamed for her behavior. 

Stress had gnawed through her muscles and was now working on her bones, dull teeth steadily eating her away. 

She wondered how long she would last. 

It didn’t matter, really. Once Neyti was adopted and Daria passed away, there would be nothing left to concern her. And no one to know her.

The bluish glow of Eluca’s three moons washed across the first level while Kazi mopped the hardwood floors. Unable to sleep, she thought the repetitive motions would soothe the amalgamated mess of conflicting thoughts pounding inside her head. So far, it hadn’t worked.  

She needed to access the bank codes for Bash. And yet she still didn’t know how to.

She needed to research Daria’s disease and see if there was an explanation for her rapid progression. And yet she knew it was ultimately futile.

She needed to reconvene with the adoption center and confirm Neyti’s application. And yet she had to wait for Neyti’s testing. 

She needed to call a mechanic and get the kitchen fixed—the squeaky drawers, broken cabinets, weak faucet grew more problematic by the day. And yet she couldn’t muster the fucking energy to make one comm call.

The house was dirty. She hadn’t properly cleaned the kitchen, living room, and sunroom in a month, and her bedsheets were unwashed for more than three weeks, and she hadn’t dusted in a long time, and there were crumbs—fucking crumbs—on the kitchen counters because the adults in this house were too lazy to properly clean the fucking counters after a meal. 

Living room floors scrubbed and drying, Kazi made her way to the kitchen. A glance at the chrono heightened her fatigue. 

She closed her eyes, telling herself not to cry. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t. And she despised lack of sleep. Her head felt too heavy to think and her muscles too slow to respond. She would most likely opt out of a swim and then she would miss an important workout and—

Kazi opened an upper cabinet and retrieved the sole bottle of alcohol in the house. A bottle of aged red wine. 

Daria couldn’t drink because of her medicine, and Kazi disliked the lack of control she experienced when she did drink, so alcohol was in short commodity. The bottle of wine she was uncorking was a gift from the neighbor a kilometer away. An older man she hadn’t spoken to since, though she did wave whenever she saw him drive by. 

A short pop and the cork fell away. A regular glass filled to the brim. A dark red unsavory.

At the first mouthful, Kazi nearly spit it out. Gods, she hated wine. Too sweet. Too thick. Too many uncomfortable memories. 

Another mouthful and she closed her eyes. The image of Daria, pale and sweaty, begging not to be hurt, seared her mind. Her eyes flew open. She released a shaky breath.

The urge to run spasmed down her spine. The urge to leave the house, leave her sister and Neyti, and just run. 

Run far away. Away from the responsibility, away from Daria’s suffering.

Kazi stared at the dark wine, its color too reminiscent of blood. Her hand started to shake and she set the glass aside. It was pathetic, but the bloody glass reminded her of her first, and only, time fishing with her father. 

She was five, eager to prove herself a reliable sailing companion. 

They sailed to one of the islands, her father cast a line, and they sat for an hour. Waiting. It was a rare day. The sun peeked through Ceaia’s usually gray clouds, its rays a gregarious warmth. 

Little Kazi had high expectations. For both herself and the experience. 

The line snagged, and she and her father shared an excited grin, reeling in the first catch of the day: a fish longer than her arm and quite fat. She watched her father kneel on the wooden boards. The fish squirmed and struggled. Kazi no longer felt excited. 

Her father raised a long spike. She kept watching the fish try to escape. To return home and live. Her father stabbed the fish in its head.

The sight haunted her nightmares for an entire year.

The fish wriggling. Blood oozing from its scales. The sound of its tail smacking the deck.

It took a long time for the fish to quiet and then still.

Little Kazi sobbed. She sobbed over the pain and suffering of a fucking fish. 

Startled by her reaction, her father abandoned the rest of the trip and they returned home. And so began a life avoiding the signs of pain and suffering. 

More difficult to avoid than Kazi had expected considering her mother owned the local apothecary and served as a healer on most days. She had forced Kazi and Daria to accompany her during busy hours. Daria helped. Eager to ease patients’ suffering. Eager to do good. Kazi stood in the corner, hands pressed to her ears, trembling as she listened to grunts of pain. Screams.

She took to running away. To avoid it all. 

The day her father died, she was ten, and she saw him in the med-center bed. His body was broken; his face was swollen. He had reached for her. His pain was too similar to Daria’s. 

Except his death was different. 

His sudden absence left her shocked and grieving—there was no time to prepare. She had eaten breakfast with him that morning, and he was gone by dinner.

Daria’s illness prolonged her pain and suffering. 

There would come a time when her little sister no longer remembered her. A time when Daria wouldn’t even know her own name. 

And Kazi wasn’t prepared for it. No matter the façade she wore, she wasn’t prepared. 

Swallowing another mouthful of the sweet wine, Kazi drained two-thirds of the glass. She was about to force herself to finish it when the front door banged open.

The glass fell. Its shatter was as loud as a blaster shot in the silence of night. Wine splattered her freshly mopped floors. 

Heart slamming against her chest, Kazi peered around the staircase wall and toward the entryway. A glaring Commander Wolffe followed by a narrow-eyed Commander Cody shadowed the hall. The front door snapped behind them, the lock sliding in place.

The anger emanating from them was palpable enough that Kazi’s stomach dropped. Tension slithered down her spine and she retreated into the middle of the kitchen, the bar serving as a barrier. 

The clones trudged toward the bookcase, Commander Cody offering her a grim nod before disappearing into the basement. Commander Wolffe paused beside the bookcase. He tucked a small, worn notebook into his utility belt and lifted his gaze to hers. 

A blackening blob puffed his right eye. His tetchy expression reminded her of their last conversation a few nights ago. The conversation when he rudely dismissed her. 

Tapping her fingers against the counter, she studied the harsh lines of his face. 

Mouth pressed in a thin line. Shoulders rigid. Jaw clenched painfully tight. 

“Do you want to discuss the intel?” she asked.

It was like poking a shark with a fishing pole—purposeful agitation with the expectation of a reaction. She knew she should ignore him. Clean up the glass and go to bed. However, she wanted to antagonize him. Because he was rude and dismissive and she needed to know why he no longer wanted to share intel. Needed to know why she wasn’t considered good enough for him.

“I told you,” he said, voice taut with restraint, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why.” 

The commander regarded her. Bored, unfazed by her question.

“I don’t understand you.” She chuffed a sardonic laugh. “You were the one who asked me to work on the intel—”

“I don’t believe you’re capable of handling it.”

Her lips pursed. “I attended one of the most prestigious universities in the Outer Rim. I received not only my first degree in basic analytics, but I received a second and third degree in military and political intelligence. Military analytics is my specialty. I’m more than credentialed to analyze your intelligence. More than you probably are as a soldier.”

Commander Wolffe released a scoff so full of scorn her vision reddened. The commander’s outline blurred at the edges, and she knew she needed to walk away. 

“What’s your problem?” she demanded. 

A moment of silence passed. The commander seemed to be wavering between his two options: engage or back away. His soldiery background must have won out because he squared his shoulders and let the bookcase close. He took a step closer, countenance ornery. 

“My brothers and I are the ones out there. Running missions. Risking our lives,” Commander Wolffe said. His voice was low, strained with a rising rage that set her on edge. “We don’t have room for a shoddy analytic job. We don’t have room for mistakes.” 

“My analyses are not shoddy,” Kazi hissed. “I dedicate time and effort to make sure they’re the most accurate they can be—”

“I know you don’t give a shit about the lives of my brothers. But I do.” He levelled the full weight of his glare on her. A glare full of vitriolic antipathy. “And I won’t put their lives at risk based on your analyses.”

Kazi blinked her shock, straightening her spine. This asshole was questioning her credibility. Questioning her effectiveness at a skillset she had honed for eight years. The skillset she dedicated years of her life to perfecting in order to escape the forced life of demure housewife and child-bearer. 

“I would never put someone’s life at risk.” Heated rage turmoiled beneath her skin, churning hotter and faster. “You have no right to judge my skillset—”

“I reserve every right to question your credibility. These are my brothers at risk—”

“Then why did you ask me for help?” 

“I miscalculated.” He shrugged. “I realize now you’re lacking the quality we need.”

Internally, she flinched, and it took more effort than she cared to admit to keep her features unruffled. His opinion didn’t matter. She knew her skillset was credible and refined, but she couldn’t entirely dissuade the self-doubt it procured. 

“You’re the one who asked me for help, and now all you can do is ridicule my work?” A hollow laugh broke loose. “You’re pathetic.”

Commander Wolffe jerked away, his nostrils flaring and scowl hardening into deep fissures. He took a breath. And then another. Never looking away. 

“Are you going to bring men around here?” The question caught her off guard but she didn’t miss the blatant mistrust and scorn. “I’ll need to know. For security purposes.”

Kazi eyed him for a long moment and then realization crashed into her. 

The commander had overheard her argument with Daria. A good portion of it.

The judgment in his gaze—the expectation that she would risk their operation for a male—was despicable. And it pissed her off even more.

“That’s not a problem you need to worry about.” She fisted her hands at her sides to steady herself, both from the wine blurring her vision and the defensive anger howling to get out. “Instead of worrying about who I spend my time with, maybe you should worry about your own missions. Since they’re clearly ineffective.”

It was a low blow. A punch straight to his ego and she knew it. She relished in his nearly imperceptible flinch. 

“I thought you were running rescue missions, Commander.” She gestured to the empty entryway. “Where are your rescued soldiers?” The taunt was cruel and horrible and she would regret it the moment the conversation ended, but in the moment, she wanted him to hurt. The way she was hurting beneath his criticism of her character. “Maybe if you had an accurate analysis—”

“Shut up.” 

“What? You don’t like hearing the truth? Your missions are pointless and do nothing for the good of the galaxy—”

“I’m rescuing my men. I’m doing something. What the fuck are you doing?”

Commander Wolffe took a step closer to the bar, running his tongue along his teeth. Kazi widened her stance, refusing to balk beneath his hostility. 

“You’re a nobody from a backwater planet that thought it could rebel against the Empire.” The commander leaned across the bar. “What good did that do for your people? For the galaxy?”

Kazi suddenly felt both cold and hot. How he knew about Ceaia, she wasn’t sure, but it threw her off-kilter. An attack on a vulnerability she tried so hard to bury. An attack on the guilt she harbored for her cowardice.

“You wanna talk about doing nothing for the galaxy,” Commander Wolffe growled, “let’s start with you running from your planet. You could have stayed and fought. And instead, you saved yourself—” 

“It would have been a massacre.” Her voice was quiet, underscored by a slight tremble. “Staying would have done nothing—”

He snorted. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m trying to help others. The rebel network—”

“Is an idealistic group of people. They naively believe they can take down the Empire—”

“And is it not naively idealistic to try to rescue clone soldiers from the Empire?” She snickered and the commander stilled, his features stony. “What’s the point? There are hundreds of thousands of clones. You can’t save them all.” 

“You wouldn’t understand.” He cocked his head, his sneer belittling. “Your home life is fucked up. You have a kid who doesn’t trust you. Your relationship with your sister is estranged. You’re a shitty sister and even shittier caretaker. And you wouldn’t know the first thing about familial duty.”

The accusation burrowed into her chest and flayed open the encaged emotions she worked tirelessly to repress. Her insides felt cold and tears—from both hurt and self-righteous anger—pressed at the corners of her eyes.

“How can you judge me for my home life when you don’t even understand the meaning of it?” She swallowed, ignoring the blood welling in her palms beneath her fingernails. “You’re a clone. What do you know about familial duty?”

The commander’s upper lip curled. “I have brothers—men I care for. Men I’m trying to save. Every mission I run is for them. What have you done for your family? Nothing.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done for my family. You don’t know what I do for them. You have no right—”

“And you had no right to question me—”

“You’re a paranoid bastard.” A tear eased down her cheek and she furiously wiped it away. “You’re so fucking paranoid because you turned on your own people. Your actions allowed the Empire to rise and the Republic to crumble. And now you expect any and everyone to turn on you because you were the traitor first.”

