#the clones that were made and trained to be soldiers

[pigeon-ponders]

made a clone & padawan oc bc i'm super into the bad batch but i know so little about sw to actually write about them. despite this my notes page about them is. extremely long

[stellarbit]

Two Faces

Word Count: 11k Pairing: fem!reader x Bad Batch, light Tech nods Warnings: nada except light violence. Training, some fluff, and general fun Summary: When your sister becomes a senator, you decide to join her guard to protect her. Your mother sends you to train on Kamino as backlash. You are paired with Clone Force 99 under the guise of a regular trooper. Encountering you outside of uniform they mistake you for your sister. It is a delicate situation and you have to play your cards carefully.

This started out as a request for the guys getting jealous of you undercover and here I am. When I tell you this was SO FUN to write but took SO LONG. If y'all like imma make it a part 2.

Edit; you wanted it so here it is Two Faces pt 2

“You want to be a foot soldier.” Your mother snarled down her nose. She was a tall woman, taller than you at least, and the governor of your planet. She waved a slender dismissive hand. “Then be a foot soldier.”

Face neutral, you stood before her in the white armor of a clone trooper. You held the helmet with both hands and a white knuckle grip. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your mother you wanted to join your sister’s guard

From your mother’s right your sister stood wringing her hands together. She stood at your height with a face that mirrored your own. Often you were mistaken as twins. Only a few years older than you and already she was the senator for your planet -- the perfect example of what you should have been. Despite everything, the two of you were extremely close.

Concern ate her alive as she watched on. She opened her mouth, but your mother’s hand splayed out in front of her face, cutting off your sister’s voice and view of you.

Continuing to stare you down, your mother’s mouth twisted into her nose. Your family practically bred politicians and that was never your path. If the two of you agreed on nothing else it was that you were no politician.

When your sister was elected as Senator, you knew if you were trained you could be in her guard and keep her safe. It was a decision you were proud of and one that sealed your fate in the eyes of your mother. You would be of no use to her. She heard your wish and wanted to make sure you fully regretted it.

Rolling her eyes away from you, your mother turned her attention to a Kaminoan by her other side. As the leaders of two allied planets, your mother and Lama Su maintained a close relationship. At least close enough to call in favors.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for this opportunity.” Your mother’s disgust faded into a pleasant smile. “Although, I worry she may damage the reputation of your clone troopers.”

The Kaminoan shifted his gaze to you. In near boredom he said, “You do realize she is liable to die?” Settling his hands in front of him, he turned back to your mother. 

She scoffed, the idea of no concern to her. “She made her choice. Should that come to pass, Kamino will not be held responsible.” They spoke of you as if you weren’t even present. “But, do make sure they don’t take it easy on her.”

They. An ‘unorthodox’ squadron of clones you would be paired with.

Your mother said your name, her tone sharp enough to straighten your back. Her head tilted back, the crimp in her lip returning. “If it is discovered that my daughter is beneath that armor, forget ever coming home.” She muttered something to your sister and, in unison, they made for the door. 

Your sister managed one last glance at you before the Kaminoan door swirled open and your mother shoved her through. Your heart sank as the giant white doors shut behind the women.

What if you never saw your sister again?

Alone with Lama Su, the bright, sterile room began to strain your eyes. The unnatural ambience of the room was enough to unsettle you without the addition of the Kaminoan’s cold stare. With slow fluidity, he fully turned towards you. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “The modified armor will hide your identity. All you have to do is follow orders.” Lama Su said in his smooth, detached voice. He gestured a long finger towards you. “Put on your helmet, do not remove it in front of others, and remain silent. Your family may tolerate embarrassment, but I will not endure it here.”

Under his cold stare, you lifted the helmet and sealed it over your head. Your eyes had barely adjusted to the restricted line of sight when the doors hissed opened again.

Where your mother and sister had left, five men strode in. Their armor was mismatched in shape and color, but there was some vein shared between them. It took you a moment until your eyes widened and the gears finally turned. These were the clones!

You were no stranger to clones. The Republic had dispatched a group of troopers to your planet as a show of good faith and alliance, although you wondered at times if your family fully reciprocated that sentiment. That said, these men were unlike any clones you’d seen. 

Their appearances were as mismatched as their armor. Your attention immediately drifted to a behemoth of a man towering over his cohorts and obviously blinded in his left eye. Standing shorter than the rest, one man sported a tattoo covering half his face. Two of them stood at the same height, one with goggles and the other with silver hair. The fifth man looked more akin to a standard clone than the rest, yet his complexion was blanched and he was outfitted with cybernetic prosthetics.  

They were the most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. And none of them spared even a glance in your direction.

Resisting the urge to look to the Kaminoan for clarification, you kept your eyes forward and did your best to look at attention.

“Clone Force 99, welcome.” Lama Su took a smooth step forward and swept a hand in your direction. Still, their eyes remained trained on the Prime Minister. “This promising trooper is being assigned to your squad for training. While their designation number is of no concern to you, you may refer to your new addition as ‘Phi.’”

Phi. A word you recognized as meaning nothing.

A pale hand landed gently on your shoulder, finally dragging Clone Force 99’s collective attention to you. Even through the armor, Lama Su’s touch made your skin crawl. The urge to bite settled between your teeth and the intensity of his stare did nothing to dissuade that.

His next words came across as almost proud. “I trust you will find the skills of this soldier to be exemplary, possibly even to surpass standard clone trooper protocol. It has been decided that integrating with your unit will provide... a most beneficial learning environment for all.��

The praise threw you off until you noticed the change in the squad’s expressions. Something in Lama Su’s words did not sit well with them. In particular, the tall silver-haired clone did nothing to hide his annoyance. Whatever it was, the undue praise clearly sealed your fate in some way. His sharp glance alone indicated that the undue praise had somehow sealed your fate—a fate Lama Su had very intentionally engineered.

“Training will begin immediately.” Lama Su said. “Proceed to the training facilities to begin. You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

Clone Force 99 wasted no time in filing out of the room, offering no introductions or even a glance to see if you followed. Their dismissal was clear; you were an outsider, not worthy of their camaraderie. Hurrying after them, the quiet of the corridor seemed to amplify the shifting of armor and footsteps.

"Just our luck!" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "Why do we get stuck with a reg?" He threw a glance over his shoulder, his good eye scanning you with disdain.

Reg? The term echoed in your mind, a label you didn’t yet understand.

The cybernetic clone fell back beside you. “The question is: what did you do to get stuck with us?” His tone wasn't unkind, merely curious, probing.

Instinctively, your mouth opened to respond, but Lama Su’s directive flashed in your mind—Do not speak in front of others. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your gaze forward again, grateful for the helmet’s limited field of vision that spared you from seeing their reactions. You did see the way Crosshair's eyes narrowed, it was safe to assume your silence hadn’t helped matters.

Adjusting to the weight of your gear seemed trivial compared to the weight of maintaining silence.

Sighing, the tattooed man shook his head. “Listen,” He said as he stopped and turned. “If we are stuck together, we might as well get along. I’m Hunter.”

He gestured to the others as they continued walking. "That’s Wrecker," pointing to the large man, "Echo," indicating the cyborg, "Tech," nodding towards the one with goggles, and lastly, "And Crosshair," with a tilt of his head toward the silver-haired clone who had kept his distance.

They all waited for your addition, but it didn’t come and your silence remained. From behind your helmet you cringed. This was shaping up to be a terrible idea. You held your breath, bracing for the uncomfortable journey ahead. 

Your silence only fueled Crosshair’s anger. His gaze narrowed, head cocked like a raptor eyeing prey. "Too good to speak to us?" His lip curled in a familiar, cruel sneer that reminded you of your mother. 

Noticing Crosshair had an actual crosshair tattooed over his right eye you couldn’t help the little snort you made, emphasized by your helmet’s voice modulator. You immediately regretted your slip up as Crosshair set his shoulders, head snaking forward. “Something funny, reg?” The way he said that word was pure venom.

 You almost conceded at the guttural sound he made at your continued silence, but before you could react Crosshair cracked his elbow into your helmet. The helmet crashed into your face and pain bloomed across your nose, knocking you down to one knee. Blood trickled from your nostrils, leaving you reeling with doubts and likely a broken nose.

"Crosshair!" Hunter barked. He didn't need to step in further; Crosshair stood back, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction.

Echo and Tech shared a glance, Wrecker gave a supportive smile, and Hunter shot Crosshair a sharp, disapproving look before turning his attention back to you. "Get up," he said firmly, "and keep up."

With one last glare from Crosshair, you pushed yourself up to your feet, determined not to show weakness. But as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, you couldn't ignore the cold reality of your situation.

They certainly did not take it easy on you and by the end of your first session it was clear to all of you that you were a miserable excuse for a recruit. In the solitude of your room, you finally removed your helmet. In a small mirror you twisted your head, examining the crusted blood and swollen nature of your nose.

A gentle, and painful, touch confirmed your broken nose suspicions. You leaned in for a better look and smiled. It hurt like hell, but at least you made it through your first day.

You looked to a photo of your sister you’d pinned to your mirror. It’s worth it for her. Giving yourself a nod, you replaced your helmet and headed for the med bay- a trip you were going to frequent.

As you entered the medical wing, the only presence were that of two medical droids floating about and a female Kaminoan. The female swept her head in your direction, slowly blinking as you stood at the entrance. You recognized the Kaminoan as Nala Se. She’d given your family a tour of the cloning operations in the past.

She addressed you with a good evening and gestured for you to approach. “I am aware of your identity. You may remove your armor in my presence.” Nala Se said in her ever measured tone. When you still hesitated she added, “The clones are currently in the canteen.”

Reluctantly, you lifted the helmet from your head, exposing the bruised face underneath. Nala Se observed you quietly, her expression unreadable. “You should return home.” She suggested. “Our clones are trained from their creation. You will not be able to match their abilities.”

“That’s not an option now. I either return with training or in a body bag.”

You placed your helmet in a tote at the foot of the medical table and began discarding the rest of the armor in the same fashion. Clad only in your black undersuit, you continued undressing under Nala Se's impassive watch. Her clinical detachment did little to ease the discomfort of the situation

Stripped down to a bandeau and shorts, you climbed onto the examination bed. A droid hovered over you, scanning your body. "Subject exhibits a broken nose and extensive bruising," it reported to Nala Se, who nodded slightly before administering two injections—one for pain and another to reduce future bruising.

As the droid tended to your injuries, Nala Se handed you a set of clothes. "There is more than one way to remain hidden," she stated as she unfolded a Kaminoan-style outfit—a set of dark, tight-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt, complemented by a light-colored vest with fabric strips cascading down your legs

You’d no sooner dawned the outfit when the doors slid open again and voices immediately broke the silence.

You froze with your back to the door. Tech's analytical voice floated through the air, "I am merely saying, excess violence will only worsen the situation for all of us."

It was Crosshair who answered with dry amusement. "Speak for yourself," he scoffed. 

Nala Se held your gaze a moment longer before she looked to the approaching clones. “CT-9902 and CT-9904, what is it that you require?”

Tech spoke up from behind you, "There is a high probability that Crosshair fractured his knuckles during training." You could think of a few instances that could’ve caused that, the bruises across your body serving as evidence.

Swallowing the groan in your throat, you finally faced them. Tech and Crosshair stopped in their tracks both staring at you with some confusion.

“Senator.” Tech offered a nod of respect. His polite tone threw you off balance as he mistook you for your sister. The Kaminoans' medical treatment had indeed worked wonders, hiding your identity well enough to prompt the error.

Crosshair frowned, a toothpick tilting in his mouth.

Tech, noticing Crosshair’s tight expression, nudged his brother. “We passed her on the way to meet the Prime Minister.” This was enough for the sniper to remove his toothpick and stand a bit straighter.

The immediate respect was a stark contrast to the blows they’d dealt you all day. Embracing the assumption you smiled graciously despite the stiff feeling in your face. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you, troopers.” You rounded the table to stand before them.

Without your gear, you realized just how much taller they were. And without the restrictive view of your helmet, you could fully appreciate how striking they were. They stood with practiced military bearing, radiating strength and a sense of purpose that matched their formidable presence.

Absolutely breathtaking, and in a much different way than when they'd been knocking the wind out of you earlier.

“The honor is ours, Senator.” Tech said. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t certain.Though having his eyes on any part of you was a lovely sensation. He paused momentarily, but found your eyes again. 

Crosshair kept his gaze steady as he studied you, lending some clarity to your earlier question. "What brings a senator down to the med bay? Surely not curiosity."

Holding your composure, you lied, “I am… personally interested in the development and progress of the valiant men keeping our galaxy safe.” You took the opportunity to circle the two men while they remained still and eyes forward. The men had equally long legs and cinched waists that were positively sinful. This view of them was certainly an upgrade, igniting an idea in you.

