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threepandas · 6 months ago

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The Vod's List: Part 3

The Separatist Army tries invade the Techganic homeworld and DIES SCREAMING.

I... I am cackling like a broken laugh 'track, in a low Senatorial staff seating area. Pretty sure everyone thinks I've lost my chips. But... BUT THEY DON'T GET IT! It's so FUNNY!? Oh Bones and Blood! Oh karking STARS!!! Of all the kriffing PLANETS to PHYSICALLY INVADE with DROIDS!!!

DROIDS!

I am wheezing. Gasping for air. Slowly tipping out of my chair as I all but seize silently in spasms of sheer, incredulous, amusement. Oh Stars, I'm gonna die. My gut is on fire and I DONT CARE. Droids! Just... just DROPPED UM right into the capitals like "here ya go! Surrender flesh bags!"

Pfffahahahahaha!

I finally slip, only for a gloved hand to catch my shoulder gently, keeping me from crashing to the floor. A calculated step and lift, brings my shoulder to brace against the side of familiar armor. A guard. I manage to glance up through my incoherent laughing fit. I know that armor!

"Fox!" I grin, glad I am starting to be able to tell the gaurds apart. It always felt rude to have to keep asking their names, even when I by all rights SHOULD already know them. "Good morning."

"Ma'am." He nods. I still don't get why people think they're 'emotionless'. Even through the voicecoder, his voice is warm. "Funny joke?"

"The Separatists invaded my planet." I laugh. At his questioning head tilt, I grin MEANLY from behind my mask. "Remember how we met? And you got infected? EVERYONE on my planet is some version of carrier, either Organic or Technological. Depending on where those droids land? They are either FOOD or free scrap metal. The Collective will EAT them. And folks back home?"

I glanced around, trying to find the room's cameras. Fox casually pointed before stepping between it's line of sight and me. Kriff he was so cool. I grabbed one of the old datapads I was supposed to dump in the recycler after my break. No one would miss if I threw one in the biohazard shoot instead... probably.

I turned it on. Showing it worked. A perfectly functioning, if old, datapad. Then? I listened to that old, old, OLD instinct in the back of my head that karking HATED technology. That honestly would be happier living in a stone shack on a distant moon, surrounded by growth. That could, at a glance, pick apart any given peice of technology's weak points.

Not to slice it. Or IMPROVE it. But to BREAK it. Irreparably.

My eyes found the weak point in the screen almost immediately. A point where fingers had worn it thin. Smack! I cracked it against the table, like an animal trying to open trying to open a nut. It cracked. And that was all I needed. All ANY of us would ever need, really.

Just One Little Crack.

I pulled off my mask, knowing my face was probably doing that... THING. That "super intent Murder Hunter" thing that we all do, when our instincts engage. But I wanted to show Fox. I trusted him. So I flexed my jaw and thought of the lift, of how me met, the STRESS. Just enough to get a bit of drool.

Then... I let it drop onto the screen.

The reaction, was of course, IMMEDIATE.

The datapad hissed and squealed, screen glitching violently. I carefully put it down, familiar with what was about to happen. Fox... was not. He watched. Frozen. Entranced. As the datapad burned and melted from within. Was CONSUMED. As my nanites wrecked hell in their final moments before dying, no longer supported by my body. Some of course, simply falling dormant.

Those were the lethal ones. The trap for future Collective members trying to reclaim tech. It's why all infected materials had to be treated as a biohazard. Those nanites stayed viable for upwards of a century AT LEAST. Several, in the right condition.

So droids? Ha! We were BIOENGINEERED to fight "droids"! We WERE the original GAR. What was that Human saying? "Nothing new in the Galaxy?" That.

Fox was taking even, measured, breaths. Clenching and unclenching his hand. His voice sounded... strained, as he agreed. That, yes. We WERE very, VERY alike. And that that was FASCINATING. Could his spit do that now too?

I... didn't know. Huh.

I blinked. First up at him. Then down at the 'pad. I hadn't considered that. Kriff. Well THAT was irresponsible of me. Yeah, yeah we should probably schedule some Techganic 101 lessons, shouldn't we? Since... you know, assuming you SURVIVE infection and first "heal"? It's kinda a one and done sort of thing.

You can't get... double infected? It very much IS a you ARE or you AREN'T a carrier. And even THEN... one of two kinds, which CAN NOT peacefully coexist.

Plus... since it's adapted to the Guards biology, a spread would be SUPER easy?

.........I..... I SHOULD tell someone.

But what would happen to Fox? I'm not blind. People aren't exactly... KIND to Clones. Would they decide its just easier to get rid of him? My gut say probably. Experience says likely. I've barely even STARTED working at the Senate and... well...

Maybe I should keep my mouth shut. WE should keep our mouth shut.

"This time, I'll be the one looking out for YOU, kay Fox?"

"Of course. I'll leave my self in your capable hands. I have no doubt... I'll learn A LOT."

There is something intent about the way he stands, the way he's bracketing me into my chair. The almost soft, warm but cloying quality to his voice. Like he's trying not to make it obvious he's handling me. Like I'm some import dignitary he wants to avoid upsetting. But one he LIKES. It's strange... I'm certain I'm missing something...

At least I have plenty of other Guards around to ask.

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #the vods list #The Vod's List au #yandere star wars #yandere clone troopers #clone troopers #the clone wars #yandere clones #yandere fox #reader insert #yanblr #star wars

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kybercrystals94 · 2 months ago

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Six Weeks (Part 3)

Read here on Ao3!

<<Previous Part | Next Part>>

Rated: T | Words: 917

A/N: Ugh! This chapter has been giving me the run around; however, I wanted to assure you that I haven't given up on this fic...it's just taking longer than I'd like...so I decided to post what I've written so far with the promise that I will get this story wrangled eventually 🥲

In the Rebellion, Omega is a captain. She has rebel fighters under her command and direction. She gives orders and they are followed. She plans missions and carries them out successfully. She is trusted, respected, and capable of any feat given to her.

On Pabu…

“You better not try to get up while I’m gone,” Crosshair says, arms folded over his chest, eyes narrowed.

Omega sighs, picking at a loose thread on the hem of Wrecker’s old shirt. “Yeah, so you’ve said. Twice.”

“Because it’s important that you listen.”

“AZI said I could walk around on my leg as long as I’m careful,” Omega protests, and she hates that her tone comes out almost whiny. “So did the medics at the base. You guys are making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

“Humor us then.” Crosshair doesn’t wait for her to snark something back before he walks away. The front door opens and shuts, and she is left in the quiet house by herself.

Wrecker is down at the docks to buy fresh fish for dinner, and Hunter still hasn’t returned from wherever he disappeared to. Crosshair didn’t say where he was going; however, Omega hopes that it’s to find Hunter. She’d go herself if it weren’t for the overbearing nanny droid that looks suspiciously like an ex-Republic sniper.

Omega pulls out her data pad and sends Hera a message. You’ll be happy to know that my brothers are being as insufferable as you hoped.

The reply comes a moment later. Good. I better not see you for six weeks.

Yes, sir, Omega types back, hoping Hera reads it with its intended sarcasm.

That taken care of, Omega tosses her data pad to the other end of the couch and sinks back into cushions. She looks around the main room, searching for things that might have changed while she’s been away; however, it is exactly as she remembers. Her brothers’ valiant attempts at home decor are still scattered throughout the room. Endearing eyesores, Echo had called them once when Omega complained about Wrecker putting up a piece of rusted metal he’d fished out of the sea.

“He said it’s his favorite shape,” Omega had groaned, laughing. “I don’t even know what that shape is!”

Hunter had bought a painting from the market that he claimed was abstract art; however, everyone knew that it was just a horribly, awfully painted tooka. Its eyes seemed to follow you around the room, becoming an inside joke: the tooka sees everything. However, Hunter will defend the “art’s” honor to his dying breath.

Then there was Crosshair’s contribution, which Omega swears he did just because he knew it would annoy her. He collects rocks. Not pretty or unique rocks. Plain, nondescript, ugly rocks. He keeps hanging up shelves to display them on, and he makes them placards to note where they were found and the date.

“Rock.” Found: South Beach, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 15 BBY.

“Rock.” Found: Left Boot, Main Island, Pabu. Date: 12 BBY.

Omega does notice that a shelf has been added and a new row of rocks begins to line the plank of wood. She rolls her eyes. Omega decides that she will not give her brother the satisfaction of knowing whether or not she’s noticed. The perfect payback, because she knows he’ll never ask.

“We’ve had worse injuries,” Crosshair says behind him.

Hunter scoffs, seizing another weed by its base and yanking it out of the ground. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” Crosshair says, moving to lean against the wall, “just stating a fact.”

“Appreciate it,” Hunter growls, rummaging through the foliage of the garden for another imposter.

“I’m surprised you didn’t storm further away from the house.”

“I didn’t storm.”

Crosshair huffs. “You had us fooled.”

Hunter sits back on his heels and glares up at his youngest brother. “If you’re out here just to offer commentary, I really don’t need it right now.”

“Oh, really,” Crosshair drawls. “And what do you need?”

“I need to not think about it right now,” Hunter bites out, dusting the dirt from his hands. “I don’t want to think about Omega almost dying. I don’t want to think about her putting herself at risk every single day. I don’t want to think about the fact that we aren’t there to protect her because…”

“We’re old?” Crosshair supplies.

Hunter makes a face. “That’s not why.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Whatever our reasons are for not fighting, it doesn’t matter…Omega’s made her choice. So don’t think about all that entails right now…because you have no control over any of it anyways. Instead, think about the fact that Omega’s stuck with us for the next six weeks and what we’re going to do with her while she’s in captivity.”

Hunter scoffs, moving to stand up and accepting Crosshair’s outstretched hand when it’s offered. “I forgot how poetic you are.”

“One of my many talents,” Crosshair says loftily, but he moves his hand to Hunter’s shoulder, gripping it tight. “But I mean it, Hunter. We’re going to put our opinions aside, enjoy the time we have with her. Yeah?”

Hunter swallows and nods.

“Good.”

As they start for the back door, Crosshair asks, “Do you think Omega’s noticed my new shelf of rocks.”

Hunter grins. “She won’t say if she has.”

“Brat,” Crosshair grumbles.

“Says the one who keeps a rock collection just to annoy her,” Hunter says, bumping against Crosshair.

Crosshair smirks. “A foundless accusation.”