She was done with this argument. She was so fucking done with him.

“Ridicule the network; ridicule me. I don’t care. But you’re not the selfless hero you believe you are.” Stalking toward the staircase, Kazi threw him a final glare over her shoulder. “If you don’t trust my work—or me—then you can leave.”

Masterlist | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

A/N: This is where the fun begins.

[techs-goggles9902]

Sha’s Masterlist ✨

Hi, you can call me Sha or Ge’tal. I’m a fan girl, writer, and artist (sometimes). I’m a book nerd! I’m on Instagram ( knee_s0cks1409 ) TikTok ( techs_goggles99 ) , and I make shuffles on Pinterest ( techs_goggles99 ) ! My general tag is Sha Speaks and my art tag is Sha’s art

Fandoms include: The Band Ghost, Star Wars Prequels (TCW and TBB included) & Republic Commando, DC, Arctic Monkeys, (anime account is @kacchans-gauntlet ), The Hunger Games, the Outsiders, and Wild Kratts.

REQUESTS FOR FAN FICTION ARE OPEN!

Rules for requests: no clone/clone, rexwalker, rexsoka, spicy stuff, or obikin, or Krattcest, or minor/adult. I will write my oc stories, and if you request it I’ll write your oc into canon typical situations or requested setting.

Send in an ask or dm me if you want to join/leave the tag list!

✉️ = request

⚠️ = possible trigger warning (blood or something)

My longer fics:

Two Souls Entwined

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (ongoing, unknown number of chapters)

Summary: Niva Veen (oc) x Captain Rex

Clone Heaven ✉️

Clone Heaven (Fives and Fox meet in clone Heaven)

Clone Heaven (Kix and 501st reunion) UPCOMING

TBB Modern AU

Masterlist

Summary: TBB in a modern setting.

One Time Things: (maybe)

Fi’s on leave (RC 8015 x gender neutral reader) ✉️

Tech, I don’t fit in (Tech x f!reader plantonic, Raven Skirata cameo) ✉️

I Like You (Rex x medic female reader) ✉️

Why Did You Wait For Me? (Crosshair x female reader) ✉️

Mr. Echolocation (Echo x gender neutral reader) ✉️

CX-2 is all that remains (Tech lives) ✉️

TBB Reacts to Ghost (My interpretation of how Clone Force 99 would react to their s/o listening to Ghost) ✉️

More than sniffles (Hunter x gn reader - who’s sick) ✉️

My art:

Death Troopers Helmet ⚠️

TBB Echo

Cody kicking a clanker

Obi-Wan fell asleep (Codywan)

Brainrot Hunter

@/dangracoon’s oc Jaine Vale x Crosshair

[prettythinginthehouse]

❤️ GENRES AND TROPES

✱ — angst.

✱ — war.

✱ — romance.

✱ — horror.

✱ — mystery.

✱ — religious themes.

✱ — forbidden love.

✱ — supernatural.

✱ — historic & alternate worlds.

✱ — aliens.

✱ — fantasy.

✱ — post apocalyptic.

✱ — trauma.

✱ — lgbt+

FANDOMS & PAIRINGS:

✱ — most wanted: marvel, star wars, original sci fi or horror, etc.

✱ — the hunger games: johanna x katniss, johanna x f!oc, cato x clove, foxface x f!oc, enoboria x f!oc

✱ — atla: princess azula x sokka, princess azula x suki, primcess azula x katara, princess azula x f!oc

✱ — marvel: natasha romanoff x f!oc, natasha romanoff x f!winter soldier, natasha romanoff x f!doctor/trainer/widow, yelena belova x f!doctor/trainer/widow, yelena belova x kate bishop

✱ — john wick: f!oc x f!oc

✱ — the 100: anya kom trikru x raven reyes, costia x commander lexa, clarke griffin x commander lexa, f!oc x f!oc

✱ — game of thrones & house of the dragons: f!oc x f!oc, sansa stark x margary tyrell, dany x missendei, helena targaryen x f!oc, helena targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen

✱ — star wars (kotor or prequels era only): f!oc x f!oc, padme anidala x handmaiden of naboo, f!clone trooper x f!jedi, bastila shan x f!darth revan

✱ — assassin's creed: f!oc x f!oc, f!connor keyway x f!oc

✱ — i have a ton of original ideas for horror, sci-fi, etc. i also have several oc's!

REQUIREMENTS

✱ — 21 & older. (writer & characters)* — i'm 29 years old, please do not attempt to message me if you're under the age requirement.

✱ — novella / lit. / adv lit.* — i require a writing sample. i put a lot of effort into my writing and i'd like the same as well. i can write thousands of words per post, id love a similar partner.

✱ — voice any concerns / hiatuses.*

✱ — socialize.* — i enjoy getting to know the people i create stories with, if it isn't too much to ask then allow me to understand who you are.

✱ — experienced.* — i'd prefer not to roleplay with anyone who's inexperienced.

✱ — long term partner.*

✱ — realistic fc / description.*

PREFERENCES

✱ — mature / melancholic themes.

✱ — preferably not have a ton of triggers, but please don't be weird.

PAIRINGS

✱ — F x F (preferred)

✱ — M x F (eh)

ABOUT

✱ — cst timezone.

✱ — talkative after warming up, prefer making lasting friends. i have people i'm friends with for years and have movie nights with etc.

✱ — i'm huge on all kinds of music and pinterest.

✱ — if i'm not responding it's perfectly fine to double text / ping me

✱ — i work from home so my schedule is frequently open, unless i state otherwise to you. (if you don't have a lot of time on your hands please don't message me < 3)

CONTACT

if my post has caught your eye, then don't be afraid to send me a friend request, you can come to me with a plot / setting in mind or we can discuss one amongst ourselves. please inform me of your age, name, pronouns and triggers once you do. also, a writing sample is required. you can also talk to me on discord at sheaches

[dickarchivist]

Stars and Scars

Clone oc Specter x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1878

Song: Empty Crown by YAS

Rating: 🔞 MATURE!! 🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Contents and Warnings: self-harm/talks of suicide (Specter), blood, abandonment issues, off screen character death (not Specter or reader), trauma and pain, Post Order 66, just the saddest most painful fic I've written to date I am so sorry

Summary: It's rare to see a clone trooper outside of imperial control, especially on Coruscant. Specter asks you to meet him for a drink, and the night doesn't go as you'd expected.

Author's Notes: PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a heavy fic!! If you are in any way triggered by anything that is up there, DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!!

I will NOT be putting the taglist on this one because of the contents of this fic. Please read at your own discretion. "The Midnight Tavern" is a nightclub with live music and an escort service that my partner and I created for our Star Wars OCs.

That shock of white hair always seemed to catch your eye in the neon lights. You'd never seen Specter at The Midnight Tavern without his brothers there, but this time he was alone. You take your time getting to him, stopping just shy of his side to wait for him to notice you with a smug smile. "You like me."

"Kriff you're annoying," his glare, and his words, did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that his arm pulled you closer into him, thumb running over your shoulder as he surveyed the bar, "Lucky you're so pretty, Cyar'ika. I'd be less inclined to keep you around if you weren't." Yet still, his actions betray his words as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

You can hear him whisper to you, "Thought about you the whole time we were apart," and you feel blush bloom across your face.

"I missed you too Specs," you tease, leaning into him a little more with your arms around his middle, "What happened, where did you go? With the jedi, the-" he effectively shuts you up with a kiss that knocks the wind out of you. He dips you a little, and your hands to find purchase on his back as you grip his shirt.

When Specter pulls back, his eyes show pain that wasn't there before the end of the war. "Not here... can't draw attention." He kisses you once more before setting you back on your feet.

You swallow thickly, dazed, butterflies in your stomach, "Do you... want to leave? We don't have to stay here, we could take a walk?"

He simply nods, arm around your shoulders, not wanting to let you go even for a second. You'd be lying if you said you wanted him to let go, anyway. Your arm goes around his waist, the other hand lacing your fingers with his as his hand draps over your shoulder. You liked that he was clingy with you still, at least that much hadn't changed.

The air has bite to it, cold with an impending rain. Before you can shiver, Specter takes off his jacket and puts it around you. That's when you notice the bandages wrapping his arms, red lines of blood showing on the white gaux. "You're hurt... Specter, what happe-"

"An order came in." He snaps, breathing harsh, eyes dark, "We were told-- it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. My brothers- we're hiding, I can't be out long, I just-" his shoulders relax, warm breath causing clouds of steam in the cold, "I needed to see you one more time."

The phrase sits strange in your mind, and you want to ask him what he means, but suddenly he's pushing you against a wall. Your breathing hitches as Specter's body shields you from passing Corries, as if he wasn't the one who'd be taken if he was recognized. This close, you can feel his warmth, his heartbeat visible under his shirt. You're not sure if it's the close proximity, or the adrenaline of the moment, but the heat blooming in your core makes you blush, "Specter..."

"Shh", with his hand on your mouth, it only makes that burning heat more intense, "We have to get out of here, know a place to lay low?"

You guide Specter back to your flat, not too far from Midnight Tavern. He chuckled, "That's why you preferred it over 79's."

"Well, that, and Midnight's never let anyone get hurt or drugged," You're quick to add, "Not that 79's is! It's just... different in a smaller club, especially when their headliner is also the bouncer." You get a chuckle from Specter with the last bit, and your heart feels warm.

Now in the safety your studio flat, Specter's hands are on you again. He feels greedy, almost, the way his hands trail your body almost too rough, but never harder than you like. He tugs your bottom lip with his teeth and you instinctively open your mouth for him, moaning into that rough kiss. Possessive, you think. That's the better word, he's possessive of you. You belong to him.

When your hands touch his arms you recoil fast, pulling away, "Specs-" you push his face away, and a look of horror flashes across your eyes when you see blood on his face where you'd touched him. Specter reaches up to hold your face, concern in his eyes, "Did I hurt y-"

His eyes go dark again, looking at the bloodied bandgaes on his arms, "Kriff... you have anything for this? Bacta patch, gaux?"

As you hurry away with a nod, you hear Specter drop himself onto your bed. "Do not ruin my sheets!"

"Not yet anyway! That's a team effort," he chuckles, but when you return with tears pricking the sides of your eyes, his humor fades. His mouth is dry as he looks at you, voice softer now, "Bunny hey... no, I'm fine, really. Just-- just some cuts."

He tries to take the bandages from you, but you hold them away, "Let me see."

"Bunny, no, I--"

"Specter let me see your fucking arms." You know his habits. You know what he does when he loses someone. You know that everything is messed up right now and you don't know why, but you know something terrible happened to him specifically.

Tally marks. Fresh, all over his arms, dozens. The red cuts mar his skin in painful lines, and his lip wobbles as you look up into his face with fear, "I ran out of room..." You've never seen Specter cry before, but his quiet, broken mutter breaks into tears.

"Why didn't Wraith dress these? Fuck Specs, what happened to you?" As you dress the wounds, wrapping them tight after spraying them with bacta, you notice there's a dark patch under his shirt, and your stomach drops, "No..."

You don't ask as you pull the shirt off of him, seeing a small square bandage over his left pectoral, directly over his heart. You pull the soiled bandage off, and cover your mouth. Six tally marks, fresh, bigger than the others. Specter swallows hard, his body shaking, "Athena's dead."

"No, no, how- how do you know, maybe she-"

He snaps, yelling now, his hands on his head, eyes shut tight, "WE SHOT HER!"

You sit in silence.

Specter doesn't move, he looks like he's vibrating, holding his breath, holding in all the pain in his heart. When you reach for him, he pushes your hand away, but you lock your fingers with his, and grab his face with the other, making him look at you, "You're not dying on me, Specter."

He hiccups, shaking his head, "No, no I-"

""I needed to see you one more time,"" you parrot his words back to him, anger in your eyes, "That's not something you say to someone you plan on sticking around for. Now tell me what the fuck happened to you."