“In fact,” You polished a smile as you came back to their fronts. “I’d be interested in some personal lessons from esteemed men such as yourselves.” 

Surprise lifted Tech’s eyebrows and pulled the corner of Crosshair’s lip up. 

“Mistress Se mentioned your squad is already undertaking the training of a new recruit.” Their expressions dulled at the reminder. “What’s a few extra morning sessions with a mere Senator?”

Nala Se, observing the exchange from the background, stepped forward to say, "That can be arranged for the morning after next. For now, the senator has matters to attend to. CT-9904, please proceed with your treatment."

Tech offered another polite nod before leading Crosshair to the medical equipment. As they moved away, you exhaled, glancing at Nala Se, who gave you an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The following morning, back in your armor, you walked into the training room and the middle of Clone Force 99’s conversation.

Wrecker was throwing his head around, moaning about something you couldn't quite catch. “-well, why didn’t I see her?”

“You did, Wrecker.” Tech said in a flat, exasperated breath. “If only in passing.”

“But why would a senator want to watch us train?” Echo shook his head in confusion.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Correction: she wants to train with us.”

As he twirled a knife between his fingers, Hunter asked, “Then why would a senator want to train with clones?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair drawled from his perch on a rectangular obstacle with a knee pulled up.. “If the little princess wants our hands on her, who are we to deny?”

Little princess. Your mind stuttered at the words while your body visibly jerked at them. The squadron cut their conversation short and looked to you. The amusement between them quickly faded, yet even this attention had heat crawling through you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter gruffed while putting on his helmet. The rest followed suit and training began.

The session was as brutal as the day prior, starting with sparring and finishing with blaster drills. You didn’t do much better than the day prior, but you were proud to have left with no new fractures. By the next morning you could barely leave bed.

But ‘little princess’ was enough to push you up.

You arrived at the training room early. It was much smaller than the usual arenas, scattered with mannequins instead of physical obstacles. You traded your armor for a form-fitting suit similar to the blacks troopers wore. Without a helmet, you felt exposed—but exhilarated.

When the doors slid open, your pulse quickened. With composure your mother would admire, you smoothed your expression and smiled. “Nice of you boys to join me.”

A small smirk lifted Hunter’s lips as he regarded you. “Senator.” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over your form. The word almost caused your smile to falter, reminding you of the misconception they were under. 

They made their introductions before Hunter, hand at his hip, gestured for you to advance. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The soreness that wracked your body protested when you squared your shoulders. “I was born ready.” Hopefully your feigned confidence won them over.

The way the leader’s head dipped with a small laugh said it did. Even from a distance, the sound reverberated through you to your core.

“Don’t worry,” Wrecker’s large hand clapped down on your shoulder and right onto an unseen bruise. “We’ll take it easy on ya!”

Crosshair rolled a toothpick between his lips. “Easy’s not our style, Wrecker.” You met his still skeptical stare, not backing down from the challenge.

“I can handle it.”

He snorted, flicked away his toothpick, and strode over to you. Leaning in he said in a low, snippy voice, “Better keep up, princess.”

As much as the nickname heated your blood, you maintained your smile, determined to earn their respect. “I intend to.” You said in an equally low, taunting tone.

From the very beginning, their training style was a complete turn around compared to the borderline abuse you endured while in armor.

Hunter set the pace, showing you rapid movements to prove your reflexes. When a moment of exhaustion hit and you noticeably slowed, Hunter teased, “I thought you said you’d keep up.”

Sagging your shoulders, you rolled back your head with a laugh. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t born for this.”

“We sure were.” Wrecker laughed and took over, launching into instruction about utilizing your body weight against an opponent. He demonstrated on Crosshair, who loudly hissed in protest. Wrecker put a shoulder into Crosshair’s abdomen and tossed him over his shoulder like a sandbag. 

Crosshair struggled against his brother’s hold, until he landed safely on the ground. He snarled at Wrecker, then caught the amused smile tugging at your lips. With a grunt of annoyance, he averted his gaze and casually placed a toothpick back between his lips, feigning indifference.

“C’mon, now you try,” Wrecker encouraged as you stepped close. He used his massive hands to reposition your torso into a bent over position. “Like this, see? You gotta feel the power through your whole body!” His bubbly enthusiasm made it hard to take the movement seriously.

His demeanor wasn’t your only distraction. Despite your mother’s disregard for you, as the daughter of a politician, people were always careful with you. Between their ruthless training of you as ‘Phi’ and their gentle instruction as a ‘Senator,’ you were finding them more and more captivating.

Their presence was intoxicating.

Tech used a more methodical style of instruction. His hands deftly maneuvered your body into a slightly different form. “Optimal form is crucial,” he explained. His fingers lingered just a moment too long on your spine, sending an unexpected shiver down your back. With one hand he pressed your bruised shoulder lower.

Your teeth clenched against the pain, a quiet whine making its way past your lips. Tech immediately released his hand, observing you with a tilted glance. “Interesting,” he whispered with curiosity that pulled your eyes to his. Behind those brown eyes of his, something passed through. He blinked once, twice, and stepped back.

The moment went unnoticed as Echo chimed in. “Throw your weight behind it and aim for his diaphragm.” Wrecker tried to chuckle, but you cut him off by doing just that. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t even flinch. A chorus of chuckles erupted around you, but it felt good to join their lighthearted banter instead of getting the kriff kicked out of you.

The training continued until you were slick with sweat. You were exhausted, sure, but the exhilaration you felt in the beginning only grew with every brush with the men.

Though throughout the trading, Crosshair paid the experience little interest.  He meandered the outskirts of the room, only chiming in when you had a misstep. Finally, winded but grinning, you let yourself sink to the floor. Crosshair sauntered over, standing behind you as he shifted his weight onto one foot.

His weight shifted onto one foot and postured over you. “Looks like what they say about senators is true.” He snorted, but the bite his voice carried when you were Phi was missing.

You leaned back, hands propped behind you, and squinted up at him. “And what’s that?”

His keen eyes scanned you, briefly pausing on your heaving chest before meeting your gaze again. “You’re all talk.”

Crosshair maintained a smug expression while his brothers fell silent, their attention fixed on the two of you. For the first time since training began, the ache in your nose surfaced in your mind. The memory of Crosshair's initial blow hung in the air as you carefully considered the situation, your tongue slipping over your teeth. He didn't realize it, but as you sat there inches from his feet, he was perched right within your reach. His guard was down, dismissing you as a non-threat.

The backhanded comment about Senator inaction was the deciding factor in your next move. You could always tolerate insults aimed at you. The rough training was even tolerable if it meant a means to your purpose. 

Calling out a senator’s - your sister’s - resolve, however, was a step too far.

In one swift motion, you fell back, hooked an arm around his ankle, and yanked his foot out from under him. Crosshair's arms swung through the air, desperately trying to catch his balance, but he tumbled to the ground with a thud, a gasp of air forced from his lungs. Lounging back on one elbow, you kept his ankle cradled firmly in your arm.

The rest of Clone Force 99 tried - and failed - to stifle their laughter. Eventually, they gave him the same round of laughter you received. Crosshair shoved up on his elbows with a scowl. The twitch in his lip betrayed the amusement nipping at him. Grunting with a roll of his eyes, he pushed you off his foot. “Lucky shot.”

You raised your eyebrows with a satisfied hum, then let yourself fall back onto the training mat. As you lay there, staring up at the bright ceiling and still catching your breath with a laugh lingering on your tongue, you felt an unfamiliar sensation—happiness.

All your life, you’d been chasing after your sister, constantly seeking your family's approval. You had never been allowed to simply exist or pursue anything for yourself.

But laying there, beaten and exhausted, you felt strangely good.

Wrecker’s face appeared above you with a lopsided smile. He extended a hand as he said, “Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

Groaning, you accepted his hand and he lifted you with ease. “It comes with having a sister,” you replied. The mention of your sister brought a bubble of anxiety to the surface and Lama Su’s warning pricked you.

“Ha! Just like us then.” With his hand still clasping yours, Wrecker steadied you by gently pressing his other hand against the small of your back.

Your face heated, though it was already flushed from training, and you quickly cleared your throat, stepping out of his grasp. Brushing off imaginary dust from your thighs, did your best to sound casua. “I’m curious,” you said, eager to switch topics, “how’s training that trooper Nala Se told me about?”

Just like mentioning your sister had done to you, bringing up the trainee cast a shadow over the troopers’ mood, which only heightened your anxiety.

“Don’t remind us.” Wrecker gruffed. “It’s bad enough we’re missing out on missions and we’re stuck with a reg.”

“Reg?” You repeated.

Echo sighed with exasperation. “Regular clone.” The way you muddled your face prompted the others to elaborate on their own differences. Though you knew Clone Force 99 was different, you hadn’t realized the full extent until now. You understood now why Echo was the least brutal in his training. With his origins as a regular clone, he sympathized.

Lama Su’s conversation with them finally made sense. He was stoking a fire meant to burn you out. 

You laughed nervously, “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Hunter rubbed the bridge of his nose, dreading the afternoon ahead. “Trust us, you’re showing more potential than this guy.” 

They all launched into a conversation about the trainee's abysmal performance, not realizing the irony. Meanwhile, Tech stood back, focused on his datapad, occasionally looking up at the group- at you.

Walking away from the group, you tried to peek at his screen. “What are you looking at?”

Tech glanced up at you and quickly tucked the device away. “I was reading up on some political matters.” He adjusted his goggles and glanced at his brothers still chatting away. “Nothing you are not already appraised of.”

Mouthing an ‘oh’ you followed his gaze t back to the others. They looked so different now, discussing the reg amongst them, than they did just moments ago. “Why exactly are you here?” Tech questioned, you could feel his attention on you.

Not bothering to meet Tech’s stare, you answered without hesitation. “To make a difference the only way I can.”

From that point on, a cycle began. Every morning they trained you as the Senator and every afternoon you received a beating as Phi. 

Knowing their distaste for Phi was completely unrelated to you may have eased your anxiety but it didn’t make your training any easier.

That came with your mornings with Clone Force 99 and, on occasion, an even meeting.

The first time you ran into them outside of training happened when you’d snuck off to comm your sister. After stealing a holocom from the medical facility, you wandered the corridors for a few nights to find the best place to reach her. You always worried about an unexpected visitor in your barrack room. Wrapped in a cloak, you huddled beside a viewport, lost in thought as you stared at the device in your hands.

It had been the longest stretch you’d gone without speaking to your sister. Nerves kept your fingers hovering over the controls, practicing how you'd greet her, when suddenly your vision went dark. Your hands dropped the holocom in surprise, but it never hit the ground. 

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s boisterous voice boomed, warm and close, as his large form pressed up behind you.

Letting out a startled breath, you gently pulled his hands away from your eyes. Standing before you were Hunter and Crosshair, both of whom looked amused.

Hunter practically sauntered forward as he offered you the holocom back. "Caught you," he teased, handing the holocom back to you with a sly grin. His eyes dipped as your fingers brushed against his, he shot a question with smirk at you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You clutched the device a bit more securely and shrugged. "Just needed a quiet spot to contact my sister," you admitted.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you. "And you chose the coldest corridor on Kamino for your heartfelt chat?" he was unconvinced.

You spun the device nervously in your hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time.”

The silver haired clone gave a low chuckle, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Well, don't let us interrupt your cozy little conversation.”

“We’re headed to the canteen for a bite to eat, you should come.” Wrecker suggested, resting his hands on your shoulder.

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You’re right about one thing - it’s quieter this time of night. Less regs to get in the way."

Wrecker grinned wide and leaned in closer, giving you a gentle shake as his presence nudged you forward. "Besides, it's warmer there!"

You certainly felt warmer, but not just from the prospect of a heated room. Glancing down at the holocom, you wondered if your sister was even awake. Unable to resist their invite, you stashed the device away and smiled. “Alright, why not? Lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Crosshair said in a way that made you roll your eyes. He could make anything sound sarcastic.

Joining them turned out to be a worthy trade. Crosshair and Hunter sat across from you and Wrecker. Wrecker made a habit of pushing into your space, offering bites of his favorite bits, while Crosshair and Hunter discussed your upcoming training sessions as Phi—a topic you found less than thrilling. Instead, you chose to bask in Wrecker’s warm attention.

Despite his high energy and monstrous strength, Wrecker proved to be the most gentle of the batch. Always the first to help you to your feet or catch you when you stumbled. His touch light, the calluses of his hands only ever brushing you. The skinship was a new experience for you, but one you wanted more of each time.

After your last bite of a chocolate morsel, Wrecker caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth, dragging your lip down with the pressure of his touch.

“Got a little somethin’ there,” Wrecker chuckled, showing you the smear of chocolate on his thumb. “Guess I’m not the only messy eater ‘round here.” His smile crinkled his eyes as he dipped his thumb into his mouth to suck off the sweet remnant.

