#the clones dying in a war called the clone wars... impossible

[gh0st-c0mpany]

Boba sees a clone blow up into a million pieces and his first reaction is,"Yuck!😩"

[losersiren]

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘵

"𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎."

CW: Fem reader (she/her), Time-appropriate misogyny, underlying themes of comphet, implied cannibalism, weird behaviour (?), cheating (in a sense?). N: To the two sapphics that wanted this, Merry Christmas!

New town, new neighbourhood, new people, and the sense of unfamiliarity hits you before the fresh air can as you open the mustard yellow cab door. 

Suburbia. 

Picture-perfect houses lined up perfectly as if they were soldiers waiting for an order from their sergeant; the lawns are flawlessly mowed, with no imperfections seen, just like the housewives inside those soulless clone houses. How…dull. Your hand unconsciously grips the metal door as your jaw clenches. Your heels hit the concrete when you finally get out of the taxi, too focused on the sight in front of you in a less content fashion.

In any other circumstance, moving into such an established community would be a blessing. Especially with the rise of Suburban houses and nuclear families after World War Two, people were scrambling to settle down before, god forbid, another war started yet again. You would have to be demented not to take an opportunity like this by its horns and celebrate. But you weren’t here to settle down with a beau in tow to populate this “great nation.” No. In this context, this place would be your collar for the foreseeable future; one misguided risk, you made one tiny mistake at your job, and now you’re on time-out.  

A journalist from the big city trying to make a breakthrough, which in itself is pathetic enough, but to add fuel to the flame, you’re a woman trying to achieve that unattainable dream. Getting into a male-centred field of work should've been nearly impossible, but you dipped your toes in it at the end of the day! Which is more than most could say; maybe it was your persistent attitude in your youth that gained your spectacular references or how you constantly pestered the journalist's office for a month straight to get a job since you were more qualified than 90% of the men in that fucking building. Still, you were placed into the “woman's” section. Which was an old rundown storage closet with a rotten-wooden desk in the middle of it…

Fast-forward to later, you were given only the bottom-of-the-barrel stories to research, and god, were you tired of them, you might’ve possibly “burrowed” one story from one of the rookie's desks; it's not like he could do any better than you. You quickly sift through whatever was attainable for you. Passing through possible big stories you knew you had no chance to break through quickly, such as “unknown serial cannibal still missing, when will they strike again?” or “Local government official caught embezzling after the war.” No, the story fitting your position was “Local priest fights allegations of using church money for the devil’s lettuce.” It's a perfect scandalous piece that is easy enough to get information on and would get your name somewhat out there.

You took that story and ran with it, and it turns out the more you looked into the story, the more the allegations had truth to it. This story would be your breakthrough! You would be among the first women to break through that glass ceiling! Yet, when you walked confidently into the office with an article written and sources in your hands, you left with a broken spirit, your article being taken by a male co-worker and a transfer to Pennsylvania. Your boss shouted at you in that box of an office, demeaning you in every way, but what stuck to you is when he scoffed out that the only thing you could handle was “the housewife section” in a newspaper nobody reads and that would be your only legacy other than dying a washed-up old woman with nothing to her name.

And here you were where you belonged. 

“Miss, the meter is running here. You just going to stand there or…?” a ragged, aged voice calls to you from the driver's seat. “Oh! Right…sorry sir…” You acknowledge him, breaking out of your dissociation, and march toward the cab's trunk, fighting with your heavy leather suitcases to get out of the damn thing. “Ya know, a young lady like yourself shouldn’t be doing all that work…your husband going to help you with that?” the taxi driver questions you as you struggle instead of assisting you. “Don’t have one,” you quip back as you huff, finally getting the second one out; his eyes give you run down, full of judgement. “Well, you aren’t going to apple butter a stud with that tone, that’s for sure; smile more, doll,” the older gentleman snorts as you give him the money you owe him. 

As the car drives away, you turn to see your already-furnished house, partly given to you by some distant relative who brought property. You barely even know him, which is why you have to pay rent. But who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

As you take in your new life, your eyes bounce from the russet brown asphalt shingle roof to the moss-green mowed lawn. A sigh escapes you as your eyes finally drift to your neighbour's house; it's nothing too shabby; it's nearly identical to yours, sparing a few minor details such as colour and different window positions. Your curious eyes wander through one of the windows in your line of vision at a woman in her early to mid-twenties, skin so pale you could almost mistake her for a Jane Doe in a morgue. Her blonde hair resembles hay you would see decorated inside a barn, and her eyes are as lifeless as a cloudy blue sky before it rains. Her thin fingers scrubbed away at porcelain plates dazedly, hunched over just a bit over her sink so that she could compromise for her taller-than-average height. Once aimed at the dishes below her, her eyes now meet yours; her movements stopped like a deer in headlights. 

You goan, she probably thinks you’re giving her the royal shaft. Well, that’s it for first impressions. You give her a smile and a small wave, hoping she doesn’t misconstrue your curiosity for something worse and rush into your new abode. Her murky blue eyes clear the more they follow your figure, fading into your house.

-

Love.

It’s simple yet complex to comprehend. Since the dawn of time, humans have expressed love through multiple forms of media, languages, and art. Yet, despite all this knowledge of the emotion, it never resonated with Annabeth. No matter how many romance novels or novels she read in general about the topic (much to her mother's dismay), it never clicked. It didn't click when boys started paying attention to her in high school, and it didn't click when she debated the pros and cons for each boy in her grade to have an answer when her friends asked her about what boy she had a crush on. Maybe she was just broken; the emptiness of her heart matched her stomach when her mother took meals from her to have a figure to attract whatever city boy would come waltzing in their small town—born and raised to be a housewife, to have children then die like the cattle at her meemaw’s and peepaw’s farmhouse. So she adapted, pushing aside her heart-racing anxiety that should’ve been the flutters of butterflies in her stomach anytime a man romantically talked to her. All that is in the past now…she changed her “habits”…she has a husband, a good home, and he has an excellent job for the both of them.

At least up till now. 

The house next to her was always empty except when, once in a blue moon, the owner would come for a few days or even a month to check up and maintain the property. She didn't know the man well, she doesnt even remember his name – so when she felt eyes on her, the lonesome woman didn't expect you… 

There you were, staring at her in your grey blazer and matching skirt; your shoulder pads, as did your belt, accentuated your figure. Your eyes…such an alluring sight that they froze her on the spot, hypnotizing her until you retreated into the building. The breath she didn’t even know she held slipped out of her mouth, and her heart drums rapidly against her ribcage like it never had before.

One blink.

Two blinks.

What…

The soapy rag slipped from her hand, causing warm water droplets to splash on her face. This action snapped the blonde out of her trance-like state. 

Her pupils expand, her eyes frantically move left to right, and there’s a flare-up in her flight or fight senses, yelling at the housewife to do something! Anything! as if her body is unconscionably sending signals throughout her body to make a move, but the question is…for what reason? Annabeth thought of the most rational reason she was feeling such a strong emotional response, and of course, the only logical explanation was that she just really wanted to be your friend.   

The back of her hand wipes her once-damp cheeks.

Yeah, that’s the only possible answer.

The next few weeks became a blur of events, from immediately baking you sweets the next day to “welcome” you into the neighbourhood and telling you if you ever needed anything to holler at her. To her inviting you to dinner with her husband to help you get “accumulated” more into such a new environment from the bustling city– she’s an idiot. God, she’s a grade-a dumbass for even thinking that she could pull something off like this; why is she even nervous? 

The nail between her top and bottom teeth snaps, yet another fingernail lost to the unknown anxiousness of the night. The dinner went well, right? She hustled away on the food for a day or two and put the excellent cutlery out—you laughed throughout the night, talked to her, and complimented her. You wanted her opinion on topics, which barely happened to her in the first place! This night was…no, it is a smash, so why did she feel she was doing something wrong? Guilt in the back of her head slowly crept up like the common cold in an elementary school.

Heels clack against the title-checkered floors in the kitchen, and there you were, hand resting on the kitchen door frame, holding an empty wine glass by its stem. Your lipstick smeared onto the clean surface of the rim, and a small liquid of red wine remained in the cup. She didn’t notice you at first, too lost in her turbulent thoughts, till you said something.

“Mary,” you softly say, attracting her attention immediately.

It took her a second to recognize and respond to the name, but Annabeth did.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you; your husband just told me to tell you he’s resigning for the night,” you inform her sluggishly.

“Ah…” She exhales “..bless your heart, you didn’t hafta go through such a fuss just to tell lil’ ol’ me,” the blonde sputters, leaning against the kitchen counter, her bony finger tucking an out-of-place hairpiece behind her ear. “Does he always leave you to wash the dishes without helping ?” You griped, a crease forming between your brows as you set your wine glass on the counter closest to you. “ innit my duty, ya know, as a housewife or something,” she jokes, but you make your way toward her; “at least let me help…it’s the least I could do after you’ve given so much of your hospitality to me.” As you make your way to her, the more of you ingrates itself into all of her senses, the way your perfume smells so divine, the way the summer season has kissed your skin, and the way your lips move, sounding out every word that leaves them. 

The way… 

“Please…” Her soft hands stop you from coming further, the young woman’s voice timid yet light as a feather, “At least let me keep something of my hometown and give ya some southern hospitality. Yer real nice for looking out for me, but I don’t mind it.” She changes the subject so that you can no longer interject. “It’s late out. Do n’tcha got work in the morning, you mentioned earlier.” As if reality hit you, your eyes widened. “Ah! I forgot, gosh, I'm such a ditz; thank you again for your hospitality. You didn’t have to do anything; I really appreciate it.” you say in a hurry, and unbeknownst to you, the woman in front of you is heating up more than the fireplace in the next room. 

“No, thank you! For coming over and entertainin’ me,” She insists while fiddling with her frilly apron nervously. “I’m worried we’ll go on all night in a gratitude cycle if I don’t leave now. I’ll see you soon…I mean, we are neighbours,” you laugh.

“Mhm, I’ll see you…” Annabeth nods 

You smile and thank her again for good measure, then make your way out of the kitchen, but before you leave, you stop at the archway. 

Her breath hitches 

“Before I forget…and feel free to say no since you’ve done enough for me already, but you are the only person I know in this town. I was wondering if you don’t mind helping me with my work; clearly, I'm not a housewife, again, you can say..”

“I would love to!” She exclaims in excitement, “I mean…ahem, I would love to, anything to help,” 

“Then I'll see you soon,” you smile at her; by god, it's radiant.

When she hears the front door close and footsteps fading into the background, she squeals excitedly, having to bite her pointer finger to keep her voice down. She’s downright flush. The colour has finally seeped into her life, and it's like a rainbow after a rainy day; you, you are…you are something. She can tell you’re a great friend.

With newfound enthusiasm, she finishes cleaning the dishes in record time, finally putting down the wet rag before something catches her eye. The wine glass you left is still in the same place as before; she reaches for it and inspects it carefully. Usually, she would’ve washed it right away, but she doesn’t…she just stares at it, almost burning a hole in the damn thing. Yeah…she needs to wash it…dazed she grabs the damp rag near her, but that doesn’t clean the glass. No, her mouth moves without warning as her tongue caresses the rim where your lipstick was once stained. She was taking in the flavour of your lipstick and you, in a way, creating more smudges than there were in the first place.

There was a creak of a bed upstairs, a slight noise that snapped her out of whatever haze she was in, and her fingers twitched. Right, her husband. Her eyes automatically move toward the meat cleaver hanged. No, she changed; she has a new life now…she can’t. She looks down at the wine glass in her hand and bites one of her fingernails.

What is she doing?

And why…is her heart racing again?

She washes the cup but doesn’t put it back in its rightful place; instead, she hides it like a secret treasure. Finally, she resigns for the night, making her way up the stairs, and she hears it again: her husband moving in his sleep, causing the bed frame to creak.

Her fingers twitch involuntarily at her side.

It’s okay, though.

Now she has something to look forward to; she’ll see you soon.

End notes: What?...no! I wasn't gone for.... almost half of the year, hahaha... On a real note, every time I wrote, I felt like it was slop that should be burnt at the stake, but then it hit me last week that I'm literally writing for practice. I'm going to write slop, and that's okay!!! I also felt like I did too much for this fic, so I had to rewrite it so many times. But! in the holiday spirit! I'm back! I tried to write a country accent and input some 50s slang, but I don't know if either worked LOL!!! WATCH Carol (2015)!! Okay, I'll shut up now hehe

[hath-e]

A very late post about Banagher Links

There's a reason why I'm talking about this precious boy specifically today, and that is I want to talk about Gundam Narrative but I feel to skip over him and Full Frontal will make people miss a lot of the point.

So Banagher the main character of Gundam Unicorn, a show all about not giving up on people and giving second chances, he leads an ordinary life that seems dull for him and leaves him disconnected until he runs into another Newtype Audrey Burne or Princess Mineva Lao Zabi and it's as though his life gained a new purpose to with her.

And with that he falls to fate when he runs into his dying dad who entrusts the Unicorn to him, a machine with the ability greater than any to connect people together and yet it's still a machine of war.