He chokes through his story. Order 66. The nightmare that came to life. Phantom pulling the trigger. Athena's fearful expression as she hit the ground. That curse being broken as soon as she hit the ground. The roar they knew so well, Dax'Malkin now hunting them, broken and turning toward the dark side. The brothers splitting up in the chaos, losing each other.

"I don't know who I am anymore... what I am. We killed our little sister, our fa- Dax, he's... Banshee left me," he breaks again, hugging himself tight, "He left me... we promised, and-- I went back to The Crypt, but it wasn't there, Ban wasn't-- WE PROMISED!!"

You dress the tally marks on his heart, placing a soft kiss over the bandage, and then press your hand firmly in the center of his chest, "Lay down. I'm going to get you some water, and something to eat. You're going to finish all of it, and then we're going to lay down, and I'm going to hold you, got it?"

You wait for him to nod, then help him get his boots off. Once he's comfortable in your bed, you head to the kitchenette and fix yourself and Specter something quick. Two small bowls of soup, but it was enough. "Hey, sit up for me, come on."

Specs does as he's told, but doesn't bother with the spoon you hand him, only drinking from the side of bowl because it's all he can really muster at the moment. He looks deep into the bowl, eyes glassed over, "You know... I don't think I'd be here without you."

"Shut up," you elbow him a little as you settle in beside him, drinking your soup in the same fashion, "Of course you would be."

"No." Specter lets his arms down, gaze still fixed on the bowl in his hands, "You're the reason I didn't kill myself that day. That's-- that's such a shit thing to put on you, kriff... I just-" he covers his eyes, tears flowing again, "If I'd lost you too, there'd be no reason left in the fucking galaxy to go on."

He turns to you, his head on your shoulder, "There's nothing left but you... my whole life was made for a war that's over, everything I know, everyone I loved... They're tally marks. All but you..."

For the first time, it hits you just how much of Specter's life wasn't his. He always talked about "being here for a good time, not a long time", always making a joke about his mortality, how expendable he is. "Credit a dozen toy soldier." You never believed he really thought those things until this moment, when you'd seen him raw.

"Finish your soup, Specs..." you kiss his head, caressing his face with a free hand, "You're okay... I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Again, he does as he's told, and manages to pound the glass of water you'd brought for him as well. He struggles with that most, choking a few times, but eventually you're clearing away dishes and giving them a quick wash. When you're back in bed, you cradle Specter against you.

His arms wrap around you instinctively, face buried in your chest. You'd been like this before, held him like this before, but it felt different now. Your hands lay against him, rubbing his back and carding through his hair. He feels heavy in your arms, the exhaustion and sorrow physical weights on him.

"I'm sorry Cyare..."

"You better be... you know you're more than a soldier, more than a brother, right?"

He nods, but doesn't speak, and you huff. "Say it, dummy. Tell me, "I am more than what I was made to be."... please, Specter."

With slow movements, Specter moves his head to be nuzzled into your neck, his nose between you and the pillow, lips on your throat. He kisses there once, before whispering, "I am more... than what I was made to be..."

"One more time, okay?"

"I am more than I was made to be."

"Good boy..." you kiss his forehead, and soon he's drifted off, feeling safe in your embrace.

You won't press him tomorrow, you think to yourself. For now, you just want to keep him safe. Just keep him with you.

[the-royal-petals]

I would like to introduce you all to my clone OC squad, the 380th!

I hope you like them!

This is going go be a long post so please bare with me! I would appreciate it if you looked through everything 💕

Trigger warnings -Mention of suicide attempts [ Mentioned in Bob's section and Kirk's section ]

Click on the clones' names to see more pictures of them :D

A 💜 emoji means next to their name means they have a post about them

Who are the 380th?

The 380th is a subdivision of the 212th legion, led by General Kenobi and Marshal Commander Cody. Although Kenobi holds the rank of General, the day-to-day operations are primarily overseen by Commander Cody, ARC Commander Bob, and Captain Tim. The legion is referred to as 'The Ravens' as a tribute to their Mandalorian comrade, Paxel Tassia, who joined their ranks. This nickname serves to assist Paxel in coming to terms with her past and embracing her new path. Known for their lively interactions and knack for accomplishing tasks in the most chaotic manner imaginable, the group shares similarities with the renowned 501st.

In order to prevent further mayhem, the Jedi Council has placed restrictions on the 380th's collaboration with the 501st. The Council fears that the combination of these two units' unruliness would only perpetuate the chaos, a concern amplified by ARC Trooper Fives and Hardcase; this was also argued by Anakin, who was immediately shut down after the argument was made about him trying to recruit Captain Tim three months ago.

The colours of the 380th is primarily consisting of, Yellow/Orange, Pink/Purple, White and Grey. The clones based their colours of Commander Cody and their Mandalorian friend who was known for her bright pink armour, combined, they created a unique design which would make them recognisable among the clones who had a single colour scheme. The White and Grey were additional colours added by Clone Sergeant Silver who had made the changes overnight, but not wanting to remove the grey from the armour, the 380th kept it.

Oh also, the 380th fucking love watermelon. If you want to befriend them, give them watermelon. Like seriously, they go feral for that shit. It’s gotten so bad that Cody has to avoid planets that have that fucking fruit and even lure them to other places with watermelon as said bait.

The clones of the 380th

You all know who Cody is so lets kick it off!

💜 ARC Commander Bob - CC 80085-1

As much as Cody hates to admit it, Bob is the official 2nd-in-Command whenever Obi-Wan isn’t around. He is the most playful one out of the 380th, often seen as energetic and selfless. Bob is always willing to greet and hug new people, sometimes without warning.

He enrolled in the ARC Trooper program a year before Fives and Echo, which enabled him to be their ARC Commander when they first joined. Some suspect that’s where the two troopers got their chaotic nature from. Despite his chaos, he is a good leader who cares for his troops, always giving them something to smile about when times get tough.

When he was a cadet, he was teased for his CT designation number, being called ‘Boobs’ constantly, and while at first it annoyed him, over time he grew to accept the nickname, soon finding the fun in it.  He sees Cody as a strong and capable leader, looking up to him in many ways.  Despite their differences, they are great friends and often annoy each other with simple jokes and pranks. 

There was one time he was asked to deliver some information to the clone base on Coruscant. Cody had conveniently forgotten to tell Bob about the change of location, so he sent him on a massive errand run, lasting a good few hours before he found the base. Needless to say he doesn’t run errands for Cody anymore.

He is insanely protective of his brothers and anybody he considers as a close friend, going as far as putting himself in danger to protect the ones he loves. Whenever anybody is feeling down or needs any support, he is the first one to their side and will not leave them until their mood improves. This was the case when Cherry was murdered by a Jedi and Chase was listed as a fugitive, but also during the time when Kirk struggled with his mental health and attempted suicide. He gave him the proper support and assisted in Kirk’s healing from the experience.  

Captain Tim - CT-84923

Unlike other captains in the GAR, Tim is seen as a stern and strict leader, following the footsteps and influence of Marshall Commander Cody He is one of the most resourceful clones in the 380th; only when a plan goes to shit. He is usually seen as sarcastic and serious, having the mentality that things must be done exactly as ordered.  But despite the orders, he usually ends up following the lead of his men—much to his dismay.

He is insanely protective over the 380th. He can and will bully his brothers for fun, but the moment someone else lays a hand on them, he will be the first one to stand up for them. Tim is the embodiment of the “organised chaos;” he is the organised and his brothers are the chaos.  Whenever something goes wrong, he will take the blame for it in hopes it’ll extend time to fix the problem.

Tim understands his men and their strengths and uses them to the best as his ability on missions. Like Bits, he is analytic and quick on his feet, able to compromise when he can. Tim is also close friends with Rex, Wolffe, Cody and Fox, wanting to be as good as a leader to them; and he may have taken a few pointers from Rex on how to deal with chaotic clones.

Whenever he is off duty, he is catching up on work or taking some alone time so he can regroup and gather his thoughts. He is a firm believer in getting a problem resolved as soon as possible rather than letting it fester and get worse.

Clone Medic Kirk - CT - 44431

Kirk, the dedicated medic of the 380th, possesses not only his invaluable medical skills but also a talent for photography. Amongst the clones, he is known as the "War Photographer," assigned by the Jedi to capture crucial media pictures and document significant incidents on the battlefield. This is also so they could prevent future incidents. While most of Kirk's photographs focus on the less graphic aspects of war, there are some that depict the harsh reality that is not suitable for the faint of heart.

These photos also require him to capture haunting images of fallen comrades. The photos take a toll on Kirk's emotional well-being, often leaving him feeling helpless and burdened by the memories they evoke.

In an attempt to shield his fellow clones from the distressing imagery, Kirk  keeps the photographs locked away in a drawer, preventing others from stumbling upon them. Once the mandated time frame for retention expires, he burns them, allowing the painful memories to be released and moving towards healing.

While Kirk maintains a certain emotional distance from others to protect himself from attachment, he consistently watches over and supports his brothers. He constantly reminds them to look after each other and cherish what they have. Despite Kirk's attempts to keep a low profile, Bob, Cody and Chase support him with whatever they can, noticing Kirk's emotional distance. 

Kirk's selflessness is well known among the 380th, as he consistently places the needs of others above his own. He is always ready to provide whatever care there is necessary. While he has close friends with Chase, he is close friends with Commander Cody and with the 501st medic, Kix.

Kirk also has symbols on his armour. The red insignia and the semicolon in mando’a. The semicolon is a symbol of mental health and not giving up, but also a symbolism for those who have attempted suicide in the past; Kirk being one of them. Kirk put it on his armour to encourage himself to never give up hope, but also to keep going through his struggles of mental health. He hopes this inspires others to do the same. 

After his incident, Kirk had to be pulled out of service for a month until he gained control over his mental health and evaluated until he was fit for duty again.During this process he had Cody, Bob, Irony, Obi-Wan and Chase by his side. Now he is encouraging and supporting other clones who need the help.

ARC Trooper Chase - CT-54323

ARC Trooper Chase is the most serious and disciplined of the 380th squad.  He respects Commander Fox and Wolffe, embodying a strong sense of duty, he follows orders without hesitation. Chase's no-nonsense attitude can sometimes lead to irritation when his fellow clones deviate from established protocols. However, beneath his stoic exterior, he harbours a profound love and loyalty for his brothers.

He can be seen as the most protective clone in the 380th, more than Kirk or Tim. Chase is extremely distrusting of Jedi due to an incident that occured many years ago where an ex-ARC Trooper, Cherry, was killed by the hands of a Jedi master, being depicted as traitorous and a fugitive to the republic. 

Chase knew that these allegations were false, knowing his brother was framed and in the process of investigating, he too was depicted as a traitor; because of this, he lost trust in the Jedi and the people who were supposed to be protecting them. During those investigations, two Jedi came forward, Plo Koon and Obi-Wan Kenobi, who believed Chase and helped  clear his name from the charges.

However, despite everything, he is still seen as untrustworthy and unreliable. Only his brothers see him for who he truly is. (Along with Plo and Obi-Wan.) Since then, Chase has been insanely protective over his brothers, not allowing new people to linger too long near them. It takes him a while to get to trust people; but once you gain his trust, he will fight for you.  Irony was also another member in the 380th who helped to find out the truth behind the incident. It was soon revealed that Pong Krell was behind the attack and the killing of Cherry.

Lieutenant Silver - CT- 51723

Out of the 380th, Silver is the collector and the most child-like. He has a massive interest in anything metallic and shiny, with exceptions to some other things. He is awfully cuddly whenever he finds a new friend and is always willing to trade with anybody for trinkets; in return  he gives out rations or even any supplies he finds on his travels. Silver is intelligent, strong, and loves working with other people. While he can be rather childish at times, he is a loyal and reliable member. Whenever he trusts somebody enough, he will make them a small keychain with their name on it and maybe with a gem or something else that reminds him of that person. To get one of these is an honour in his world. 