The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on you, though it seemed to escape him. He turned back to his plate, completely missing the heat rising to your face. As a soft smile lilted your lips, you shut your eyes and leaned into Wrecker’s form. Surrounded by them, you felt a wave of contentment—you could happily spend all your free time like this

Wrecker perked up, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he felt your weight against him. He sat stock still for a moment, glancing between you and his brothers. Gradually, he relaxed into your touch and reached an arm around you.

“H-Hey,” he stammered slightly, patting a hand on your hip, “What’s all this?”

A foot knocked into yours from beneath the table. Peeking out from under an eyelid, you met Hunter’s lopsided smile and received another gentle tap. “Don’t be falling asleep on us. It wouldn’t be a good look for us to be carrying your limp body back.”

“Is the little princess tired?” Crosshair added lightly, a rare hint of playfulness in his tone.

Closing your eye once more, you hummed in agreement. Sitting alone with them in a mess hall, sharing a meal and laughing under the harsh lighting, you felt completely at peace.

Your mother had meant this all to be a punishment. She couldn’t have imagined that this place, these men, would heal a part of you you hadn’t realized was broken. They built you up and their training made you feel strong. They never admitted to it while you were in armor, but from their observations of the Senator you were improving.

Something you showcased one afternoon as Phi. During a drill with dummy droids, you found yourself blindsided by a metallic blow to your back. Another droid seized you by the neck and hurled you about twenty feet, leaving you crumpled on the ground as the simulation abruptly ended.

Still seeing stars, you heard the familiar cadence of Crosshair’s footsteps. “Get up.” Crosshair growled from above you.

Twisting onto your side, you struggled to catch your breath. Crosshair’s helmet angled to the side as he clicked his tongue, shoving his heal into your hip. “I said get up.” He punctuated his words with another kick. The sharp pain instantly boiled up weeks of frustration and pain.

Not a single thought registered with you as you snapped. As fast as a hydrosnake, you lashed out, looped an arm around his ankle and thrashed him back as you had before. This time your training took over.

You didn’t stop at holding him by his foot. No, you pulled his leg to the side, opening his hips, and pinned his thigh under your knee. Before he could grab at you, you pressed your torso across his, driving an elbow into the side of his helmet. Your hands clasped behind his bicep, effectively locking him in place.

Crosshair thrashed against you as his free hand hammered into the soft spot between your chest and shoulder plates. With every hit, you tightened your grip on him. His vile threats drowned out the sound of Wrecker’s stomping towards the two of you. 

A large hand ripped you by the back of your neck, instantly detangling you from the sniper. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Wrecker taunted.

Dangling in the air, your legs kicked and fingers scratched at Wrecker’s fingers. The fingers that otherwise delicately touched you choked you in more ways than one. Crosshair shot up from the ground, ripping off his helmet to expose his seething expression. 

“Wrecker!” Echo’s voice rang out from the sidelines, but his veiled command did little to deescalate the situation.

The sarcastic, teasing Crosshair who interacted with you as a senator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he whipped a finger at you, a silent but unmistakable threat as he closed in on you.

It was Tech that quickly slid between you, effectively barring Crosshair from getting his hands on you. “Crosshair.” Tech’s tone was firm, if not altogether scolding. “You kicked them while they were incapacitated. Therefore, their actions were justified, while your reaction is not.”

Crosshair shook with rage, eyes burning into you past Tech's shoulder. The silent threat of his pointed finger became a promise.

“Wrecker, drop him.” Hunter ordered he yanked Wrecker’s arm down. 

Wrecker begrudgingly released you, setting you down with a rough thud, but you quickly steadied yourself, brushing off the dust. Your breath was labored, but you didn’t falter under Crosshair’s glare. It didn’t matter who Crosshair thought you were at this point, he was just being cruel. It fully pissed you off more than anything up to that point. Tension hung in the air, and with each passing second, your urge to snap grew stronger.

Tech stepped aside and Hunter’s stern gaze moved between you and Crosshair. “Are we done?”

Crosshair let out a low growl before reluctantly shoving his helmet back on with a quick twist. You, on the other hand, weren’t done and needed to calm down fast.

“You’ll never be worth our time,” Crosshair said with venom. “You fight like a child.”

That simmering urge burst through. You lunged forward, craned your head back, and bashed the front of your helmet into his. The old wound on your nose flared, but watching Crosshair thrown back and stumbling dulled the pain to an ache.

He shook it off quickly enough and charged you again, narrowly missing as Echo intercepted him.

While you regained your balance, Tech fell in beside you, gently catching you by the forearm. You were too busy wheezing to notice the strangeness in Tech’s assisting you as Phi. While you watched Hunter and Echo work to calm Crosshair, Tech brought his head closer, whispering for only you to hear, “Do not antagonize him. You’ve already had one broken nose, let’s not aim for another.”

All of your burning rage cooled in an instant. You slowly looked at the technician, whose eyes watched you intensely from behind his helmet. Something in his gaze drowned out all other sounds around you. He looked at you differently from how the others ever had.

You had no idea how he knew, but the way he looked at you made it clear: Tech knew exactly who you were.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. "It was obvious." Your head jerked back as if to say ‘how was it obvious?’

Sensing your immediate tension, he added quickly, "To me, at least. The others don’t seem to have noticed." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Crosshair remained restrained before looking back at you. "We'll manage Crosshair. You should head to the medical facility to have your nose examined."

“Tech-” You tried to whisper but Tech cut you off, spinning you towards the exit. You didn’t wait for him to tell you again.

You did manage to hear Tech quip, “For the record, Crosshair, that would be twice now they bested you.” You made sure you were out the door by the time Crosshair turned on his brother.

Tech was right to send you to get checked out. You’d avoided a broken nose, but the swelling did need attention. You were still in armor when you got back to your room. Dropping down onto a storage tote, you set your helmet between your feet. Elbows on your knees, you sat looking out over the swath of ocean beyond your windows. 

The steady drum of rain against your window helped soothe your nerves, which had barely eased since you left the training grounds. You sat there for a while, combing through your time on Kamino, searching for any clue as to how Tech figured out who you were. With his keen mind, anything seemed possible, but you still wondered when you slipped up.

The sound of your barrack door opening snapped you out of concentration. You couldn’t reach for your helmet fast enough when someone said,“You need not bother with that”

You whipped around, twisting in your spot. Sans helmet and alone, Tech stood in your room. He’d already seen your face and touched your body, but this felt like you were meeting for the first time.

You slowly stood, picking at your fingertips. “Hi,” was all you managed to croak out as the door shut behind him.

It must've been an odd sight, you thought. The face of a senator on the body of a trooper. You snuck a glance at your reflection in the window. The sight was familiar to you now, but you remembered the juxtaposition taking time to get used to. You weren’t happy that the first time Tech was seeing you as you, your hair was stuck in a bird’s nest of a bun with crooked hairs jutting out at all angles

Tech said your name and something in your chest lurched at the sound. “If I am correct,” He said as moved his goggles up his nose. “-And I usually am, that is your real name. Is it not?” He remained standing just at the entrance of your room.

Your lips tucked into your mouth as you nodded slowly, still unsure about what to even say. “How did you know?”

Upon your admission Tech walked closer, free of the tension you carried. “Observation and deduction.” He explained, stepping around the tote separating you to take you in fully. Unlike when you portrayed Phi or the Senator, you had never noticed him observing you with such explicit curiosity.

Tech circled you, one hand cradling his elbow and the other holding his chin. “I was fairly certain Crosshair broke the trooper’s nose during the initial altercation. When we met in the medical facility, I noticed a distinct mark on your nose—an odd thing for a distinguished guest such as a Senator.” He moved around your right side, his finger gently pressing into your shoulder. “To confirm my suspicions, I applied pressure to a region I hypothesized would be tender if my assumptions were correct.”

"Your reaction confirmed it," Tech concluded, stepping back to give you space. "It was subtle, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth about your dual identities."

He took a seat on the tote facing the window and pulled out his datapad, tapping away as he continued. “Still, I didn’t have an explanation as to why a senator would be here like this. Until you mentioned your sister, which finally prompted me to do a bit of research.” Tech angled his datapad towards you, displaying a news article with a photo of your sister. “I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. However, with her being accounted for on Coruscant, it would prove impossible for her to be on Kamino.”

He pressed a button and a photo of a stoic family appeared - your parents standing behind you and your sister. You only got a glance in before Tech pulled it back to his face. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the photo. “Besides, while the two of you do share similar features, you are far more… captivating.” Tech looked up at you, still standing beside him. “I could never confuse the two of you.”

Your breath hitched at ‘captivating.’ No one had ever remotely said that to you. It was always either you could pass for twins or your sister was the more fortunate child. Coming from Tech, such a logical and blunt man, it took your breath away. He saw no point in undue praise or flattery; to him, he was merely stating facts. It melted you.

You lowered yourself next to him, knees turned in his direction. “Why haven’t you told the others?”

Tech thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to the side as he considered your question “I do not know your reason for anonymity, but I respect your decision and will not jeopardize that. Your privacy is your own.” He nodded, pivoting to fully face you. “And I find I rather enjoy being the only one to know this about you.”

The tension in your shoulders ebbed, replaced by a fluttering that started in your chest and made breathing a manual task. You caught your reflection again, feeling frustrated that in such a moment you looked so disheveled. You balled your fists tightly enough that your fingernails dug into your palms, embarrassed that he offered such compliments to someone like you.

“Why are you making such a face?” Tech asked.

You watched yourself a second longer before offering him a sad smile. “I think I know now why you wear those goggles.”

Tech’s brows pulled together. “They alter the way light enters my eye to correct my eye’s refractive errors.” You sat back, blinking at the explanation, humor coming to your smile. Tech kept a serious face, not understanding the nuances you were attempting. “They help me see,” He clarified in a flat tone.

You yielded a small laugh, leaning over to tap his knee. “I know, I was trying to say you must need them if you think I’m the pretty sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how mean they sounded. Not just insulting Tech’s taste, but fully airing the distaste you held for yourself. Your smile dropped and along with your eyes to the hand still on his knee.

A drop of panic hit your gut as you started pulling your hand away. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tech grabbed your wrist and you couldn’t react before he hushed you, “Get down.” He said, pulling you both down to the floor. He ducked his head, pushing yours down and pulling you flush against him in one motion. His hand cupped over your mouth just before you heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps echoed in. Whoever it was, they were too far away for you to get a clear image of them in the window’s reflection.

You craned your neck, trying to get a look but Tech held you fast.

“His armor isn’t here.” Crosshair’s sharp voice rung out. “The little snake isn’t home.”

Hunter answered with a sigh, “Cross, none of us like this but you need to ease up. The sooner we get him trained, the sooner we get rid of him.” The two of them made themselves at home, walking around on a light inspection of your space.

Tech kept you both completely still, staying so silent you weren’t sure he was even breathing. Which was impressive considering that between the intruders and being positioned between Tech’s legs you were having a hard time regulating your own sounds.

One set of footsteps quieted. “Would you look at that?” Crosshair snarled. “Looks like the reg has a little crush.” The sound of paper snapping told you he found the picture of your sister hanging from your mirror. The level of agitation in his voice made you worry for the next time Crosshair caught you in uniform.

“That might be why I-” Hunter stopped mid-sentence. You heard footsteps shuffle in place.

“What is it?” Crosshair pressed.

A moment passed before Hunter continued. “It’s nothing. We should go. You can play nice later.” Crosshair made a noise of frustration, and the two of them left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tech eased his grip on you. His arms hung beside you while you instinctively sagged against him in relief. You twisted around to ask, “What were they doing in here?”

“My guess would be that Hunter wanted Crosshair to make amends.” You could see a thought turning over in him. “And I would say Hunter either just realized the situation or is on the very cusp of doing so.”

“How did they-”

“We have always known which barrack was yours.” Tech answered before you could get the question out. He glanced away momentarily, considering his words carefully. “I advised them early on to leave well enough alone.”

The two of you held each other's gaze for a moment, and Tech's expression softened, becoming more reflective. “I did say I enjoyed being the only one to know your identity,” he murmured. “What I neglected to mention is that I took measures to keep it that way.” Gently, he lifted a knuckle to your cheekbone, brushing back a stray hair. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

“It doesn’t bother you - not really knowing me?” You asked.

As Tech began to help untangle the two of you from your hiding spot, he responded. “We may not have had traditional introductions, but I know all that I need to.” You pulled your legs beneath you, reaching out for Tech as he stood. He gripped your hand firmly and pulled you up.

With a slight grunt as he helped you to your feet, Tech continued, “You are resourceful and brave. These qualities are not just observed; they are proven through your actions and decisions here.” Tech’s voice carried a respect and a hint of admiration that felt more personal than his usual factual observations.