I'm not going to do a full recap of the show but i am going to point out some important bits of it.

Banagher isn't without blood on his hands, he directly kills 3 people and is responsible for Full Frontals death even if that one could be counted as a suicide, and yet only one of those are with hatred in his heart and even then it isn't at Gilboa it's at Frontal and after it Banagher goes out of his way to not kill again, he intends on giving everyone a second chance even when faced with impossible odds and the show shows that he's correct for trying.

He's one of the strongest Newtypes in the UC ever to the point where by the end of the show the Unicorn becomes a like an extension of his body, it's like his consciousness came into the Unicorn, Banagher is the only one other than Rita to override the NT-D system on his own, turning it from a weapon that destroys Newtypes into a tool of connection between people and unlike Rita he came out of it with his body intact.

Banagher is a force of positivity and hope when faced against the nihilism of Frontal, when faced with the actuality of the end of time Banagher smiles in the face of nothingness and says "even so... ", Banagher is the personification of hope and believing in humanity no matter what (a complete opposite to Hathaway).

He's the perfect person to be the "next" Amuro Ray, just like how Full Frontal was the perfect clone of Char

"Humanity alone possesses a God. The power to transcend the now... the inner God called 'Possibility'" -Banagher Links

Tomorrow Xi Gundam mechanical design p1 and after Amuro Ray and how he affected Hathaway

(Img source is Gundam:Beyond)

[fionajames]

ethereal pt. I

A/N: Hey, guys! This is the 60 followers celebration!!! There will be more parts of this, don't worry. Please send some requests! i'm dying here. Enjoy!

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

Anakin had never really understood why he and his siblings seemed to always be on missions, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. With the continuous noise of the war, the quiet hum of the Temple was eerie and upsetting now. It unsettled him. Plus, he much rathered being with his troops - which was near impossible when off missions. 

Now he stood beside his sister as they exited hyperspace, on yet another mission. This time, it wasn’t a battle to fight. The Council wanted them to explore a strange planet, inquire if it had inhabitants and was a suitable place for a Republic base. Missions like these were usually pretty relaxed and easy-going.

The ship flew into the atmosphere of the planet, and Ahsoka gasped at the beauty of it’s terrain. Anakin stared in awe, and he heard Obi-Wan murmur a word of surprise. The planet had oceans of glimmering white and transparent water, the soft green of the forests meeting it with a delicate flow. 

As they flew closer, Anakin could see the reflection of their ship in the glimmering water, and heard Rex whisper, “Maker,” breathlessly. He couldn’t help but agree.

When the three Jedi, Clone Captain and Commander left the ship, they were met by the warm light offered by the sun, bathing them in a sense of deep peace. Ahsoka fell to her knees in the mosslike grace, her fingers running through the blades of it with content joy. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” the Togruta whispered, voicing their thoughts.

They set out into the forest, the song of the trees and birds floating in the air. Ahsoka had escaped into the canopy as she often did when they were in the woods. But, usually it was to hunt. Now, she didn’t dream of laying a finger on any of the planet’s fauna.

They continued on until Ahsoka’s voice called down to them. “I can see something up ahead,” she explained, leaping from one tree to another with wondrous ease. “It looks like a building.”

She was right, up ahead was a huge building - a castle of sorts.

It was tall and huge, a building of shimmering white limestone. It had pillars all around the front and sides that reached up to the second floor of the castle. It had steps leading up to a porch with huge white doors directly ahead. The building was huge, it looked like to be about an eighth of the size of the Jedi Temple, and it was far more ethereal.

Around the building, the forest ceased and melted into a huge garden, a pond on each side of the yard. The water was once again the whitish transparent colour of the seas. Flowers, trees and bushes decorated the garden.

The building was three stories tall, with strange etching into the walls. Between the first and second floor, the designs looked like ivy bound around tall, hooded and faceless beings. The creatures themselves weren’t faceless, but their faces and features could not be seen. They and their species remained anonymous. 

Above the first floor, the second floor had a large balcony, covering the area above the porch. The windows of the building were huge and of a darkish shade, as though tinted. The doors were also tall and huge, white paint covering them all - not even a scratch on any of them.

“Where are we?” Cody breathed out, reaching forward to rub a leaf between his thumb and index finger. Obi-Wan strolled forward, gazing around. The group trailed behind him as he moved to knock on the door of the building. No answer. Not even the sound of footsteps. He knocked again, then thrice, and nothing.

“Perhaps we should-” Rex began, but they all froze when the doorknob twisted in Obi-Wan’s grasp, and the door opened easily.

“Who would leave their door open?” Anakin wondered out loud as the ginger nodded, entering the house first. The interior of the house was no less beautiful and elegant than the outside, gold features as decor and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The house was lit by candles everywhere, their wicks gleaming with the flames. Instead of eerie, it was comforting.

Ahsoka wandered forward, reaching out and lacing the Force around her fingers. The feeling of it provided her solace, as she found the house so oddly warm and welcoming it worried her. She was the first to notice the first sign of something wrong.

“The candles,” she breathed out, moving to a beautiful mahogany desk where a set of candles were placed. She ran a finger down the wax, shivering as she did. “They’re burning low. No one has been here for a while.”

The others murmured their agreement, Anakin’s brow furrowing as he strode forward to stand by her side. He ran a fingertip over the surface of the desk, bringing his finger up to examine it. “But no dust.”

“I see no reason as to why someone living here - cleaning their furniture and house - would not replace the candles,” Obi-Wan mused. “After all, this house shows us extreme wealth, surely they can afford candle replacements?”

“Or why not use the lights?” Cody pointed out, gesturing to the unlit chandelier hanging above them. “So many beautiful lights, and none of them on?”

Rex shuddered. “There is clearly something wrong here. What, I do not know, but there is something wrong.” Anakin nodded, pulling his sister closer to him. 

“I suggest we explore. Perhaps someone has fallen dreadfully ill or is in danger,” Obi-Wan reasoned and the others all nodded their agreement. Together, they set off into the mansion. They agreed not to venture anyway alone as they explored, finding room after room after room. They encountered many pieces of beautiful furniture and more than one piano, as well as empty rooms and bathrooms and everything else imaginable.

They went upstairs as well, finding more and more rooms with beautiful things, bedrooms joining the list of rooms. Once they’d explored the entire house and found no inhabitants, they trekked back downstairs and ventured out through the back doors.

The garden around the back was just as beautiful as the one out the front, hedges of green and ponds of clear. There were statues out here as well, ivy tangled around them in a beautiful contrast between the green and white.

As they moved around the corner Ahsoka gasped, and the others turned to her. “What is it?” Obi-Wan asked gently and she pointed to the statue in front of her. The statue looked identical to her - a Togruta with the very same markings as her. It looked to be wearing some sort of toga, the fabric wrapped around the Togrutan girl. She looked a year or two older than Ahsoka, the ivy wound around her torso and laying in the bridge between her montrals. 

“She looks exactly like me,” Ahsoka whispered, reaching her finger up to trace the marking on her cheek. “Only a little older and wearing… whatever that is.” 

“Must be a coincidence,” Rex spluttered, slightly disturbed at the idea of a statue of his sister in someone’s garden. “Perhaps your ancestor.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured, turning and shuffling behind her best friend. Rex hugged her quickly before they continued on. It only took them a minute for her to speak up again. “Look! That’s Skyguy!” 

The group turned to where Ahsoka was pointing and sure enough, another statue stood. This one was a human male, who looked exactly as Anakin did, only his hair slightly longer. He too was wearing clothing like a toga, and he even had the same scar. “That can’t be a coincidence,” Anakin muttered, pointing at the scar over his right eye. “That’s identical to mine.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Cody suggested hurriedly, shivering. 

But Obi-Wan stopped him.

“We should look at the other statues too, perhaps they might give us a hint as to what is going on,” he decided and the others reluctantly agreed. They quickly found another statue, this one of none other than Obi-Wan.

Only minutes later, they inspected the last two statues to find that they were Rex and Cody, also in togas - just like the rest of them. It was strange seeing them in clothing other than their armour, but their scars on their faces showed it was definitely them.

“Can we please go now?” Rex asked, itching to get out of the garden. He glanced back at the house, staring at the candle’s flickering in the windows. He was holding Ahsoka close to his chest, worry evident on his face as she nodded eagerly.

“I suppose we should,” Obi-Wan agreed, brow furrowed. “But I am confused. How and why are the statues of us in this garden?” They all murmured their agreement, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation, but to no avail.

“Because,” a gentle, silky voice called from behind them and the five turned to see a young woman - around Anakin’s age - with stormy grey eyes, long wavy golden hair and tan skin, dressed in a strange white toga. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed!!! Send requests please!!!

(taglist: @transmascanakin, @techs-goggles9902, @skellymom)

[eriexplosion]

Clone Wars - Rookies

Now that I've got a laptop I can actually type on... time to get back into the rewatch with AN EPISODE THAT WILL PAIN ME.

'The best confidence builder is experience' yeah assuming that you get to have that and don't just get brutally killed on your first assignment. If you get past all of that, then you can get confidence building experience.

Unfortunately, because of the relentless demands of battle, many young clones must join the struggle before their intensive training has been completed.

LIKE COME ON. I'M FERAL. THEY DIDN'T EVEN GET TRAINED FULLY AND WERE SENT OUT ANYWAY. Tragic how that Just Has to Happen, there's no other way we definitely can't recruit people that aren't clones and have volunteered for this. That's impossible, sorry.

*checks time* we're at about 40 seconds now, I'm going to be so normal about this. Sooooo normal.

God though do I love Echo. I LIKE THAT IT'S SO QUIET OUT HERE :D GIVES ME TIME TO CATCH UP ON THE REG MANUALS :D what a nerd. A precious, precious nerd. Who knew that in a few short years they would be running around with a squad full of unadulterated chaos like the batch?

Shout out to Sergeant O'Niner for extreme handsomeness, I just love the greying look, so sue me.

Also Obi-Wan getting after Anakin for not sleeping, this is likely such a long running argument. I seem to remember the ROTS novelization said something about how Anakin didn't sleep for pretty much the entirety of it. BAD HABITS WILL GET YOU IN THE END. One day you're skimping on sleep to find General Grievous and the next you haven't slept in five days and you've murdered the younglings.

I love "Good man, that Cody" how often does Obi-Wan just randomly compliment Cody the instant he hangs up?

Hevy is so unimpressed by the meteor shower, in one last bit of humor before clone boys start dying. O'Niner's death is particularly brutal with the POV shot of three blasters gunning him down, but I hate all of it 😭Wasting absolutely no time cutting the clone numbers in half, including poor, unfortunately named Droidbait. (I can't get over that name, I simply can't. Nothing says awkward like memorializing your comrade Droidbait, who was murdered by droids.)

Also the specific way the droid changes its voice, the grabbing at its neck and apparently physically forcing its voice module into a clone voice. Upsetting to look at! But worth it for 'we do not need an inspection! Everything's fine! :)' Maximum suspicious behavior. And Cody's main reaction is just 'you know what? I need this to not be my problem. Rex is in charge.' I feel like we underestimate the amount of Little Shit Cody can be when he feels like it.

Mid typing of course, Cutup got eaten by an eel. RIP. I do feel like this part is played a little too lightly, they call out Cutup's name and say poor Cutup and all but no one seems all that like, distressed, that he's gone. At the very least that's 25% of their remaining manpower! Show some concern guys!

Moving on though, this lighting is doing Cody's paint job no favors.

I do love how unnerving the droid pretending to be a clone is though. Droid like 'how do clones act? Gestures? They gesture right?' and proceeds to do it in the worst way possible.

Rex is showing off a great dichotomy here, with Anakin and Ahsoka he always comes off as the cool headed one that tries to do things by the book, but when he hauls off and shoots the suspicious 'clone' in the face, Cody is HORRIFIED AND CONFUSED. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? One squad's voice of reason is another squad's absolute lunatic.

Speaking of characterization notes, I still find it a little odd that Fives has gotten the full party boy characterization of the Echo & Fives set in fanon when he's almost as rigid as Echo here, at least when set against Hevy. He introduces himself to Rex and Cody by his CT number and it's Hevy that fills in their actual names. I feel like he loosens up over the show, but he's definitely more by the book than people give him credit for. The real difference between the two as set up seems to be that Fives is a little more assertive (but kind of quieter) to Echo's soft spoken but chatty personality.

HANDPRINT THOUGH, HANDPRINT HANDPRINT. Literally if I could change one (1) small thing about TBB it's that I would give Echo back their handprint. I hate that they don't have it, it's integral damn it.

Rex breaking back in is still one of my favorite parts. Holding up the severed head up to the camera while Cody just goes THIS IS NEVER GOING TO WORK. Give him some credit, Cody, he knows what he's doing.

"Permission to take point, sir?" "I'm always first, kid."

Every day, Rex is just out here being unspeakably attractive. (And Echo is being unspeakably cute. "I GOT ONE :D")

Rex yet again showing his insane levels by going straight to 'guess we blow the whole place up' as his battle plan. No chill in this man, none at ALL.