Every member of the 380th has one and to get one means you are an official member and have passed the test. Despite his nature, he is resourceful and intelligent. Some people may see his trinkets as a mess or an interference on missions, but on multiple occasions, he has used them as a weapon (handed over to Bits) or included in explosives to help get rid of the enemy. He’s one of the best at improvising.

Silver is also someone who helps design and improve the armour with modifications and even assist in repairs with Meddel whenever he can. If the worst comes to worst, he will help be the back-up mechanic, though that is something Meddel wishes to never happen.

 Lieutenant Bits - CT-81754

Whenever he’s not on a high-risk mission, he is always trying to find things to blow up, even if there is no need to. Bits is the bane of Tim’s existence and if Silver’s constant hunt for shiny stuff isn’t the thing that gives him a migraine that day, it’s Bits. He is constantly on the move and leaving things about—if he’s not sorting out their arsenal, he’s studying separatist buildings, if he’s not doing that, he’s helping to create new weapons. 

He is seen to be the most chaotic out of the group. He is always coming up with new ways to better their strategies and much to Tim’s dismay is essential to the 380th’s success. Whenever possible, he’s giving people the chance to blow things up with him. 

Bits absolutely loves food. He is also one of the only people in the 380th who can actually cook something edible and prevent them from living on watermelon for the rest of their lives.

Sergeant Irony - 69423

Known for getting into Ironic situations, Irony is the pilot of the 380th. He is loyal, kind and has a massive love for ducks. He has the ability to be quick on his feet, and the ability to use humour to diffuse tense and difficult situations. Irony is one of the more relaxed people in the 380th, willing to crack a joke about how ironic something is and see things for how they really are. 

He is a realistic sort of thinker and doesn’t really like to have things sugarcoasted. Whenever there is a problem, he doesn’t stop at anything until he finds out the truth, even if it means going against orders to find it. (An example of this was when Cherry was framed for being a fugitive, soon being killed by a Jedi, did he assist in exposing the truth. It’s because of him that it prevented Chase from being executed or court martialled.) This sort of thinking has gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years, but it has always been for the greater good. He has a fear of heights, which earned him the “Irony” nickname by Meddel. They are close friends and grew up together in the cadets program.

Meddel was the one who encouraged him to become a pilot in the first place. Irony is a person who searches for any kind of adrenaline, doing whatever it takes to find the joys in life.

He is the original creator of the codenames: “Mother Duck” and “Duckling.”  Much to the dismay of the 380th, he is the creator of other code names and nobody can really argue with it.

Corporal Beetle - 833713

Beetle is known to be the hermit of the 380th, known for his introverted and ‘dark light’ seeking nature. He’s very stealthy and good at sneaking around even if he doesn’t mean to. Many clones have reported him ‘teleporting’ because they didn’t see him move. 

He is a very reserved and cuddly individual who takes an interest in anything bright and colourful, which is why he’s close friends with Bits. You can usually find him hiding under the table or in a dark place with his datapad in hand. Bits is good at problem solving and has a good knowledge of computer and security systems. He’s the go-to whenever they need someone to sneak into place. 

It takes a while for Beetle to get to know somebody, but once he’s comfortable you can find him sleeping on Bits, Bob or even Cody. Whenever he’s not doing anything, he is usually sleeping. He’s known for creating drawing ideas for Silver and even handing him unique shiny things. 

Whenever he is not cuddling someone, you can usually find him alone watching people. Beetle is also very aware of his surroundings and is able to understand people’s moods before everyone else. He’s insanely good at reading people’s body language.

Corporal Meddel - CT-84324

Meddel is the engineer of the 380th and the backup pilot for Irony. He is meticulous and has a good attention to detail, being someone who has pride in his word and one of the most important members within the team. Whenever he is not flying ships or is in meetings, he is making sure the gear, weapons and machines are working and up to standard.

Whenever they get inspections, he is the first person to check over everybody before the Jedi enter the barracks. Despite being an introvert, he is good at teamwork and collaborating with his fellow clones, especially Silver and Irony. 

Meddel is always giving Silver his tools to use whenever he wants to make things, but other times he finds his tools going missing. Despite that, Meddel is very protective over his stuff and will go feral whenever people move something he had put into place.

Usually, he is found lingering around the hangar or flying with Irony in the sky. His favourite ship is the x-wing and has been trying to get one painted the colour of his armour, but Cody keeps declining. He also really fucking likes watermelon. He will do anything to get that shit. Not to mention, he was the person who got the 380th into that fucking fruit. It has gotten so bad that Cody has to check in advance that the planet they go to does not have any watermelon on it. 

Who do you like the most?

[findyourrp]

🦚 Hey!

I’m a 21 she/they experienced roleplayer looking for an OC X OC plot set in Star Wars (Specifically the clone wars era).

I have a Female Jedi OC who I’m looking to pair with a Male, NB or Masc OC! Preferably another jedi or a clone trooper because I’m a sucker for secret relationships 🤭 give me angst and theatrics and forbidden love with our characters struggling through the war with each other!

My character has quite a heavy and dark backstory so preferably be down for angst but please let me know your triggers or what’s too heavy beforehand and I’ll always respect them!! I also use discord primarily and I create huge servers with ooc and music and moodboards!

If you’re interested, like this and drop me a DM! Thank you!

.

[roleplayfinder]

Hey!

I’m a 21 she/they experienced roleplayer looking for an OC X OC plot set in Star Wars (Specifically the clone wars era).

I have a Female Jedi OC who I’m looking to pair with a Male, NB or Masc OC! Preferably another jedi or a clone trooper because I’m a sucker for secret relationships 🤭 give me angst and theatrics and forbidden love with our characters struggling through the war with each other!

My character has quite a heavy and dark backstory so preferably be down for angst but please let me know your triggers or what’s too heavy beforehand and I’ll always respect them!! I also use discord primarily and I create huge servers with ooc and music and moodboards!

If you’re interested, like this and drop me a DM! Thank you!

.

[aliceparrilla18]

Hello there! I present to you a masterlist of all my Star Wars fics and prompts. I mostly write about Codywan but Anakin and the others are often there too. You can find all my works on ao3. Thank you for reading!

Fics:

Sticker [1.2k words] - Obi-Wan/Cody, Sticker (original clone medic); Cody learns that Obi-Wan is scared of the dentist and finds it utterly adorable.

Softly we tremble tonight [4.3k words] - Obi-Wan, Anakin, Bail Organa, Cody; Post-Zigoola fic. Obi-Wan avoids Bail, but learns that running away from your problems isn't always the best solution.

Strawberries on a summer evenin' [2.1k words] - Obi-Wan/Cody, Rio (original clone medic); Cody tries strawberries for the first time and Obi-Wan has an allergic reaction. Just a normal post-battle afternoon.

The promise of a new day [1k words] - Obi-Wan/Cody; CodyWan Week 2024: Day 1. No/Different Order 66.

Pull me down, hold me 'til I lose my faith [3.5k words] - Anakin, Obi-Wan, Cody, Kix, OCs; A mission goes terribly wrong and Obi-Wan finally breaks down. Anakin is there to pick up the pieces, but that may prove to be a more difficult task than he thought. When does a lot become too much?

Instructions On Not Giving Up [6.3k words] - Obi-Wan, Anakin, Cody, Rio (original clone medic), Cloud (original clone trooper); After the Rako Hardeen mission, Obi-Wan and Anakin are not on good terms, but the war is still raging on. After Obi-Wan collapses due to an infected wound, they finally talk and some realizations are made.

Prompt fills:

Home (is wherever I'm with you) - Obi-Wan/Cody

Prompts:

I'm open for prompts! It may take me a while to get them done, I'm a rather slow-writing author, but if you're patient, go ahead and leave me a request!

Here are a few of my rules:

Obi-Wan/Cody and Obi-Wan/Satine are THE ONLY pairings I will write;

other characters I'm comfortable writing: Anakin, Ahsoka, Padme, Bail Organa, literally any jedi council member, and of course my beloved original clone medics who are being succesfully introduced in my stories;

I DON'T write: explicit, sexual assault, rape, generally heavy and triggering things;

Prompt lists you can choose from:

fluff hurt/comfort vol 1. hurt/comfort vol. 2 hurt/comfort vol. 3 injuries vol. 1 injuries vol. 2 sickfics deathfics angst

If you want me to write your own prompt or you want me to include a character you're not sure I'll be okay with writing, just ask!

[findroleplay]

Hello!!!

I’m a 21f looking for an OC x OC Star Wars RP set in the prequels/Clone Wars Era!! I have a 19-20 year old female shadow OC and im looking for a preferably MxF dynamic with any of the following plots:

- My OC x A Jedi Knight or Master

- My OC x A clone trooper

Essentially the plot would be our characters falling in love during the war and trying to keep their relationship a secret!! I love grumpy x sunshine, pining idiots and secret relationship dynamics and my plots/backstories tend to be quite dramatic and angst heavy so please let me know your triggers beforehand!!

I use primarily discord and tend to write really long and detailed paragraphs. I love creating whole universes with our characters like clone squads and moodboards and playlists and memes and I love ooc chat too!!

If you’re interested then send me a DM with information about your OC and I’ll get back to you!! Hope to hear from you soon!

-

[im-no-jedi]

a new year means more birthdays and more tsum tsums to make, so here's what I made for my bro this year! this is his Clone OC, Trigger. he's part of the Random Squad (the same as my Clone OCs Gunner and Mutt, @jam-n-ham's Chase, and @knight-tyme's Cutoff). he's a Shock Trooper (obviously), very aggressive, and owns a bazillion different weapons (although heavys are his go-to). we like to headcanon that he was one of the troopers on Kamino during Aftermath (I personally like thinking he was the one who shot AZI and took Omega away)

surprisingly, this was my first time making a Clone tsum tsum! guess I gotta start making some more now 😁

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

OC designs 3/10

(These were all made on Picrew, https://picrew.me/image_maker/565738)  These squads featured more prominently in the Clone Wars Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi series, but they have also had smaller cameos in the Vopak AU series. I will give short information about them in this post, but if you search on this blog using their squad name, you will get more detailed information about them.

Centre squad - batchmates:

Trip (CT-1891) - Trip has military regulation black hair and is clean shaven. He earned his name because he was constantly tripping over his own feet. He was the second member of the batch to earn his name.

Trace (CT-2018) - Trace has military regulation black hair and is clean shaven, although his face is often smeared with engine oil, despite the fact he is not an engineer who works in the Negotiator hanger. Trace is the defacto leader of the batch, and can come across as a bit harsh and a bit of a bully. But he loves his batchmates dearly, so don’t let his prickly demeanour fool you.

Worrywart (CT-2315) -  Worrywart has military regulation black hair and is clean shaven, he likes looking the same as his other brothers. He was the first in the batch to get his name, as he is a constant worrier. Did he pass the test? Are his batchmates happy? Is Theo coping alright after the war? There is always something for him to worry about. His nickname is Wart, which he doesn’t really like, but he understands that his name is a bit of a mouthful.

Trigger (CT-1897) - Trigger has longish black hair and is clean shaven. He earned his name because in training he loved working with blasters, he did not name himself Blaster because so many brothers had already chosen that name. He is the marksman of his batch and while he is a bit of a lone-wolf, he loves that his entire batch were assigned to the 212th.

Theo (CT-2085) - Theo has shaggy black hair and is clean shaven. Theo is the studious one of the batch, he has a good memory and enjoys learning new things. He is a little quiet and the introvert of the batch. However, when he discovers something that interests him and when he is alone with his batch he is a chatterbox, often keeping his batchmates awake longer than they would have liked, but they never tell him to be quiet.

Foxtrot squad - batchmates:

Needle (CT-1455) - Needle has short military regulation red hair. He is a medic assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion. During medic training on Kamino, he became best friends with Painkiller. Needle ironically had a fear of needles and when he got put into medic training on Kamino he fainted. (I found a picture of the medic symbol and pasted it onto Painkiller’s picture.)