“And while I may not know every detail of your past or every layer of your personality yet, I understand your core—your competence, your strength, and your commitment to your goals. These are the attributes that define you, not just the name you carry or the role you play.”

Tech bent over and plucked your helmet from the floor. “Plus, as a clone, a name doesn’t hold a great deal of value for me.” He held the helmet in his hands, He rotated the helmet, examining it before gently handing it back to you. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding in slight awe, you gently accepted the helmet and immediately dropped it, opting instead to quickly wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you, Tech.” 

Tech stiffened slightly, the rush of adrenaline visible as his posture tightened—a clear sign of his surprise at the physical closeness. This type of interaction was uncharted territory for him. In the window’s reflection, he watched the two of you. Your face was tucked into his chest, hidden from view, but he could feel the tremor of your breathing. Unsure of what else to do, Tech lightly touched your head. “O-of course.”

Tech had a myriad of questions for you about your past and your motivations.Holding you in that moment, he decided, was enough. The questions could wait for another day.

The next morning's training session was particularly challenging for you. It was hard to ignore Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. He watched you as if decoding every movement, his eyes sharp and probing. Tech's earlier observations were spot on—Hunter was definitely onto something.

For once, you found yourself eagerly awaiting the end of the session. As soon as it was over, you hustled away faster than usual, leaving Clone Force 99 to prepare yourself for that evening. You were going to tell them the whole truth.

After mentally rehearsing several scenarios multiple times, you donned your armor and headed for the training facilities. However, as you stepped out of your room, you nearly collided with Nala Se. 

She didn’t flinch, embodying the typical Kaminoan stillness. Towering above you, she blinked slowly, her gaze piercing. “Before you go, I must see to your injuries,” Nala Se stated matter-of-factly. Without waiting for your response—accustomed to your practiced silence—she turned and headed towards the medical wing.

You followed quietly, your mind racing as you pondered which injuries she referred to. Certainly, your nose and the rest of your face still ached from the previous day's exertions, and your torso was a tapestry of bruises, but these were all injuries that had been treated before. Moreover, Nala Se had scarcely crossed your path in recent weeks. Initially, she had helped you avoid detection, but she had not intervened since.

Her sudden appearance was less than comforting.

In the quiet of the medical facility, oddly void of the typical droids, Nala Se motioned to a bed. “Have a seat and remove your helmet.”

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of how your tardiness for training might disrupt your planned conversations that you barely registered her instructions. Nala Se said your name, snapping you back to the present.

Removing your helmet, you looked across the bed at her and realized her gaze was focused past you. It hadn’t been her calling your name.

Outside, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair were on their way to the training facilities, helmets under their arms, when they noticed the Senator entering one of the medical rooms. Today, you weren’t cloaked in your typical attire but wore a robe of deep purple with gold threading, which seemed oddly formal.

Crosshair snorted, “Looks like we need to ease up on our little princess.”

Tech, who had been absorbed in his datapad, looked up. “To what are you referring?”

“I told you she was actin’ weird.” Wrecker said, more concerned than accusatory, ignoring Tech’s question. “Should we do somethin’?”

Echo, looking to clarify for Tech, gestured with his prosthetic arm. “We just saw the Senator enter the medical facility. And yes, we should check on her before heading to training.”

Tech paused, processing the information. He knew you well enough to be aware of your usual post-training soreness and kept an eye on the medical records associated with your after-training exams. You hadn’t sustained injuries severe enough recently to necessitate a deviation from your normal routine. He buzzed with suspicions and worried over the implications of your unexpected visit to the medical facility at such an unusual time.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter said, moving forward with all but Tech who stood in place a second longer. If his suspicions were correct, this was not going to go well.

Back inside, you were faced with your reflection. Blinking back confusion, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Stepping towards you, adorned in the traditional regalia of your homeworld, was your sister, looking every bit the senator she was meant to be, her hair elegantly braided back with strands of gold and pearls woven through. The purples and golds of her dress made her appear radiant and regal—so much like your mother, and so unlike you in your scuffed armor and haphazardly tied hair.

Nala Se wordlessly removed herself from the room, making the entire setup evident.

“Sister?” Your voice barely whispered as you took a hesitant step forward, half-fearing that any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.

Her eyes widened, her pace slowing, as she scanned your face. Her face, so alike and unlike yours, crumpled with emotion, her lip trembling. Then, with a burst of energy, she ran towards you, hands reaching out from the folds of her cloak. You caught her in a tight embrace as she collided into you, her presence grounding the surreal moment.

She didn’t speak at first, only managing to choke back muffled sobs against your shoulder. You rested your head against hers, holding her close, and savored the familiar scent of her perfume—a reminder of days long past. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your voice not choked with sadness but steady and comforting. You had always been the pillar for her to lean on; this time was no different.

Your sister pulled back, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. She managed a shaky smile, laughing through another small sob. "I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

You shook your head with a smile, gently gripping her shoulders. "You have more important things to do. Like, I don’t know, running the galaxy," you joked. Pulling her into another hug, you held her close for a moment before stepping back to reassess her. "Though… what are you doing here?"

Your sister took your hand, her grip soft against your calloused skin, and squeezed it tightly. "I’ve come to take you home. Mother—"

"Mother?" you interrupted, your tone sharpening as you pulled your hand away.

“We need you-”

“We?” You repeated louder. The joy of your sister’s visit dimmed the instant you remembered why you were standing together in a Kaminoan facility in the first place. “If this is for her, you shouldn’t be here.”

Your sister pressed a hand to her chest, perturbed by your tone. You’d never spoken to her like that. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Swallowing the instinct to give in to her, you reached for your helmet. “I don’t need to. You know why I’m here and I intend to see it through. You should leave-”

The sounds of the doors whirring open cut you off as you snapped your helmet on in a hurry.

Suddenly confused, your sister opened her mouth to say something, but instead you heard a familiar voice and the strength you’d maintained was replaced by panic.

The sudden arrival of Crosshair and the rest of Clone Force 99 sliced through the tense atmosphere like a vibroblade. “How touching,” Crosshair drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rounded the privacy divider at the room's entrance. “What is our little princess doing alone with a reg? I didn’t realize you had a pet.” His cold gaze landed on you, igniting a tremor in your hands.

Your sister’s expression twisted in a stomach churning and familiar way. She scoffed and turned, “Little princess?” She spat the words out, her disdain palpable. You felt like you might gag yourself.

Your attention snapped to Tech who was just as stunned as you’d been moments before. Apparently he’d not predicted this. Hunter kept a straight face, eyebrows a little furrowed. If he had any suspicions about your dual identity, this chaotic reveal was likely skewing his thoughts. Echo, ever the sentinel, stood slightly taller, his posture tightening as if preparing for conflict. Wrecker towered behind the group, watching on with a rare sense of seriousness.

Crosshair, shifting his weight casually and placing a toothpick between his lips, continued to provoke. “What? Don’t want him knowing about our little fun together?” His wording would’ve made you laugh had the situation been different. He stirring up a misunderstanding for his own amusement.

Your sister didn’t bite. She cocked an eyebrow, giving the sniper a challenging stare before turning her attention back to you. “Are these the clones that have been training you?” Her tone was sharp, and her expression mirrored the stern demeanor of your mother.

Caught between weeks of training to maintain silence in your armor and the escalating tension, you found yourself paralyzed, struggling to formulate a response. It seemed all you could do was breathe through the growing panic.

“You two know each other?” Wrecker piped up.

Your sister, her confusion morphing into frustration, glanced quickly back at the group. “Answer me,” she demanded, her voice heavy with authority that did nothing to ease the stiffness of your tongue.

“You little shit,” Crosshair fumed, stepping towards you but immediately restrained by Hunter’s firm grip. Despite being held back, he snapped, “Show respect and answer her.”

Receiving his anger as an unnamed clone never felt as painful as the anger directed to you now.

Whirling on them, your sister jabbed a finger at him. “Who do you think you’re talking to, clone?” The disrespect in the way she said ‘clone’ gutted you and visibly startled Wrecker and Crosshair.

“Me?” Crosshair retorted, pointing a finger back at her. “Why are you defending him?”

“Him?” Her voice rose almost to a shrill. You reached out, trying to pull her back from the brink of the confrontation, only to have your hand sharply slapped away. She spun around to face you. “Take that ridiculous thing off!” She reached for your helmet, and this time, you reflexively slapped her hand away.

Crosshair, seething with anger, wrenched free from Hunter's grasp and charged toward you. Tech's shouts echoed behind him, but Crosshair was undeterred. He brushed past your sister with a dismissive flick, gripped the rim of your helmet with one hand, and shoved you backward with the other. Just as you tumbled to the floor, your sister retaliated, pushing him away forcefully. From your position on the ground, you didn't see it, but the sharp slap she delivered resounded through the room.

With his cheek stinging from the slap, Crosshair held his ground, his grip white-knuckled on your helmet as he turned a furious gaze on the woman standing defiantly before him. The intensity in her eyes was something entirely new to him. They locked eyes, each poised for further confrontation, when a realization dawned on Crosshair.

He’d never seen you look quite like this. In fact, you seemed like a completely different person. Dropping the toothpick from his lips, confusion replaced the anger on his face as he scrutinized the subtle differences in the face before him—slight variations in aging lines and hair length. There was more than that, Crosshair realized as he picked out the innumerable differences.

“Crosshair…” Echo said hesitantly. Still sat on the floor, you were on full display for Echo.

Wrecker’s face fell as he glanced around Crosshair at you.

Steadying a shaky breath, you gathered what composure you could and pushed yourself up off the floor. "Calm down," you whispered, touching your sister’s shoulder as you rose beside her.

Standing there, you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Crosshair, afraid of the disgust you might see mirrored on his face. You missed the horror breaking across him. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on your sister, silently pleading, "Sister, please."

Snapping her hand out, your sister harshly gripped your face and forced it towards the men. “You're the ones who did this to her?” She was likely referencing the scar marking your nose or the other tiny, healed wounds your helmet had dealt you over time.

Heat scorched your face as you were forcibly put on display. You reluctantly met the eyes of Clone Force 99. Crosshair’s face was pale, his brows furrowed deeply and his mouth slightly ajar in a mix of horror and disbelief. Echo and Wrecker were in similar shades of shock. Hunter, on the other hand, looked almost regretful. 

Gently removing your sister’s tight grip, you attempted to soothe her. “They didn’t know. Mother-”

“Do not blame Mother for your stupid decisions!” She screamed, gesturing a hand at you.

“Stupid decisions?” You challenged, feeling insulted. “My decisions have been for you. So I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t tell you to do something so childish and I didn’t tell you to go and ruin your face.” You inhaled sharply at her words. She knew how to slap with more than just her hand.

Ignoring the clones, she straightened herself, her demeanor cooling into a composed facade that echoed your mother's authority. “Enough.” she stated firmly, making you straighten your posture subconsciously. “You are to come home and act as my body double at an upcoming gathering. The clones who trained you are to act as your security.” Pulling her hood up to shroud her face, you saw a glimpse of your gentle sister once more. “We will discuss your future afterwards.”

With that, she was gone. 

Left alone with the squadron, you looked to the ceiling as opposed to facing them immediately.

Tech approached, saying your name. The others whipped their heads to him, the familiarity in his tone throwing them off. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“You knew about this?” Echo accused, turning on Tech.

“Of course I did.” Tech said quickly and dismissively.

Crosshair's hands clenched into fists repeatedly, his anger barely contained. "Was this all a game to you?" he growled, his gaze intense and accusing as he finally turned to you.

You were to weary to be angry at him. How he could ever think being pummeled everyday for weeks was anything close to a game was beyond you.

Meeting his fierce stare you offered a weak smile. It lasted only a second before it fell with your eyes. “No, never. I was sent here for training… I didn’t mean to deceive you.” Your mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

The room fell silent. Wrecker, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "So, all this time, you were…”

“Yes,” You finished for him. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I’ve been taking all the training seriously.”

“It shows.” Echo said softly.

Hunter stepped forward. “Alright, we can sort this all out later.” He gave you a firm nod. “As a team. But right now, we have a mission.” He extended you a hand and a smirk, an offering. “The rest… you can explain on the way.”

Your chest caved at the sight. Taking his hand you choked out, “Gladly.”

Tech adjusted his goggles with a smile. “Then that settles it.” Brandishing his datapad, he started scrolling through the screen. “And I have compiled a list of questions that will clarify this entire ordeal.”

Hunter walked beside you, placing an encouraging hand on your back. “Let’s get going.”

Echo and Wrecker still looked conflicted, but nodded in agreement with Hunter's decision, and even Crosshair, though still visibly upset, did not contest.

Tech gave one final note. “All things considered, that went far better than even I could have predicted.”