Also, the detonator not hooking up with the handset. I can't believe that Hevy gets killed by fucking. Bluetooth issues. Imagine that your life rests on getting two pieces of technology to fucking communicate with each other. And Rex and Cody's immediate reaction is they need to GO BACK AND GET HIM RIGHT NOW, no one wants him to sacrifice himself, that wasn't what he was supposed to do when Rex left him to fix the detonator. I'm sure he gets hella survivors guilt from that. He left the rookie behind, it probably feels like his fault that Hevy is gone. Just pile the problems on him, just do it.

Echo having a tendency to make questionably timed jokes is. Certainly something. Like, Cutup gets eaten by an eel - that's why the regulations say don't go outside! Hevy gets blown up - Hevy always did hate that place! Like. Baby. Do you have to say that NOW? They perhaps have some filter issues.

Triumphant ending! Everyone except these two has died horribly! But they have medals you see!

It's still one of my favorite episodes though. All clones all the time, lots of chances to fawn over my boys, I can never turn that down. Echo my beloved ❤️

[junebugwriter]

Thoughts on Ahsoka

*Spoilers for the whole show*

The Ahsoka series is all about legacy. My hot take is that it is a second try at making a coherent sequel, grappling with the previous series of Clone Wars and Rebels, and putting it in the post-OT timeline. It has the benefit of being a narrative told from a more singular vision (Dave Filoni's) but is also unburdened by the expectation of being as massive a hit as the numbered films.  

First, let's talk about legacy. Star Wars is often derided because of its Chosen One narrative revolving around the Skywalker family, and how people shoulder or buckle under the expectation of doing Great Things. I think Ahsoka, in the tradition of Rebels, is trying to tell an auxiliary story about the world of science fantasy that Star Wars inhabits. Lucas has gone on record in saying that he was heavily influenced by old Flash Gordon serials, the Campbellian monomyth, Japanese samurai films, and WWII aerial dogfighting footage. These are strands in the DNA of Star Wars, and each series can lean into the various identities at the heart of this milieu. Star Wars can tell many kinds of stories; it’s big enough to encompass many visions, but always needs to remember the roots of which the stories spring from. 

Ahsoka, both the show and the character, is the bearer of a complex legacy. Show-wise, it exists as a continuation of the narrative threads of the Clone Wars and Rebels, orbiting around massive blockbuster films. In the story, Ahsoka is the apprentice of Anakin Skywalker, the would-be chosen one who turned and became the perhaps greatest villain of 20th century film, Darth Vader. In the narrative, Ahsoka is burdened by an impossible expectation. Her master is well-known throughout the galaxy as one of the most powerful Jedi in the order, despite not being considered a Jedi Master. In Rebels, it is shown she lost track of Anakin after their falling out. She assumed he had died in the purge of the Jedi Order. She is then proven wrong when she figures out that her mentor was now the right hand of the emperor.  

So, she is burdened by the mixed legacy of a heroic mentor turned terrifying force of evil. She carves her own path, a ronin samurai of a now-forgotten order of mystic knights. It is implied that, after the end of the events of Rebels, she took on an apprentice of her own in Sabine Wren. This, naturally, had a troubled ending. Sabine Wren is a Mandalorian, and that culture is one with an antagonistic relationship to the ways of the Jedi Order. Both Ahsoka and Sabine are hard-headed, stubborn, and have deep-seated trust issues. Each character comes by it honestly, but that makes for a difficult Master/Student relationship. 

That, of course, is mostly prologue. In the events of Ahsoka the show, their dynamic is the central relationship in focus. Sabine is driven by a desire to restore her lost family in finding Ezra, and Ahsoka is driven by a fear of a return of the Empire, the evil from her past she had thought she had grown beyond after the death of her former master. People have called the acting, especially in the first few episodes, wooden and stilted, but knowing the background of these characters and their parallel traumas, it makes sense. It makes sense for Ahsoka to default to being a loner, a ronin. Sabine regresses to her more teenaged rebellious nature, despite being in her late twenties/early thirties. She’s lost both her biological parents and her found family. She’s had to survive on her own, and feels abandoned by Ahsoka. So, when they reconnect, there is tension. Both have a lot riding on their minds, the legacies of their backgrounds overburdening them to the breaking point.  

Midway through the series is a crisis point, and the heroic pair fail. This is expected. Huyang told them to stay together, but they rebelled, went their own way. Ahsoka fell in battle, nearly dying. Sabine was overcome by the desire to see her old friend Ezra, and succumbed to the temptations of the fallen Jedi Baylan Skoll. The duo is scattered; master has failed apprentice, and apprentice has failed mentor.  

Episode 5, the best episode in the series, is an episode-long negotiation of this failure. Ahsoka wrestles with the spirit of her former master, in both metaphysical ways as well as a very real way overcoming her physical trauma. Anakin gives her a final, parting lesson: Fight, or die. Binary. Stark. Real stakes. Searching her history brings to the fore the trauma of being a child soldier, feeling abandoned by the institution that raised her, and grappling with the all-too-human failure of her master. She feared that she too would fall to the temptation of the dark side. She feared that getting close to Sabine would expose her vulnerability, which would leave her open to the darkness. But she instead navigates these very real fears, and chooses to see beyond fighting (the thing her master trained to do) and dying (the fear she grapples with in the absence of fighting). Instead, she breaks the binary, and chooses a secret third option: she chooses to live.  

What this means in practice is a change in demeanor. She was cold, closed off, and in her fear, she was unable to meet Sabine where she desperately needed to be met. “Ahsoka the white,” in direct reference to Gandalf of the Lord of the Rings, is a much more empathetic, trusting, and vulnerable person. She’s still recognizably Ahsoka, but her fears are less stark after facing death and failure. She has learned that failure need not equate death. Rather, that life is filled with failure. How one picks oneself up after that failure is the difference between falling to darkness and embracing light.  

As the series ends, when she is reunited with her apprentice Sabine, there is tension. Sabine knows she failed. But Ahsoka does not hold it against her. Ahsoka is instead understanding, empathetic. They grapple with the realities of the situation, and know that the stakes are high. It is no surprise then that, at the end, the climax is one of mixed success and failure, because that is life. Life is not just one thing. Ahsoka is not just one thing, not just one person. She is many things, because every person encapsulates multitudes, just like her master. She need not be afraid of failure, if there is some measure of success mixed in. Sure, they failed to stop the return of the most dangerous strategist in galactic history... but they also rescued their friend. They may be stranded in a strange land... but now they have another chance to figure out their relationship as master and apprentice. They have a chance at a new life. They did not die. They may have failed, but they still live. Because they live, they have a chance to change their circumstances before the end. 

Legacy weighs on all of us heavily. Life offers us no shortage of burdens. But we need not live in constant conflict, constant fear. We can choose the third option: we can choose to live. Forge a new path, our own path, one that’s honest. One that’s frail, to be sure. But one that is better when shared with a friend. Ahsoka is about legacy in the face of mythic times, but ultimately comes down to interpersonal relationships and healing.  

In the context of Star Wars, Ahsoka is about second chances. The sequel trilogy was a mixed bag at best. The TV shows have shown that you can explore this universe in more nuanced ways than a blockbuster film can afford. Ahsoka proves, then, that you can get a second chance at second chances.  

[the-firebird69]

They're far less more like around than they used to be and they're in the cities and they're fighting clones it's a massive fight tons are dying huge numbers okay giant giant numbers are fighting it's a massive massive fight and it is continuous. And it's Non-Stop the losses are huge about a quarter to 3/4 clones to moloch pretty soon the molar going to be very very thin everywhere and non-existent in the cities and they will call for them to be exterminated and the clothes will be engaged by Max and foreigners and it's happening tonight and they will be outlawed before Guantanamo bay and the red incident I ran and it is because they're saying it all the time now and because they're going to be gone meaning in numbers small enough to kick out shortly too so it's a matter of moments well they always do this Martini we're tiny we're almost gone and get sucked into the cities and we're really going after the holes that's true too and there's a ton of them going but they're not gone yet Stan says it too this is impossible you keep coming in here and messing it up and right now there's a battle going on over the allegiant Air resort in over the hospital put the Gorda and Port Charlotte and it is roaring okay and that's actually happening they're fighting hard over it and it's getting harder and harder and Saturn approaches, phone types of purposes it's only a day and a half away and starts to disappear behind the Sun and that's the signal and they're moving out right now and they're going to fight hard and there's going to be some noises out here not too many a lot of fighting and boy do they deserve it when a nasty crowd it's going to thin them out sufficiently we hope for the contract to come today Tuesday and that might be wise sings the song probably not but okay it might be when he gets outlawed and that's not coming up today yet either that's something that will happen tomorrow afternoon and one of them is Luke Skywalker and he's going to be overseas in the Star wars side that begins and soon it's a war

Thor Freya

[helloliriels]

More fake fics for you! @glows-n-the-dark

... And That Was The Last Time

She was a beautiful, pale young woman. With dark, raven curls and a striking resemblance to someone ...

Someone he knew ...

But who?

While Sherlock pondered the matter, she held her hands outstretched. As if asking him to inspect her closer?

Sherlock was never one to be shy. Besides 'The Woman', no female had ever held his attention for longer than the facts of her case required.

And she held still. Awaiting his assessment. His approval?

Clinical in her patient, knowing gaze.

And the lightbulb clicked on.

John Watson.

She had Sherlock's hair. Sherlock's pale skin. Sherlock's tall, elegant stature ...

But this woman, was somehow and yet ... John.

In the glint of her eyes. The set line of her lips ... the unassuming and almost disarming smile.

"You see him?" She asked. Pleased.

Sherlock eyed her with reserve. Curiosity warring with the instinct to doubt.

"You want to trust me," she stated.

It was a fact.

He did not dispute it. Nodding almost imperceptibly for her to go on ...

"I am John Watson's daughter." She went on. Making Sherlock’s stomach clench and twist in grief.

Until she said the next words:

"And I am your daughter."

Sherlock blinked. How? When? This was impossible! He had neither seen John Watson, nor heard from him since Mary's death 2 years ago!

The rain continued to pour. Soaking them both through, as they stood against the tide of pedestrians running for shelter ... for warmth.

Fools in the street. John would have called them. Standing here.

Sherlock could not care less how foolish he looked. Getting drenched.

His breath was held. Incredulous.

Sherlock allowed himself the slight memory, before the pain returned. Every time he thought of John ... it stung. A wound that could never heal. And the panic attack hit.

But here? Here stood irrefutable proof, that perhaps healing was possible?

"When?" He asked, at last. When he had collected himself.

"20 years from now," she answered. Truth in her words, despite the fact this should be nonsense to his ears ... he knew she meant it.

"John came to you. He was dying. You made a plan. You asked him for this. So that he would live on."

"But what happened?" Sherlock could sense there was danger, "where is John??"

"... that was the last time you saw him ..."

Her eyes now fell, "... alive."

Sherlock waited.

He knew she had more to say.

He would wait 50 years if he had to!

"You need to find John Watson today," She said. No longer patience, but concern lacing her voice,

"This is the day that John Watson decides to love you, or to lose you forever ..."

Sherlock understood.

He had sent her. John ... had sent her.

"Did I tell him I loved him ... in time?" Was all he asked. He needed to know.

She shook her head, and his heart fell ...

but she quickly reacted to comfort him - correcting her error, "you showed him, instead."

He blinked back the tears. The joy and hope that flooded him with her words!

Her hand fell on his arm,

"Show him sooner? Yeah?

He's waiting."

***

Sci-Fi, Time Travel, Cloning, Fix-It Fic

The Colors of You

Sherlock sat rewatching the video of John's wedding.

He shouldn't.

He can't help himself.

His eye fixated on finding and pausing each time. Trying to catch the myriad expressions on John’s face throughout the night. How the suit fit him to perfection. How the sunlight would catch on his hair, tinging it gold ...

Sometimes rewinding. Just to see it again.

Why hadn't the camera stayed on John?

He should have held it, to make sure!

Sherlock didn't care about the decorations, the bridesmaids, the halls, the vows, the guests, the ... speech.

Sherlock hit fast forward.

Wanting to throw the tape. To throw up. The evidence of his bald-faced confession. Too little. Too late. And Mary's smile beside.

His eye caught. Pausing just as the camera turned again to John ...

There.

Sherlock practically fell out of his chair to look closer! Get closer! The pixels on the screen a blur of red and blue and green ...

But the expression on John's face ...

... was not one he'd expected to see?

John was looking up at him, midway through the speech.

He knew that face. That look.

He had worn it often himself:

'You look sad, when you think he can't see you.'

He tried to stifle the tears that threatened to burn at his throat. All his well made plans to not get involved ...

Covering his mouth with a shaking hand, as the phone rang and the sound escaped anyways.

He couldn't speak.

John's voice interrupted before he had to!

"Are you at home? Wait for me! I just saw the video. I'm so sorry, Sherlock - I've been a complete and utter piss-pot! You can tell Anderson later, but don't go anywhere?! Yeah? I'm coming! Jesus, I'm an idiot! Wait for me??"

Sherlock could not believe his ears. John was coming here? Was he angry?