TBC

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staycalmandhugaclone · 7 months ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 2

Part (2) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Y'all it has been an interesting couples weeks! To summarize, we've decided to upgrade, so are scrambling to get our house ready to sell while caring for a 5 month old and drooling over possible new places to buy! Super fun, super chaotic, and super stressful - wish us luck! (and if any of you are diy specialists in WA, hit me up 😆)

Warnings: Medical procedures, broken nose, blood, needles, profanity

WC: 3,095

“I c’n fight! G’me a kr’ffin’ gun!”

“You can’t even stand! Stay down or, by the Force, Hunter, I will sedate you!” I didn’t try to hide the impatience sewn through the shouted threat.

“I c’n st’ll shoot!” He tried to yell, but the words tangled around his stiff jaw, the muscles locked taut, though whether from pain or injury I couldn’t tell. Our exit had been blocked, the hall too full of droids to even see the far side. We’d had to run. I didn’t know how Echo managed to keep track of our location - if he’d managed to keep track of our location…

The room we’d ducked into was oppressively hot. It radiated from stacks of servers stretching floor to ceiling around us and sent sweat soaking into my blacks in just those few minutes we’d hidden within. Hunter sat against one of the towering jumbles of wires and electronics, one arm wrapped tightly around his chest while the other reached toward me, open hand trembling too violently for anyone to feign ignorance to. I stood beside him leaning around the server just enough to watch the door, pistol trained before me in anticipation of the coming horde while Echo tried to override the droids’ programing at least long enough to grant us an escape, scomp plugged into a massive terminal in the center of the room.

“If you’re so eager to do something, try to get your armor back on before we have to move again.” I ordered, snatching the sack at Echo’s feet to toss toward the seething man. The painkiller was fading, but it was still strong enough to take the edge off, and the denial it granted him, the ill-fated belief that his wounds weren’t as bad as they seemed, was a danger in itself. His lips pulled into a snarl, retort crawling up his throat, but the lungful of air he drew in to voice it left his entire body seizing against a sudden surge of pain.

His gaze fell quickly away from me, unable to hide the way his too-shallow breaths shook even as he fought for some means to continue arguing, and my heart ached at the sight. Blood still trickled from his nose, coating his lips and chin, and staining the dark fabric of his shirt. He had to strain to open his eyes enough to see me, but the way they wavered left me doubting whether or not he could really make out more than some blurred outline before him.

“Here.” I whispered, kneeling beside him and reaching into the bag. “The last thing you need right now is to get shot without any kind of protection.” He didn’t look at me, mouth just twitching into a scowl before his shoulders sank in resignation. Gaze constantly shifting back toward the door, I carefully helped him slide into his cuirass, wincing at his every hitched movement, but there was no avoiding it. He couldn’t get back into the precious gear without contorting his arms. The pull that movement caused against his ribs couldn’t be anything less than agonizing.

“Almost there.” The murmur escaped me without thought toward how it would be received, if he would balk at the soft encouragement or fight to make some retort. I only cared that he was in pain, and all I could offer in that moment was gentle words and some menial bit of assistance in maneuvering into the unyielding durasteel shell. His chest bucked around choppy gasps by the time the armor finally settled into place, skin frightfully pale and covered in a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Hard part’s done.” He nearly offered some response but let the words fall away with a strained exhale.

“No luck.” Voice heavy with disappointment, Echo abandoned the terminal to walk back toward us, readily joining me help his brother into his gear, “but we’re not far from another hatch.” None of us spoke toward the impossible task of getting Hunter up the vertical stairs, the difficulty in just getting back to his feet at all when every second seemed like the very act of drawing breath was growing more difficult, but that was a problem we’d have to deal with if we managed to actually reach an exit.

“Crosshair’s been trying to draw them to the surface, but they’re not taking the bait.” My lips twisted into a scowl at the very thought of Crosshair acting as bait, but quickly forced the image aside.

“Tech, Wrecker; you guys make it out, yet?” I called over our coms as Hunter finished pulling his last glove on.

“N… nearly there.” Tech’s response was interrupted with a small grunt, blasterfire screaming loudly in the background. “We’ve come upon some – Wrecker, n-!” The compound shook hard enough to nearly throw me to the ground despite how quickly Echo’s hand locked around my arm to steady me.

“Tech?!” I shouted nervously, noting how Hunter’s arm tightened around his chest, fingers strained in a clenched fist.

“I told ‘im the roof would hold!” Wrecker boasted loudly. In nearly the same breath, however, the alarm stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Despite the hint of relief Hunter couldn’t quite hide from finally being free of the surely agonizing screeching, none of us could ignore the impending threat looming in that quiet.

“That wasn’t why I advised against it.” Tech stated, tone just shy of frustration. “I believe the site has now fully locked down, meaning we’ll be unable to leave in the same manner we got in.” He paused a moment. “Crosshair, do you read me?” Another pause. “Crosshair?” My heart sank, a chill flooding my chest with an entirely new dread. “Additionally, I believe all coms are being blocked as well…” He added in a grumble.

“Well, how was I supposed to know it’d do that?” Wrecker’s retort failed to hide the edge of guilt gnawing beneath his annoyance.

“This is a black ops site.” His brother said simply. “It is common sense for such facilities to-”

“Enough!” Echo growled over them. “Tech, can you reach an access panel? Maybe we can figure out a way to override the fail-safe.” I stopped listening as the discussion wandered toward subjects beyond my understanding.

“Hunter, how are you holding up?” Movements slow, I kneeled beside him once more, unable to ignore the way his body nearly shuddered in pain from even shallow breaths.

“‘m f’n.” He didn’t so much as try to look at me as he said it.

“Hunter.” I called more forcefully, setting my pack down quietly beside me when he didn’t answer. “Hey, I’m going to take your helmet off. Okay?” Voice lowered into a gentle murmur, I quickly removed my own before reaching for his, pausing a moment to grant him time to refuse, but, when he offered no objection, carefully eased the bucket from his head. Unmuffled by the thick layer of duraplast, I could clearly make out the quiet whistle catching on every inhale, and the unrelenting trickle of blood from his distorted nose left me uneasy.

I looked toward the doorway for just a moment more before reluctantly setting my pistol down beside me, fingers nearly twitching with the urge to immediately pick it back up.

“I think it’s time for some more meds. What do you say?” I tried to sow a joking temptation into my words, pleased that he at least managed to open his eyes enough to glance at me, if only briefly. “Thought you were eager to join the fight just a few minutes ago?” I teased, hoping to draw a proper response from him. His jaw shifted, but the attempt to swallow faltered beneath a wince, and I almost didn’t want to check what monstrous bruises lay hidden beneath the cover of blood and cloth.

“Y… y’ g’na g’v me a g’n?” I almost couldn’t make out what he tried to say, but felt a new sense of urgency quicken my movements as I dug through my bag.

“You planning on shooting Echo? Because, right now, he and I are the only ones in here with you.” He let out a weak hum, not bothering to look down as I pulled one of his gloves off.

“C’n’t… c’n’t sw’low.” He didn’t flinch when I slipped the IV into the back of his hand.

“This should help.” I murmured. “Some pain killers, some anti-inflammatories, and a couple other things to get you moving again.” His eyes strained to focus on me, and I knew he’d heard everything I pointedly left unsaid; that the meds I’d listed were only the least concerning ones saturating his IV. I didn’t tell him about the vitamin K and platelets I was flooding him with in hopes of stopping the bleeding; both what could clearly be seen and what couldn’t. I didn’t tell him that I was straining against the bag of fluids to force the saline into his veins because the risk of hypovolemic shock was too great to be ignored; that the frightful pallor of his sweat-soaked skin and quickness of his breathing sent my heart racing nearly as fast as his, but he could only maintain that focus for a few seconds before falling back into something far too near to unconsciousness.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?” My hands reached up to lightly rest on either side of his neck before delicately tugging at the lip of his blacks. It was faint, but he just managed to tilt his chin up, allowing me to more easily cut through the fabric. The mess of blood and bruises beneath obscured skin just starting to show the beginnings of stubble. I was barely able to brush the ridge of his Adams apple before he winced in pain.

“You’d think they’d be more careful with your neck during a damn interrogation…” I muttered with a sigh.

“Th’nk I… made ‘m angry.” His lips just managed to twitch into a smirk that made my heart soar.

“You?” I scoffed teasingly, “Get on someone’s nerves? Nah.” That smirk grew, and I had to ignore the guilt that churned through my stomach as I retrieved some bacta.

“Alright; I’m going to get some goo on that neck. I know it’s sensitive, so I’ll try to be careful, okay?” His grin instantly fell, jaw tensing as he gave a small, stiff nod. His leg twitched slightly at the first touch of that cool gel against his swollen throat, breath catching in a pained grunt that he only just managed to silence.

“I know, honey.” The quiet murmur fluttered thoughtlessly passed my lips with a sympathetic frown.

“H’ney?” He nearly huffed, voice strained beneath a vain attempt to ignore the hurt lancing through him at even the featherlight caress of my fingers. “Cr’ss ‘s gonna th’nk you’re… you’re goin’ sweet on me.” I let out a quiet chuckle, ignoring the way my cheeks threatened to warm beneath the thought.

“You let me worry about that grumpy brother of yours.” He offered another grin, if only briefly at my whispered reply, and I let out a small sigh of relief at how he began to slump back against the wall, that accursed tension easing as the combination of meds began to offer him some bit of respite, but the steady stream of blood from his nose refused to quell.

“Hunter, we’ve got one more thing we need to deal with before you can relax.” I warned reluctantly. He let out a short breath but otherwise didn’t bother moving. “Either I straighten your nose now and then treat it, or I just treat it to stop the bleeding and have to re-break it later.” I didn’t press him for an answer, but he didn’t have to explain. I knew what he wanted by the way his body sank with a heavy exhale.

“You know, the first time I fixed a broken nose was actually Emmy’s.” I told him, voice purposefully quiet as I set out strips of tape and some bacta spray before carefully palpating the swollen flesh. I knew he was barely listening, focus instead on trying to fight the tension plaguing him from the impending pain. “She was trying to wrestle her brother into a cab – he’d gotten a bit too drunk at our engagement party.”

“Engageme-” In that brief moment of distraction, I wrenched his nose straight. His breath fled him in a choked grunt, hand darting up to lock around my forearm tight enough to make my vambrace creak in protest. I didn’t want to think about the damage he might have done without that protective armor, heart stuttering at the powerful display.

“K-kriff… s’ry…” He muttered, releasing me with an almost jerked motion.

“It’s fine, Hunter.” I assured warmly, fingers flitting over his nose with tape to offer it some bit of support before retrieving the bacta. “Alright, I want you to try to take a deep breath in.” He was still scowling from the lingering hurt as he tried to obey me. I didn’t offer further warning before flooding his nostril with blue gel, free hand locking around the back of his head as he threw himself back in a violent recoil, straining to follow the sharp movement even as my stomach churned at the choked retch that tore through him.