@bruh-myguy-what i hope you like <3

[immagods]

Then there are the whispers of a clone frozen in stasis. A medic trying to save his brothers, only to wake up and realise he is the last, all his brothers are gone. They are just rumours. No one's sure if they are true or not, until one day.

One day where Kix sitting in a cantina in the outer rim, where he sees a group of people gathered around a holo. He pays no mind to it at first, that is, until he hears someone say a familiar name. A name he hasn't heard spoken out loud in a long time. A brothers name.

So he gets closer, and he sees what the group of people are looking at. It's the photo. The photo that Rex had hanging on the wall of his office, the one of him, Fives, Echo and Cody. The photo that Fives always said made him and Echo Rex's favourites. Kix remembers that holo, he remembers the battle when it was taken. Remembers it was just after Fives and Echo had gotten back from Arc training. Remembers that he was just behind the camera, waiting to chew Fives out; because 'even if you have ARC training now. It doesn't mean that you can go and do stupid risky shit all the time trying to impress the shinies.'

Kix is drawn from the memories of ghosts when he feels someone tap him on the arm. It's a young girl with big blue familiar looking eyes, and she says that she thinks it cool that he looks exactly like the brave soldiers she learnt about in school. She asks him if his grandfather was a clone, if he knew any clones, if he's heard any stories of the clones. Kix stares at the girl for a moment, thinking about another girl with curious blue eyes, before he answers her. He tells her that he is a clone, that he has so many stories that he can't even count them.

With wide eyes, the girl drags him closer to the holo and pointing at it asks him if he knows the clones in the photo.

And Kix, looking at the holo, thinks of the old mando'a that they used to say; Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. 'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'

So he tells the girl.

He tells her how they were his brothers. He tells her how he was apart of the 501st. He tells her how they fought for freedom. He tells her how they were always finding ways to laugh during the war. He tells her how they adopted the jedi into their family. He tells her how no matter how bad things got the clones knew they would be okay as long as they had eachother. He tells her their names.

The more stories he tells the more people listen. And word spreads. The Clones are not all gone. There is one left. And he's telling the stories of the clones, the stories that, when there where millions of clone alive no one wanted to hear. But they want to hear them now, they want to know the clones now. They want to know the worriors that fought for freedom and laid down the foundations for everything after. They clones story may be a tragedy, but it will not be forgotten.

The Vode will be remembered.

[cerastes]

I still think it's really cool how Amuro starts as the shittiest pilot alive (because he's a 15-year old) that only gets carried because he's in the biggest, fattest stat stick in-universe at the time (a few retroactive additions made in the future notwithstanding), enough that even its crappy vulcan guns are tearing Zaku IIs apart, and when he starts getting a bit too cocky, Char and Ramba Ral show up in objectively inferior pieces of junk and absolutely deliver his pizza, they just drag his face across every available surface in Planet Earth like he's a Yakuza mook, all because they are simply that much better at piloting, and the thing is, Amuro takes that very seriously.

He goes from shitass kid in an unfortunate situation that doesn't want to get in the robot to the most unwell child soldier in the war, which is really saying something, but most importantly, becomes so good at piloting the Gundam that the Gundam physically cannot handle Amuro's piloting. They need to apply "Magnetic Coating" to its joints so they don't fucking snap away from the main frame because Amuro, one, moves too damn well but also in too extreme a way for the frame to handle it, two, despite being equipped with two sabers, a shield, a beam rifle and vulcan guns, Amuro is a stern believer in introducing most everyone in thagomizer range to his Rated Z for Zeon hands, the single most official pair of hands in the business, tax free. He KEEP going Ip Man on these dudes, he does NOT need to do a Jamestown on these mother fuckers but he INSISTS. Somehow even the Gundam Hammer, which is a giant Hannah Barbera cartoon flail-- Ok, look at this thing, words do not do it justice

Even this god damn Tom and Jerry prop is less savage that whatever Amuro decides to do the moment he's done throwing his shield to get a free kill on someone and it officially becomes bed time forever for the unfortunate sap at the business end of his ten-finger weapons of mass destruction.

The RX-78-2, "Gundam" for its friends and family, even has a top of the line cutting edge Learning Computer that 'learns' alongside the pilot and their habits. This data extracted from it was so absolutely fucked up that it completely revolutionized Mobile Suit combat afterwards, which is a wholesome thing to think about when The Best Combat Data Ever came from a really angry, really stressed 15 year old that doesn't even like piloting. He was 15! He made Haro with his own hands! Amuro literally just wanted to make funny cute spherical robofriends! Amuro was out there trying to make Kirby real, but fate had other plans for him. His cloned brain put in a pilot seat is one of the setting's strongest 'pilots'.

They made fucking Shadow the Hedgehog with his brain, god damn.

By the end, Zeon is rolling out Gelgoogs out of its mass production lines. These things are in the Gundam's ballpark in terms of overall specs (or "power level"). Amuro is bodying them as if they were episode 1 Zaku IIs.

AND THEN HE GETS FUCKING PSYCHIC SPACE POWERS. Not that he needed them, he bodied a couple Space Psychics without any of those powers before awakening to them. But heaven's most violent child was not done evolving, whether he liked it or not.

Char bodied him in a souped up Zaku II at the start, a machine objectively inferior to the Gundam. Amuro more or less one-sidedly beats the shit out of Char when he's in a custom Commander-type Gelgoog that you could consider to be equal spec-wise to the Gundam. Amuro is the embodiment of Finding Out. He is Consequences. You tell him he better make it hurt, better make it count, better kill you in one shot, buddy, he needs half a fucking shot. The complete transformation. One could consider the central 75% of the show as long drawn out training montage turning a kid into the Geese Howard of giant robots.

[hastalavistabyebye]

I've been thinking about it for quite some time (and it's a good thing my blog is so smol because a lotta people ain't going to like this) but we need to be honest for two seconds. Fox wouldn't be hated for killing Fives.

It's not the simple usual take on how Fox didn't fired right away and tried to calm Fives down first, how he was just doing his job. This is true but it goes deeper even.

The clones were taught how to deal with traitors.

We saw it with Rex when he met Cut Lawquane. He was faced with a deserter and his first reaction wasn't one of peaceful understanding at all, quite the contrary. Of course he let him go and live with his family in the end. (Interesting to note that there were no officer present too) But what's interesting is not the conclusion he made, but his instinctual, learned behavior : deserters = traitors = bad.

And during the Umbara arc, we saw that the clones also learned how to form a firing squad. They knew how to do that. Yes, in the end, again, they ended up letting their siblings live but there also was the aspect that they already doubt Krell's orders AND that this situation was clearly, stupidly unfair and wrong. And they didn't like nor trust the general himself already. So it was an easy order to go against. But then again what is interesting is that they knew how to do that.

The idea of the Vode not knowing or even being able to conceive shooting a brother, even less killing one, is very sweet but sadly not true. They are soldiers first, born and trained. They would not look kindly to traitors and deserters. They would also know how to court martial the formers, even (or maybe especially) if it's other clones.

All of this to say that Fox killing Fives after he tried to kill the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic ? The highest ranking person in the entire Republic ? And he was also armed, dangerous and out of control AND didn't listen to attempts at calming him. In all of those conditions, very little people would bat an eye to Fox taking those actions.

The only people that would hate Fox are the people close to Fives -Rex and Torrent, Cody and some of the 212th too maybe, by proxy, and Anakin. The Jedi would frown at this, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka maybe more than the rest and would be more affected, because they were close to Fives too.

But the rest of the GAR ? Well of course some won't see it with a kind eye because there's always people to tell you they would have done better, but globally they wouldn't mind so much. Because what Fox did was something they had been, in fact, trained for.

And even if there was a GAR/Guard divide, it wouldn't be this event that make everything goes from bad to worse. It might be one more critic on Fox, it might not be taken kindly. But in the end it would be more because it's Fox and they don't-like-Fox, more than the killing a brother part.

Okay this is longer than I thought it would be 😅 but my point still is : the Vode are soldiers first and foremost. They don't act under the same values and morals as us at all. They were trained to kill enemies of the Republic. If those enemies were among the Republic didn't change a thing. If those enemies were fellow clones didn't change a thing, they were trained to kill them too. So Fox only doing his job in that instant also means that a lot of other Clone Commanders would have done the very same as him. Maybe not all of them, sure (it can depend from their generals) (which Fox don't have from what we know). But maybe some of them wouldn't even have tried to resonate with Fives at all.

The point is : the GAR wouldn't have hate Fox for this. If they hated him, killing Fives wasn't the reason, nor even the starting point most likely.

[xi-xi-chen]

Lightcannon Week // Day 03 - Dystopian

Bringing back Halo! I had so much fun drawing an old design I made for them. Spartan Lux and Soldier Jinx, although she eventually joins the ODST unit.

But ever since the Spartans were released to the front, Jinx can't help but notice as Lux seems to be assigned to her platoon everytime they deploy. Eventually Jinx realizes a terrible truth about how Spartans were made, especially about the rumor of clones being involved. Jinx would not only find herself fighting war but thrown into an investigation about missing children.

On the other hand, Lux has been at death's doorstep several times over but Jinx refuses to let her die, even after she told Jinx that her purpose is to fight for humanity, she's just a weapon afterall, nothing else.

_____________________

Some notes : (disclaim//this isn't at all from expertise, I'm still in training)

CO - Company Commander <- this is usually a captain's position, (or Lieutenant [Officer]) that controls two platoons, in turn, platoons have four squads, squads with fire teams, breaking it down more, each squad is two Attack by fire or assaulting elements (ABF), one support by fire (SBF) and a weapons squad (WPN) (this is the most mass casualty producing team, they are very essential to the operations.)

AO - Area of Operations <- this is not completely accurate for this scenario, however may be still categorized as Area of Op since this mission is classified as a Raid turned Defense in order to eliminate the enemy forces and cut off some of their supply chain within the objective.

Radio Dia - "Monkey Tree niner-- (3-9) Platoon Lead will first address the Squad Lead by their assigned nics and then repeat their own after brief of OPORD. Usually, we give radios only to the main chain of command within our platoon, which is our leadership. Does not contain team leads either. However, I can't remember if all the soldiers in Halo were hooked up on the same frequency of comms. Oh, well. But the pain I felt while rewatching Halo legends...NEVER say "over and out." Blegh! It's just "Out!"

++ OPORD - Operations Order <- basically the plan about the shit that's about to go down. It's pages upon pages of planning people, not fun, but very important. We have two more Orders as well, yay, more paperwork...

[catscidr]

YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy  

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention? 

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions. 

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?) 

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…  

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage  

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would  

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat 

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you) 

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)  

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker 

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything 

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table. 

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly. 

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask. 

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand. 

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind. 

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes. 

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most. 

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you. 

Oh, how naïve you are. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged? 

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory. 

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before... 

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.” 

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up? 

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you. 

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response. 

Did he always have teeth this sharp? 

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him? 

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months. 

[captn-trex]

consequences be damned

Wolffe x F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

description: commander wolffe likes to berate you when you go against his orders, but this time, you can't supress the visceral reaction it brings.

warnings: not necessarily enemies to lovers but... a decent amount of arguing, mentions of negative clone treatment, i think that's it? idk man I'm tired

a/n: this is for all the girlies that cry when someone raises their voice at them! (me) anyway... i get nervous when discussing the treatment of clones and other kinda touchy stuff bc i just have this nagging feeling that i'm always interpreting stuff wrong, so I hope the stuff wolffe says at the end makes sense lmao

You heard your name called after you before you managed to make your escape to your quarters, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. Ignoring the Commander’s calls, you hurried down the hall, your strides much wider than your usual gait. You managed to get the door open, but a large hand wrapped around your wrist before you could evade the uncomfortable conversation.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Commander snarled, tugging you back into the corridor and slamming his fist into the control panel to shut the door.

You lifted your eyes to his for a moment, your head still angled to the floor as if it would shield you from his foul temper. You had never seen him so angry.

“I asked you a question, soldier” He said, his voice dangerously low as his face drew near to yours, “Did you really think I’d let you off after what you just pulled?”

“Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

Wolffe interrupted you with a sarcastic laugh, “Didn’t mean to? You’ll have to do better than that”

You couldn’t look at him. You knew he’d react like this when he found out, but you still hated when he was angry with you. He was more hard on you than his brothers, he always had been. So much so that you felt there was something unsaid between the two of you, that there was some itch that he wouldn’t stop scratching even though he wouldn’t acknowledge what it was.

“I’m sorry sir” You peeped out. It was the only thing you could say.

You had no explanation for your actions. You had gone directly against his orders, knowingly, deliberately. You knew he would find out, you knew he’d berate you for it, and you did it anyway. You’d do it again if you got the chance.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it” He began, and you let him scold you without interruption, “I have told you, countless times, you do not get involved in the conflict. No matter what. Do you know how it makes me look?”