Trapper (CT-1816) - is a canon clone from the 212th Attack Battalion, Ghost Company, Waxer’s platoon. I could not find his CT number, so I created him one using the same system I use to create my OC clones’ CT numbers. In my Clone Wars senior padawan Obi-Wan series, Trapper earned his name because he is always getting trapped somewhere. His sleeping pod on Kamino or various supply cupboards, doesn’t matter what, if it can be locked, Trapper will get trapped there.

Meteor (CT-1352) - Meteor has military regulation blonde hair and is assigned to the 212th Attack Battalion, Ghost Company, Waxer’s platoon. Meteor is the dreamer. He plans to one day travel the galaxy after the war and visit as many planets as he can. During the war, and after, he picks up the first rock he sees on a new planet and keeps it as a memento. Meteor is the one who keeps an eye on his friends/brothers. He also tends to keep Blackeye in line when his brother is about to do something impulsive.

Runner (CT-1821) - Runner has military regulation black hair and a beard. He is assigned to the 501st Legion, Torrent Company. Runner got his name because he was the fastest runner in his batch and also the one who loved endurance training and anything that involved running.

Blaster (CT-1211) - Blaster has military regulation black hair and a scruff beard. He is assigned to the 501st Legion, Torrent Company. He got his name because he was always enthusiastic about using blasters in training and they are his favourite weapon.

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter VII

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 5K

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

4 Helona

Through the skylights of the vaulted ceilings, Eluca’s three moons painted the main level in a sea of blue. Streaks of gray and blue-white danced along the walls like friendly spirits, playing across the clones seated at the kitchen table. 

Kazi wasn’t staring at the clones, though. Her attention was drawn to the opposite mezzanine above the sunroom. To the little girl surreptitiously spying. 

Lying on her stomach while peering through the wooden spokes of the banisters, Neyti scrutinized the clones’ nighttime card game. The concentrated stitch in her eyebrows heightened her intrigue. 

Only three clones sat at the kitchen table—Commanders Cody and Fox, and trooper Nova. Too focused on their game—a game that had already resulted in an argument between the two commanders—they didn’t notice their spy. 

“She’s similar to you.”

The voice surprised her so much she jumped. Kazi blinked at her sister, resting a palm against the wall to steady herself. The ends of Daria’s mouth twitched but she didn’t smile. Her gaze rested on Neyti, who was so focused on the clones she remained oblivious to their watching.

“She’s curious about the men,” Daria said. “She watches them the way you do.”

Kazi sniffed. “I don’t watch them.”

“You do.” 

Dressed in a black, nearly sheer nightgown, her green eyes alit with a knowing gleam, Daria looked like a shadow. A shadow that observed all around and traded in secrets. 

Kazi shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like the idea of anyone watching her, much less studying her.

“You watch them because you don’t trust them.” Daria hefted something behind her back. “You’ve been amassing a list of problematic behaviors, biding your time until they’re sure to mess up, and when they do, you’ll be ready to condemn every single one of their flaws.”

Disconcerted by her sister’s assessment, Kazi tugged on the end of her braid. “You don’t know me.”

“Not anymore. But I did, once,” Daria said quietly. “You used to do it with Mama. You would wait months, and when you couldn’t hold it all in anymore, you would burst.”

“That was years ago,” she muttered. 

Daria shrugged and returned her attention to a now-yawning Neyti. “I stand by what I said: you’re both similar.”

“We’re not.” Kazi folded her arms over her chest. “Neyti is sweet and kind and forgiving. She’s curious about the clones because they’re unknowns. Not because she’s mistrustful.”

“She’s curious about the men because you are. Have you wondered why she maintains her distance? Why she looks to you whenever a decision must be made where the men are concerned?” Daria breathed a wry chuckle. “She sees how wary you are of them and she mimics you. You’re so unaware of the effect you have on her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daria gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you seriously so surprised to learn that a little girl looks up to you?”

“Neyti doesn’t look up to me.” Kazi scoffed. “There’s nothing inspirational or encouraging about me.”

“I used to look up to you.”

The honesty in Daria’s tone—the wistful hurt quieting her voice—made Kazi wince. 

It was bizarre to remember those early years. The time when they were little girls who played together, who laughed together, who cried together, who dreamt together. 

There was a time when they were inseparable, their two-year age difference a nonexistent barrier. 

There was a time Kazi promised to always protect her sister. A time when she promised they would always be friends. 

Their father’s death changed everything.

Kazi sought comfort in solitude; as the seasons changed and the dead bitterness of winter gave way to the aromatic blooms of spring, the bond with her sister shriveled and died. 

The thing about being sisters was: Kazi loved Daria. She always would. And she knew Daria would always love her. 

So this broken bond between them, a bond amassed from memories of warmth and security and unconditional love, hurt worse than any physical pain. Because it was a hurt borne from the possibilities that could have been, and the silent weeping of two little girls who lost their anchors.

Most nights she yearned for the years when her sister looked at her with awe and love.

Now, Daria’s face only ever held disappointment. 

The disappointment of a little sister whose older sister abandoned her. 

“I didn’t know you kept this,” Daria said, drawing Kazi from her thoughts. She flipped open a page of the leather-bound book in her hands.

Kazi stiffened. A spike of anger singed her blood. 

Carefully preserved in Daria’s hands was her adventure book, an old, worn thing her mother gifted her when she was a toddler as a means to store memories. The first forty pages housed printed photos from her early childhood. From the years before her father died. The last sixty pages were blank. 

The adventure book had sat in the closet of her old home. Collecting dust and forgotten by all except Kazi, she tried to throw it away. But she couldn’t. The photos were too evocative and the memories too visceral. 

She couldn’t throw it away because she was sentimental, and she was desperate to cling to a time when life was innocent and she was hopeful. 

Kazi gritted her teeth. “What were you doing in my room?” 

“I saw your knitting stitches on your desk,” Daria said calmly, unrepentantly. “I didn’t know you still knitted—”

“I don’t.” Daria gave her a disbelieving look, and Kazi clenched her fists. “I wanted to see if I could still do it.”

For a long moment Daria studied her, and she knew, from whatever her sister saw in her face, that she didn’t believe her. 

“I saw this tucked away,” Daria said, returning her attention to the book. “Almost like you’re ashamed of it.”

“It’s a silly book,” Kazi muttered. 

“And yet you kept it.” More pages flipped; photos of a happy family flickered. “It was important enough for you to take from Ceaia.”

Ignoring the emotion clogging the back of her throat, Kazi eyed her sister. “What do you want?”

“Do you remember when we would visit the harbor and steal the fishermen’s best catches?” Daria ran a finger down a faded photo—a photo of the two sisters, smiles wide and teeth missing, as they posed at a festival. “Do you remember the woman who almost caught us?”

She remembered. She remembered all of it.

They would hide among the ships’ containers, listening to the fishermen boast their catches of the day. Usually larger fish.  

Some occasions a fisherman would come across a star succulent, or a turtle, or an anemone: creatures that could survive outside the water. The fishermen would place bets on the price of their rare catches. When they were distracted, Kazi and Daria would sneak aboard their ships, find the creatures, and free them.

One afternoon a female sailor caught them throwing a turtle overboard. The two sisters managed to dodge the sailor’s attempt to wrangle them, and they sprinted away. Days later, the sailor was still grousing about the miscreants. Kazi and Daria didn’t return to the harbor for three weeks.

They were never caught. 

“I was so scared,” Daria said. “I thought we would get in trouble, but you always convinced me to go. I could never refuse you.”

The urge to look at her adventure book was too hard to resist and Kazi caved. A new page of photos displayed the old lighthouse. Their lighthouse.

“I remember the time we were stuck here.” Tracing the lighthouse’s exterior, Daria quietly laughed. “The lightning was awful and I thought we were going to be struck. I was so scared and you kept telling me it was going to be okay, but I wouldn’t calm down.” Green eyes lifted to hers, searching. “Do you remember what you did then?”

“I told you a story,” Kazi said hoarsely. “The legend of the Sea Dragon.”

“The Sea Dragon.” The moonlight cast Daria’s countenance in a grayish darkness similar to that stormy night so long ago. “You told me he was watching over us. That he was with us so we didn’t need to be afraid.”

Kazi thought back to that day. 

The sight of a tear-stained, six-year-old Daria cowering in the corner of the lighthouse’s watch tower. The water slowly rising. The sheer terror of not knowing how to protect and comfort her little sister. So she started to tell Daria a story, like her father used to do when she was scared, and the first story that came to mind was the legend of Sea. 

By the end of the story, Daria had quieted. She was no longer shivering.

A crackle of lightning had split the air and eight-year-old Kazi squeezed her sister’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Daria squeezed back, smiling wetly. “I’m not scared, Kazi. Not when you’re with me.”

“When we got home, Mama and Papa were livid. You took the blame. You told them you forced me to go with you.” Daria stared at her, confusing wrinkling her features. “I never understood why you did that.”

Kazi looked away. 

“You kept this, and your dragon,” Daria mused. A soft snap of leather and then Daria pushed the adventure book into her hands. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I know.” 

Shaking her head, Daria appraised her with a bemusement that bordered frustration. “I thought you didn’t care about us—about our culture. Our traditions. You went to the capital and I thought for sure you would adopt the Culturalist way of life.”

The Ceaian people were split into three groups—Traditionalists, Reformists, and Culturalists. 

Long ago, two sects of Ceaians coexisted, both revering the dragons and upholding traditions. But as centuries passed, and the last of the dragons perished, one group of people broke away. They were the Reformists. 

The Reformists turned the legends of old into dogmatic opinions of society and the world. No longer were the legends to be stories admired and awed; instead, interpretation of the legends enforced societal expectations of gender roles, marriage, and wealth. 

It was the Reformists who determined Higher and Lower Society—the refined versus the rugged. Similar to Traditionalists, they scorned technological reliance, but believed the cultural practices of the Traditionalists were too “common.”

Kazi’s mother came from a Reformist family.

The Traditionalists, on the other hand, lived among the ocean’s shores—sailors at heart. They maintained their culture and legends; they worshipped the natural process of life and respected all living things. 

Most Traditionalists refused the advent of technology that swept across the galaxy. Droids were uncommon and typically frowned upon. Traditionalists valued humanity first and foremost. Their cultural practices relied on a connection to the earth, a reverence for folklore, and a humble lifestyle built upon the legends of their people. 

Kazi’s father was a Traditionalist. 

Over the millennia, the Reformists built Ceaia’s major cities and established its central government. But then, a new sect emerged: the Culturalists. A people who sneered the Reformists’ hierarchy and scorned the Traditionalists’ “common” way of life.

The Culturalists respected technological advancements, belittled old legends and traditional values, and practiced the ways of the galaxy. Eventually they opened Ceaia’s spaceports to interplanetary travel. They learned new cultures and political ideologies. 

Their name—Culturalist—was originally coined by the Reformists. To sneer upon those who deemed tradition a nuisance. However, the Culturalists adopted the title, declaring their superiority based on their relations with other planetary systems, and their understanding of the galaxy at large. 

Most Culturalists looked down on the Traditionalists. Only the Reformists were taken seriously, thanks to their self-righteous view of advancement that permeated the Culturalist’s mindset today. Even then, the Culturalists emphasized choice rather than societal expectations.

Over time, and enraged by the Culturalists’ view of life, the Reformists returned to Ceaia’s mountain ranges and harbors, abandoning the cities they had built. They reclaimed localities and smaller cities, maintaining their doctrines on society. The Culturalists took control of the central government. But Ceaia’s central government lacked true, authoritative power. Today, the sole power exercised was relations with other planetary systems.

“You’re right,” Daria said, exhaling a bitter breath. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what ideologies you subscribe to. I don’t know why you have your dragon when it’s not in your room. I don’t even know if you still believe the legends. Or if they’re simply myths to be ridiculed and forgotten.”