“I know, I know. One more.” I murmured quickly, granting no reprieve before doing the same to the other side. His hands latched onto my sides, grip burring into my cuirass in a barely repressed effort to rip himself free of me. “Alright, it’s alright.” I whispered softly, fingers shifting gently through his hair in a way that I knew would send a pleasant shiver through him, and he nearly collapsed against me, face twisted into a snarl, torso bucking in a torrent of painful coughs. After securing a final strip of tape to hold a pad of gauze beneath his nose, I allowed us both a moment of quiet, arms wrapping carefully around him in hopes of granting him some breadth of comfort.

“E… e-gaged?” He asked, voice thick and nasally, yet I still found myself laughing softly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” I replied with a feigned insult that gleaned a tiny huff from him as my fingers gently curled through his hair. “She and I got through med-school together – that says something.” Jaw parted around still heavy breaths, he shifted enough to glance up at me, but before he could gather strength to speak, another tremor tore through the base, this one far more powerful than the last.

“Echo?” I could hear the trepidation stealing through me, felt my shoulders tense and my mouth go dry as my gaze glanced nervously over the unknown tons of duracrete and steel overhead.

“That wasn’t us.” He said darkly. My hand darted out to snatch my pistol, eyes flicking back to the doorway.

“Can you hear anything coming?” I asked Hunter. He paused, straining to focus for a long moment.

“Looks like it came from outside.” Echo added, attention focused on the stream of data pouring into his mind through the terminal. I didn't want to think about what that might mean. Had Crosshair caused the explosion? Was he under attack? Was he alive?

“Hmm…” A weak hum sounded from Hunter, catching my attention. His brow was furrowed in concentration, eyes closed. “…droids.” Kriff.

“Echo!” I called over my shoulder before turning my attention back to the crumpled man before me. “Can you tell how many?” He paused before shaking his head.

“’nough.” He muttered, breath quickening before he tried to push himself up.

“Whoa – hold on, hold on; let me help.” I was at his side before I’d finished speaking, gently pulling his arm over my shoulder

“What’s going on?” Echo asked. I could hear the dread in his voice; the certainty that he wasn’t going to like the answer to his question.

“Droids. We need to move.” He didn’t question me, gaze flicking only briefly to Hunter before kneeling down to retrieve the abandoned bucket to slip back onto his brother’s head. The look he sent me upon noting the hitch of his shoulders with each half-gasp, the amount of blood soaking his shirt and the still present hiss with his every inhale, left me tensing my jaw.

“I’ve got him.” I assured him. If it came to a fight, there was no question who was more valuable, and I couldn’t dismiss my simple want to be the one Hunter leaned against; memories from so long ago forever fresh in my mind when we’d been captured together, when hidden speakers left him crippled and in agony, and he’d turned to me for comfort rather than his brother. I hoped I could offer him that same comfort now as I donned my own helmet once again and eased him to his feet.

“Tech, we’ve got droids incoming. I had to leave the terminal.” Echo warned, purposeful strides carrying him toward the door.

“Wait; it would appear most of the droids are mobilizing.” We quickly paused at Tech’s comment. “Based on where you described yourselves to be, I do not believe they are converging at your location.”

“Crosshair.” Hunter mumbled against my chest. I had to swallow back the anxiety coiling through my gut, had to force the image of Crosshair luring an army of battle droids into the surrounding wilds from my mind. Each member of this squad was a frightening force in their own right, but his strengths didn’t lie in close quarters and limited visibility…

“I believe the location they are headed is nearer to us… Wrecker and I will investigate and report back. Perhaps, this will yield a way out of here.” Be careful. The words were held back only by how forcefully my teeth ground together. It didn’t need to be said lest even that tiny distraction prove disastrous.

“We’ll stay holed up here. If we don’t hear from them in ten minutes, we’ll move out – see if we can catch up with them.” Hunter offered no objection to how effortlessly Echo stepped into his role, and I worried for the true cause of that silence. Was it trust? The knowledge that Echo’s tactical mind was one of the brightest in the GAR? Or were teasing retorts subdued by pain and exhaustion? Ten minutes was a lifetime that could mean the difference between Hunter merely being hurt and his condition becoming critical, and my worry grew with each passing second.

Next Chapter

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wantonlywindswept · 4 months ago

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10/10 fox day: forgotten fox bit

to celebrate fox day you get more of the next section of the forgotten fox au, which contains...zero fox actually present x_X

i am trying okay

---

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that at least--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration.

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action.

Cody waved the formality away with the sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence.

She was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens.

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms.

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works in the future."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see Commander--"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box.

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through.

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into rising unease and panicked alarm--he didn't think it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

#tcw fanfiction #forgotten fox #commander fox #clone trooper oc bucket #technically also #clone trooper oc kelari #but i don't really have much on her yet #anyway hey we're getting closer to The Reveal!#slowly #very slowly #this also marks a tone change from the Shenanigans from previous bits #which ngl is probably part of why i'm having trouble with it #i usually have a srs writing project and a shenanigans project at the same time #but the shenanigans have become the srs #it has Thrown Off My Groove

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weevil-wallflower · 8 months ago

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Scars

Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Even a Jedi Knight needs some reassurance from time to time.

Warnings/Tags: Spoilers for Jedi: Survivor, canon-typical violence, SFW, no use of Y/N, minor angst.

A.N.: My fifth entry for Cal Kestis Week 2024! It follows the Day 4 prompt ‘Scars’. I've been meaning to get this one out like four days ago, on the last day of Cal Kestis Week but unfortunately work and studies prevented me from finishing it on time. And yes, another older prompt but I simply had to use this idea! Gif by me!

Also on AO3!

Word Count: ~1,600

The final moments of Cal’s fight with Dagan were a blur of pain and fury. As the duel between Cal and Dagan came to a brutal end, Dagan’s lightsaber struck Cal across his chest, sending a shockwave of agony through his body. The sizzling sound of burning flesh filled the air as Cal staggered, his tunic scorched around the fresh wound while his lightsaber clattered to the floor.

The redhead clutched the wound as he felt the charred fabric of his tunic cling to the cauterised wound. The world around him flipped as he collapsed to the ground, his vision narrowing to the sight of Dagan’s triumphant sneer.

Taking in a deep breath and pushing away the pain for the moment, Cal Force-pulled his lightsaber towards him and used one of Dagan’s own hallucinations against him. He focused intently, allowing the Force to shape his image into that of Santari, Dagan’s late friend. The vision caught Dagan off guard, his defense faltering as he grappled with the apparition of the one person who he trusted most. Seizing the opportunity, Cal's lightsaber blazed with lethal accuracy, piercing right through Dagan's chest. Dagan's pained scream was mixed with a sizzling sound as the blade tore through muscle and bone. Cal twisted the sword, guaranteeing a fatal strike.

Just as victory appeared to be imminent, Dagan used the Force to painfully seize Cal's body, suspending him mid-air. Dagan’s voice, filled with rage and desperation, rang through the chamber as he yelled about Tanalorr, his dream fading away. Cal struggled against the invisible grip, his own strength waning.

BD-1, seeing the peril his friend was in, acted swiftly. With frantic beeps and nudges, the little droid managed to wake Bode, who had previously been rendered unconscious by Dagan. Realising the dire situation, Bode aimed his blaster at Dagan and fired, the shot breaking Dagan’s concentration and releasing Cal from his grasp.

With a final lethal strike to across the chest, Cal sent Dagan crumpling to the ground, his body twitching as the life drained from his eyes. Cal stood over him, his chest heaving with the effort and pain of the fight.

Bode slowly approached the redhead, his expression a mix of relief and concern. “Cal, are you okay?” He asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Cal glanced at Bode, his face a mask of determination despite the agonising pain in his chest. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice strained. All he wanted was to get away from there and be in your comforting arms.

Bode studied him for a moment, seeing through the facade but deciding not to press further. He placed a reassuring hand on Cal's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "You did good, brother," Bode said softly, his tone filled with warmth. "Go on ahead. I'll stay and survey the area. And see if I can find a manual for that compass or something..."

Cal nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over him at Bode's support. "Thanks, Bode," he replied, his voice a bit more genuine.

With a final look at his fallen foe and a nod to Bode, Cal turned and made his way back towards Pyloon’s Saloon. Hand pressed to the wound on his chest, each step sent a wave of pain radiating through his body but he forced himself onwards, driven by the need to be with you. He knew that in your arms, he would find the solace and comfort he desperately needed.

When he finally entered your shared quarters below Pyloon’s Saloon, stumbling in through the back door—most likely to avoid everyone in the cantina—You were already there waiting for him, your expression one of great concern. As soon as Cal stumbled in, BD-1 hopped down from his back, rushing over to You with worried beeps about the Jedi.

“Cal,” You said softly, rushing over to his side. “Let me take a look at that.”

He nodded, his emerald eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. His tunic sported a burnt slash across his chest where the lightsaber had struck him, the fabric singed and charred around the wound. Carefully, You guided him to sit on the bed, your touch gentle but firm. You gently pried his tunic off, being careful not to aggravate the wound further before You began to examine the injury. BD-1 perched on your shoulder, his beeps and chirps a constant stream of worry as he watched You work.

When the wound came into view, You couldn’t help but gasp at the horrible sight, your heart aching for the pain Cal had endured. The wound was a searing, angry red slash across his chest, blackened at the edges and blistered from the intense heat of the lightsaber.

The silence in your quarters was thick with unspoken words. As You worked, Cal couldn’t help but shakily trail his fingers over the fresh slash on his chest, wincing at the pain but also more at the thought of yet another mark added to his already scarred body. Each one told a story of pain and survival, a testament to the battles he had fought. His body was already littered with scars—what was another?

The redhead’s mind swirled with anguished thoughts. How could You, someone so beautiful and kind, love someone like him? How could You look at his scarred body and see anything other than ugliness—to see someone who was capable of more than just war and violence? The doubts gnawed at him, twisting in his gut like a knife.

After cleaning the wound and sealing it with a bacta patch, You looked up at him, your eyes solemn. “This will scar,” You said quietly, your voice tinged with sadness.

Cal forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, it’s just another one for the collection, right? Sure to impress you...”

Despite his playful words, the tone of his voice was heavy with sorrow. You could see the weight of his past experiences and hardships pressing down on him, the scars not just on his skin but deep within his soul.

You paused, your hands still on his chest and met his gaze with a gentle, unwavering look. “Cal,” You said softly, “you could be doing anything at all—something as simple as planting a seed in the cantina’s garden—and you would still impress me.”