He paused, but you knew the question was rhetorical. In that silence it was hard not to think about the feel of his hand wrapped around your wrist, still keeping you in your place.

“I makes me look like I can’t control those under my command. If a medic can go against my orders then what’s to stop the rest of the men? Or the other nat-borns? I mean, do you even think? Clearly you don’t. You don’t have combat training, you could’ve been hurt, or you could have died”

He continued on, but you tuned him out. You had heard this barrage of demeaning comments more than once, and it was starting to feel like maybe it had become one time too many. If you had any more backbone you would’ve told him how much you despised when he did this. Although, Wolffe — along with almost everybody aboard the ship — was above you in rank. You couldn’t possibly give back to him this belittling commentary, so once again you stayed silent.

The worst part was that most of the time, Wolffe wasn’t even unbearable to be around, far from it. At any other time he was kind, in his own way. It wasn’t a way in which you’d seen anyone else express kindness, but you’d come to understand the way he operated a little by now. For example, something you had retroactively realised was a display of compassion, was that when you first joined the 104th, he had checked up on you everyday, albeit not in a particularly cheerful way. He had made sure you were comfortable in your new quarters, the ones you were now stood outside of being reprimanded.

There was something gnawing at the back of your mind, the feeling that you shouldn’t have to put up with this. You could hear your father in the back of your head, telling you that you had to learn to stand up for yourself. You hadn’t looked up at Wolffe once through his ranting, and you didn’t plan on it either, especially now as you felt your eyes becoming heavy with tears.

It was a natural response. You never liked being told off, and right now you felt as if you were a child again, your parents giving you a lecture about your shortcomings. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in a similar manner, silent and unacknowledged.

You didn’t know when Wolffe had finished laying into you, but when you stopped reflecting on the past and came back to the present moment, you realised that he wasn’t speaking anymore. You hazarded a look at him, once again keeping your chin pointed down. He was just staring down at you, his scowl replaced in favour of a more uneasy frown, finally removing his hand from your wrist.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, clearly unsure of how to even approach the situation.

“I’m fine” You replied, and your voice was surprisingly even.

He was still just peering down at you through his creased brow, frozen in his place and out of his depth.

“Why are you crying?” He addressed the situation head on.

“I’m not crying”

“You are”

“I’m n—”

“You are”

You looked to your feet, feeling absolutely infinitesimal under the full scrutiny of his commanding presence.

“Alright fine, maybe I am” You admitted in a whisper.

“Why?” He asked firmly.

“No reason”

“No reason?”

“Yep, no reas—”

“Stop it” He interrupted again, “What’s wrong?”

You let out a long breath, your chest heaving before it escaped your pursed lips. You could taste the saltiness of your tears, and you lifted a hand to wipe one of your cheeks.

“I just don’t like being told off okay? I can’t help it”

“I wasn't telling you off, I was—”

When he didn’t finish his sentence your eyes flicked back up to his. His frown had softened, and he was now chewing on his lip as if he was looking for something to say. You huffed quietly, your cheeks scorching with embarrassment at the whole situation.

“If it's alright with you sir, I'd like to retire to my quarters now” You spoke quietly, trying to escape this situation that was nothing if not awkward.

Wolffe stepped back from you, clearing his throat, “Yeah, go ahead”

You turned back to your door and opened it up. You had only taken one step inside when Wolffe spoke up again.

“Wait”

You turned around, your eyes finding his, flitting between the cybernetic and the natural. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, and he just looked at you with a plain expression, something unreadable.

“I don't want to have to tell you off” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You mustered up a little courage after his change in demeanour, “Then why do you?”

His throat bobbed as he gulped, “I just want you to be safe”

The way that he was staring at you was entirely too much for you to cope with, so you lowered your gaze once again before you replied.

“Thank you sir, I appreciate that”

Wolffe reached up slowly, gently taking your chin and guiding your eyes to his. He gazed upon you with the utmost sincerity and apology as his thumb swept across your still-wet cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you”

“That's oka—”

“It's not” He spoke resolutely, with no room for argument, then softened his voice a little, “You understand that I don't like to be angry with you, right?”

Something about your expression must have conveyed a sense of doubt, because Wolffe frowned when you didn’t reply.

“Do you really think-?”

“I don't think, remember?” You replied, in a oddly humorous way, despite the previous tone of the conversation. Wolffe gave you a disapproving look, and you backtracked, “Sorry Commander”

Wolffe was still holding you face, and the way his eyes were searching yours was making your stomach erupt into butterflies. His gaze was captivating, cementing you in place and rendering you speechless in a completely different way to when he had been scolding you earlier. You didn’t want to be the first one to break away, and thankfully Wolffe came to his senses soon enough.

“I should go”

He dropped his hand from your chin and stepped back. You nodded subtly in reply to his words, still unable to form your own, and he turned to leave with haste.

You watched him walk away as you leaned on your doorway, stalking down the hall with a pace to rival your hurried steps from earlier. His head turned back to you briefly, and you both instantly looked away, you stepping back into your room and closing the door as you felt your cheeks burn hot from being caught watching him.

It felt like something had shifted in your relationship, like something significant had happened. Perhaps it was your inadvertent show of vulnerability, perhaps it was the way his touch set your skin alight. Whatever it was, it was something that you couldn’t take back. Whatever was unsaid between you was coming to light, and you cursed your racing heart for getting ahead of itself.

You were crouched behind cover, your eyes locked on a trooper that had been knocked to the ground. He wasn’t moving, but going over to see if he was still alive was too risky, even if the focus of the enemy’s fire wasn’t in his direction any longer. You lingered, waiting to see even the slightest twitch of his fingers. He continued to lay motionless, his body sprawled in an uncomfortable position from the heavy blow he had received. You hoped, prayed, and they were answered in an instant, the man’s body curling in on itself as he groaned in pain.

You gulped, and slowly turned to look over your shoulder, only to see Wolffe watching you like a hawk.

“Don't you dare” He shook his head slowly, his voice low, almost a growl.

You hung your head a little, squeezing your eyes closed for a brief moment.

“I'm sorry Commander”

You rushed out from behind the cover, hearing your name being screamed after you in a desperate plea for you to do anything else. You didn’t pay attention, you were solely focused on making it to the trooper.

You pulled the man to his feet, throwing his arm around your shoulders and making your way back to cover, but you were not so lucky as to evade danger. Blasterfire ripped through the air surrounding you, causing you to duck out of its path, and take the injured man down with you.

“Get out of here!” The Commander shouted at you, stepping in front of you and shooting at the droids that had focused their fire in your direction.

You dragged to man the short distance back to cover, and as you were giving him a once over, assessing the issue, Wolffe ordered another medic to take over and tugged you further back from the front lines, around the corner of a crumbling building.

“What the kriff is the matter with you?”

He was angry. More angry than he had ever been, more angry than the previous rotation. And yet, there was a far clearer emotion swimming in his non-cybernetic eye, dripping from his pinched brows, washing over you with every heavy breath he exhaled. Worry, concern, utter distress.

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't want you anywhere near the action” He growled, evidently struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Despite his afflicted demeanour, you didn’t feel like having a repeat of the previous rotation, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins only sought to heighten you irritation.

“And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate being told off” You grumbled back to him, not feeling brave enough to say it with your chest.

“Then stop doing stupid things!” He rebutted, his voice conveying every inch of exasperation he felt.

You shook your head as you dragged your gaze from him, starting to walk away. You weren’t going to be talked to like this again. For the second time in the last rotation, Wolffe’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.

“I'm talking to you”

“Well I'm not talking to you” You snapped, snatching back your arm and finally letting your irritation take over.

At first, Wolffe appeared to be taken aback. You had never so much as argued back at him before, but something about the fire burning in his eye told you that it was welcomed. He wanted you to fight back. He liked that you were fighting back.

“I refuse to be reprimanded for doing the right thing” You continued, letting him hear your true feelings on the matter.

“You refuse?” Wolffe seemed almost amused.

“Yes” You replied, but your confidence was slipping, “I refuse”

Wolffe laughed, taking a step towards you, “And I suppose you think you have the authority to refuse my orders? Seeing as it's the only thing you can seem to do right”

You stepped away from him, but with every step you took, he followed after you. It wasn’t long until he had backed you into the wall, and was towering over you with a challenging look on his face.

“I have free will, is what I have” You puffed out your chest in defiance, causing it to come into contact with his chestplate, “And I will use it to do the right thing, consequences be damned”

“It must be nice to be you, huh?”

You just frowned, not entirely sure what made him say that.

Wolffe’s face became stern, “You just get to flit about, playing the hero when you could so easily become the martyr acting the way you do, claiming it's all about ‘free will’ and ‘doing the right thing’. Well guess what? I don't have those luxuries. If I disobey orders, I get court martialled. I don't have free will, and I don't get to do the right thing, I get to do as I'm told”

You swallowed thickly as your body recoiled from his in shame. From his perspective, your actions certainly seemed silly and plainly misguided. Perhaps they were.

“I'm sorry Commander, I didn’t think—”

“No, you don't think, do you?” He retorted quickly.

You frowned deeply, drawing an enervated sigh from Wolffe.

“I would love to be able to consider what is right and wrong, but I am simply not allowed. Having the ability to think, to form thoughts unique to myself, but not get to enact any sort of ‘free will’, it's—” He breathed deeply, his forearm coming to rest on the wall beside your head, “Oh, the things I would do if I had free will”

His eyes bored into you through heavy eyelids, his self control hanging by a thread. He was so close to you, his body pressing yours into the wall, and it was taking all of your strength to not melt against him.

“What would you do?” You spoke softly, guiding him in the right direction.

He didn’t waste any time in replying.

“I would tell you that the reason I don't want you around the action, the reason I can't stand your stupid moral compass which makes you do stupid things, is because the idea of you getting hurt is my own personal hell. I would grab you and hold you close and keep you safe, I would never let you go. I would—” He puffed out a quick breath, mingling it with your own as he drew impossibly closer, “I would kiss you, and do every other thing I've been dreaming of since the first moment I met you. I would throw all of this away, if I got that chance”

There was not a single one of his words that were processing in your brain. For a moment you just stared at him, shocked, before the surprise melted from your face and you offered every measure of tenderness within you in a single look.

“Wolffe” You whispered, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek.

His eyes closed at your touch, and his troubled expression eased slightly. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the warmth of your skin on his, but as soon as he had revelled in it for a moment too long, he put up his walls again.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don't have free will” He stepped back from you but you were determined now, following after him.

“Well I do”

You practically leapt at him, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him against you, bringing him into a searing kiss. His hands instantly flung around your waist, tightening around you and drawing you into his body as if he was never going to let go, just as he promised. It was as if he only needed you to be the one that initiated it, and now, he had forgotten everything that was stopping him in the first place.

You let your fingers tangle in the curls at the base of his neck, and he pushed you backwards into the wall again, a soft groan sounding in the back of his throat. One hand came up to cup your cheek, and you were surprised at how softly he held you, a direct contrast to the way that he was devouring your lips, consuming your very soul with only his mouth and tongue.

You had to pull away, gasping for breath, and he did the same. He held you close as you both caught your breath, staring into each other’s eyes with a newfound fondness. It was intoxicating, to see him like this; his chest heaving from having kissed you with such an intensity. You felt like your psyche was being ripped from you with each heavy exhale, and you were watching from outside of your body.

“I'm never letting you go now” He continued to hold onto you like his life depended on it, burying his face in the exposed skin of your neck.

“I thought-”

“Don’t” He rumbled, “I don't care what I said before, there's no going back now”

You sighed blissfully and mirrored him, and coiling your arms around his neck and holding him tightly. The feel of his breath against your neck was heady, deeply exhilarating, but in the quiet of the moment, you couldn’t help but remember you were in the middle of a battle.

“Maybe we should-”

He lifted his head and cut you off with a deep kiss. You were powerless to stop him, but you didn’t care to anyway.

“Just a little longer” He pleaded, his eyes soft and slightly widened, “Please”

You let a small smile lift the edges of your lips, enamoured by the soft side that this kind of treatment brought out of him. It was almost amusing, how different he was acting as compared to his usual authoritative demeanour. He was putty in your hands, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

You brushed your lips lightly against his and spoke with a teasing edge, “Yes sir”

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

[wantonlywindswept]

forgotten fox ficbit 2

one here

i recognize the poll results and i am ignoring the poll results =D

I realized there are things i want to happen before fox's batch gets involved (more slow building realization stuff) and that would be Cheating and skipping to the end, so thus you get poll winner #2: Stressing Out Hound ft Grizzer and Commander Vertex

---

Despite what most natborns thought--or screamed, loudly and obnoxiously--Grizzer was not some poorly-trained mutt.