"I- I'm, I'm waiting, John. I- I'm here."

"Christ! F*ck, I can't get there fast enough! I'm going to say it now. I can't not say it!"

Sherlock felt his stomach tighten in fear. His grip on the phone, a vice that might break it.

He looked back up at that adoring gaze from the screen, proving John had loved him ... at least for one moment ...

"I'm almost there! I can-I can wait, I just ... need to see your face, when I say it! I'm coming up, and so help me God - I'm done waiting!"

Sherlock jumped to his feet at the sound of a familiar footfall racing up the stairs towards him. The door flung wide to the colors no longer trapped there on his screen ...

But standing before him ...

Vulnerable.

Hopeful.

Touchable.

"I love you."

They both spoke in a rush.

There was a shuffle of feet as they collided. Hugging, kissing, feeling.

The controller bumped, clumsily on the ground in their haste ...

Soft muffled sounds fading towards the bedroom, as the TV came back to life and played his words to a now echoing room,

"... and we have a lifetime ahead to prove it."

The door to the bedroom clicked, and the colors on the screen blurred. Static of an eaten tape. Blue. And red. And green.

Read the response to 'Just Once More, Please' answered previous. 💚

[imagineyourworld]

Paper Rings

Howzer x Genderneutral!Reader 

Summary: Will you marry Howzer even though he can’t offer you the shiny things you’re used to? (Inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same title) 

Warnings: Like one mention of war and allusion of poverty, otherwise just tooth rotting fluff 

Check out my other work here

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What was he thinking? Your parents were a Duchess and Duke on your home planet, they were friends with the Syndullas, you grew up in a mansion and here Howzer was, wanting to marry you. Not only did he not have much property, most people considered him property, He couldn’t offer you what you were used to, what you deserved. But no matter how often he told himself that he shouldn’t ask you to marry him, he just had to. He couldn’t take the thought of dying without ever having told you just how much you mean to him, how much he wants to spend the rest of his life, however long, with you.  But today, he finally decided, was the day. The war was over, for the first time since Howzer could remember there was something resembling peace, and you’d be arriving later that day.  Just a few days ago you had commed him, telling him that you had asked your parents to let you finish your university education on Ryloth and they agreed. So you will spend the next two years right there next to him, And afterwards you could look for a job on Ryloth, or maybe, now that the war was over, Howzer could find a way to escape the army and the two of you could settle on your home planet or any corner of the galaxy you wanted. Provided you said yes.  Howzer was on duty most of the day, which is why he couldn’t greet you the second you set foot on Ryloth. But as soon as his shift ended he hurried to the Syndullas’ house, in the garden of which the two of you had been secretly meeting for the past two years.  Or maybe not so secretly, he thought as he saw Hera waving at him from the window of her bedroom.  “Great”, Howzer muttered. He liked Hera, loved her like a little sister even, but he really didn’t want anyone watching this proposal. No one should know, in case you said no, an answer for which Howzer had to be prepared for. That’s the reason he had decided against asking for Eleni’s help in choosing a ring. Instead he had gone with a small silver band, engraved with the initials for both your and his first names. It was classic and simple.  And cheap, the nagging voice in his head insisted. Of course there had been many more beautiful rings, but the truth was that he couldn’t afford any of them, even the engraving had almost blown his budget.  He finally reached the bush behind which he knew you were hiding. The second he stepped around it and into your eyesight you had your arms wrapped around Howzer.  “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you”, you greeted him.  Howzer hugged you back for a few seconds before letting go to press a gentle kiss to your lips.  “I missed you more”, he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours.  You shook your head, a smile on your lips.  “That’s impossible.”  With a matching smile, though maybe just the slightest bit more nervous, Howzer grabbed your hand and lead you over to a thick log on the ground.  As soon as the two of you sat down you rested your head on his shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable, due to his armour, but being uncomfortable with Howzer was million times better than being comfortable alone.  Howzer tried his best not to look you in the eyes, which was a lot easier with your current position, because he knew the second you really looked at him you’d be able to tell that he was nervous about something. And he wanted to stall for just a few more moments, just in case the question he was about to ask would ruin everything.  “So”, he started. “How was your day?”  He didn’t need to ask twice. You began telling him all about the beautiful room the Syndullas had set you up in until you could find an apartment of your own. The university campus you had seen for the first time today and the classes you would take this semester.  “I can’t believe I’m finally going back to university after I had to leave when this stupid war started. Although, without this stupid war we never would have met, so I suppose that’s one positive thing about this whole kriffing mess.”  It’s now or never, Howzer thought.  “Speaking of us...”, he said. He nudged your head with his shoulder to make you lift it before taking both your your hands into his and looking you deep in the eyes. “I really don’t know how to say this. I’ve tried to practice, but everything sounded wrong, so I suppose I’ll just wing it.”  A horrified expression made its way to your face and if Howzer’s hands hadn’t been sweating so much he would have noticed moisture gathering in your own palms.  “Howzer, my darling, are you breaking up with me?”, you asked, voice shaking and tears threatening to spill. You couldn’t believe it. Just a few days ago he had seemed so happy to have you on Ryloth with him, he had told you he loved you, and now this?  Before you could do or say anything else Howzer began shaking his head frantically.  “No! Stars, no! Cyare, just listen to me.”  You nodded, although still a bit shaky.  “I’m so happy to have you here with me for the next two years, but that made me realize, or rather it’s one of the things that made me realize, that I want to have you right next to me for the rest of my life. I don’t know how long my life will be, even now that the war is over, I don’t know what the empire will do with us clones, but if you’ll let me, I will do everything in my power to never leave your side. I know I can’t offer you much, I don’t have a mansion like the one you grew up in, or even a house to call me own, I can’t give you jewelry or fine clothes or the best food, but everything I have, everything I am, I can give to you. I offer you my heart and my soul and I promise to do whatever I can to make you happy for as long as you want me to.”  After his last words he let go of one of your hands and knelt down in front of you on the ground. In the same swift motion he pulled a simple black box out of his holster where his blaster should be.  “(Y/N), cyar’ika, mesh’la, my beloved, my beautiful, my darling, my sun and stars, will you marry me?”  The tears that had been in your eyes earlier were now floating. Never had anyone said something like that to you, offered you so much and asked a question you never knew you wanted to hear.  But Howzer, in his worried state, misinterpreted your tears. He sat the box down on the ground and put a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t want to marry a man who cannot offer you the riches you’re used to.”  Tears were now making their way down his cheeks as well. You shook your head, slowly at first, then violently. How could he think that that’s why you’re crying?  “Howzer, I love you. I love you whether you’re the richest man in the galaxy or the poorest, it doesn’t matter. I may like shiny things, but I’d marry you no matter what, even if you proposed with a paper ring.”  Within seconds his expression went from shock to relief to pure happiness and love. He lifted the box from the ground again and opened it, showing you the ring inside.  “It may not be paper, but I doubt this is worth much more.”  Laughter bubbled past your lips. Without thinking you leaned down and pressed a kiss to Howzer’s forehead, another to his cheeks, his eyelids and his nose, before your lips finally connected in a loving kiss.  “I still need an answer, mesh’la”, Howzer mumbled against your lips after you had separated to catch your breath.  You wouldn’t have thought it possible to smile even wider, but somehow you did.  “Yes. My answer is yes, Howzer. I will marry you.”  With a smile matching yours, and after another quick kiss, he gently slipped the ring on your finger.  And even though it was probably the cheapest thing you owned, it was also the most valuable and you loved it almost as much as the man who had given it to you. 

-------

I know my usual day to post is Friday, but I was listening to Paper Rings and thinking of the latest Bad Batch episode and this fic just came to me and I couldn’t wait to write and share it. 

[clonesimpextra]

A Shattered Peace: Chapter 3

Idiot's Array

[previous] [next]

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.9K Series Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+ Only) Chapter Summary: With a few missions under her belt, Amara contemplates her place around the clones - especially when Wolffe is still determined to get on her last nerve. Chapter Content: Some explicit sexual content (masturbation (f)) A/N: Oh look! Some spice! And more angst! Link to AO3

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“Commander.”

“Sir.”

“Commander.”

A few weeks earlier, Amara had been convinced that she’d never get used to being called “Commander” or “Sir”. But now, with a few missions under her belt and a couple hundred clones passing her on the Triumphant every day, she found herself responding to both titles without hesitation.

She wasn’t entirely sure she liked this development. Even if she knew that, coming from the clones, the titles were signs of respect.

Still, the ease with which the Jedi had seemed to slot themselves into the war bothered Amara, even as she herself grew accustomed to her new role in the galaxy. 

She wasn’t so naive as to think that Jedi hadn’t been trained to be warriors before the creation of the GAR, but there was a difference between defense and offense. And Amara couldn’t always tell, in the heat of battle or afterward, if she was defending the galaxy from the harmful actions of others or if she was the one instigating pain and suffering.

It was troubling. 

But no matter her feelings about the war, she couldn’t help but admit that she was glad it had brought her to the clones. 

With hundreds of clones making up the 104th, it was impossible to know every single one - especially when so many (too many) were lost to each mission, with more always arriving to replace the fallen. And though Amara had her own opinions about the Republic buying men created for war to fight its battles and keep the polished upper echelons of the inner-rim planets clean, she couldn’t deny that there were no people she’d rather fight alongside.

Even so, as the weeks passed, Amara was becoming increasingly aware that her interactions with the clones didn’t extend much beyond the battlefield. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to fit in their lives outside of the adrenaline-filled atmosphere of blaster shots and grenades. Would they want to speak with their commander in their down time? Would they want to get to know the person who would likely lead them to their deaths?

The handful of clones Amara had immediately bonded with - the ones she’d trained alongside and shared stories with on the Triumphant in the days before their first mission - had already either died on the battlefield or in the medical tents afterward. 

She mourned all of them. Their names and their Force colors echoed in her mind with every breath she took.

Amara tried her best to let the pain of losing each one of them go. She knew the Jedi tenements on attachments were often misconstrued, and she wasn’t afraid of losing those she loved - it was the way of life, after all. But still, something about these men - her men - dying before even really getting the chance to live hit her harder than she expected.

All she knew was that she wanted all of them, or as many as possible, to feel like their lives were at least in the hands of someone who cared. To know that she would, and did, mourn their deaths. 

Amara knew what it was like to stare death in the face and wonder if anyone would even remember your name. She vowed that none of the men in the 104th would have to carry that particular weight.

Plus, downtime on the Triumphant was incredibly lonely when you didn’t have anyone to talk to. Not even a surly co-commander.

Amara swore she had felt something from Wolffe the day in the training room and his office, when he’d actually listened to her and offered advice. When she’d returned to own room hours later, she’d felt much more confident and prepared for the upcoming mission and had been hopeful that they would make a good team - if not friends, then at least partners who could share the burden of command and rely on one another for support.

But then the first mission happened. And Amara was fairly certain any good will she’d earned in Wolffe’s mind had been completely erased.

The mission had been a relatively simple one on the Separatist planet of Nivek: get in, get the prisoners, destroy some battle droids, and get out. And, as much as possible, avoid any confrontations with the natives.

Amara’s group was responsible for the “get the prisoners” part of the mission, which should have been the easiest with Wolffe’s and Master Plo’s groups causing distractions to clear the way in and out. And it had been easy - until one of the prisoners turned on them.

The man, seemingly convinced that his stint as a prisoner was a better fate than returning to the Republic (Amara wasn’t really sure, she’d only heard so much of his yelling while trying to keep everyone around her alive), only managed to attack one of the clones, but in the process had alerted Separatist forces to their position.

Amara knew she should have immediately alerted Wolffe and Master Plo to what had happened. She knew that. 

Well, now she knew that. 

In the moment, though, she’d fallen back on old, pre-war training.

She wasn’t used to having an entire battalion to call upon - only herself and those immediately around her. So, Amara had done just that, using what she could feel and see, to get her people to safety. 

Unfortunately that involved a lot of the Force. 

Too much of the Force. 

So much of the Force that Boost, one of the clones in her group - already dwindling in numbers after the unexpected attack - had to leave his position to help her to the pick-up zone once they cleared the Separatist base. It was only by sheer luck that more of them hadn’t died or been seriously injured with Amara unable to deflect any blaster fire along the way.

When they arrived at the pick-up zone, Wolffe was already waiting and he was pissed. Even if Amara hadn’t been so tuned into his emotions through the Force, she would have been able to tell from the seething anger radiating from his eyes when he pulled his helmet off in front of her. The natural darkness of the planet had prevented Amara from seeing the full glory of his glare, but every ounce of his disapproval leaked into his voice.

“With all due respect, commander, what were you thinking?” He’d all but shouted at her as she leaned against Boost’s side.

Still recovering from the overexertion caused by using the Force in the way she had, Amara was only able to mumble an apology before the gunships meant to take them back up to the Triumphant had landed.

She didn’t remember much after that, only coming fully to about an hour later in the med bay with a concerned Kel Dor sitting vigil next to her bed.

Master Plo hadn’t said anything to her about the mission - he hadn’t needed to. Amara had felt guilty enough, carrying the weight of the deaths of three clones and one civilian (even if he had turned on them) in the very depths of her being.