The sincerity in your voice penetrated his defenses, and for a moment, the pain and fear melted away. He looked at You, really looked, and saw the depth of your care and admiration for him. It wasn’t the scars that defined him in your eyes, but the strength, courage and kindness that lay beneath them.

A lump formed in Cal’s throat as he struggled to find the right words. “You have no idea how much that means to me…” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, the weight of his battles felt lighter, the burden of his scars less daunting.

You smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of fiery hair from his forehead. “I do, Cal. And I’m here with you, scars and all.”

BD-1 let out a soft, comforting beep, hopping down from your shoulder to nestle closer to Cal to affirm your words.

Under the soft light of your shared quarters, as the tender moment between You and Cal lingered, You were overcome with a sudden urge to reassure him of your love and acceptance, scars and all. Gently, You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss around the fresh slash on his chest, feeling the tension in his body begin to melt away. Cal’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as he absorbed the warmth of your touch.

Moving upwards, You kissed the long scar on his upper right jaw, your lips lingering on the raised line, and tingling from the roughness of his short beard. You then moved to the small scar across his right eyebrow, kissing it softly. Eyes still closed, Cal’s mind was rampant with emotions he could barely contain. His heart pounded in his chest as the contact sent a shiver down his spine. Each kiss was like a balm, soothing the lingering pain and doubts that haunted him.

Next, You placed a delicate kiss on the scar across his nose, before your fingers gently traced the path of the old wound. Cal’s hands, which has been tightly gripping the edge of the bed, slowly relaxed, moving up to rest on your waist as if seeking the comfort and stability that only You could provide.

Finally, You reached the small scar that ran across his lower lip. You pressed your lips against it tenderly, feeling the slight roughness beneath the softness of his skin. Cal’s eyes opened, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The anguish in his heart was replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

When You finally pulled away, You gazed into Cal’s emerald eyes and saw tears silently streaming down his cheeks. Your heart clenched at the sight, but before You could voice your concerns, he softly assured You, “They’re tears of happiness.”

A giggle escaped your lips, the sound joyful and filled with relief. “I’m glad,” You whispered, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “Because you mean everything to me, Cal.”

Cal pulled You into a tight embrace, his strong arms holding You close as if You were his anchor in a storm. The weight of his scars felt lighter now, due to a reminder of your love and acceptance. And as You nestled against him, You knew that together, you both could face anything, bound by a love that was stronger than any scar could be.

#calkestisweek2024 #Day 4: Scars #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis #jedi survivor spoilers #star wars jedi survivor #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #bode akuna #dagan gera #bd 1 #BD-1 #canon typical violence #established relationship #minor angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #🥀 wallflower writes

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heirofazure · 14 days ago

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Thrawn’s Musings: 2

A Mother’s Sacrifice

Summary: Sad!Thrawn shower thoughts. I wanted to explore what a Chiss mother��s lullaby would be like considering their culture of rematching to new families. Are they conditioned from childhood that one's birth family may not always be there? Is it taboo to speak of one's past if rematched to a new family? Do Chiss keep in contact with their former/birth relatives if they are rematched? Does a birth family only refer to one by their new name, or a variation of one's core name since it's the one that follows the Chiss for the entirety of their lives? I’d love to see more people exploring this.

Precision, precision, precision was Thrawn’s mantra as beads of sweat streamed down his face and onto the floor of his private sparring gym. Of all the private amenities provided to him as Grand Admiral, this had to be the one he was most thankful for. The vibroblade gripped in his right fist thrummed with energy as he wielded it with brutal efficiency, the blade flashing as it made contact with the Imperial sentry droid’s black plating. He swiftly lifted his left forearm to block a rapid punch from the droid, the vibroblade’s hilt dragging along his chest and plunging forward into the droid’s alloy abdomen. Energy crackled along the plating and caused the droid to seize, granting Thrawn mere seconds to catch his breath. Fatigue was beginning to take over, and when he glanced at the crono on the wall, he realized he had been sparring for over 30 minutes. If he continued, his form would become sloppy.

Absolutely unacceptable.

“Override...Code Ruhk,” Thawn said between ragged breaths. The droid immediately shifted into attention stance and powered down, Thrawn’s reflection becoming clearer in the sudden darkness now occupying its dimming red eyes. He swallowed as he took in his appearance, noting his own red eyes hooded with exhaustion, and his blue skin a shade paler than usual.

His reflection was the only Chiss he’d laid eyes upon in the years since he’d entered Imperial service. It had never bothered him before, but for the past few months, it had begun to weigh on his mind. A reunion with Admiral Ar’alani was anticipated in the future due to unusual events occurring within the borders of the Empire, but it had yet to come to fruition. Had he even spoken a word of Cheunh in the past standard year? A hollow feeling began to expand in his chest. His exercising garments, now saturated with perspiration, felt too tight as the sensation spread throughout his entire body.

Melancholy. A feeling he was never fond of but currently permeating every fiber of his being. He shook his head and exited the sparring gym. Light followed his movement as motion sensors tracked his path from the gym to his shower. The thought of warm water and soap washing away the sticky sensation he felt all over brought a smile to his face. Surely that would make him feel better. He strode into his refresher, settling on the fact that of all his private amenities, his spacious shower ranked second. He began humming as he removed his garments and entered the stall, stark white lights illuminating the space. Soaps from distant planets housed in a variety of containers lined the wall, each a unique piece of art that made his cleansing space akin to a private gallery of all his intergalactic travel.

He was still humming a tune as he pressed the buttons to activate the shower, releasing a sigh of satisfaction when steaming water hit his skin from various jets clustered along the ceiling and walls. However, as the realization of what he was humming began to process through his mind, the smile that was plastered across his face slowly shrank. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, tipping his head back as water ran through his hair and cascaded down his back.

Rentor. His home planet. The melody? His mother’s. He could still hear her voice echoing within his mind as he stood under the jets, his humming increasing in volume as he remembered the words of the old Chiss lullaby.

Deep in the Chaos,

Far, far away.

Cold unforgiving,

Our Ascendancy brave.

Resilient hearts,

Traditions of old.

Fortune be with you,

Warrior soul.

Thrawn felt the weight of his sadness from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He wondered if it was possible that his own reflection made him recall the characteristics he inherited from a woman he never spoke to again after rematching to the Mitth. The woman who gave him life.

Your name may change,

And your life may lead,

Down paths I can’t follow,

To places I won’t be.

He had never reached out to her. Although it was frowned upon, birth family contact had never been explicitly prohibited by the Mitth. As he lathered dzisnir herb soap on a cleansing cloth and began scrubbing his torso, he felt the reason for his choice rise from the depths of his mind. There was no question about the pain this topic held in his birth home.

Vurika’s disappearance. Being an inquisitive child, a young Vurawn constantly asked about his older sister after she vanished. There were never clear answers from his parents, although he would catch a pained look sweep across his mother’s face if Vurika was so much as mentioned. After countless attempts, he at some point stopped asking. However, he always ruminated on it, hoping to solve the reason for her disappearance as easily as a tactical dilemma.

Oh, how naïve he was.

As the years passed, Thrawn did his best to excel in his studies and remain obedient to his parent’s wishes, if only to not be the next child that disappeared. In hindsight, he realized his parents could have never revealed such sensitive information as to Vurika’s whereabouts, even if they had wanted to.

Even if the silence hurt them as much as it hurt him. Even if he had vanished as well.

But you, my dear child,

Remember in your heart,

That if I live in your memory,

We’ll never be apart.

As he rinsed off the last of the soap, Thrawn felt his throat tighten with raw emotion. His mother had not lost just one child, but both her children to the needs of the Ascendency. More so, his passion for art stemmed from her influence. The fondest of his childhood memories were those seated next to her easel, watching her blend colors and bring to life the faces of children she would never see again. Had she had more children? Had she sung them that lullaby? Had she seen his successes and failures on her Questis news feeds, reading about a son who no longer acknowledged her existence? Was she still alive?

There was no way for him to answer these questions now. Unlike everything else in his life, he had never planned for this.

He had never planned to think of his birth mother, let alone miss her.

He found he couldn’t bring himself to exit the stall as he shut off the water. The light around him seemed too bright, and his breathing was shallow and quick. He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his senses, and was stunned to see his face- her face, peering at him from the earlier reflection in his training droid’s eyes.

In that moment, a sudden tremor emanating from the core of his being overcame all his logical faculties like a massive explosion; emotions that had been suppressed for survival finally erupting on the surface. He roughly grasped the handlebar along the wall with one hand, and a pitiful whimper escaped his lips. Then another, followed by another. He could feel the tears roll down his face as shudders racked his entire body. He had given everything to the Ascendency, and so had she.

So had she.

Although I don’t know,

What harms you will face,

My love for you transcends,

Both time and space.

So go far, my child,

And if you seek me,

Within your reflection,

There I will be.

And as Thrawn finally cried for the mother he once had, he allowed himself to wonder if all their sacrifices would be worth it in the end.

Thank you to @stars-n-spice for the Thrawn divider!

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sebsxphia · 1 year ago

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I apologize if I start spamming you with shit. Honestly you are the only person I feel can share Top Gun shit with 😂

But the dagger squad making those couple tie blankets with their SO! (This one is a single blanket but I’ve been some where they do two blankets for each of them) Like what a cute fucking thing. I can totally see Jake picking out a Longhorns fabric.

I’m curious what you think of this? In your opinion what patterns/fabric do you think the others would choose for their side of the blanket?

never apologise my love! you’re always welcome to discuss top gun with me! 🥰

oh and i love this idea so much! especially if it doubled up and you had your fabric one side, and theirs the other! okay so…

jake. longhorns, yes!

bradley. a hawaiian print.

bob. a print with little model aeroplanes.

mickey. a pop culture print, star trek/wars, zelda etc.

natasha. an illustrated cats print.

rueben. this is oddly specific, but i know him, a print of little teddy bears.

javy. a print with vintage cars and motorbikes.

let me know what you think my love! thank you so much for this totally sweet idea! 💌

#💌you’ve got mail #seize-the-droid #jake hangman seresin #robert bob floyd #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #javy coyote machado #rueben payback fitch

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sinfulsalutations · 2 years ago

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𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕕𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕒𝕣𝕔 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕠

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴇᴄʜᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴇᴄʜᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ’ᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ɪɴꜱɪꜱᴛꜱ ʜᴇ ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴀɴ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ/ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ʜᴀɪʀ, ᴇᴄʜᴏ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇꜱ!