She wasn't as disciplined as the massifs Hound had trained with on Kamino, but those massifs were older than he was. Grizzer had been given to him as a pup just two years before Geonosis, a squirmy bundle of scales with spines barely the length of his thumb; she and Hound had the same amount of active duty experience. 

(She was also, to Hound's bitter regret, not able to be spoiled with the organic aged bantha chew treats that Trainer Jallo had used. Trainer Jallo said that the quality of the rewards didn't matter, but she'd also never had to feed her massifs the slop that Kamino used for animal feed, which honestly was probably only the tiniest step below what they fed to the clones.)

Grizzer was highly competent at her job: she answered all of Hound's commands promptly, hunted down suspects with the same focus and determination as a clone soldier, and knew not to take orders from anyone other than the Guard's commanders or ARF troopers.

"Hound, have you finished the intake form for--oh, hey Grizzer. Down, girl."

Grizzer, who had been in the midst of going for an affectionate full-body tackle (which she only did when she really liked someone, what the fuck), skidded to an abrupt halt at Commander Vertex's feet, plopping her butt down on the ground right next to his boots and staring up at him adoringly.

Commander Vertex, who had only been with the Guard for two weeks. Commander Vertex, who had made it to the kennels maybe once in that entire time.

Commander Vertex, who reached down to pat Grizzer on the head, who instead of getting a warning mouthful of teeth, received a dopey grin and a happy wiggle from Hound's highly-trained massif. 

What the fuck.

With a final pat, Vertex left Grizzer sitting obediently by the door to make his way further into the kennels, occupied by his ever-present datapad. When he reached Hound--still kneeling dumbfounded on the floor trying to fix one of the cleaning droids--he finally seemed to realize what just happened.

"Ah," he said.

"What," said Hound, "The fuck."

Vertex just shrugged, as if getting by a highly territorial massif who tolerated a total of maybe four people was just something that normal people did, and not an act of extremely impossible betrayal.

"I worked with massifs while with Spec Ops. They always seemed to like me."

Hound didn't even know the Spec Ops Brigade had ARF troops.

And that still didn't explain why Grizzer would--

"You shouldn't be down like that," Vertex said, head tilting to one side. "You're going to aggravate your knee. Anyway, isn't Jogan supposed to be in charge of cleaning today?"

"There was a big drug smuggling bust in the Uscru district," Hound replied blankly as Vertex tugged him to his feet. "Bruiser needs the practice."

"So does Jogan," Vertex muttered.

Hound usually stood up for his men, but the commander wasn't wrong. 

Vertex frowned as Hound staggered a little before righting; his left knee was feeling tetchy about whether or not it wanted to support his weight. He held on until Hound was steady before letting go, attention dropping back to his datapad with a grimace.

"Stone needs the intake form on that Nikto you brought in last night," Vertex said, flicking his fingers across the screen. Hound heard the depressingly telltale ping! of a message hitting his comm. "If you get it to him by midmeal, it should be fine. But have Patches take a look at your knee first."

"Yessir," Hound replied automatically. 

Vertex nodded at him approvingly, which definitely wasn't pleasing or anything, and headed back out of the kennels. He paused to pat Grizzer on the head again before disappearing out the door.

In the ensuing silence, Hound stared at Grizzer.

Grizzer stared back.

"Traitor," he hissed.

His extremely poorly-trained massif's tongue lolled out in an unrepentant doggy grin.

And then Hound remembered--

His knee injury wasn't in his file. It happened on Kamino, and would have been an instant decommission if the clone medics hadn't smuggled him in for emergency surgery after training hours. He'd told the Guard CMO about it after being assigned to Coruscant, but Defib had decided to keep the injury off the books as well, just in case any natborns got nosey.

Commander Vertex shouldn't even know about it.

What the fuck.

[friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid]

Plan 66

There were plenty of disadvantages to being experimental commandos, Hunter remarked to himself as the squad staggered towards their barracks, but there were upsides here and there. For instance, after a typically torturous day of training, testing, and reg torment, they were making their way towards their own private room- far from the prying eyes and muttered comments of regs and kaminoans alike. Granted, they were returning to said barracks in various states of exhaustion, many hours after late-meal, because maybe those disadvantages were just a bit more substantial. 

The door to the barracks slid open and the 99s swiftly scattered to various corners of the room. Hunter paused for a moment in the doorway, savouring the feeling of safety. His squad was here, together, and for now he could keep them all in his sight and away from danger. 

Hunter sat on his bunk and began readjusting his senses to the Kamino rain outside and the permanently unfortunate smell of the 99s’ barracks. His brothers were doing similar activities to declare to the world that they were done for the day- Wrecker began rummaging through the plentiful supply of snacks they absolutely weren’t supposed to keep in their room, Tech left his datapad on his rack and beelined it for the refresher before anyone else could claim the first sonic, and Crosshair collapsed face-first on his bunk and buried his head under a pillow without even pausing to remove his training armour. 

A few minutes passed in blessed peace. Wrecker began hoisting heavy objects over his head, Hunter began sorting through command training assignments he was expected to have done several months ago, and Tech emerged from the sonic and reclaimed his data pad. Hunter absentmindedly watched his brother coast through unknown reaches of the holonet that gave Tech his infinite wisdom. As he watched, Tech’s darting eyes stopped flitting behind their goggles and he sat down suddenly. “This is… not ideal.” He said, voice shaking very slightly. “Hunter? I-“

Crosshair’s voice emanated from his bunk, “I swear, if those bastards spring another of their ‘surprise assessments’ on us, Kamino will burn.”

“No, it is not-“ Tech cut himself off with a harsh exhale and simply turned his datapad around, the illuminated screen casting eerie light across the floor. Hunter edged forewarned and read off the screen: OFFICIAL G.A.R. REPORT FROM UMBARAN FRONT- FRIENDLY FIRE CASUALTY NUMBERS RISING

Hunter would have read more, but Tech turned the screen back around and pressed the datapad to his chest. “I read it,” Tech said, “it is a disturbing incident that merits immediate discussion.”

Hunter called over their other two brothers and they waited in tense silence for Tech to explain. “I have compiled an explanation from various official and unofficial sources,” Tech began. “From my understanding, the 501st and 212th legions suffered significant losses in a friendly fire incident arranged by their Jedi general.

“A Jedi did this?!” Wrecker gasped, “I thought they were in our side!”

“Indeed,” Tech said, “a Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell, who seemingly planned to leave the Jedi order and offer his services to the Separatists. 

The regs apprehended him, losing more men in the effort. He was executed on Umbara.”

“Who did it?” Hunter asked in morbid fascination. “Wouldn’t killing a Jedi be a death sentence for a clone? Did the 501st lose their commander? Was it… Cody?”

 “It would seem he was killed by CT-6922, otherwise known as Dogma. I have been unable to locate Dogma in any subsequent reports or communications. Furthermore, his number has been deleted from the Kaminoan database.”

“He killed a traitor,” Cosshair muttered, glaring at nothing, “and they made him disappear.”

 “So it would appear.” Tech put aside his datapad and levelled a serious stare at his brothers. Hunter felt Tech’s eyes catch his and hold his gaze. “I am reluctant to accept that all the Jedi will turn on their soldiers so easily. However, it is now a proven possibility. As such, it seems prudent to be prepared in case we are ever in the presence of a Jedi who wishes us harm.”

The squad exchanged glances. Wrecker was the first to break the silence. “But… will we even be working with Jedi? The regs have generals, but we’ll be on our own once we graduate, won’t we? We only really report to Cody.”

Hunter sighed. Time to be the sergent, he supposed. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, I guess. Cody’s got a Jedi. We can’t avoid them completely.”

Tech nodded once and set his datapad on his lap, hands poised to type. “Precisely. As such, we need a plan. Just in case.”

They nodded along grimly and echoed him, “just in case.”

___________________

The discussion took hours. Jedi, it turns out, were not very easy to kill. But the Bad Batch weren’t the Bad Batch for nothing. As such, many scrapped ideas, shouting matches, and some very unhappy consciences later, they had a plan. It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. Eventually, Tech finished typing. “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose that is that. Now it needs a name. The next available numerical designation is fifty-t-“ 

“Sixty-Six,” Crosshair interrupted unexpectedly. Throughout the entire discussion, he had been very quiet, providing ideas when required, but largely just observing as the plan came together. Yet every time they flagged, every time Hunter threw his hands up in despair and declared it was futile, he was there. He’d set a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and meet his gaze with a look that said far better than Crosshair himself ever could that he needed to stay strong for the sake of the squad.

That look was no where to be seen, now. In its place was an oddly dark, thousand-yard stare that put his brother uncomfortably in mind of a corpse. “It’s got to be Plan Sixty-Six.”

Tech, puzzled, tried to argue that “It does not makes sense to skip the preceding numbers for this one in particular,” but then Wrecker spoke up:

“No, he’s right. It’s gotta be that. It just feels… right”

Hunter found himself nodding along. For some reason, as soon as Crosshair said it, there was no alternative. Even Tech conceded the point, muttering some rationalization involving multiples of eleven.

In the dark, mind still spinning with the news of Umbara and the newly minted “plan 66”, Hunter was struck by the creeping feeling that they had just taken once step closer to something terrible. Something inescapable. 

Something horribly, world-shakingly, inevitable.

[slotmachines-fearofgod]

As per the poll results...

Alpha-17 hated taking care of the cadets. 

They were loud, unruly, undisciplined, and cocky little sons of bitches. The Kaminiise that interrupted his and Fordo’s training session had said something about the CC batches needing mentors now that Fett was determined to get back to bounty hunting. Every Alpha ARC was to take on a batch as a trial run, regardless of the fact that Fett was never much of a mentor to them. 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that his batch was a fucking mess. Maze had even patted him sympathetically on the back when they were given their official assignments. In their first week, two of them, apparently the twins of the batch, had already managed to get themselves into three offices they weren’t supposed to be in, and snuck out of the barracks almost every night. 

Alpha made them run suicides for hours for it. 

He didn’t care for his batch the way some of his brothers did, with soft gestures and words like “ad’ika” or “vod’ika.” They were clones, and they wouldn’t find any sort of soft spot in the middle of a battlefield. He’d raise them the way he was raised, with sharp tongues and extra training, and they’d come out the other side better for it. 

That doesn’t mean he didn’t care at all. 

CC-2224 was standing guard outside their barracks, which was a bad sign, especially considering he’d been the first to learn that if they got in trouble, they got in trouble as a group. He was usually the most effective at dissuading the rest. 

Not tonight.

“Cadet,” Seventeen greeted sharply, “sitrep.”

CC-2224 didn’t look him in the eyes, another bad sign. It had been one fucking month, and he was already having to put up with shit like this. 

“B - CC-5052 is experiencing residual discomfort from the training exercise today, sir. My batchmates are helping him with recovery.” Only three years old, six standard, and CC-2224 was already the best soldier out of all of them. But he was shit at covering for the rest. 

“Why are you guarding the door?” Seventeen crossed his arms over his chest, looming over the kid. If it was really what he said, he’d been in there helping with whatever cramp 5052 was feeling. 

The day’s training hadn’t even really been that difficult from a physical standpoint. It was Seventeen’s least favorite type of resistance training: the mental kind. The Kaminiise had them start it early so their minds automatically built up resistances to-

Oh. 

“CC-3636 asked that I remain outside so as not to crowd CC-5052 and explain to any who may be monitoring the barracks what is going on.” Seventeen knew enough to read between the lines of that statement. He was there to discourage any particularly nosy Kaminiise from looking too closely for flaws. They would be monitored closely for the next few days for any defects, a fact that had been made clear to them before the exercises had taken place. 

CC-2224 still wasn’t meeting his eyes. He looked exhausted now that Seventeen was actually looking for it. He had a certain deadness to his face that Seventeen had seen many times both in the mirror and on others. If he remembered correctly, today had been the first day this specific crew had to undergo this type of training. CC-2224 was probably the best off if he was well enough to stand guard. 

Seventeen breathed out slowly, for the first time unsure what to do with the cadets. Usually their problems were solved with laps in the rain around the compound, or latrine cleaning duty. Emotional issues were more Fordo’s thing. But Fordo had his own batch to tend to. 

“Step out of the way cadet,” Seventeen ended up saying, trying not to make it too gruff. The quick, quiet knock against the door signaled that he didn’t quite manage that. Nonetheless, CC-2224 let him pass, albeit a bit slowly. Probably trying to buy his batchmates time. 

It was apparently enough. 

5052, 3636, 1010, and 411 were all in their bunks, with 1010 just barely managing to reach his as Seventeen opened the door. 5052 was turned away from him, taking the furthest bunk in the corner, while 411 and 3636 took the closest. 1010 and an empty bunk stood in the middle, with 5052’s pressed up against the wall. He assumed one of the two empty bunks, above 5052 or below 1010, was for 2224.