Their’s weren’t the first lives she’d ever been responsible for, but they were the first of this war. And Amara knew they were only the beginning of what was to come.

She needed to do better. And she was fairly certain she had been.

That first night she’d gone over and over and over every misstep she’d made on Nivek, everything she could have done even a little bit better. She’d even tried to find Wolffe - to apologize, to do something - but whenever she was free, he was always busy. And Amara had a feeling that wasn’t just a coincidence.

Especially when, despite how well their next missions went, Wolffe avoided her.

He kept himself as far away from her as possible, only appearing in the same space in briefing rooms or in the middle of a fight when he literally had no other choice. And even then, he was always either questioning her actions or ignoring her. 

And his emotions . . . 

Try as hard as she might, Amara couldn’t figure out a way to keep his emotions from leaking into hers. And whether he was feeling anger or pride or frustration, they always projected on to her, influencing her own attitude more times than she’d like to admit.

But still, she hadn’t messed up once since that first mission, at least not as far as she could tell. Wolffe had no right to project those feelings on to her - unknowingly or otherwise.

It was all really starting to piss her off.

And so, as she walked into the hangar, nodding at more passing clones, Amara was determined to prove that the problem was her co-commander, not her.

“Commander on deck!”

The words, spoken by some clone - Flick, Amara thought - off to the side of the door she’d just walked through, rang through the hangar as everyone stopped what they were doing to turn and salute.

As used as she was becoming to being called “Commander” and “Sir”, Amara didn’t think she’d ever get used to this. 

She smiled and quickly waved a hand, “At ease.”

Once everyone went back to their previous tasks, Amara glanced around the hangar. Clones and other non-clone mechanics were spread out all over, working on ships and talking amongst themselves. For such a crowded and lively place, Amara wasn’t quite sure why she suddenly felt so alone.

What was she doing here? Trying to make friends? She was a commander, for Force sake, meant to lead, not mill about hoping that one of the people under her command would invite her into their group to make small talk. 

Suddenly embarrassed, Amara fidgeted, trying to figure out a way to leave that wouldn’t make her look even less like an outsider.

“No offense, Commander, but you look a bit lost.”

Amara turned, wide-eyed, to see a clone smiling down at her. Even if it hadn’t been for his unique hair: shaved into two stripes and dyed a red that (unbeknownst to everyone but Amara) matched his Force color, she would have known Boost anywhere. 

Besides being the one to save her life in their first mission, Boost was one of the handful of clones who had routinely teamed up with her since, and Amara had come to appreciate his quick wit and steady demeanor.

Tension easing off her shoulders at the sight of someone she was pretty sure wouldn’t resent her presence, Amara smiled back, rolling her eyes. “Nice to see you, too, Boost.”

“Aw, come on Commander,” he winked at her, “you know I’m always happy to see you.” He nodded to a pile of crates in the far corner of the hangar where two other clones were sitting and gestured for her to follow him. “What brings you to this end of the ship if we’re just on our way back to Coruscant?”

“Maybe I knew you were here and wanted to say hi.”

Boost smirked at her over his shoulder as they approached the crates. “Let’s make it worth your while then, eh?”

Before Amara could do more than laugh, Boost turned and shouted, “Sinker! Comet! The Commander’s bored, get the cards.”

Horrified, Amara grabbed his arm. “Boost! You can’t just go around shouting that I’m bored!”

“Why not?” He shrugged, still smiling, “We are, too.”

Amara let her hand fall and watched as Boost walked the rest of the way to Sinker and Comet, who, for their part, didn’t look all that disturbed at the idea that their Jedi commander might be bored. 

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To get to know the boys. And besides, Boost hadn’t lied: she really was bored. 

Hoping she wasn’t breaking some rule in the GAR handbook, Amara made her way to the three men and assessed the situation. 

Boost and Sinker were arguing over the deck of cards in Sinker’s hands while Comet sat on a crate shaking his head. He caught Amara’s eye and smiled. 

She didn’t know Comet all that well, aside from the fact that his Force color was a bright yellow and he was an exceptional shot in the field, but he��d always been kind to her.

Smiling back, Amara walked up to him and nodded to Sinker and Boost. “What’s going on there?”

Comet chuckled, leaning back on the crate. “Every time we play Sabacc, those two argue over who gets to deal. Couple weeks ago Boost dealt, but we found out he was cheating the whole time. Sinker hasn’t let him deal since and Boost’s starting to take it a bit personally.”

“Sabacc, huh?” Amara leaned a hip against Comet’s crate and thumbed at a loose thread on the sleeve of her tunic. “I never did learn how to play that one.”

Their little corner suddenly went quiet and Amara’s eyes flitted between the clones. Comet had turned to face her fully, mouth slightly ajar in shock, and Sinker and Boost had stopped arguing in favor of staring at her with raised eyebrows. She felt her cheeks warm and she cleared her throat.

“What are you all staring at me for?”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to play Sabacc?” Sinker asked as Boost shook his head and moved a crate to the middle of their circle.

Amara shrugged and shifted from one foot to the other, “I just never learned. Now, Dejarik, on the other hand . . .” She pulled herself up to her “commander” stance and smiled brightly, “I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

Sinker, whose silver hair wasn’t quite as vibrant as the white that shone through his Force color, snorted and turned to the crate Boost had moved, keeping the cards out of the other clone’s reach. “Well, us clones are practically raised on Sabacc - not much else to do during downtime on Kamino - so prepare to learn from the best, Commander.”

Boost smiled up at her from his perch on another crate and nodded to the one across from him. “Not every day we get to teach a Jedi new tricks, either.”

Amara rolled her eyes at their laughter and sat down. “Settle down, boys. Jedi or not, I’m still just as human as you are.”

Preoccupied with the cards Sinker had already started throwing on the crate-turned-table, Amara didn’t catch the three clones glancing at each other at her words, but she certainly felt their surprise through the Force. 

She looked up, first at Boost, then Comet, then Sinker and felt her heart drop at their wide-eyed expressions. Did they . . . not think they were human? Or did they just not expect someone who wasn’t a clone to see their humanity?

The idea disturbed Amara and reminded her that no matter how much she thought she knew about the clones, she’d never really understand what it was like for them. That didn’t mean she couldn’t try, but she had a feeling that, right now, they’d all much rather just play Sabacc.

So she tossed a cocky grin at Boost. “Heard you’re quite the cheater, Boost, ol’ boy.”

And just like that the tension in the air slowly began to dissipate. 

Amara tapped the side of her head. “Just know that it’s never a good idea to cheat around a Jedi.”

Boost narrowed his eyes and leaned forward across the crate. “How do we know you won’t use your,” he waved his hands between them, earning an eye roll from Sinker, “Force magic to cheat, huh?”

Amara laughed, stopping when Comet raised an eyebrow at her, smirk pulling at his lips. “He has a point, Commander.”

Amara stared at the clones as even Sinker shrugged at her. “I’m wounded, truly I am. I can’t believe my own men would think I’d cheat.” She shook her head, unable to keep a smile off her face for long.

“You sure you’re not going to just read our minds to know what our cards are?”

Amara snorted as she picked up the cards Sinker had set in front of her. “Sorry to disappoint, Boost, but that’s not how the Force works.” 

Boost opened his mouth to argue further, but Sinker slapped him on the back of the head. “The commander doesn’t need to cheat, you di’kut. Now pick up your cards.”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant,” Boost mumbled. But when he glanced back up at Amara, he was smiling.

“Alright, now that this kid’s been placated we can start.” Sinker began explaining the rules to Amara, noting the different suites and which combinations to look out for. 

As she listened, not even bothering to hide the small smile on her face, Amara felt, for the first time since this war began, that maybe she’d found a place where she could belong.

* * *

“You had a decent run, Commander, but all good things have to come to an end, you know.” Boost smirked as he threw down his cards. “Twenty-three straight beats everything, I’m afraid.”

Amara sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Ya got me, Boost.”

Boost’s smirk grew into a grin and he reached across the crate toward the pile of sweets they’d been using as payment. “No need to sound so sad, Commander. There’s always next time. After you’ve had a bit more practice.”

Amara bit her lip and waited until Boost had started pulling the loot toward his side of the crate before she reached a hand out to stop him.

“Wait, Sinker, didn’t you say this was called something?”

She placed her cards carefully in the middle of the table and the three clones went quiet.

“A ‘Moron’s Array’ or something like that?” Amara asked, voice as sweet as the candy under Boost’s hands but still not enough to hide her glee.

Sinker, wide-eyed, cleared his throat. “An ‘Idiot’s Array’, Commander.”

Amara snapped her fingers and nodded. “Right! The only combination that can beat a straight twenty-three!” She smiled across at Boost, who was still glaring at the offending cards. “Three out of four to me. Guess I’m ending on a good run, then.”

The silence was broken up by a shout of laughter from Comet. “You’re never going to live this down, Boost.” He turned to Amara and saluted. “Thank you, Commander, truly.”

Amara smiled but kept her eyes on Boost, whose glare had turned to a look of longing at the pile of sweets he hadn’t actually won. As funny as she found her win and the men’s subsequent shock at her quick take to Sabacc, she had no desire to deprive them of something she had a feeling they saw all too rarely. 

Besides, she’d won more than enough just by getting to spend the hyperspace journey away from the loneliness of her quarters.

Amara leaned back on her crate and kicked the table closer to Boost. “You know, I don’t actually like sweets.”

Boost looked up at her then, eyes narrowed again. “What do you mean you don’t like sweets? Who doesn’t like sweets?”

Amara shrugged and pushed the pile closer to him. “I’d hate for my winnings to go to waste, so,” she gestured around, “eat up, I guess.”

Comet reached into the pile. “Don’t have to tell me twice, Commander.”

Sinker chuckled and quickly followed suit, “Me neither.”

Boost grabbed both of their hands before they could make away with any of his stash. “She was talking to me!”

“No, she wasn’t,” Comet scoffed. “She was talking to all of us. Right, Commander?”

Trying not to laugh, Amara opened her mouth to answer when she was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps behind her.

“What’s going on here?”

Amara closed her eyes and sighed. Though she’d begun to differentiate the clones’ voices over the past few weeks, she wasn’t always able to decipher who was who based on voice alone. For some reason, Wolffe was the exception to that rule. Because why wouldn’t he be?

Something about his particular cadence struck Amara as uniquely his own. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only clone over the past few weeks who’d routinely yelled at her, questioned her, doubted her. 

Or maybe her attention to his voice came from the same place that begged her to let down her walls and see his color every single time she caught sight of him.

Whatever the reason, Amara knew it was Wolffe behind her. And, based on the clipped edge of his words, he wasn’t happy.

Big surprise there, she thought before steeling herself and turning around to face him.

“Commander Wolffe.”

His helmet was clipped to his belt, so Amara felt the full weight of his stare as he glared down at her with eyes that had no right to be so warm when for the past while he’d been treating her only with coldness. 

Still, Amara would be a liar if she didn’t admit that his stare - those honey golden eyes the exact same as and yet completely different from nearly every other pair around them - never failed to send a shiver down her spine. 

“Commander Kora,” his eyes stayed on her. “I didn’t realize you had reason to be down here.”

Amara bristled at his words and crossed her arms as she stood. “I didn’t realize I needed a reason to be in the hangar, Commander.”

Comet, Sinker, and Boost were resolutely quiet behind her, their silence adding to the thick tension Wolffe had brought with his arrival. Knowing that their conversation would likely only turn even further south, she spoke up again.

“I think the Commander wants to talk, so take the sweets, boys. And Boost,” she turned her head toward him and flashed him a small smile, “don’t forget to share.”

“Yes, sir.” Boost winked at her as he and the others gathered the sweets and cards and left Amara and Wolffe alone.

When she turned back to him, Wolffe was staring at the three retreating clones, his mouth in a tight line and eyes narrowed. 

“You were playing Sabacc?”

His voice was gruffer than usual and Amara pulled herself up straighter. He was mad. She didn’t know at what, but he was. And Force if the extra hard edges in his words didn’t send a thrill through some depraved part of her mind while simultaneously pissing her off. Again.

“They were teaching me.”

Wolffe turned his narrowed eyes back to her. “So instead of letting them work, you talked them into teaching you a card game.” 

Amara felt her own eyes narrow at his insinuation, her arms uncrossing and fists clinching at her side. 

“There’s not exactly a lot going on at the moment, Commander.” She gestured at several other groups around the hangar who were either playing their own card games or lounging around the ships. “Are you going to go chastise them, too, or is that something you save just for me?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and Amara silently cursed herself as she felt her cheeks warm under Wolffe’s glare. And at the thought of just how much the idea of him chastising her was starting to turn her on. 

Where were these thoughts coming from? 

Regardless, she kept her posture straight and refused to move her eyes from his. He could move first this time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Commander.”

Amara couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes. “Sure you don’t, Wolffe.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t do anything other than continue to stare at her. But, as always, Amara could feel him. 