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3.7ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ/ɪ’ᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ - ɢʀᴏᴜᴘᴇʀ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴅᴏ - ʜᴏᴢɪᴇʀ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴄʟᴀɪʀᴏ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ - ᴀʟᴇxᴀɴᴅʀᴀ ꜱᴀᴠɪᴏʀ

⋆ ★ ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ ɢᴜʏꜱ ɪᴍ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴀᴏ3 ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɪ ᴜꜱᴇᴅ ᴀ ʜᴏᴢɪᴇʀ ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴍʏ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ ʟᴍᴀᴏᴏ. ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ'ᴅ, ʟᴏᴡ-ᴋᴇʏ ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ᴀʙᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴛᴠ, ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴜᴢ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴇᴄʜᴏ :((((( ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ 🤍

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

“We can make this work.”

The room instantly stills with her insistence; a claustrophobic air of expectation surrounds Echo as her eyes, the eyes he thought he’d never see again, look at him like he is the same person she fell in love with.

The same man who proudly showed off his ARC kit and flexed his muscles jokingly because of a lame tip Fives had given him. Who made out with her a couple of corridors away from General Skywalker, so enraptured in their heavy petting they didn’t even notice when he’d banged on the door for them to get out. The same man who kissed her goodbye for the last time before going off the citadel on a life-risking mission.

How can she not see that the person standing in front of her isn’t the Echo she used to love?

Damp eyes plead silently and she takes a small step forward, reaching out her arms almost like she wanted to engulf him in a warm embrace. But Echo steps away and oh-so softly shakes his head, all to ease her down gently.

She tilts her head; he can't stop himself before he's grimacing.

Kriff, does his heart want to break; it wants to shatter. He can’t bear the thought of what he has to tell her. Not when she’s even more beautiful than before, incredibly pained yet exponentially mature with the years of his absence etched onto her face.

She looks exhausted, awaiting any moment she'll be allowed to retire. Not just his death, but the lives of so many of his brothers have weighted her back, turned her into another tragic story of Atlas. Echo can't dare imagine adding more for her to carry on her shoulders.

“No, cyare, I don’t think you understand,” Echo tells her, eyes darting from his hands to her face. “I’m- I’m not the trooper you met all those years ago.”

Her face contorts, eyebrows pushing together with her head tilted to the side. He grunts in frustration at the back of his throat, squeezing her hand softly for emphasis as he talks.

“Just look at me,” He pleads. “I’m more karkin’ battle droid than human. You- You don’t want me.”

It’s unsettling, how she looks at him. Still lovestruck in a fantasy even after what he's said. Echo cranes his neck.

“It–” His voice dies when the first word forces itself out; he grunts softly and scrunches his eyes, trying to compose his thoughts better. It's overwhelming; never in a thousand years did he think this would happen. That he’d be in her apartment again; that he’d get to see her again. And that she’d still want him.

“It isn’t fair on you,” He finally manages to say.

The expression on her face Echo isn’t able to read. He used to be so good at telling what she was thinking.

Now she perplexes him; just like everything else in this new life of his.

“Why-why would you think you’re not good enough for me?” How her voice sounds more choked than his, Echo isn’t sure; but it still seizes his heartbeat all the same.

He hadn’t noticed before, but her hands have slowly separated themselves from where they held his and reached up, hovering over his face, shaking slightly in the air as she waits for his permission to continue. He gives it, nonverbally, with a dip of his chin, despite everything supposedly logical in his head saying he shouldn’t allow it.

As her hand cups his cheek, elegant and warm against his skin, he grimaces painfully with a creased brow.

“Because–” He begins, losing his argument the longer he thinks it over. “I said it already. None of this is fair on you.”

“What’s ‘this’?” She responds immediately. To anyone else, she might’ve seemed confused, an ignorant, greedy, and impatient lover who isn’t listening to him. But in her presence again, he picks up on her little mannerisms, her patterns of behavior. It’s a comforting sensation. One of familiarity.

Will he learn how to read her mind again? Only time can tell him, Echo promptly concludes.

“This body,” He responds without a single stammer. Echo wants to look her in the eyes and give her the assurance she needs, but instead, they dart back and forth with uncertainty.

“This life with me, this–“ He groans, the back of his throat dry. “We can’t be normal, cyare.”

A meek ‘pfft’ noise falls past her lips, eyes fluttering up and down in what seems as though a measly attempt at an eye roll.

“We’ve never been normal,” She responds.

Echo frowns far too automatically. Tragically? in part, she isn’t wrong. Allowing yourself to fall for a soldier and let him into your life isn't easy, even for the most tough-willed. Nights when he'd return bloodied and bruised unearth themselves from his clouded memory, and fragments of moments where she'd try to muffle her quiet sobs of relief, wiping away her tears as he held her tight in his arms recur beside them. She constantly lived with a fear he'd never return, and even that came true. His shoulders heave.

“Maybe we haven’t, but-but you know what I mean,” he persists with complete seriousness. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t give you the life you deserve.” He gestures to the space around them, the space between them. “One with the perfect, handsome husband and a family and a house.”

When she shrugs, leaning in further and cupping his cheek, he holds back the wry face he wants to flash; she pushes him backward, further into her room, closer to the bed; he still has her layout memorized and etched into his retention. It's one of the only things that the Separatists didn't extract from his brain.

"I don't want 'perfect,'" She makes air quotations in the air as she says that, thinking of the ideal life Echo had illustrated for her. "I want you. I want you just as much as I did before."

He frowns.

"Even with all this?" A hand hovers over hers, gesturing for her to look, really look at the body he has, the metal and the circuits and the superficialness of it all. She gazes for a moment before looking up again.

"If I'm to be completely honest..." She begins, moving so their chests are so close to touching, so close to pressing together so they become one person again, one entity of pure love and adoration. Perhaps those feelings can be revoked unchanged, an optimistic shadow of Echo hopes. "It makes me love you more."

Before he can beg the question how?, she's already continuing. Her other hand reaches up and cups his face endearingly.

"It shows everyone, even me, how strong you are," She marvels innocently, yet undeniably heartwarming. A sting of pain stakes throug his stomach. "My brave ARC trooper who went through and hell and back, and still came back just as wonderful."

His gaze drifts down again; somehow, her words make him even more terrified of looking into her eyes. What if, one day, she looks into his eyes, and doesn’t see that? Sees what he does, a broken figment of a man, a clone who failed his purpose, a soldier who can’t follow orders, no matter how hard they try. And then all this love he’s undeservingly graced with will be gone in just an instant. How selfish of him.

"Just as wonderful..." She still continues. "Just as handsome."

His eyebrows push together, and she pulls him down to kiss where his creases meet; she is a splendor of honey and healing between them in ways he never knew possible. Echo's eyes widen suddenly when he feels her lips against his, for the first time in what felt like a thousand eternities. Something in that moment is stilled; and for a fraction, everything is good. Everything is perfect.

"You're beautiful, Echo," She whispers against him. Her forehead comes to rest where he dips down. His eyes are still closed, but he can picture how she might look quite well. Eyes filled with adoration and hope, hope he so desperately wants her to share with him.

"How-" He begins, choking slightly; his eyes shut harder. If he focuses hard enough, he can't feel her touch; the touch he feels so undeserving of. "How can you say that so easily?"

There’s a thin, unmeaningful pause in the air.

"It's second nature," She responds effortlessly. Her hand strokes his cheek, slowly lulling him to open his eyes and look, don't think, just look. "And because I love you."

And at that moment, he falls apart. Something in him, his lungs perhaps, collapses under the sudden pressure he's pulled into. It's a type of pressure he wants to be under, no doubt about it–he wants to be loved, to be held like this no matter what the sensible part of him thinks–but it remains a slow, painful strangling.

His eyes shut close again and a sob ruptures at the back of his throat, thyroid straining. He leans into her without thinking of the crushing weight– not a step he consciously realizes he's taken, but one nonetheless. Her hands hold his face entirely; how she can be so incredibly firm and keep him so steady, Echo doesn't understand. None of this he can fully comprehend.

Another sob is ripped out of him.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Echo tells her, hushed and sorrowful between two quiet sniffles. "Your voice- I used to play the sound of your voice every day."

"I know, I know," She whispers back, nodding as he talks. Echo isn't lost entirely to pick up on how the words don't match her feelings; she didn't know, and her heart bounds to be swelling with overwhelming adoration. He knows hearing this means the entire galaxy to her; she missed him so, so much.

Why does he feel so much pain then?

He peels open his eyes, blinking away the litter of tears over his face, and allows himself to encircle her waist; they're already so close, and why Echo feels so nervous to simply touch her is puzzling

The softness in her eyes is something powerful. More powerful than a lightsaber-wielding Jedi or the most prepped battleship. Any remaining tolerance he has left completely dissolves under waves of matured, pained, yet beautiful love. Because he can’t deny how much he loves her. How much she makes him feel. That’s a power the Separatists will never have on him.

"Stay the night?" She then asks gently, caressing his cheek. Echo gulps hoarsely as he realizes how long he’d been holding his breath, then nods desperately.

"–If you'll allow me."

She's been in the `fresher for forty-five minutes now.

Told him to 'Get comfortable, I'll be out soon,' and 'You've slept over so many times before, don't feel like a guest,' but he sits stiff atop of the bed, still in denial that this is home. That it's still home after forced abandon. An oh-so-familiar feeling he hasn’t felt in so long rushes through him; its not as comforting as he’d hope it’d be.

Echo can hear her breathing, her soft humming of a lullaby she once confided that her mother always used to sing to her. The same one she sang lowly into his ear when he woke up in a cold sweat, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he held her and crooned to him like a sickly child.

Nightly tire seeps into his eyes, heaves his chest and Echo allows himself to breathe all the way down to his stomach. His lungs feel metallic, just as robotic as the rest of him as he awaits her to come out again. She never takes this long. At least, she never used to. Always efficient and makes so well with her time to keep her water and electric bills down.

Anxieties sweep through. She doesn't want to leave. Can't bear to see him sitting there on her bed again. She regrets her decision. She doesn't love him, she never did, she never will, she...

The door opens. She peaks through her head, a pleading softness etched into her.

"Echo?" She calls out to him.

"Yeah?" Her eyes scan him up and down, and Echo realizes how misplaced he looks. He hasn't sat down completely on the bed yet, his hands on his thighs and his posture perfectly composed, comfortably uncomfortable and so out of place. At least that's how he feels.

"Would you please brush my hair?"

A fond memory rushes through like a wave of warm water. She hates brushing her own hair. Always whines as she tries to untangle all the knots and always asks him to do it for her. The faintest smile graces Echo’s features.

“Of course, cyare.”

She grins softly. He tilts his head slightly.

“What?” He asks, incredulous.