No matter how cynical she became, Kazi would always believe in the dragons. They were stories that inspired. The stories that gave her meaning. 

“Some days I wish we were out on the boat with Papa,” Kazi said quietly. “I wish we were sitting out there. Just us and the waves and the gray sky.” She closed her eyes and pictured their old sailboat, the waves tossing them about, and the wind whipping her hair, and the ache in her cheeks from grinning and laughing too much. Too hard. “Everything was so simple back then.”

It was a time when loneliness, familial duty, and fears of disappointment were nonexistent. It was a time when she felt alive.

“What boat?” The question snapped Kazi from her memories and she found Daria frowning at her. “What boat are you talking about?”

The anger lining her sister’s tone caught Kazi by surprise. “The boat, Daria. We spent hours every weekend on it. Sometimes we went out after a long school day.”

Daria clenched her hands at her sides. Her knuckles were white; her fists were trembling. “There was never a boat.” 

Beads of sweat silvered her forehead. Daria brushed them away. 

Nonplussed, Kazi took a step forward but her sister retreated, blinking wildly. 

“There was never a boat. I don’t remember a boat.” A scowl marred Daria’s features. The whites of her eyes were enlarging. “You’re wrong. There was never a boat. What are you talking about? A boat? What fucking boat?”

“You’re right,” Kazi said hastily. She rested a firm but unthreatening hand on her sister’s shoulder, aware of Daria’s increased shivering. “I was wrong. There was never a boat.” 

Goosebumps dotted her arms and Daria eyed Kazi doubtfully. Confusion and anger hunched her shoulders inwards. She looked small. Frail.

“It’s late,” Kazi said gently. “Why don’t we get you into bed, okay?”

Indecipherable mumbles followed them down the hallway and into Daria’s room. As Kazi helped her sister into bed, each symptom tallied in her mind—a mental report for Healer Natasha. 

Memory loss was expected twenty months into the disease’s progression. Ultimately, it would steal all of Daria’s memories. She would exist in a world where she no longer knew her own name.

A world where she would forget their childhood, their parents.

A world where she would be alone. 

Bile rose in the back of Kazi’s throat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. 

She blamed the lack of sleep, the number of arguments the past few days, and the stress from last night and this morning.

But blame truly rested in this moment. In the knowledge that her sister had forgotten the boat. Forgotten years spent at sea. And soon, she would forget more than just a silly boat.

Her little sister, the one person she had loved more in this galaxy than anyone else, would no longer remember her. 

“Kazi?” Tucked into her bed, Daria fiddled with her light purple sheets, tracing a white flower embroidered along the hem. “Do you know why Papa stopped loving me?”

Kazi blinked her bemusement. “He never stopped loving you. Why would you say that?”

“He doesn’t take me out on the boat anymore.”

Daria’s train of thought both bewildered and exhausted her. The way her sister forgot the boat and then remembered it, but only seemed to remember a specific memory associated with it, left her feeling behind and twisted inside out. 

Kazi didn’t know if Daria’s feelings were an accurate representation of her current thoughts. She didn’t know if her sister ever questioned whether their father loved her.

Even in childhood it was obvious that Daria was their mother’s favorite and Kazi was their father’s. The unspoken favoritism was more overt the older she got. But Kazi had always thought her father was fair in his treatment of Daria. He wasn’t her mother—he never taunted Daria until her emotions overflowed.

Now that she thought about it, he had been harder on Daria.

Though both sisters were opinionated and stubborn, Kazi kept her opinions to herself, and her stubbornness never stopped her from disobeying her parents. Daria, on the other hand, made her anger known. And she never shied from obstinately refusing orders she didn’t like.  

Disagreements led to raised voices, and many tears, and moments when Kazi hid in her room, finding it difficult to breathe while she listened to angered shouts. She hid for hours, waiting for the anger to turn on her. Expecting it, because it always happened. She was always blamed.

She always held some resentment against Daria for those moments. For some reason, she never blamed her father. 

Squeezing Daria’s shoulder, Kazi managed a tired smile. “Papa always loved you.”

“Promise?”

Daria stared at her with such blatant hope it hurt. Buried itself into her chest, like a fishing hook, and yanked. Hard. 

“I promise.”

5 Helona

Avoidance was a skill Kazi had honed over the years.

Too nervous to make a final decision out of fear of making the wrong decision, she learned to avoid her problems. Ignore them until they forced her one way and the decision was made for her. 

But avoidance tendencies didn’t pair well with her level-headed mindset. She was self-reliant. To a point bordering hyper-independence. Responsible and disciplined, she had to be in control. 

And yet the fear—the fear of mistakes and being wrong—was crippling. 

Her mind was constantly at war: avoidance versus control; fear versus independence.

Kazi had managed to avoid Commander Wolffe for nearly two days. An incredible feat, if she was being honest, considering they cohabitated. 

Her conversation with Commander Cody had left her reeling. Like she’d stepped off a cliff and was plunging toward the ocean below, except the water was much farther than she originally thought. She was caught in the in-between and she didn’t know how to move forward. 

So she avoided the commander and ignored any issue related to him. 

Sitting on the uneven porch steps, Kazi laced her boots, eyeing the sky. Gray clouds were amassing, cloud swells ebbing, expanding from horizon to horizon. The weather gauge claimed it wouldn’t rain for another three hours. 

Maybe it was arrogant of her, but she decided the ten-kilometer walk to Neyti’s school was doable. A small part of her thought Neyti would appreciate the change in scenery. 

Anyway, she needed the fresh air. Needed the movement of a long walk to ease her tension, from the arguments the last few evenings and the unsettling sight of Daria this afternoon. She had found her sister smiling absentmindedly at an empty corner in the sunroom. The sight had unnerved her enough, she refused to dwell on it.  

Dressed in loose trousers and a black tank top—her early return from work allowed her to change into comfortable clothes—she pushed herself to her feet and started along the dirt path. 

With the sun curtained behind the clouds, the jungle’s temperature was cooler and tolerable. Kazi tilted her head to the sky. She made it a handful of meters before movement from the trees caught her attention. 

A frisson of alarm pricked the nape of her neck. Her heart lurched and her stomach fell.

Sweating and breathing heavily, Commander Wolffe emerged from the entangled trees of the dense jungle. He was slowing to a walk. His hands were on his hips. He looked like he’d just finished a hard run. 

Kazi froze. Desperation encouraged her to hide in the nearby trees; however, pride kept her feet glued to her spot. 

The commander seemed lost to his thoughts. Unaware and unobservant. Odd for someone like him. He lifted his black shirt to wipe at his face. That was, until his gaze landed on her.

An array of emotions played across his face, like one of those old toys she had as a youngling. A click of a button displayed an image, and if you clicked it fast enough, the images turned into a holofilm. 

Distraction blinked into surprise, furrowed into reservation, and then settled into apathy. 

Disconcerted, Kazi started to turn away, content to pretend she hadn’t seen him. 

The commander had other plans. Plans that resulted in him taking a step towards her. And then another. 

Kazi was too caught in her head—unable to decide between walking away and holding her ground. It didn’t matter. Commander Wolffe approached her. A healthy meter separated them. 

Maybe she should apologize, but she didn’t want him to think it was a false apology brought forth by proximity—

“I thought you worked.”

The hoarseness of his voice mixed with his non-question made her spine straighten. She tried to force her shoulders to relax. They didn’t.

“I do.” 

Vines thicker than her legs looped between the trees. Kazi could have stared at them for another hour to avoid his gaze, but she didn’t want to be a coward. So she met his eyes, remembering the hostility from two nights ago. The accusation and disdain and antipathy.

“I took off early,” she said, glancing at the graying clouds under the pretense of assessing the weather. When she looked back, he was observing her in a way that was familiar yet still set her on edge. “To pick up Neyti from school,” she added.

The commander nodded. 

For a moment it seemed the silence would expand indefinitely.

Commander Wolffe looked toward the house and then back at her. A hand slid through his hair. His jaw flexed; his posture was unnaturally stiff, agitated.

“May I join you?”

Her immediate answer was a resounding ‘No,’ but her chin dipped. In acceptance. 

Swallowing her discomfort, Kazi walked away, gaze set firmly on the dirt path ahead and the wild jungle enveloping the horizon. The commander appeared at her side. 

Kazi slipped her hands into her pockets. Not to hide their slight trembling. Never that. Merely for the aesthetic.

“I spoke with Cody,” the commander said. He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze set on the path as well. “He said you talked.”

“We did.” A bird trilled, the sudden noise making her tense. “We spent some time in the garden.”

“You sound surprised.” The statement bordered accusation, his tone sharper than a dragon’s claws.

“I was. But not because he’s a clone.” She pursed her lips. “I was surprised he wanted to talk to me. I thought that after…”

“My brother likes to play diplomat and interfere where he’s not wanted.” Commander Wolffe rolled his shoulders back. “He told me to apologize—”

Kazi stopped, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not interested in forced apologies. If you’re only here because of your brother, you can go back to the house and tell him you apologized, but I’m not in the mood—”

“I agree with Cody. On some parts.” Commander Wolffe crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down, hesitating. “I overheard you. Last week. At the warehouse.”

Frowning, Kazi thought back to the day at the warehouse. It was the meeting with Fehr, Bash, and Carinthia. The meeting the three commanders interrupted. The meeting where Commander Wolffe first asked her to analyze his intel. 

“You told her you’re analyzing patterns of deserted clones. For the magistrate.”

“I am,” Kazi said slowly. 

She assessed the wariness darkening his features, the ticked muscle in his jaw. Everything—the abrupt change in his offer and the severity of his mistrust—suddenly made sense. 

“The magistrate asked me and I couldn’t refuse,” she said. “But I’m not going to do anything that endangers your missions. If it comes to it, I’ll scrub the data. I’ll correct the reports. Anyway, being on this project gives me an opportunity to warn you if something comes up.”

Disbelief flickered across his face and she tried not to feel offended. “Why would you do that?”

“What? Help you?” At his guarded scowl, she rolled her eyes. “Because, if you’re discovered, you lead a trail straight to my house. To my family. Because, I may not know you, and we may have our disagreements, but I would never turn someone over to the Empire.” 

His apathetic expression miffed her and she looked away, shaking her head. “You may not trust me, and that’s fine, but I’m not a traitor.”

“And you think I am,” he said lowly. 

“No.” The intensity of his gaze was hotter than Eluca’s sun at the height of summer. Kazi squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry for what I said.” 

The commander winced at her apology, either from shock or doubt, she didn’t know. 

“I had no right to accuse you of being culpable in the rise of the Empire,” she said. “And I had no right to call you a traitor.”

Commander Wolffe didn’t seem to know how to react. He was stuck somewhere between skepticism and perplexity. 

Discomfited by the awkward silence, Kazi drew her hands from her trousers’ pockets, turned on her heel, and continued along her original path. Only a few seconds passed before the crunch of dried soil alerted her to the commander’s presence. 

They walked together in silence. For a long time.

The scent of soil and coming rain surrounded Kazi. A low roll of thunder sounded far away. Beneath the dense confines of the jungle, she felt small. A pollinator lost in a field of wildflowers. Content for the moment yet unreasonably lonely. 

A throat cleared. Hands clasped behind his back, Commander Wolffe walked with an air of command, authoritative and intimidating. Kazi forced herself to walk straight, to not create more distance between their bodies. 

“My brothers…” He paused. “They mean everything to me.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “I know.”

He hesitated. “I had no right to question your credibility and skillset.”

Remorse underscored his tone, and Kazi nodded at his apology.

At the edge of the jungle, they halted. Above, the darkening clouds cast the commander in a somber light, emphasizing his haggardness. Stress lines wearied his features; unspoken duty hardened his posture. 

“I’ve seen how the Empire operates,” Commander Wolffe said. “Anyone will betray another for more power. Or money. I won’t allow my brothers to be in a similar position again.”

The emptiness in his eyes was both hollow and guarded, and yet the firm resolve in his tone spoke of his protectiveness. 