She could feel his anger, wrapped around confusion, wrapped around . . . something just as heated and thrilling as his anger and something Amara herself was becoming all too familiar with whenever she was around him. So much of these feelings swirled in her mind, spreading to every part of her body, that she couldn’t exactly tell who was responsible for what.

Desperately trying to push her own confusion away, Amara narrowed her eyes and continued, keeping her voice low to avoid gaining the attention of anyone else.

“Ever since our first mission, you’ve treated me like I’m something you have to tolerate instead of what I actually am: your co-commander. Your co-commander. We’re supposed to be a team here but you can’t even be around me for a few minutes without brushing me off. And I know-” Amara paused, chest heaving from the heat of both of their feelings and just barely able to keep her voice from wavering. 

“I know I fucked up that mission. I know. But you don’t have a right to hold that over my head. Unless you hate me,” she scoffed, “Or you actually, genuinely believe that I’m bad at this job.”

She stared at him, waiting for some kind of response or explanation, but still he remained quiet. The only movement his eyes flicking from her glare to further down her face. 

Shaking her head, Amara pushed past him to leave, ready to put some distance between herself and the tension between them. But before she could get too far, she felt a jolt through her body as a hand wrap around her wrist, tugging to keep her from going further.

“I don’t hate you.”

The words were spoken so quietly Amara wasn’t entirely sure she was meant to hear them. But she had. And as her stomach tightened at the combination of his words and the feel of his fingers against her wrist, her chest longed for his color even more. 

And her body ached for his touch on more than just her wrist. 

This wasn’t even the first time, but - she suddenly thought back to the training room and the shock she’d felt when he’d placed his hand in hers, the need to move closer so overwhelming she’d had no choice but to step back - it was every bit as exhilarating. 

More so than a simple touch had any right being.

She didn’t pull away this time.

Instead, Amara looked down at their hands - Woffe’s black glove against her bare skin - before allowing her gaze to follow the length of his arm, over his shoulder and up to his eyes. His face was trained on the ground, but his eyes, those beautiful honey eyes she had come so used to seeing glaring at her, were closed.

Time stretched between them as Wolffe held her wrist in his hand, and Amara had no idea what to do. 

Say something? She wasn’t entirely sure her voice would work. 

Move? She’d tried that already and all attempts had fallen on frozen muscles.

Finally, after what could have been a few seconds or a few minutes, Wolffe let go of her hand and met her gaze with his own. The loss of his touch, and the warmth that had come with it, cleared Amara’s head and reminded her of what else she’d said to him.

Keeping her eyes trained on his, Amara asked the question she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to. “And do you think I’m good at my job?”

Wolffe winced. It was a small movement, one Amara probably wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t staring at him so intently. But she was. She’d seen it. And that was enough.

Not giving him time to add any further salt to her wounds, she turned on her heel and walked swiftly out of the hangar, pretending she couldn’t hear the muffled whispers of the other clones as she passed.

*****

Thank the Force we’re almost back to Coruscant, Amara thought as she arrived at her quarters. She slammed her hand on the access panel and stepped inside, alone and angry once again, but this time also infuriatingly turned on by the one man she couldn’t stand at the moment.

Did he really think she was bad at her job?

She knew she hadn’t imagined his wince at her words, but maybe she’d misinterpreted it. Wolffe was an ass, sure, but he was hardly cruel. Right?

Sighing, she walked over to the bunk and sat down heavily, glancing around at the cold, empty room. Only a few weeks ago she’d been in Wolffe’s room, which looked a lot like this one, making plans for the mission. They’d talked, laughed even.

How had they gotten from there to here? To this place of anger and resentment and, at least on Amara’s part, pent up physical longing that she hadn’t really felt in years.

And that was biggest problem.

She had no idea if what she was feeling right now - the longing for his touch and the ache for him to push her up against a wall or down on a bunk or across the crates in the hangar and make her forget why they were mad at each other - was genuine.

Was she so sexually deprived that she would easily interpret anger as attraction? Were these her feelings, or were they Wolffe’s?

At least if these feelings were hers alone, she knew she could eventually get a handle on them. But if any part of this attraction was coming from Wolffe, that opened up a whole other set of problems.

Based on the way he was acting, if he was attracted to her, he had no desire to see that attraction through. And Amara couldn’t exactly blame him.

Getting mixed up with your commanding officer was not a situation any clone in their right mind would want to be in. And for someone as strict as Wolffe, Amara imagined it was especially true for him.

Swearing silently, she placed her head in her hands. There was too much to think about and she couldn’t do any of it clearly when the very thought of Wolffe was currently sending a throbbing ache straight to her cunt.

She needed to take care of this first, and she needed to do it before they got to Coruscant and she had to be around Wolffe again.

Knowing she might hate herself for it later but not having the presence of mind to care much at the moment, Amara slid down onto her back. She lifted a hand to ghost lightly over her chest and stomach and tried to push away her doubt.

Exploring one’s sexuality wasn’t exactly discouraged by the Order . . . there just wasn’t a lot of time for it, especially now.

In the years before the war, though, Amara had experimented. 

A little.

She knew what the touch of another person felt like, at least. 

And, even more so, she knew how to take her own touch and turn it into a pleasure that she could never get quite enough of.

But in those moments of solitude, whether in her room at the Temple or here in this very space on the Triumphant, Amara had never really thought of anyone specific. Most of the time she conjured feelings - old ones of her own or those of others that she’d glimpsed over the years - and focused on them to help carry her through. 

But now, for the first time that she could remember, she wanted to think about a person.

She wanted to think about Wolffe.

Letting the memory of Wolffe gazing down at her, the hard corners of his eyes that contrasted by the flash of softness in the depths of his irises, fill her mind as her eyelids fluttered closed, she trailed her hand under her tunic and up to her breasts. 

They were covered by a tight wrap, but with one thought of Wolffe’s gloved fingers circling her wrist, Amara swore she could feel the heat of her memory of him soaking through the fabric, encouraging her nipples to tighten and perk up. 

Her fingers danced across the wrapping and she pushed against each breast a little harder, imagining how Wolffe, so determined and so commanding, might knead them together with his rough hands, pushing at them to try and pull a moan from her .

She imagined how his mouth, so sharp and quick to berate her lately, might wrap around one nipple, then the other, sucking and licking and leaving marks that only she would be able to see.

Heart pounding, but feeling infinitely more relaxed and at ease, Amare slipped her hand from her breasts down to her stomach and began to map the trail she could imagine Wolffe making with his tongue when her comm suddenly went off.

“Fuck”

She kept one hand on her stomach as she answered the call, hoping whoever was on the other end wouldn’t be able to hear the annoyance laced with unresolved desire in her voice. “Kora.”

“Commander, it’s Sinker”, his voice - not Wolffe’s thank the Force - filled the empty air around her and Amara struggled to keep her breathing even as she listened, “we’ll be arriving in Coruscant within the hour. You’re needed on the bridge.”

Amara grimaced. Had she really lost track of that much time?

“Copy that, Sinker. I’ll be there in-” she looked down at her hand, still tracing circles on her stomach and aching to reach further south to give her body the relief it so desperately needed. She quickly calculated how long it would take her to finish, clean up, and make it half way across the ship to the bridge. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

She flicked the comm off and settled back down. 

So she didn’t have time to play around. Didn’t have time to create the perfect scenario in her head that would put her mind in a place where Wolffe’s fingers were coaxing an orgasm out of her instead of her own.

But she didn’t need to.

Wolffe never called her by her name, only ever “Commander Kora” or “Commander” or “Sir”. But Amara had heard his voice enough - in person and in her mind - that right now, with her fingers pushing beneath her leggings, and shoving aside underwear that was already slightly soaked, to circle her aching clit, she could imagine perfectly what it would sound like, what it might even taste like, on his tongue.

She had the echo of his voice in her mind and the flames of both of their emotions simmering in her very bones to push her closer as she slipped a finger between her folds, pumping in and out at the same pace she was circling her clit.

She had the memory of his hand on her wrist and his eyes on her body as she brought her other hand up to her chest and arched her back, clinching her core and biting her lip at the added pressure.

With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend Wolffe was watching her. His hard gaze tracing the movement of her hand beneath her clothes. His own hand reaching to undo his codpiece and offer himself some much needed relief as he whispered her name- 

And that, it turned out, was all she needed.

A finger on her clit and another buried deep inside her, Amara came faster than she ever had before, Wolffe’s name a whisper on her lips and his face an imprint on her mind. 

Moments later, when she finally came down from the high with only a few minutes left to clean up and make it to the bridge, her body still yearned for the attention of a man who would likely never be able to give it to her. 

Even so, she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d find herself imagining him in her bed.

She sighed and opened her eyes once more to the empty room as hands that she wished were someone else’s pulled out of her leggings and pushed her out of the bunk.

Thank the Force we’re almost back to Coruscant, she thought again. 

She really needed to get some fucking perspective.

[happytroopers]

Sick days // Hunter x reader

My google history search after this: what do they call toilets in Star Wars? Star Wars rabies?

Summary: I would do anything for Hunter, even take care of him when he has food poisoning. I saw a sick day prompt list and didn't end up using anything but it inspired this cluster fuck

TW: throwing up, alcohol mention but no use, bad writing I just love him ok

"Hey, have you seen Hunter? I need him to sign off on some damage reports." You announced as you entered the cockpit of the ship as it barreled through hyperspace, throwing a pointed look at Wrecker who was the main reason for most of aforementioned damage reports.The other members of Clone Force 99 made some sort of acknowledgment of your existence. Wrecker grinned obliviously at you as continued doing bicep curls with a GONK droid while Tech made brief eye contact with you before going back to some sort of machinery he’d dissected. Crosshair was the only one to actually somewhat answer your question, giving you a sassily quirked eyebrow and motioning down with his toothpick. "I’m assuming that super vague motion would mean he’s in the cargo hold?" You pressed but you had already turned around to go find the sergeant. "Should we tell ‘er?" You heard Wrecker ask but when no one answered him, you assumed things would be fine. Besides after almost a year with the Bad Batch, you’d walked in on them in all sorts of compromising moments. Nothing would surprise you anymore.

After popping down the ladder into the cargo bay, you did a cursory sweep. Crosshairs rifle was disassembled on a crate for cleaning, more of Tech’s mechanical experiments in a heap by the bay doors, your own trunk of belonging… but no sign of Hunter. "Hunter? Are you down here?" You poked a little further into the sleeping quarters, like any room that housed four soldiers who didn’t know how to mop, the smell chased you right back out. Shaking your head you thought to yourself, That should be considered a hazard zone. You paused by the fresher to listen for water running but heard nothing, which officially meant Hunter hadn’t been anywhere you checked, Hell, did he jump out of an airlock? Just as you were about to give up, you heard an awful noise come from the fresher. Like a bantha dying in a fire. Did some animal stow away? Absentmindedly you considered getting Wrecker to handle it- the last thing you needed was contracting some planet-specific strain of rabies. But then you considered that in the process, Wrecker would probably destroy the entire bathroom. And then everyone would be without a bathroom for the next two days… and that could get ugly. Then the noise came again, bringing you out of your mental debate. With a heavy sigh, you decided you’d have to check it out yourself. So, after pulling a random tool off your belt, you let the door slide open. To your surprise, Hunter was the first thing you saw, bent at the waist over the vac tube, bracing himself with one shaking arm against the durasteel wall. His helmet was discarded carelessly two feet closer to the entrance, and the enhanced trooper was heaving breaths, looking rather haggard. Almost stupidly the first thing that came out of your mouth was, "Oh my God, did the animal do this to you?" Hunter actually startled, which had never happened before. He was impossible to sneak up on, it was his whole thing. When he did look up at you, he looked confused, among other things. His skin pallor was four shades lighter than it was supposed to be, slightly greenish gray, and dew dropped with sweat. "Animal? What animal?" "The animal that made that-" You cut yourself off suddenly feeling dumb, now lamely dropping your defense tool. Then the disbelief, "Oh my- that noise was you?" He didn’t get the chance to answer again, instead turning his head back towards the vac tube to wretch again. Now with that information, the haggard appearance made more sense. "Hunter… you look like shit." You scolded, hesitantly moving closer, “Like, legitimately corpse like.” The sergeant coughed a bit before throwing you glare, “Thank you, (Y/L/N), that’s very helpful. Did you need something?” Damage reports long forgotten, you ignored the question instead more concerned with the trooper in front of you, “Why the hell are you standing like that? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

Hunter was confused with this sudden line of questioning, turning his head to gag a little bit but this time he kept it under control to answer you, “Clones don’t get sick.”

“So this is normal for you?” You snarked right back, “Here, try kneeling, it won’t take as much of a toll on your body like that.”

At first he didn’t listen to you, just when the ship hit a patch of turbulence it triggered another wave which forced him to a knee. Then it hit you, clones don’t get sick, they’re engineered with near perfect immune systems.

“You’ve never been sick before have you?” You whispered sympathetically, he legitimately didn’t know how to handle being sick. Frowning, worried welled up in your stomach. It was almost painful to watch the man be so sick, after all how many times had he saved you or helped you out of a tight spot, so you looked away until he quieted again. This time he took a minute to catch his breath so you took some liberties.