“I missed your voice so much,” She recalls with a nostalgic glint in her eye. “The way you called me cyare.”

His only response is a soft grunt of agreement; he feels the exact same way. He missed the way her voice wrapped around a note, let out a laugh discreetly when she shouldn’t have been amused, hold onto a gasp or relief when he came through the door bruised and bloodied. Everything about it lost in the cryochamber and restored the moment he sits face to face with her now.

Swiftly, he beckons her over and lets her sit beside him, turning her back to him and handing him the brush. The moment he takes it and lets it sift through her hair, the softest moan is coerced out of her lips and she leans back into his touch.

Wordlessly, he continues to brush her wet hair. There's a level of intimacy that can't be reached with skin against skin, heavy pants as he roots himself deep inside of her; they can't reach this level of trust, where her back can be turned against her and allowed to control her vanity. Even after going through hell and back disheveled–half a man, she puts her reliance in him without hesitation.

“I missed this,” He admits in a hushed, almost shameful exhale.

A soft chuckle comes out of her. Somehow, she sounds disbelieved.

”Putting up with my little hissy fits about my hair?” She jests.

He answers with full certainty.

”More than you’ll ever know, cyare.”

She sighs delicately.

”Have I ever told you how much I like that nickname?” She asks.

Echo tilts his head, stopping his hand movements for a split second.

”Cyare?”

She nods.

”I remember the first time you called me that like it was yesterday.”

Echo hums under his breath, continuing to brush her hair. He rakes his brain for the memory she seems to remember so well, eyebrows knitting in focus.

”…I’ve forgotten.”

She nods again, void of maliciousness.

“I was completely wasted at 79’s,” She retells the story for him. “‘Was wobbling and knocking things over. You walked me home and made sure I was okay… and called me that when you were helping me up.”

The image comes to him. Her loopy smile as he attempts to wrap her arm over his shoulder, trying not to enjoy her helplessness too much as he helps her get up and leave 79’s, muttering into her ear softly, ‘Let’s get you home, cyare.’

”…I remember now,” Echo says.

Her hair shifts, head perking up.

”Oh?”

Echo mutters a soft ‘yeah,’ struggling to simultaneously grab all of her hair into a hand and brush it into the palm with the scomp link on his other arm. Even when he tries to do something from his life before, things have changed. Made menially more difficult.

”You asked me to kiss you at your doorstep…” He continues the story, a melancholic tone of recall plaguing him before he can stop himself.

Her head tilts again. It’s making it more difficult for him to brush her hair better, but he doesn’t mind.

”And you said no because I was drunk and not in my right mind…” She fills in the next sentence.

”…And I thought you would regret it the next day," He finishes, running a hand through her hair with finality. She turns her head, wrapping all of her neatly brushed hair to a shoulder and giving him a soft grin.

”I hope you know I wouldn’t have," She says.

He nods, allowing himself to soften further into the bed, borderline beamish.

“Still wouldn’t have kissed a drunk girl.”

The room basks in her sunlit smile. She leans in, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting on his shoulders, and Echo doesn't flinch. He expected to, with how wary and uncertain and unworthy he felt (and still feels) in her mere presence, but he doesn't flinch and it's so damn relieving he wants to cry in a mixture of joy and pain. Kriff, doesn't she look perfect, he dares to think. Isn't everything about her just... perfect. What did I do to deserve her?

She leans in further, pulling him down to meet her in the middle, their foreheads pressing against each other firmly. Her starry eyes carry unrealistic visions but he loves the dream inside them. She smiles, a breathy exhale shared between the little space they share, and she shakes her head without real purpose.

”Ever the gentleman," She mutters.

Echo's the one to make the final motion. He plunges down and captures her bottom lip between his, not even hesitating to embosom her waist with his hand. The upward curl of her lips is so prominent against his mouth; a sickly sweet happiness seeps and exudes off of her and into him. It flows through his veins, seizes his heart for a moment and Echo can't help but gasp. But it's swallowed by her own kiss. They both enrapture each other.

Even then, they revel in the languid motions they can take. Selfishly, Echo decides he wants more of her. All of her, if she'll allow it. He sucks in her bottom lip, parting his and swiping his tongue over hers in the way he always used to do, the way that made her squeak softly in a breathy gasp. She makes the sound again and his life is made in an instant.

The dam waters can’t be held back anymore; worldly anxieties no longer tether him to realism. All that matters is the two of them and the pure love they can have.

Echo squeezes her waist firmly and she breaks away with a smile.

”Didn’t think you’d do that,” She says lowly into his mouth. He only shrugs because her assumption may have been correct; he wasn’t expecting to kiss her.

“Me neither,” He admits aloud. She chuckles silently before kissing him again, making him crane his back to fully reach her the way he wants to. Something in him has been carnally ignited when she lets him hold her and kiss her like this; a feeling he hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity since he last saw her is unearthed. He needs all of it; needs all of her again.

He adjusts the two of them, moving her knees to spread her legs apart, and places himself between them; he beckons her to the center of the mattress, his scomp link aside and leaning on his elbow. His hand creeps up her neck into the back of her hair, grounding her into place as Echo allows himself to take.

But when she sighs and her eyes flutter close, he pulls away.

”Does it stand?” The words come out so softly and without structure, Echo is sure she didn’t mean for it to come out.

”What do you mean?” He asks after a moment.

”Is… does it stand the test of time?” Her hands hover over his shoulders now, fingers tentatively and timorously resting on thin air. She's gesturing to the two of them, talking about how this feels, how she feels, if it's okay, if he's satisfied; she treads just as carefully as he did just a few moments before. “The- the test of change?”

What test? The question wishes to beg in his mind. But it doesn't because Echo feels the tug as well. The claustrophobic worry that his anxieties inevitably are true; she won't want him the moment their lips meet again.

"It does for me," He takes a leap into faith. He could carry the same fears and insecurities dear to his chest, or he could look into her eyes and see for himself how she feels. He does; he wants to cry.

She looks so happy. Her eyes crinkling at the corners and her lips spread wide into a blinding smile, she holds her chest softly, as if beckoning for her heart to still. She lets out a small sigh of respite, lifting her arms again to pull him down. When she kisses him, it's drowning in reverence. Drowning in relief.

"Me too," She whispers against his mouth, before seizing his lips again. His eyes scrunch hard against her, as if he’s trying hard to imagine a different world where they can be like this forever. He creates it almost effortlessly. The tenseness in his muscles weaken.

Since Echo was rescued, his chest has ached. His whole body reacted poorly to the prosthetics, each step painful and unworthy of existence. It's slowly subsided, but he feels the ache's hold on him weaken even more. Her simple touch fills empty sockets of his being; so violently stripped of him before, now returned in loving arms.

In the split moments, in their faint beautiful existence, he falls in love again. He kisses her and holds her tight and whispers how damn bad he missed her. The world narrows into a space only the two of them can fit, a galaxy where they can love each other in absolute peace and solitude.

Like real people do.

dividers by @saradika ~ tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch

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annwrites24 · 1 month ago

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Organized by @dindjarindiaries for December 2024!

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: M, but all my content and my blog are 18+ only

Word count: 360

Tags (All parts): fluff, some angst, developing relationship, mentions of loss of parents, second person POV, no use of y/n, hints of smut if you squint.

Day Eighteen: Home

Din can't believe you said it. He'd given you directions to the market and promised to meet you there after arranging for the repairs to the Razor Crest's heating system, but it had taken far longer than he'd expected. He'd hovered while the droids worked; they were all that was available if he wanted it done quickly, the mechanic had claimed; just to make sure that they were being careful and actually fixing his ship, not making it worse.

Thankfully, you had Grogu with you, so by the time Din is finished and walking to the market, he assumes you're probably almost ready to leave. When he catches up with you, he sees your arms are full of supplies, and Gorgu is riding in your hood, a piece of a pastry clutched in his tiny fist. When you see Din, he watches your eyes brighten as you wave him over. He mumbles an apology for taking so long, and you wave him off, but you do let him take some of your burdens so he can carry them for you. And then you say it, and it makes his heart seize.

Ready to go home?

He nods numbly and follows you back to the shipyard. You're chatting away about what a good deal you'd gotten on some of the food and complaining with a smile about how your idea to share a snack with Grogu had wound up getting pastry crumbs in your hair. Din is trying to listen while you talk, but he can't stop his mind and heart from reeling.

You called his ship home. It's Din's home, and Grogu's home, now, too. But he hadn't expected that you would think of it that way. You could have said, ready to go back to the ship? But you didn't. You'd called his home, your home. And Din is surprised to find that idea makes him happy. He wants you to be comfortable, to settle in and feel free to take up space. A bounty hunter's gunship might not be the perfect place for it, but he wants you to choose the ship, and choose him, as your home.

Find my other fics on AO3! Header art by me. I do not give permission for any of my work, whole or in part, to be fed into any AI generative program under any circumstances.

#dincember 2024 #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #flash fiction #fanfiction #ao3

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gummyfang · 9 months ago

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♡♡♡ | ˗ˏˋ Passing Stars || Chapter 1 ´ˎ˗

➳　【 C a p t a i n　Ｒ e x　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】

❧ Warnings: 𝐠/𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 / 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐟𝐡), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲/𝐰𝐚𝐫

[ 4.0𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ]

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first multi-part series. clone fever hit hard. i'm actually really happy with this for a change. This chapter is the set-up for the conflict at hand :) im currently on s6 of TCW and AUFHHGHH i just got past the Fives arc. im a bit insane atm. anyways ENJOYY

“I promise, you will get your rifle back when you leave the premises. It’s just procedure- you’re not authorized to carry any weapons into the Jedi Temple.”

You gritted your teeth at the Guard blocking your path as firmly held onto your sniper rifle, as if he’d have to pluck it from your cold dead hands if he wanted to take it from you.

Despite your stubborn attitude, you knew your faux little display of rebellion was a losing battle. As much as you refused to trust the Jedi, you were left with little choice but to go to them for help.

There was very little on your planet for you to return to, other than the remnants of the cities the Separatist forces had quietly seized for themselves. A sparsely populated planet circling a neutron star, right near the outer edge of the mid rim. Nothing remarkable on its own, but full of mining communities ripe for the Separatists to exploit for their excessive droid production.

For as far as you knew, you were the only one who’d been able to penetrate the blockade.

You sniffed, still agitated as you dropped the sniper rifle into the storage bin. The thought of the poor working conditions your people were being put through to mine materials for those bastards was enough to temporarily put yourself past your distaste for the Republic.