“My mission with Cody didn’t go as planned.” Annoyance lined his tone, underscored by a twinge of regret. “We infiltrated a military outpost and were caught by a handful of soldiers. We thought we could convince them to join us. To desert.” He released a bitter chuckle. “They said we were traitors and then killed the men we had come to rescue.”

Kazi felt the blood in her face drain.

“I thought you were running rescue missions, Commander. Where are your rescued soldiers?”

“I thought, if given the opportunity, those men would desert,” Wolffe said. Even though his eyes were on hers, they were distant. Like he was replaying the mission. “They looked at me like I was the worst scum in the galaxy. I was pissed at myself. And I took my anger out on you. I apologize for it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kazi whispered hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have said those things, and I’m so—”

“I said things I regret, too.” He cleared his throat. “This work with the magistrate—”

Instinctively, Kazi tensed, prepared for accusation or disdain or complaint. Wolffe noticed the change in her demeanor and scowled.

“I’m not questioning you.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m only asking if it’s safe.”

“Safe?” Her eyebrows scrunched together and she shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re intentionally misleading the magistrate by interfering with collected data,” he deadpanned. “If you’re caught—”

“I know how to handle data like this.” The doubt in his expression was offensive. Kazi dusted an imaginary spot from her arm. “I’m used to this. It was my job for years.”

Wolffe arched a brow. “Spying?”

“Analyzing intel and determining if it was credible and reliable.”

“That’s not the same as scrubbing—”

“We were feeding intel to the Empire: intentionally scrubbed and misaligned data that would interfere with their analytics without raising alarms.” Kazi played with the end of a braid. “I studied military weapons’ sales, numbers, storage. I split time between there and analyzing Imperial weapons’ construction.”

A hint of intrigue flashed across his face. “There were rumors some military technology was missing in the Outer Rim. It was kept quiet.”

Kazi smiled wryly. “Ceaia was unimportant in the Clone War. We were overlooked by the Empire. And from what I know, our allies were preparing for a coordinated rebellion.” Her voice faltered and she looked away. “We were gearing up for the long-term. We weren’t prepared for the Empire’s attack.”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks and she shrugged, rubbing at her chest. 

It was stupid to share that information with the commander. He wasn’t interested in her past, and even if he was, it didn’t concern him. They were nothing more than random people cohabiting. 

Kazi glanced at her chrono. “I need to pick up Neyti. Alone. She’s still not entirely comfortable around you and I don’t want to force her—”

“I understand.” Wolffe surveyed the neighborhood bordering the jungle’s edge and then levelled a hard look on her. “You are aware you’re safe with us.”

She managed a tight smile. “Okay.”

“Ennari.” He said her last name quietly, seriously. She opened her mouth—to demand an explanation as to how he knew it when not even the rebel network knew her real last name—but he cut her off. “We won’t hurt any of you.”

“I know—”

“If a threat presents itself, we will protect you.” 

The promise in his tone was both genuine and lethal, and as Wolffe held her gaze, she knew she could trust him to keep his promise. 

Whatever he saw in her face seemed to satisfy him because he turned around and left. 

Soon the shadows claimed him. 

And still Kazi didn’t move, staring after him. 

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

[hollowsween]

The mission went wrong, Disco was captured and Rezzeh's balance tilted to the dark side in order to protect him.

Just remember, attachments are forbidden.

I am like, SUPER PROUD of this piece so please give it some love.

I'll post what happened later, or not... don't expect anything from me

This is just angst, from Disco's wounded body to Rezzeh's lightsaber turning red, lmao

[leonidas-banana-phone]

Sabotaged Equipment

I’m finally back with another 694th fic! This one does have a few trigger warnings: Anxiety, and a bit of PTSD. I’m still learning how to properly tag those so bear with me. Everything I post will always have them in bold before the fic. Thanks for reading!!! 

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Axta’s first mission with the 694th doesn’t exactly go to plan but when does it ever go to plan?

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It's an easy mission, get to the old outpost, fix the scanning equipment, and go home. This planet isn't even that bad, covered in deciduous forests, a little cold but nothing they can't handle.

Lieutenant Cerez wasn't that bad, she answered the questions that were volleyed at her, usually about her choice in weaponry, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Ven was glad she didn't ask any questions about Kamino or their upbringing like most of the nat-borns usually do, he just can't deal with that right now. She carries her rifle in her hands, occasionally raising it to look through the scope and scan the horizon. She's been trained well.

Ven continues the march over the rocky ridge. Sage jogs up to him, "How much longer till we get to the outpost?" He asks.

"Two more hours. Why? Need a break?" Ven teases.

"We were built to not fatigue? Remember? I'm just bored." He knows Sage has a crooked grin under his helmet.

"You're a pain in the ass. Go bother Oli." Ven bumps Sage's arm.

"I'm already bothering Worm!" Oli shouts up to him.

Ven looks over to Cerez when he hears a giggle. She makes eye contact with him and clears her throat, looking down at the ground again. She raises her rifle again when a blaster bolt flies from up ahead. "Sniper! Get down!" She barks as she hits the ground hard.

A second shot goes off and someone cries out behind him. He can't even turn to see who's wounded, the enemy is pinning them in place with blaster fire.

She pops up and rests her rifle on one of the rocks, carefully taking aim and fires two shots. A commando droid falls from the rocky cliff ahead and everything goes quiet.

Ven braces for the "Idiot!" or "Dumbass clones!" that usually follows after a situation like this, but nothing comes.

"Is everyone okay? Soundoff." She asks. Ven releases the tension in his shoulders. "Who was hit?"

"I was, sir." Clocks' voice is small. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into its line of fire." He stumbles over his words as he clutches at his left bicep.

The woman hands her rifle to Enlo, "Keep an eye out for more." He nods and sets upon the rock she fired from. She pulls off her pack and crouches in front of Clocks. "It's alright. There's no need to apologize." She tells him as she takes off the armor covering his arm gently.

Ven is shocked when she pulls out bacta patches from her personal kit. She talks to Clocks quietly while she applies them to the burn and helps him put his armor back on. She stands and turns to look at all of them, "Everyone else okay?"

Murmurs and nods are all the replies she gets. Why does she care so much? They're clones. She wasted her own bacta supply on Clocks. The nat-borns get the good stuff, the stronger patches, ones with more numbing compound in them and she just slapped one onto Clocks' arm like it didn't even matter.

She straightens her comm headset and a lock of her pink hair falls onto her forehead, she doesn't even notice as Enlo hands her back her rifle. Her cybernetic eyes flit over the rock face in front of them, looking for more snipers. "Keep an eye out. If you see anything let me know." She says.

----------------------

When the shots go off she ducks behind a rock, looking into the scope and scanning the rock face for where the shot came from. A second shot betrays the sniper, one of the men cry out from behind her as the droid fires off a handful more. She locks onto the commando droid and pulls the trigger twice. Her shot connects and the droid teeters before it falls from the face.

She turns and sees Ven tense and almost flinch when she speaks, "Is everyone okay? Sound off." All of the tension leaves Ven's body, "Who was hit?"

The nervous trooper, Clocks, speaks up, his voice shaky as he clutches onto his left bicep, "I was, sir." His voice is small as if he's waiting for her to reprimand him for getting shot. "I-I'm sorry." He stumbles over his words, "I didn't mean to get into its line of fire."

She wants to tell him that there was no way for him to know there was a sniper waiting for them. That it was just chance. She hands her rifle to Enlo, "Keep an eye out for more." She pulls off her pack and crouches in front of Clocks. She keeps her tone soft as she pulls out a few bacta patches. "There's no need to apologize." She reaches for his arm slowly and starts to take off the armor blocking her way, "Let's get this off, and then we'll take a look. I'm no medic but I think you'll be alright, it looks like it was just a graze." She keeps her voice low and soft. She's able to tear his blacks just a little bit more to wiggle the bacta patch under it and wraps the patch and area in gauze. "There good as new." She slides the armor back into place before standing again, turning to look at each of the men, "Everyone else okay?" She checks in again.

She gets murmured replies and nods. She takes a cleansing breath as Enlo hands her rifle back to her. She puts the scope up to her eye and scans the rocks one more time to be sure before she lets Ven continue to lead with a nod. The trooper takes a moment to look at her before he snaps back into himself.

------------------------

The rest of the hike is uneventful but he can tell that Cerez is still on edge, something is bothering her. "Worm, get to work." Ven orders Worm towards the old consoles. He nods and takes his place.

Sage speaks to Cerez, her arms are crossed over her chest and she nods as she listens. He can't pick up on what she's saying back to him, the lack of a vocoder in front of her face makes her words smooth and soft. She smiles at him and nods when he excuses himself. "Emotionally constipated isn't a good look. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine." Ven defends.

"You don't like her." His brother shrugs. "You barely know her."

"She's just like the rest of the nat-born officers. You just like her because she has pretty hair." The ARC levels his gaze on the officer.

"You think her hair is pretty?" Sage taunts.

Ven sighs, "Not the point."

"You're worried because she used her own kit on Clocks." Sage always could see right through him. "She worked with a team of nat-borns. It was just a mistake."

"Lieutenant, come take a look at this." Worm calls out to her.

She doesn't respond right away, her cybernetic eyes still focused on what's beyond the door, she blinks before she answers, "Oh! Were you talking to me? I'm sorry, still not used to the whole Lieutenant thing." She slings her rifle onto her back before she crosses the room.

---------------------------

She moves across the room towards where the trooper is crouched beneath the dusty piece of equipment. "Alright, let's see what we're looking at." She drops her pack and rifle before she crouches beside him.

He points a gloved finger to the gouges in the durasteel, "What could have caused this?"

"Well, there isn't anything with claws that sharp on this planet, and based on the width between each slash I would say that this was done by a vibroknife. Someone sabotaged our equipment." She runs a finger over the divots, "They're rather recent as well. It might have been done by those commando droids but I don't understand why they didn't blast it to pieces unless they wanted it to malfunction and not destroy it." She stands, "They could have been expecting a full squad. This could have been a trap. I bet when they saw an ARC and an officer they were ordered to stand down."

"What do you want us to do?" Sage asks.

"I'll take the roof, set up a perimeter, two at each exit, Oli and Worm, repair what you can as fast as you can." She picks up her pack and rifle and jogs down the hall, looking for the roof hatch, her boots kick up dust as she runs. The roof hatch takes some muscle but she gets it open and scrambles onto the roof. "Alright, let's see what ya got." She murmurs as she sets up her rifle.

The commando droids move in one by one, she can hear Ven and Sage calmly giving orders to the others as they take up their positions. She takes a breath and aims carefully at the droid who slinks out of the forest to her right. She pulls the trigger and watches it fall to the ground. A droid runs out of the brush and towards Sage and Clocks."We got 'im, LT." Sage tells her over their comms.

She shifts her scope towards the three moving towards the back entrance. Each of her shots hit home and they all fall to the ground in a sparking heap.

Silence fills the air as they wait to see if any more will try and make a statement today. She can feel the tension over the comms, hear each of their bated breaths as they watch.

Two more commando droids barrel out of the forest, swords drawn. They hone in on Ven and Enlo, easily twisting to dodge their blaster fire. She takes aim but misses the first one, and barely clips the second one. She takes a breath and holds it adjusting her aim and fires off two shots, taking down the second one.

She watches as Ven pulls his DC-17s and fires off a volley of shots, taking the damned thing down. She releases her breath when it finally hits the ground.

"Everything is back up and running, sir." Worm informs her.

She takes a moment to close her eyes and just breathe, letting the adrenaline wash over her in waves, giving way to calm. "Good, we should try and get back before sundown. It's just going to get colder." She tells them as she stands again, making her way to the access hatch and climbing back down the ladder.

Ven pushes past her as he moves to where Oli leans against the equipment, she can't quite gauge the emotion rolling off of him with his helmet still on, whatever it is it isn't nice, his shoulders tense, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Is he mad? Is he worried about another attack? Is he alright?