“First, let’s get your hair off your neck and face. You’ll feel less gross.” You promised, going behind him to gently scrape his long hair into a makeshift bun and tie it off with a spare hair tie.

“What are you doing?”  He croaked, but didn’t pull away from your hands.

“Taking care of you, now shut up and let me.” While your voice was still kind, you were just stern enough not to argue with you, “Now, lean up.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow the orders, instead you started unfastening pieces of armor on his arms before moving on to the chest and torso pieces. Moments later he was able to move a little freer and his armor from the waist up was neatly stacked to you right.

“There, that should help with the overheating.” You announced, not mentioned how he couldn’t bend over properly with a piece of plastoid against his abdomen. You gave him another once over, he was taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, little baby hairs already escaping your rather pitiful man bun situation. You’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“So clones don’t get sick, why are you throwing up like my roommate after her twenty first birthday?” You asked quietly, gently moving the stray bits of his forehead.

“Would you believe that I ate an expired meal ration?” He asked with enough doubt in your voice that you immediately shook your head.

“You’re not that stupid Hunter.”

“I lost a bet with Crosshair and had to eat part of the Yalbec stinger. Tech did say it was a delicacy on some planets.” He sighed, dry heaving again.

“I also remember him saying it was mildly poisonous to humans.” You reminded him, going past him to the shelves that held shower things. Reaching into your own caddy, you produced a rag before wetting it in the sink.

“Yeah, I lost the bet before he enlightened us.” Hunter admitted, visibly relaxing when you put the cold rag on his neck before sliding into a sitting position next to him, “How do you know all this stuff?”

“Well, us normies get sick a lot.” You teased, laughing when you caught the disgusted look on his face, “But, I learned most of this stuff taking care of my hungover friends.”

“Oh, just your friends?” It was Hunter’s turn to sass you, but you just rolled your eyes. The two of you fell into a halfway comfortable silence, so you took your data pad to do a little research on Yalbec poisoning.

“You don’t have to stay for this?” Hunter reminded you, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. When you looked back over to him, he was staring at you. Even when puking, his eyes could stare straight through you. Hurriedly, you dropped your gaze back to your data pad.

“Well, you spend all your time taking care of them,” you motioned up towards the cockpit, “And me. So someone has to look out for you when you need it, you don’t have to suffer alone.”

His eyes softened as he relaxed slightly, you were glad to see his coloring was already getting better. But after a few moments, even the softness of his stare brought a flush to your cheeks so you just cleared your throat, “Well, the good news is that the holonet says someone of your size and weight will be fine. Symptoms should pass within twelve hours at the most, and it’s already been five.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

Your head snapped back up, he rarely ever called you by your first name. Somehow it almost felt intimate.

“Of course, Hunter.”

You scooted a little closer so that your knees would touch. Closer than you had ever been to him, but he didn’t scoot away. You smiled at the small contact, shaking your head.

“Can I impart on you a bit of civilian wisdom?” You asked teasingly, not even waiting him to nod. You took the rag off his neck and used it to dab sweat off his forehead, “Don’t eat random things on a dare, especially things you cut off foreign animals.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

[one-real-wrimonkey]

For your CG ask - what if Fox gets Fed Up (sleep/caffeine deprived or smth - your pick) one day and goes: “you know, I’m probably dead meant walking, might as well drag them all to hell with me” and verbally flays the Senate alive. Padme is cheering him on, Bail is laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes, Palpafart’s complexion matches his office - the whole nine yards. Imagine the Chaos.

I adore this, but it could go two ways.

On the one hand you have the comical one where this super sleep deprived not sure where he even is Fox who sees someone demeaning one of his siblings and his eye twitches, something in him just snaps, he chugs an entire thermos of Caff and just goes for it. He just starts outing things and wrecks the Siths entire plans. It’s comical and chaos in a funny way. Watching the bad guys panic and the good guys celebrate.

But you know me and I love angst.

So, on the other, more angsty hand, similar premise but dark.

He’s talking about the atrocities committed against the guard, things his vode on the frontlines never knew about because there was nothing they could do and the vode in the Guard didn’t want them worrying, even if it means they had to take the brunt of jokes about their sitting about doing nothing while the ones on the front lines were dying. He outs every single Senator who claims to be pro clone Rights but refers to them as it and treats them worse than their droids or pets, makes them kneel and dehumanises them and threatens their very lives for something as simple and unavoidable as sneezing or coughing, and every single thing Palpatine did, including mind control and using them for personal hits and anything else he wanted. (Go as dark as your mind takes you for how evil Palpatine is)

How clones were designed not to break in battle but they weren’t trained for this and how the shinies wake up screaming, how they have missing gaps in their memories and constant headaches and all of it.

How they’ve had to create their own little support systems and how they have to give shinies flash training on how things work or they’ll end up suffering through hells. How their med bay has a separate section that’s closed off that’s just for the shinies or elder vode who need somewhere to sit and cry and maybe be hugged.

About the lengths they had to go to just to protect vode who were different, but then, what did it matter if the clones used he or she when the Senators mostly used it, except for the risk of what would happen if those pronouns were used outside of the barracks because it was almost worse than Kamino for deviations and no-one wanted to be singled out (for one reason or another) except the commanders to take attention away from their younger siblings.

He calls the Senate out for what they’ve done.

The Senators are horrified, either because their crimes, the ones they didn’t consider crimes because clones aren’t people and who are they ever going to tell that’ll believe them over a Senator, have been outed to the galaxy, or because they had no idea something so genuinely deplorable was happening under there noses in somewhere they considered at least mostly respectable. The ones like Bail and Padmé who could never have dreamed something so evil could be happening.

Not tears of laughter but tears of horror.

But in the end it’s a good thing.

An election is called. The senators backing or working with Palpatine are all voted out by their people, Palpatine loses on Naboo and also the Chancellorship, the Clones and Jedi are no longer forced to fight or serve, without Palpatine there is a peaceful resolution to the Separatists leaving with trade deals established and the invasions and war halted. Mandalore is no longer being influenced by the Sith (death watch) or backed by the Republic for any one faction (new mandos). The war and conflict is over, the thousand year plot brought down by one clone broken by their situation and desperate to protect their younger siblings.

Palpatine is taken out by a sniper (who may or not be a clone outraged by the fake war and worse what the bastard was doing to their siblings in the guard) and the Order never goes into effect because the call for election is made the SECOND Fox finished his rant. Palpatine tried to take Fox with him, but the other Guard commanders (realising that Fox’s headaches and memory gaps always came after his meetings with Palpatine) refused to let him near their brother.

Cody and Wolffe and Rex show up a little while after the initial broadcast (as soon as they could) and pull Fox into their arms begging him to explain why he never told them how bad things were. This is followed by cuddle piles and comfort, something that’s happening across the guard with all the returning clones finding their siblings and making sure they’re ok and happy and safe.

The Jedi are finally allowed to open up the lower levels of the Temple to house the vode who want to stay, and to help any who wanted to leave and find something else out there, finally allowed to back out of the fighting they never wanted to be part of in the first place but Palpatines War Clause not only drafted them but made it impossible for them to back out without the punishment that goes with desertion, finally allowed to take the breaks they were denied so they can heal their minds and bodies.

The galaxy heals.

So basically it’s super angsty but has a sweet ending.

———

(Thank you for sending this it’s brilliant and I love it)

[crispyjenkins]

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

  “Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

-

  By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

  The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

  And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

  “Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

  Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

  The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

  “Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

  Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

  Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

  And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

-

  Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes. 

  The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

  Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

  “I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

  “And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

  Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

  Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

  “He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

  “He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

  Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

  Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

  Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

  He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

  “I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

  “Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

  “Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

  “Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

  Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

-

  “Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

  “Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

  The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

  “I did.”

  “I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

  Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

  Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

  Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice. 

-

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir —  an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”. 

[asharkapologist]

Anakin Skywalker Appreciation Week, Pt 3

(whoops. This is late.)

Day three: favorite relationship.

Anakin honestly has a lot of really interesting relationships with people around him. The prequels and The Clone Wars show how much women affect his life, which is something that’s always stuck out to me. TCW also does an excellent job showing Anakin’s relationship with people who will be a major part of the Empire. One of my favorite underrated moments of TCW is when Anakin and Tarkin were shown chatting during the Citadel escape arc about how the Jedi sometimes don’t go far enough in battle, and generally getting along quite well (TCW in general makes it quite clear that Tarkin was a sociopath long before he murdered billions of people on Alderaan in Episode IV, something I rather like. Tarkin didn’t need order from a tyrannical empire to turn him into a sociopath. He was a horrible person for a long time.)

But honestly, out of all of the interesting relationships Anakin has with various people in his life, I’m going to have to say that I'm going to talk about his relationship with Padmé. Maybe I’m just a sucker for tragic romances. And yes, I know their relationship is ultimately toxic. It literally ends with him trying to kill her. Let me explain what I mean before you call me stupid or accuse me of supporting toxic/abusive relationships.

So my feelings on Anidala are undoubtedly complicated. Like other people have said, they aren’t exactly a paragon of ideal relationships. There’s a bunch of reasons why they’re unhealthy, like Anakin’s somewhat creepy behavior in AotC (though he respects Padmé’s boundaries more than Han respect’s Leia’s in ESB, and that is a hill I will die on), her willingness to overlook many red flags throughout the prequels and TCW without really sitting down with him and talking with him (with the one exception of in the Clovis arc but I hate that arc so much for a multitude of reasons that go beyond Anakin and Padmé’s relationship and besides by the end of the arc they’ve hit the reset button and immediately get over their argument), and yeah, their relationship ends with him trying to murder her post-fall. Yeah, not very good. But I want to more talk about why I think their relationship is interesting, compelling, and tragic, and focus on her role with Anakin’s arc.

Anakin’s certainly a romantic, and Padmé is too, in different ways. I really like how Anakin ultimately falls to the Dark Side to try to save Padmé from death, because in a way, this is kind of like a lot of male action heroes that were in movies that were coming out around the prequels, like Spider-Man and Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible (I don’t remember his character’s name, and I’m definitely not going to bother to look it up). But it’s really more than that, a deconstruction, really of the “save the girl” mentality. TV Tropes puts it best:

Anakin's character is a massive deconstruction of [the ‘Always Save the Girl’ trope]. He adamantly refuses to give up on those he loves, even though the Jedi preach [non-attachment], and even when giving up is the healthiest thing to do. The loss of his mother is the first time he truly fails, which causes him to rage out and murder everyone within reach, and Obi-Wan only barely manages to convince him that they should prioritize capturing Dooku over going back to get Padmé. When he starts getting nightmares of his wife dying in childbirth, Palpatine exploits this by offering a way to save her, but only if he embraces the dark side. Even Anakin's final betrayal of the Jedi reflects this trope, both since he needs Palpatine to save Padmé (or so he thinks), and because he wants to save the kind old man who was always there for him.

(link to that page: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AlwaysSaveTheGirl)

In a lot of instances, the hero saves the girl and the world. But Anakin just ends up killing both. There’s something really fascinating about characters that would let the world (or galaxy in this case) burn in order to save someone they love. A lot of times, this is portrayed as admirable, and the hero often manages to save all of their friends and the world. Not here, though.

Anakin obviously had a bunch of psychological issues and trauma, but, as Obi-Wan says in the Revenge of the Sith novelization, Anakin’s relationship with Padmé was one of the few things that brought him joy, and even though Obi-Wan is widely regarded by a lot of people as the personification of the ideal Jedi, he was willing to mostly ignore Anakin and Padmé’s obvious relationship/Anakin breaking the Jedi Code, with the exception of a few comments here and there. And that’s what hurts. Because even though Anakin ends up destroying everything and everyone who might have cared about him, Padmé made him happy. And yeah, their on-screen relationship, especially in AotC is a bit, uh, rocky (although they do actually have chemistry in the AotC novelizations, although the author also keeps in some of Anakin’s awkwardness), but they are clearly happy together, they make each other happy. They’ll have genuinely cute moments, like the meadow scene in AotC (I like that scene okay!) and throughout TCW, and at the start of RotS, which just makes it more tragic knowing what’s coming, and seeing the blatant red flags in their relationship, and thinking “if things were different. If they just had really long talks. If Palpatine didn’t exist. If they didn’t have to hide their relationship (considering a relationship built on lies and deception struggles to be a healthy/ideal one).” I know that their relationship is far from ideal and was loaded with issues. But it’s just sad because they were obviously in love with each other very much (the whole ‘Anakin mind-tricked her into falling in love with him’ theory is the worst theory in Star Wars I’m sorry), but there were still issues and red flags and toxicity there that were made worse by Anakin having unresolved trauma, his upbringing by a very anti-romance organization, a war going on, Palpatine existing, and Padmé’s general unwillingness to really take caution due to those red flags. But I genuinely believe that if there wasn’t a war, if Anakin left the Jedi and/or if therapists or something existed, they would have had a healthy domestic life together.