“Thank you.” the Guard responded dryly, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Be careful with it.” you sneered, almost shoulder checking the man on your way past him. If you were being honest with yourself, you had to acknowledge you were being unreasonable with this poor man. He was only here to do his job and people like you did not make it any easier. But being subject to an invasion had clouded your sense of self, and maybe your ability to be reasonable. Just a little.

You were led to a woman dressed in robes, but you did not know enough about the clothing habits of the Jedi to tell whether she was one of them or not. She nodded, exchanging a few friendly words and beckoning for you to follow her. Your arrival was expected.

A sense of unease washed over you as you made your way through the towering hallways of the Temple. The air tasted warm and stale, the building’s age and the many people that passed through it permeating through its scent. The hallways were far from empty, used for conversation, and in some cases even training, judging by the bright light emitting from those unsettling trademark blades they carried.

Keeping your head low, you ignored the passing glances that were being sent your way.

A morbid part of you wish you’d died and the torch of fate had been passed on to another unfortunate soul, one more equipped to deal with diplomatic matters such as these. But these were the cards you’d been dealt, and you had little choice but to play them now.

The tapping of the lady’s shoes accelerated as she swiftened her step, opening the door for you. She moved out of the way, gesturing for you to head inside as she stood outside the door. It was clear she was not accompanying you any further, so you gave her a curt nod and stepped through the opening.

When the heavy metal doors fell shut behind you with a loud thunk, you were met by several pairs of eyes fixated on you. As if you were a scared animal, you could feel the hair in your neck begin to rise. Despite your feverish thoughts of reassurance and weak attempts to ease your nerves, your sense of unease had failed to dissipate.

There were three of them. None of their heads adorned the same mask as the woman that had guided you through the hallways, and two of them were sporting similar robes, though there were some differences in how they wore them. Jedi, you were sure of it.

As soon as you’d entered the room, the taller of the two Jedi took a step forward. He had a striking appearance, eyebrows casting a shadow over his blue eyes. Across his right ran a scar, marking his experience in combat. His robes were black and reddish brown, much darker than those of the red-robed young togruta who stayed in her place by the table. You did not fail to take note of the weapons hanging off their hips, subconsciously feeding into your discomfort even more.

The man in the corner stood out from the two. He was clearly not a Jedi. In the absence of robes, his body was instead covered in full white armor painted with blue stripes. This included his head, covered by a broad helmet covered in markings. A clone, you realized, eyes widening slightly. Your life being mostly secluded to a neutral planet in a neutral system, you’d only ever see brief glances of them on propaganda posters and on the occasional business trip to systems under Republic control.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the tall Jedi cleared his throat. When you gave him a good look a second time, you noticed he’d moved his hand to cover the hilt of his lightsaber, as had the younger one in the back. Right, Jedi. Mindreaders.

“Welcome.” he began, giving you a small nod. You nodded back, waiting for him to continue.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. This is my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.” He gestured towards his apprentice, who in turn also greeted you with a small nod. You briefly glanced at the clone in the corner, but he did not speak up to introduce himself, nor did Anakin make a move to introduce him. Oh well. Maybe he was not to be in contact with you directly, who knows what hierarchy they set up in these Temples?

“[Name].” you responded briefly, nothing more, nothing less.

“[Name].” Anakin echoed your name back at you. “It was your distress signal we received last week, then. We know the basic details of the situation described, but following your message, the Council has been unable to make contact with any representative from your planet. Would you mind explaining what’s going on back there?” You scoffed.

“I would, actually. Having said that, I want to make it clear I am not telling you anything before we have laid down some ground rules.” Despite the hints towards their ability to read your mood and mind from earlier, this seemed to catch them all by surprise. Anakin’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and Ahsoka exchanged a glance with the clone behind him.

“Not telling u- But you’re the one who contacted us for help.” His voice was stern, but mostly laced with surprise.

“The only reason I visited this war-forsaken place was because this is the Jedi’s conflict to resolve! Nobody else’s!” you snarled, somehow working up the courage to jab him in his chest. “The Hakheen system has been a neutral system for the entire duration of the war that you started. We’ve done everything we can to keep ourselves uninvolved with the conflict- and a decade of hard work was undone when you decided to take over our only two neighboring systems! Your thoughtless actions are what put us on the Separatist radar which has now resulted in a full hostile planetary takeover!”

“What?” the togruta spoke up for the first time, giving you a wide-eyed stare.

It was just as you feared. Hakheen’s takeover had been effectively kept a secret from the rest of the galaxy. Not only did that mean the Jedi Order would only have your word to go off, it also meant you really had been the only person to escape the droid suppression and the blockade around the planet.

“You’re sure? The entire planet has been subject to a takeover, not just your region?” Anakin chimed back in, putting himself past your hostile disposition towards him.

“Trust me, General, I don’t want to be here either. I’d rather have come groveling at the feet of anyone before I came licking the boots of the Jedi Order. But the scale of this invasion has left me with no choice but to come knocking at your door. Like I said, this is your responsibility and you are to fix this mess that you made. After we have been liberated, the Republic will leave us be and we can call this even.”

Ahsoka struggled to speak for a moment, the markings across her brow furrowing. “But that’s not a fair assessment to make.” she retorted. Your gaze met with hers, feeling your blood begin to run a few degrees hotter with building anger. “The Jedi Order only steps in when-” “Snips.” Anakin’s firm voice interrupted her. The Jedi had turned his head to face her, shooting her a warning glance. “Enough.”

This was difficult enough as is. You clearly did not trust either of them, which meant that any form of discussion or negotiation was going to be a struggle. Even if they didn’t agree with your point of view, there was no point in arguing against it. Letting the Separatists enslave the population of a planet being used for a large-scale assault against the Republic was not something they could ignore regardless.

You were grateful for the intervention. Ahsoka was clearly younger than you, but given the situation and your emotional state, you don’t know how long you could’ve kept your cool.

“I agree that we should stage a counterattack. It’s in everyone’s best interest, from what you have described.” Anakin explained calmly. “But that doesn’t mean we can just blindly agree to your terms. Regardless of whether or not we believe you- and trust me, we do- we will need more concrete proof that what you are saying is true. And if we are to negotiate terms like this with you, you need some form of political status.” Averting your eyes, you stared at the ground. You didn’t have a proper response to that. Sure, you had political aspirations growing up, but the situation you grew up in did not allow many people from Hakheen to pursue their dreams. Despite your promising education, like most people, you were forced to sell animal parts you and your family hunted to make ends meet. There was no room and no budget to invest in some vague ambassadorial aspirations, and this was likely the furthest you’d come in that regard.

“There were others.” you decided to pivot, realizing there was no lying your way out of this anyways. “I was with a group of six escapees. Among them was our Minister of Intersystemary Affairs and two ambassadors to different planets in the Outer Rim, don’t know which.” For the first time in that conversation you looked desperate. You eyed Anakin questioningly, slightly hopeful your presumptions were incorrect.

“We… haven’t heard anything but your distress signal.” he responded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You could feel your heart skin in your chest. That severely complicated the situation. Although you hated to admit it, Anakin was right. Nobody on Coruscant had any reason to take someone of your age and status, or rather lack thereof, seriously.

After a moment of silence, Anakin took a step back. “Either way, this is enough information to alert the Council and to send people to look into the situation. Especially considering the urgency, this will be dealt with swiftly.”

You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose in thought and frustration. “Even with how long the Senate takes to allow, well… fucking anything?”

“For matters that impede our ability to defend ourselves we don’t have to run it by the Senate. Otherwise we’d be handing our asses on a plate to the Seppies at their every move.” He cracked a grin at his own joke before quickly steeling his expression again. “Considering what you told us about an imminent attack on neighboring systems, I consider that more than enough probable cause to take action.” You softly exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. Seems like something was going your way at the very least. Bitterly, you thought how the impending attack on the Republic was the only incentive they had to act so quickly. Still, you’d take their selfish help over waiting for your people to die anyday.

“You two, with me.” Anakin turned around. “We will be right back.” The clone and the padawan followed right behind him, and you watched the door close, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Just as you were, Rex was also left to stew in his own thoughts as he followed the two Jedi out of the meeting room. The information weighed on his mind. He’d of course heard the stories of how the Trade Federation attempted to pressure Naboo into signing a treaty with a takeover and a blockade. It wasn’t entirely new territory for the Jedi Order to deal with. But he’d never heard of a successful quiet overtake to this extent before. This was on a whole new level, even for the Separatists.

Furthermore, he was not entirely sure what to make of the character they’d just met. Although he had nothing against you personally, you did not present yourself as the easiest person to work with. They were going to have to find a way past that if you really were the only person who could testify about what the Separatists were carrying out on Hakheen.

Still, there was a lot he admired about you, even from such a short interaction.

Separatist blockades could be a serious hazard. Those things had cost the Republic a lot of men over the years, both regular pilots and clones alike. It was nothing short of a miracle you had managed to break through one, but was also undoubtedly a sign of skill on some level.

He also had to admit he admired your resolve. For as far as he could tell, you weren’t military. Time and time again he’d seen that the challenge of stepping up for what was right was too difficult for many people, even if the situation forced them too. You’d proved well enough you were not a part of that group.

“Rex, a moment. Snips, you go on ahead.”

On queue, the clone captain straightened his back. “General Skywalker.”

Anakin looked between him and Ahsoka rounding the corner at the end of the hallway before continuing. “I think you should stay with our guest. I was originally going to have Ahsoka stay with them while I discussed our plan of action with you, since she’s probably a bit better at small talk than the two of us. But, as you could see, our friend isn’t exactly comfortable around a bunch of Jedi.”

Your discomfort was hard to miss, even without the outright spiteful curses you spat at them.

“Good point, sir. But don’t you think this discomfort extends to any aspect of the Republic?”

“Eh, not really.” Anakin shrugged. “But it’s worth a shot. It’s not what I sensed, anyways. And I don’t think they’re particularly eager to hang out with Snips after what happened back there. We need them around here in case the Council wants to question them. Just act relaxed, try to put them at ease.”

Rex hummed. “Alright sir. I’ll await further instructions.” he stated, nodding quickly before turning back around.

Though you couldn’t discern what they were saying, the fact you could hear their voices humming faintly through the thick doors made you uneasy. They were talking about you, you were sure of it. The General had sounded sincere enough when you explained your situation to him, but you had no way to tell whether he was being sincere or not. The Jedi had a reputation for being deceptive, and for likening themselves to heroes despite being warmongers.

For all you knew, you’d done nothing but initiate a second territorial takeover with this stunt. But, then again, doing anything to try and fix the situation was worth trying over being complacent with the millions of deaths on your home planet.