-------------------------

Ven pushes past her quickly as she hops off the ladder, his hands shake so he balls them into fists. This is the first time he's had any combat outside of training since the attack. It feels like he can't catch his breath. He doesn't reach up to take his helmet off like Sage does, it would betray how he was feeling in that moment.

Cerez stops and stands beside him and he almost flinches when she speaks, "How much damage were we looking at?" She asks Worm.

"They tripped some of the sensors but nothing a bit of recalibration couldn't fix." Worm tells her.

She lets out a sigh, "Good." She nods, "I think we took out most of the droids. My theory is that they may be scouting this area. We will have to keep an eye on it." She crosses her arms over her chest, "Let's get moving. It's already later than I would like it, the last thing I want is to get caught on that ridge after dark."

Ven watches as she turns, her eyes squeezed shut for just a split second before she opens them and sends him a small smile, "You alright?" She asks him. it sounds so genuine, like she actually cares about his well being.

"All good, sir" The automatic reply escapes from his lips before he can say anything else. She gives him a look of doubt but doesn't push it.

--------------------------

It turns out that when the sun goes down on this planet, the winds pick up, enough that a ship can't make it through them, leaving them stranded until morning.

A shiver rocks through Ven as the wind blows straight through the gaps in his armor. He looks over to Cerez, she's huddled under an emergency synth heat blanket, goggles pulled down over her eyes to block out the cold gusts. She doesn't say anything, doesn't complain about being stranded with a bunch of clones, she just places her chin on her knees and stares out into the forest surrounding them.

Watching her is different than watching his General and Commander. She doesn't feel his eyes on her like they always managed too. He honestly doesn't even think she's paying attention. It's like her mind shut down for the night after her watch shift. She fiddles with something under the blanket, her arms around her legs, and her hands and the object on top of her boots. It's a black metal tube, it almost reminds him of a lightsaber but all of the ones he's seen are silver and gold. She seems to be screwing and unscrewing the bottom piece. It must be a piece to her kit that he's not familiar with.

She flinches against the next gust of wind, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

"You sure we can't get a gunship down here? I'm freezing my balls off." Sage bumps him with his elbow.

Ven just shrugs, "They said we had to wait till morning for extraction. I'm not arguing with Tyme on this."

"It's not the surface conditions we need to worry about, it's the atmospheric conditions," Cerez speaks up, not looking away from the forest. "If they won't even fly a gunship down here that means it's worse than anything down here, we're the lucky ones."

--------------------------------

The saber in her hand is freezing, the metal biting into her fingertips. She fidgets with the pommel as she stares out into the dark forest. The Kyber crystal used to talk to her, nudge her ever so slightly. Now it's silent. She can't even remember the last time she ignited it, the warm yellow glow used to be a comfort, something she would stare at when the nightmares were too much.

In her peripheral she sees Sage plop down beside Ven, "You sure we can't get a gunship down here? I'm freezing my balls off." She huffs in amusement.

Ven shrugs, "They said we had to wait till morning for extraction." His face goes a little soft at his next words, "I'm not arguing with Tyme on this." She understands what he really means, I'm not risking any of your lives or the lives of our pilots. We'll be fine here until morning.

"It's not the surface conditions we need to worry about, it's the atmospheric conditions," She says, not taking her eyes off of the trees. "If they won't even fly a gunship down here that means it's worse than anything down here, we're the lucky ones."

Ven straightens at her words, a frown gracing his features, she wants to tell him about how it takes more muscles to frown than to smile but she knows he won't like that. "Fine," He turns to the rest of his men, "Hunker down. We'll be here a while."

A chorus of groans sound from them but they don't argue with the ARC. She tucks her saber back into its clip on the back of her belt before pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, usually, she would have Beetle or Doc to share warmth with. Now she just has a squad of wary clone troopers decked out in plastoid complete with enviro controls so she'll just freeze out here alone. She tries to chastise herself for sounding so bitter, she knows the clones don't like nat-borns, it shouldn't have surprised her that they're keeping their distance. She settles again, her chin resting on her knees.

When her eyes blink back open she notices a few things, one she isn't freezing anymore, two she's curled up on the ground, her arm tucked under her head, and three, something is digging into her ribs on her right side. "Owww." She groans.

"Whaa?" A voice slurs behind her, the thing digging into her side moves away and she realizes it was an arm. She tries to scrabble away from them but they just clutch tighter. The synth heat blanket is wrapped tightly around them, she wiggles and turns enough to see that Sage is the one behind her, the top half of his armor stripped away. "Sorry, LT. You were shivering somethin' fierce last night, though you were gonna freeze to death." His voice is low and sleep laced.

"You're lucky, it could have been Oli." Worm calls over.

Oli elbows Worm, "Hey!"

She reaches over for her hat and headset, tucking the pink strands into it, the pins are useless now, after a night sleeping on the ground there's no way it's going to be able to be made pretty. The length falls just below her jawline, an easy length to keep up with. She yanks the pins out and places them between her teeth as she manhandles the tresses.

"Your ears are pointy!" Oli shouts from across the camp.

She shoots him a glare, it's way too early for his enthusiasm. She pulls the pins from her mouth and shoves them into a pocket on her belt.

Sage finally sits up beside her as she puts her headset back on. He reaches for his own armor, sneaking glances at her every now and then, "Can I ask what species you are? You don't have to tell if you don't want to."

The rest of the squad looks on in interest.

"My mother was a Twi'lek, the pink variation, of course. My father was Sephi. I got most of his looks." She explains.

"What color were your eyes? Before the cybernetics, I mean." Clocks is the first one to speak up.

"A blue-green. I think." She blinks a few times, trying to remember.

"Alright. Enough questions, let's get moving. We have five klicks before we get to the rendevous point." Ven cuts their conversation short.

She hops up from the ground, stretching her back, sure the bunks are shit but it beats sleeping on the ground. She tries to dust off some of the dirt but eventually just gives up. She slings on her pack and picks up her rifle before letting Ven take point.

-------------------

After a shower and mid-meal rations she feels a lot better, the ache in her back eased, and her hair rearranged carefully.

"LT!" Someone shouts from down the hall. She turns to see Sage jogging towards her, the paint on his armor looks touched up, the sage green, she smiles to herself when she puts two and two together, lines are sharp, the little sprout on his temple carefully outlined in a darker green.

"Sargent, what can I do for you?" She asks him.

"Oli and Clocks have something to show you in the hangar. I'm just here to retrieve you, sir." He's trying to hide a smile with professionalism.

She has a feeling this has something to do with the missing chest plate, pauldrons, and bracers from her kit. "Lead the way, Sargent."

-------------------

Ven watches nervously as Clocks puts the finishing touches on her armor, they never had a CO that wanted their colors adorning their armor. He looks down at his own armor, the ARC pauldrons painted in a fresh coat of the sage green, different from the other units he's seen, they have lime green, forest green, the 41st had emerald green. The sage is softer, lighter.

Sage comes through the doors with Cerez, a grin plastered on his face. She has another can of that horrible energy drink with her, this one a purple, it probably tastes like purple, not some fancy fruit on some far off planet but the manufactured version that just tastes like purple.

She sets the can down on the workbench as Oli snags her chest plate, for once he looks shy, he knows this could go horribly, she could yell and scream at them, write all of them up. He holds it out to her and a smile spreads across her face, "Are you sure?" She asks him.

"Your our LT. You need the colors to prove it." He says to her.

She reaches out for the plate and he hands it over.

-------------------

The plates are amazing, leaves snake their way over the plastoid, similar to Ven's but oh so different. The same leaves decorate her vambraces and there's a sprout on her left pauldron, the dark grey of the right one has been painted over completely with the green. "Are you sure?" She asks. This is huge, the clones don't give their colors to just anyone, she's only seen a small handful of nat-borns who have been graced with painted armor.

"Your our LT. You need the colors to prove it." Oli tells her gently.

She takes the plate in hand and secures it to her chest before Clocks hands her the vambraces, Sage secures the pauldrons in place and steps back to look everything over. He looks proud.

Ven steps forward, "Welcome to 694th, Lieutenant."

[nimata-beroya]

Star Wars Writing Resources

Note: None of the resources below are mine. I just assembled them in one place for your and my convenience. Feel free to use and reblog. If you know of any other useful site missing from the list, let me know and I'll gladly add it.

NOTE (05/17/23): There's a new, much more comprehensive version HERE.

Places

Interactive Galaxy Map by Henry Bernberg

Map of the Galaxy

List of planets and moons [Wikipedia /needs expanding]

Planet Name Generator 1 [SciFi Ideas]

Planetary System Generator [Donjon]

Character Development

Star Wars Name Generator 1 [Donjon]

Star Wars OC flow chart by @thefoodwiththedood

Star Wars Name Generator 2 [FantasyNames]

Star Wars Name Generator 3 [FantasyNames]

The character creator

Droid Name Generator

Star Wars Randomizer by @aureutr

Clone Trooper face/helmet template pack by @fox-trot

Clone Picrew by @batdad

Character Picrew [Twi-leks, Zabraks, Torgutas and Nautolans] @/megaramikaeli

Star Wars Character Templates by SmacksArt [the ULTIMATE battery of template for any human/humanoid original character in any era. From troopers to droids, from Jedi to Sith, from KOTOR to the sequel Trilogy. 100% RECOMMENDED]

Miscellaneous

Standard Calendar and Holidays [including month names!]

Galactic Standard Calendar [wookiepedia // including week day names]

Date converter according to SWTOR [Google sheet]

Hyperspace Travel Times (to calculate how much time would take to go from point A to point B within the GFFA)

Materials (fabrics, leathers, silks, plastics, construction, metal composites, etc.)

List of TCW Opening Quotes

Ship Generator 3D

Star Wars: The Clone Wars Republic Military Hierarchy Flowcharts by @cacodaemonia

Languages; Phrases and Slang; Vocabulary

Coruscant Translator (from/to Basic from/to Old Corellian, Proto-Basic, and Smuggler's Cant; Catharese and High Cathar; Cheunh and Minnisiat; Echani and Thyrsian; Mirialan; Flora Colossi, Ortolan, and -everyone's favorite- Mando'a)

In-Universe phrases and slang [Google sheet]

List of phrases and slang [wookiepedia]

List of equivalents to real-world objects [wookiepidia]

Star Wars Menu Generator

Helpful blogs

The amazing @fox-trot, who not only makes astonishing art and write an amazing fic, she also responds to medical questions and gives all kinds of references for writing medic characters.

@writebetterstarwars, which seems to be inactive, but there are a bunch of references there.

@howtofightwrite The place to find out how to write a good fight scene.

@scriptmedic no longer active, but it has a great deal of useful information.

@scripttorture for your whump needs. Major trigger warning for all its content.

Writing in General (For those who don't want to die like Stormtroopers)

SlickWrite: Completely free; online. Checks grammar, punctuation, flow, and writing style according to different settings (including fiction writing).

ProWritingAid: [RECOMMENDED] One of the most thorough online proofreader I've ever used. Although when using a free account gives extremely thorough feedback, it gives +20 different in-depth reports for only the first 500 words for free. However, you can earn a premium account license (for a year or for life) if you get 10 or 20 new users signing up for free; (if you wouldn't mind doing so using the link above and help me earn mine, please). The settings allow you to check your writing according to your needs, from general to formal to creative. It has a bonus that you can check depending on the genre you're writing. For example, in creative, you can choose romance or sci-fiction (there are 14 sub-genre in total). And just like google docs, you can share a document, and people can view, comment or edit.

LanguageTool: [RECOMMENDED] Another excellent proofreader. It also has a word limit in free accounts, but if you use the add-on for Google Docs, it counts each page as a new document, so hitting the limit is nearly impossible. It helps you to rewrite a sentence, even if it doesn't raise any flags; it's very useful for when your sentence is grammatically correct, but it doesn't feel quite right.

Grammarly, Hemingway Editor: No so great, but they do the basic job.