But ultimately, all that rambling aside, Anakin is definitely an emotional romantic, something that I think is rather refreshing in male heroes. Somewhat off topic, but I had a rather sexist teacher one time say that in a marriage, women are emotional and men are rational. That is certainly not the case with Anakin and Padmé. She’s the one initially listing all the reasons why them getting together wouldn’t be a good idea, regardless of their feelings for each other, and in Revenge of the Sith, when she tells him that she’s pregnant, she’s the one who still expresses her worries and concerns about said pregnancy, while Anakin is more overjoyed than worried.

I mean, look at that face. Yeah, I definitely believe him when he says that this is the happiest moment of his life. It's telling when even prequel haters admit that the above scene is pretty good.

In another movie with a happy ending, this would all be very heartwarming. Anakin doesn’t care what happens to his social status and position in the Jedi Order as long as he can be together with his wife and child(ren.)

And you better believe I read Anidala fix-its/fanfics on Ao3.

[crowsandmurder]

Padmé Amidala TAGS ETC.

Padmé ✖ (Aesthetics)

Padmé  ✖ (Thoughts)

Padmé  ✖ (Character Development)

Padmé  ✖ (Crack)

Padmé  ✖ (Headcanons)

Padmé  ✖ (Photos)

Padmé  ✖ (Starter Call)

Padmé  ✖ (Verses)

VERSES:

Q U E E N  O F  N A B O O 

A young Padmé Naberrie becomes Queen of Naboo, taking the name Queen Amidala. She served two terms and was loved by her people. That did not mean that it was a time of peace, though.  There were a lot of battles to be fought, internally and externally, during her reign.

S E N A T O R  A M I D A L A 

After serving two terms as Queen, Padmé is ready to leave the crown behind but becomes senator of Naboo. She handles many important things, and is still in danger, constantly. 

S E N A T O R  A N D  W I F E  O F  A  J E D I

After an assassination on her life, she is put under the protection of Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan Anakin Skywalker, who she knows, from her days as Queen. Soon, Anakin is sent to guard her in Naboo and sparks fly between them.  She is never one to stay out of trouble and between the two of them, they wind up nearly dying more than once, and marry, all in just a few weeks time. Now, they have the Clone Wars to deal with, her career as a Senator, his new Knighthood and being made a General in the Wars. 

T H I S  I S  H O W  L I B E R T Y  D I E S

The war is declared over. Chancellor Palpatine has declared himself Emperor. Anakin is acting crazy, and is even trying to get her to run away with him.  She fears for her unborn child’s life, and doesn’t know what to do.  Could she run away with him or was she going to have to be firm and risk the consequences? How did everything fall apart so fast? 

L E T ‘ S  H A V E  O U R  B A B Y  O N  N A B O O

Anakin doesn’t have the first nightmare, and the morning after finding out she is pregnant, they disappear to Naboo.  She hides away for the rest of her pregnancy, and has two healthy babies.  Anakin keeps talking of leaving the Order and she really wants him to. She knows that there is a new regime in place, but they have their own happy world, here. 

S H E  W A S  A L I V E 

Padmé suffered greatly, at the hands of Anakin’s force choke, and now she knows that she has to make him think she is dead. Naboo isn’t a safe place for them. So with the help of Yoda and Obi-Wan, she disappears.  But, she doesn’t know if it will work and if Padmé Amidala can truly disappear. 

FACECLAIMS:

Natalie Portman

BIOGRAPHY:

Padmé Naberrie, publicly Padmé Amidala comes from the planet of Naboo.  She served two terms as Queen, and was asked to serve a third term but declined.  She did continue into public service and become Senator of Naboo.  She also became the secret wife of Anakin Skywalker, at the beginning of the Clone Wars.  She was not one to sit idly and let things fall apart during the war. She tried to do what she could from the Senate, despite feeling like nothing was working and being separated from her husband, far too much of the time.

Towards the end of the war, she discovered she was pregnant, and once Anakin finally returned, she told him. They were happy but once he started having nightmares that she would die in childbirth, he became impossible to calm down about it, and it would prove a disaster, felt within the galaxy.  When she heard of him turning to the dark side, she went to him and in his anger, he force choked her.  She later gave birth to twins, Luke and Leia, who would prove to be important.  She did not survive.

Padme was strong, independent, handy with a blaster.  She knew how to stand up for herself, her people, and  she was loved by many. 

[This is left vague on purpose, to allow for room as she is primarily headcanon based]

[ct7567329]

Pass: Rex x Reader

A loud sigh escaped your lips as a holopad was slapped down next to you.

"Here are the list of all the troopers that need their annual evaluation. Make sure you can get them all done within the next thirty rotations," General Shaak Ti informed you, urgency in her voice.

You hummed in response and picked up the holopad, browsing through the list. All ARC Troopers were reevaluated annually to ensure they were still the best fit for the position. The list could easily be knocked in half if the 501st managed to make their way to Kamino anytime soon. The mid-rim sieges would make it difficult but you had to get it done.

Begging Anakin to let the 501st have a few days off on Kamino wasn't too hard to accomplish. He complied to it faster than you expected but you weren't going to complain. There was plenty to do before the reevaluations. Testing new weapons, giving new battle combinations and evaluation their ability to adapt were just a few things that needed to be done. And you had to figure out how to do it.

The only thing you enjoyed about the task was catching up with the troopers. Throughout your time as a special ranks trainer at Kamino,  you've developed many friendships with the soldiers, and unfortunately, you never really got to see them again once they were shipped off.

Your heart jumped a little when you saw the number 7567 on the list. You recognized the number as a Captain named Rex. He was one of the hardest working soldiers you've worked with. Right before he shipped out, he buzz cut his hair and dyed it blonde, making him the only soldier in that captain training program to not have the standard hair cut with brown hair. You admired his willingness to be unique.

Roughly six rotations later, the 501st finally arrived on Kamino, giving the majority of the men a much needed break. You figured Anakin would be in the mess hall so you made your way there to meet up with your long time-no see friend.

It was never difficult to find him. Anakin was always the center of attention. According to his Padawan, he enjoyed telling elaborated stories about before the war to the clones. You approached him from behind as he rambled on about his encounter with a bounty hunter when he was only fourteen.

"Wow, let me guess, you used your lightsaber without holding it. You used the force to levitate it?" you butted it, chuckling slightly.

Anakin turned around and threw his hand up, "(Y/N)! Always a pleasure to see you. Let me introduce you to my new men!"

You smirked and shook your head as Anakin began introducing them. It appeared as if Rex wasn't present.

"And this here is Hard-"

"Case," you laughed, "You forget. I've worked with every solider that steps foot off this planet."

"Great to see you again, General!" Hardcase salutes, "And may I add, your beauty has multiplied since."

You rolled your eyes, "Not even the brutality of the war can take away his charm. But, he takes after his general I suppose."

The men snickered as Anakin gave you a glare.

"Anyway, I sent you a list of men that need their evaluation. I know you're here for a while but of you can let them know to get it done as soon as possible, that would be great. I have thousands of troopers to test."

"You wish is my command," Anakin playfully bowed.

You exhaled and began to exit, "I'll catch up with you all soon!" you called out.

As you exited the mess hall, you began to reminisce on the old days of being a Padawan and filling around with Anakin. The two of you always managed to pull off shenanigans that usually resulted in a conference by the council, but you wouldn't change a thing. You turned the corner to head to your quarters when you knocked into a solider, causing him to drop his helmet.

"Oh my gosh I am so sorry...Rex?" you gasped, once you realized who it was.

Rex's jaw dropped, "General. You remember my name?"

"I remember every soldier's name," you grinned, using the force to pick up his helmet, "especially the special ones." You handed him his helmet.

"Is that a compliment, sir?" he asked, slowly taking his helmet from you.

You bit your lower lip, "Perhaps. How has the war been for the 501st?"

He let out a heavy sigh, "There's always some uphill battles, but I think we are all just glad to be back on Kamino. Even if it's just for seven rotations."

"Me too!" you nodded. Trying to hide your reddening cheeks in his presence was nearly impossible. They say war drains you, but Rex was even more handsome than you remembered.

"Sir? Aren't you always on Kamino though?" he asked, making a confused face.

"Oh no. I mean I'm glad that the 501st is back. You guys are the finest soldiers to come out of my training. My favorite to be around, if I may add."

Rex's entire demeanor when from solider talking to general to a look of more compassion, "You mean that?"

"Lying isn't the Jedi way. And even if I wasn't a Jedi, who would lie to someone like you? Don't sell yourself short, Rex. Don't think just because you're 'just a clone' you're any less than anyone else. And-"

You stopped for a moment, realizing what words. were actually coming out of your mouth.

"And.." you drew out the n sound, "Don't forget to pick a time slot for your evaluation! Can't wait to see how much you've grown on the battlefield!" you rushed to say, before taking off to your quarters at a quick pace.

As you hastily walked away, Rex turned to look at you. He wasn't quite sure what to make of what you said. As far as he could remember, you were always kind to him, compassionate with your words, but never that caliber. Though he would have loved to think of it as a flirtatious encounter, he knew that would be something he could only dream of and continued to make his way to the mess.

"Are you knifing stupid!?" you yelled to yourself as you entered your quarters. In that moment you knew you messed up. If there was anything you were taught as a youngling, is was that admitting your attachments is a tell tale sign you are completely attached. You sighed and flung your body onto your bed, hoping a nap would clear your mind.

Meanwhile, Rex ate his grub hastily. This wasn't common for him at all. Especially since the men of the 501st were used to actually conversing with Rex during meals.

"What's got you eating like a bat out of hell?" Fives asked, turning his head to face his vod.

"Just a little busy," Rex mumbled, stuffing the remaining food in his mouth.

Fives raised an eyebrow, "With what? We have six whole rotations for evaluations, and our evaluator is General (Y/LN). You've said before you two were friendly during your training. I'm sure she'll go easy on you!"

Rex didn't respond.

"And last we heard, you have no interning on becoming Commander Rex," Jesse butted in, "That takes less work off your shoulders. Some of us are looking for promotions."

"You really think you're getting promoted to arc trooper," Hardcase laughed, getting an eye roll in response.

Rex finally got up, "I saw General (Y/LN) in the hall and she asked if I wanted to assist with ARC promotions," he lied, "Just thinking about whether or not I'm fit for that responsibility."

He walked away, wanting nothing more than to find Anakin's droid, R2.

"Told you you should have been kissing Rex's shebs!" Hardcase hummed at Jesse as Rex exited the mess hall.

At last he was alone with his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about your conversation with him. As much as his heart told him it was flirtatious, his mind told him other wise. It didn't take Rex long to find R2.

"Hey R2!" he called, the droid rolling towards him and greeting him with a series of beeps.

"I need to know if I have access to know where General (Y/LN)'s quarters are located."

R2 buzzed, telling Rex the location.

"She gave me access?" he replied softly, "strange. Thank you."

Rex made his way through the seemingly never ending halls. He figured the Jedi quarters had to be hidden deep in the halls of Kamino. After what felt like forever he reached the door to your quarters and knocked.

A knock startled you from your nap. In a hurry, you straightened up your bed and laid out your meditation mat, sitting in a meditative state.

"Enter," you called, your eyes shut. As the person entered the room, your eyes were still shut. By reaching out to the Force, you knew it was Rex.

"Captain, you seem a bit, conflicted," you announced opening your eyes to look at him, "take a seat."

The door shut behind him and he sat down across from you on your meditation mat.

"You do know that Captains are not permitted to supervise ARC selection, correct?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

His lips parted, "Sir?"

You smirked, "Jedi thing. I know what you told your brothers." You stopped for a moment and saw his face drop, "but I would have done the same."

"Huh?"

"What's bothering you, Rex?"

"Uh, nothing. Just nervous about evaluations."

"You think you can lie to a Jedi," you rolled your eyes, cocking your head at him again.

Rex pressed his lips together and looked down at your meditation mat, "you know why I'm here don't you?"

"Perhaps," you shrugged, inching your body towards his.

He swallowed at your closeness to him and he whispered, "so what was it?"

You gave him a shy smile and leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. For being at war for so long, his skin was surprisingly soft.

"That should answer your question, Rex."

Rex's cheeks were flushed, a tan outline of your lips stained on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Rex," you sighed, moving back to your spot on the meditation mat.

"For? You easily just made me the luckiest man in the galaxy. I've wanted this moment for a long time.  Figured I would be foolish to actually dream of it." Rex's smile remained on his face, "If I don't do my evaluation, do I just get to stay on Kamino until I take it?"

You chuckled, "I get this is your home, but trust me, you'd rather be out on the battlefield."

"I can't get cheek kisses on the battlefield," he smirked contagiously.

The two of you looked at each other in an awkward silence.

Rex finally broke it, "Don't get my wrong, your training is flawless, but unfortunately I wasn't given  romance lessons, so I'm going to give this my best try," he paused for a moment, "would you be interested in a late night snack together in the mess tonight?"

"As long as you're interested in late night holovids in my quarters afterwards," you blushed back.

Rex confidently beamed, "It's a date." He reached out for your hand and softly kissed the back of it, "Now as much as I would love to stay, I have an evaluation to practice for."

You looked up at him as he left the room, "A little birdie told me you'll pass."

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