You were snapped out of your restless train of thought by the door sliding back open, revealing the clone captain from earlier standing in the doorway. The Jedi were no longer with him. Probably they’d gone off to relay your message to that Council they mentioned earlier, you figured.

As the man headed towards one of the chairs on the other side of the meeting room table, your eyes followed him sharply, though it was more out of curiosity than distrust. Although you’d seen and heard a couple of clones distantly during your business trips to nearby Republic systems, this was the first time you encountered one up close and personal.

Of course you'd seen that helmet plenty of times, whether it be on Republic propaganda posters or the holonet. It almost looked fake to be met with one in real life. Though you noted his was far more decorated than the ones you’d seen in illustrations before. Aside from the two deep blue markings glaring at you above his visor, the surface was absolutely covered in tally marks. You could only guess whether it represented the number of lives he took or the number of battles he’d fought his way through, but you didn’t doubt it marked his skill in combat.

“Ah, right. Sorry. Where are my manners?” His modulated voice snapped you out of your gaze. You could feel the embarrassment rise up in your chest as you realized you’d been staring at him like a frightened lothcat.

Swiftly, the man removed his helmet, leaving it to rest on his hip under his arm. Once again, the face you were met with was one you’d definitely seen in illustrations many times before, but never had you seen it in person.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” you apologized with a dull tone, too flustered to keep looking him in the eye. “I was staring.”

Rex cracked a small smile as he placed his battle-worn helmet down on the table, taking a seat diagonally across from yours. Quietly, he still wondered how he was going to approach you, considering mediation was not exactly his specialty. However, it seemed that Anakin was right to a certain extent at least. They’d only just left the room and your attitude was already nothing like it was five minutes ago.

“I’ve never met a clone before.” you continued at his silence, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“Right. We don’t go to neutral systems unless we have a good reason to. Having our men on ground untouched by the war usually causes more unrest than it is worth. You don’t visit Republic systems often, then?”

“Not much, no.” you replied, slacking your shoulders a little. “Sometimes, though. To sell our stuff elsewhere. We're hunters.” Rex rested his elbow on his knee, leaning forward. “Hunters, eh?” he asked, interested. His position did not often require him to make small talk with civvies.

“Yeah. Most of our planet’s exports are minerals. My family members from a few generations back or something decided to capitalize on something else. I mean- We sell most of our meat on Hakheen, but the horns and bones are sought after in other systems. But… yeah, that’s probably not something that’s going to draw any clones to our booth.”

“Guess not.” Rex chuffed, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms. The captain was not exactly familiar with your planet or the wildlife it contained, but he figured it wasn’t a small deal if it was worth the transport to other systems to sell your products.

The room became quiet again as you both struggled to find something to say. You found the courage to look up at him again, giving his face a proper look.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt you’d seen that face countless times online before, but there were a lot of details to his appearance that set him apart from the mental image of a clone you’d built up over the years. The most obvious was that his roots were blonde, as opposed to the trademark brown you were used to reading about. You vaguely wondered if he dyed it to stand out as an individual, or if it was a phenotypic abnormality he was born with.

The second thing that caught your attention were his eyes. They were nothing like the cold, battle-hungry stares you’d come to learn they all supposedly had. There was a certain tension to his posture that stayed present even as the two of you conversed about nothing, but his eyes carried a strength that was more reassuring than threatening. It honestly made him a lot more handsome than the faces you remembered from the posters.

Rex cleared his throat, thinking of a sensible way to ask the question that weighed on his mind.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir… How were you able to penetrate the blockade? We’ve lost a lot of good men to those, no matter the size of the blockade. It might help us strategize on how to get through.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers interlocking nervously. You hated thinking back to that day. The trip to Coruscant had been a laborious traumatizing trip on its own, but it did not compare to the hell you had to endure to break through the Separatist army.

“Apologies. I shouldn't have asked that until General Skywalker is back.”

“No.” you quickly responded. “No, it’s fine. Honestly though, it’s probably not the answer you’re looking for. I just- I just got lucky.” Feet rubbing together in a nervous tic, you continued. “I know none of the crafts near the west of the capital did not even make it out of the atmosphere. My group all managed to overwhelm the droids stationed at the southeastern airport for long enough to hijack a few spacecrafts. From there on out I guess I just got lucky.”

“It takes more than just luck to survive something like this.” Rex reassured you gently. Though he sounded genuine, you couldn’t agree with him.

“To a certain extent, perhaps. But I was panicking and I guess that ended up being in my favor. We all decided to split up to heighten our chances of one of us breaking through. I heated up my hyperdrive as soon as I passed the atmosphere and just prayed to whatever gods I could think of that I wouldn't blast myself through a star.”

“You didn’t do calculations?”

“No, none. I was right above a city south of the capital when I made the jump. Didn’t end up seeing any ships from the blockade, but they must have been there. Nobody else I left ever contacted me after I made it through.”

Rex made a mental note to ask you about the details of that location later. Identifying a potential weak spot in their blockade could be vital to a successful mission, but he sensed you’d been asked enough about this for today.

“It’s good that you took that risk. I promise your case is in good hands with General Skywalker. He personally insisted on tackling it as soon as he received your distress signal. We will do everything to ensure your planet will be free of Seppies when we leave.”

Despite sighing through your nose, you managed to flash him a weak smile. Even if you weren’t particularly fond of the Jedi Order and the factions it was allied with, you had desperately needed someone to just be kind to you after the horrendous situation you’d found yourself in for the past week.

“Thank you, uh…” Your voice trailed off as you stared at him, questioningly.

“Captain Rex. At your service.”

You gave him a proper smile this time, nodding. You were about to open your mouth to continue the conversation, when a high-pitched beeping started emanating from Rex’s wrist. His comlink. You stared as he pressed the button, a light blue hologram of the General you’d met earlier springing up from the device. “Rex, you should come over here. Both of you.”

#star wars #gummyfang #captain rex #captain rex x reader #the clone wars #clone troopers #clone wars #the bad batch #passing stars #501st legion #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano

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nightfall-1409 · 2 months ago

Text

Thank you @clonebang for running this! On ao3 here and on tumblr following the tag #cb2024

Team 16, myself @nightfall-1409, (AO3) my lovely artists @marbled-polecat (AO3) and @clownbloody , and my amazing beta, @cowbaehawyee (AO3)

Coming in starting December 3rd with ...

A Sunny Day on Kamino

rating: M pairings: polybatch, echo5, techo, crosstech warnings: canon-typical violence, canonical character death summary: having shot the cords that connected him to the gondola wires on Eriadu, Tech had known the end was coming. But then it doesn't come. There are a lot of things he'd known that are no longer true, and a lot of thing's he'd not known that he now, somehow, has the chance to learn. time travel fic

Color him surprised when he wakes up, prone, his goggles cracked, feeling as though all the air has rushed out of his chest and he can’t catch his breath.

He distantly hears shooting, screaming, and he questions to himself, oh, had the fall been that short? Did he have to worry about taking a deep breath and potential damage to his ribs when the cart above him is definitely about to crush him?

Another moment passes, he hears Wrecker calling for him, distress obvious, and he shudders as he breathes in. He does not hear Omega anymore, and something in his heart seizes at the thought of her jumping after him, or some other horrible choice.

His ribs seem to be…fine? There’s no piercing lung pain as he breathes. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be significant injury to his person, as he finds no signs of pain other than a bit of a bump to his head and the air knocked from his lungs. This is likely very bad.

“I imagine that ought to have killed me.” He says, the air knocked out of his chest, but not finding it hard to force the words out apart from that. The white snow underneath him is remarkably… smooth.

He blinks, touches the floor, amazed. Upon closer inspection, it’s not snow at all, but white tile, clean and sanitized.

“If you think that should’ve killed you, we do need more training,” a harsh, sickeningly familiar voice drawls as blaster-fire whizzes over his shoulder, footsteps coming around him as the ringing in his ears starts to subside.

“Were you hit?” Hunter asks as he whips Tech around, doing a quick glance and once over, Tech blinking in completely stunned silence as he takes him in through those broken glasses.

His sergeant’s hair is too short. Or at the very least, it’s cropped much closer to reg length than he recalls it being. Their cadet reds are all they have on— none of their grey and beige armor with its added colors for Howzer and Rex and Cody, really, any of the signs of the regs that they had ultimately aligned themselves with.

Crosshair is standing over them with a borrowed sniper rifle, Wrecker’s face is still all bandaged over from his injury as a cadet. They’re in the broken remains of the medical hall. They look like cadets, baby-faced and not yet at their apex in height, and it’s most noticeable because Crosshair and Tech are both roughly the same height as Hunter, and Wrecker’s just a little bit over height of an average trooper.

This appears to be due to the fact that they are cadets. 8th Cycle, actually, when Wrecker’s eye was blinded, his hearing impacted, and his scars earned in training keeping them all safe.

Tech blinks again, his confusion sinking in as he looks down at his unmarred hands, and his own cadet reds, their synthetic texture starting to bug at him. He’s�� fairly certain he had been on Eriadu just before this moment, had been falling to his death on a doomed mission to rescue Crosshair. That he’d been about to hit his 13th cycle, a year and a half after the fall of the Republic, a year after the fall of Kamino.

Watching the clouds before turning over so he was not seeing what would crush him, could watch the trees get closer, and then closing his eyes as he’d accepted the end and—

Now he was here.

He remembers this quote-on-quote mission well.

Droids had stormed the medical wing of Kamino looking for the Prime’s DNA. They’d been inside because Wrecker was recovering from an incident with ordinance, the scarring that would be part of him for the rest of his life. They’d taken blasters off of fallen soldiers. This was the implementation of Tech’s plan to ensure Wrecker’s life was safe from harm— get themselves deployed.

But why was he here now? Tech’s memory is not faulty. It is perfect, every second of it; as he was designed. He knows it backwards, forwards, and yet, he is here, tumbled out of order. He fell to his presumed death on Eriadu, in spite of Hunter’s order for him not to, Omega’s hurt and upset plea, and Wrecker’s desperate cry of No!

But now he’s here.

It’s eerie. He has no answers. Nothing about this feels any more or less real than where he’d been before. He’s not sure of what test to run. He never considered himself a lucid dreamer, but he’ll attempt to sort out those rules; thinks to himself, I’m dreaming, and then tries to wipe away this slate.

Nothing changes. Either he is bad at lucid dreaming, or this is not a dream.

Is this some sort of heaven? Some sort of hell? He’d never put much thought into the afterlife; he’d sort of assumed that the lack of tangible evidence of it had meant such a thing did not exist.

Now that he’s here, it’s even stranger still. It leaves him…unmoored.

#cloneshipping #clone bang 2024 #cb2024 #my fics

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