“5052,” his voice rang out across the eerily silent room. It felt heavy in their room tonight, not light or even charged with an air of mischief like he was accustomed to it being. 5052 raised his head blearily, and Seventeen ignored the fierce ache in his chest at the sight of his red, puffy eyes. “With me,” he ordered, ignoring the subtle sharp looks 1010 and 3636 were exchanging. 

5052’s eyes watered briefly, before his face smoothed out. He was already learning the importance of a blank face, which was good. He shouldn’t be using it with Seventeen, though. 

5052 climbed out of his bed, his posture rigid in a way Seventeen had never seen before. Were it not for the situation, he would’ve applauded this cadet for his professionalism, something they’d all been lacking ever since he met them. 

“Sir,” 411 called, and Seventeen spared him a brief glance, “I was wondering if-”

“Later, 411,” Seventeen said sharply, training his gaze on the kid who was approaching him like he was a death sentence. “5052 and I need to take care of something.”

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what effect his words were having on the cadets, especially 2224 who stood guiltily in the doorway. It was fine. Maybe they’d finally understand he was in charge, or learn they weren’t as invincible as they believed themselves to be. 

As 5052 reached him, Seventeen held out a hand. The cadet looked up at him, then back at his hand, almost confused. Seventeen sighed, grabbing 5052’s hand with his, practically dwarfing the kid. He tried to keep his posture open and non-threatening, but he got the feeling the look 5052 cast at his brothers was him saying goodbye. As he tugged the cadet out the door, he noticed 2224 make a move to grab his brother, before 5052 shook his head. 

2224 watched them go with tears in his eyes. 

Fucking aiwha-bait Kaminiise demogolka. 

He could hear the soft crying before 5052 and he had turned the corner down the hall. To his credit, the cadet didn’t shed a tear. He may have cried it all out earlier, but one look at the kid proved otherwise. He put on a brave face, but it was just a face. Any clone trooper would be able to see right through it. 

He pulled 5052 along in silence until they reached his office. Seventeen punched in his keycode with his free hand, keeping a tight grip on the kid so he didn’t try to bolt. It was only once they were inside that Seventeen dropped the hand and sat in his chair. 5052 stood at attention directly in front of him, just how they were taught. 

“What happened?” It was less of a request, and more of a demand. 

5052’s voice barely shook as he spoke, “I suffered the after effects of today’s training, sir.”

Seventeen leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his desk, “Symptoms.”

5052 pressed his lips together, tears shining in his eyes once again, before answering, “I-I felt a shortness of breath, tightness in my chest, numbness of limbs, hand tremors, and tunnel vision.”

“You had a panic attack,” Seventeen summarized for him, nodding along with the conclusion. 5052 gave one sharp nod, like it took all his courage just to admit it. Hell, it probably did. If any of the longnecks found out, he’d be decommissioned. Just like with the Alphas, they wanted this first batch of CCs to be perfect. 

“Yessir,” he whispered, his lower lip wobbling slightly. 

Seventeen sighed, “At ease, 5052. C’mere.”

5052 fell back into parade rest, but didn’t move, eyes darting between the wall and Seventeen’s face. Seventeen raised his eyebrow, and sat back in his chair. He could play the waiting game. 

Eventually, the cadet caved and rounded the desk before he stood at Seventeen’s side, still looking past him instead of at him. 

“I know 2224’s been going around giving out names, so what’s yours?” Seventeen asked gently. 2224 was practically asking for a decom with that little scheme, but he couldn’t help but admire the sheer bravery, or maybe stupidity, the cadet showed.

5052 shook his head just slightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Drop the sir, it’s just Seventeen for right now.” It would be easier if he put them on even footing. 

That got 5052 to look at him. 

There was a long pause where his mind was putting the pieces together, the fact that Seventeen took him to his office and not a long-neck, the gentle tone, the hand holding, the dropping of rank all beginning to click in his head. 

“I’m not - am I in trouble?”

Seventeen shook his head and 5052 sagged in relief almost immediately. This time, the tears did start, wracking his little body as his head dropped to his chest. Seventeen did the only thing he could and yanked the kid into his chest, calmly running a hand through his short curls and breathing in and out, getting him to match the pattern. 

It took a while, but 5052 began to calm down. 

“It’s alright, kid,” Seventeen said lowly, “You’re not the first vod to lose it after one of those training sessions and you won’t be the last.”

“Vod?”

“It means brother,” Seventeen said. He’d forgotten that less exposure to Fett meant the new generations wouldn’t likely have the chance to learn Mando’a. He’d have to talk to the other Alphas about fixing that. 

5052 nodded, before taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Seventeen allowed him that, just offering physical comfort like his batch was probably doing before he intruded. As much as they got on his nerves, they needed to know they were his vode, and he wouldn’t turn them in for something so little as a panic attack. He didn’t have to like them to treat them with some base decency. 

“My name is Bly,” he answered eventually, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Seventeen chuckled, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He gently disentangled them, before bringing him into a keldabe. “Do you know what this is?” 

He shook his head no. 

“This is a keldabe. In a fight, a keldabe can be a useful tool in getting your opponents disoriented and putting some distance between you and them. It’d be a bit rougher than this, and probably leave you with a bruise if I really put some effort into it.” He held eye contact with 5052, even as the slightly caged look came back into the cadet’s eyes, “But between family, friends, or partners, it’s a sign of affection. A sign that we’re here for each other, through all this blood and fear. Something so brutal, so painful, turned soft and loving in the presence of those you trust.”

“Oh,” the kid breathed out, and Seventeen could tell the exact moment that he understood what he was telling him. 

“I’m not letting those demogolka get their hands on you, even if your brothers are assholes,” the small laugh was almost happy, “I can’t go easy on you, vod. If I do, we’ll both be slated for decomm. Do you understand?”

The kid - Bly nodded, a very small smile beginning to form, “Thanks, Seventeen.”

Seventeen pulled back and nodded, hiding his laugh at Bly’s sudden yawn. It was getting late, and these kids hadn’t gone through sleep deprivation training yet. It would be best to let them rest while they could. 

—

“Again,” Seventeen called, grinning smugly as Fox snarled at him. A year into their training with him and this batch had quickly shot to the top, with the exception of the clone in front of him. Fox’s scores had been dropping lately, though the little dickhead refused to tell him what had been going on, so they were doing this. 

Sparring until Fox either dropped or spilled. 

It was looking more and more like Fox preferred the first option. 

Usually, when one of them was being difficult, he had them train until their legs gave out on them and they could do nothing but talk. Sometimes it took a little more or less work, especially when it came to Fox. Bly was happy to talk to him since that first night he’d shown he was safe, though he’d caught comments from Wolffe or Fox about the baby of the batch getting special treatment. Kote and Ponds generally folded as soon as they were physically exhausted, and Wolffe just had to get angry enough to spit it all out in quick succession. 

Fox was different. He was smarter. 

He didn’t take training laying down, and was clever enough to keep his cool even when Seventeen could tell he wanted to do nothing more than scream. He’d never dream of talking about his issues to anyone outside his batch, and even then Seventeen was pretty sure he’d only talk to Ponds or Wolffe. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Seventeen his name until Wolffe nagged him enough to make him stand, red-faced, in front of the older clone and spit it out. Seventeen pulled him into a quick keldabe, before repeating the name and telling him it suited him. 

Right now wouldn’t be solved with nagging or a keldabe. At least, not the gentle kind. Fox needed blood, he needed to gnash his teeth and give and receive a little pain. Seventeen understood that just fine. 

“Fuck you,” Fox spat, before lunging again. He was getting sloppier, more tired, and Seventeen was able to pin him in under a minute. He held the struggling kid there for a few seconds until Fox realized he wasn’t escaping and went limp, tapping out once again. 

“Again,” Seventeen repeated once Fox had caught his breath. This time, it was less than thirty seconds before Fox quit fighting, just lying quietly on the mat. 

“You know,” Seventeen huffed after a few moments of stillness, “You’re supposed to tap out.”

Fox tapped lightly, and Seventeen let him up. He grabbed his shoulder before Fox could get too far back into position to go again. 

“Your flight time went up again.”

“I know.”

“You gonna do anything about it?”

Fox’s glare was enough to make almost anyone else back down. But not him. 

“The fuck do you care?”

Seventeen stepped back, getting into a fighting position, “Again.”

Fox didn’t have buttons to push like Wolffe, nor did he give up when he should like Ponds or Kote. He needed a little of both, a little more push than most would have advocated for a kid, to get him to crack how he needed to. 

They danced the familiar dance a few more times before, maybe the fourth or fifth time Seventeen pinned him, Fox let out a frustrated yell. That was close to what he was looking for.

“Kote took top spot for blaster modules this week.”

“I fucking know, okay?” 

That was what he was looking for. 

“I know Kote took top spot and I know Wolffe beat my fly time and I know Gree and his batch are taking over strategy mods! I fucking get it, so fuck off with whatever the hell this is!” Fox wriggled out from under him, and Seventeen let him go without a fight. He stayed facing away from Seventeen, but that was okay for now.

“I just…I hate this stuff! I hate being trapped in those rooms with those demogolka and fucking Fett watching over our shoulders like he ever did anything except leave and you acting like you give a shit when we both know you’re only here because we’re another assignment for you. I hate you pretending like we’re brothers or everything’s gonna be fine and we aren’t all gonna die soon or-or like any of us matter in the long run,” his rant was beginning to slow, and Seventeen approached slowly. The small break in his voice told him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t get the point when it doesn’t fucking matter if I die here or on a battlefield because death is death, and either way no one’s gonna care,” if he had to guess, the tears started about thirty seconds ago. 

The worst part is that Seventeen gets it. He’d lost one of his batch to the same thoughts. In the end, it hadn’t been the long-necks or a fight that did him in. Just a missing blaster and too much time alone outside. They all understood why, even if they never forgave him for it. 

It was because he understood that he placed one hand on Fox’s shoulder, forcing his vod to face him. 

“You’re right,” Seventeen rumbled, not leaning over and making himself small like he would for the others. Fox had always appreciated the truth above all else. 

“What?” He was right, tear tracks were carved down his vod’s face, and the small breathy disbelief looked like it might break the younger clone. 

“Fett’s a fucking asshole, don’t know why Kote likes him so much. The Kaminiise are indescribable in their cruelty, and I’m a dick. Doesn’t mean nothing you do matters, though.”

Fox scoffed and pulled away, trying to twist his face into that familiar hard sneer, “And what would you know about that?”

Seventeen shrugged, “Not sure. You don’t want me to know you. But I see the way Kote and Bly light up when their ori’vod is around. And I know Wolffe would never survive without you, and that Ponds would kill himself if you did what you’re talking about doing.” He looked this kid - his kid in the eyes. He needed him to know he understood. “You’re trying to get the Kaminiise to do it for you, so you don’t have to take the coward’s way out. I get it, vod’ika. But you know every single one of those little assholes in your barracks would hurtle themselves off the edge just the same if you died, by your own hand or not.”

“Wha-”

“Don’t do it for me,” Seventeen added, gentling his tone a bit as fresh tears sprang to his vod’ika’s eyes, “Don’t do it for Fett, and don’t you fucking dare do it for the long-necks. Do it for the brothers waiting for you back in the bunks. The brothers that would beat themselves up if they knew that you were even thinking about this. The brothers that are going to force you to cuddle with them even if they have to drag you kicking and screaming.”

Yeah, okay, maybe Seventeen liked to linger outside their door when he was done with his duties that didn’t involve five nightmares running around and making his life hell. Maybe he wanted to soak in his brothers’ laughter once in a while. So what. 

Fox looked at the floor, desperately trying to hold back tears. 

Seventeen sighed and knelt in front of him, opening his arms up and waiting. 

It took Fox less than thirty seconds to decide that yes, he did want the offered hug. Seventeen kept his laugh to a low rumble, a little closer to soothing than teasing. Fox squeezed him like he’d never been hugged before, even though Seventeen knew damn well that was a lie. It didn’t matter. 

“We don’t do it for ourselves,” Seventeen said lowly, “We’d never make it if we did. We do it for each other, or we don’t do it at all.”

Fox sniffed, and Seventeen didn’t even care that he was probably getting snot and tears all over his blacks. His little brother was going to be okay, and that’s what mattered. 

—

It took the Kaminiise two years to figure out who had started naming clones. Who started giving them just a little agency and independence. And when they found out, they made sure to make an example out of him. 

They came during the sleep cycles, when Seventeen wouldn’t be around to stop them, and took Kote from his bunk without a word. 

Two years in, one year after Seventeen had begun to call the littles his vod’ike, he found himself kneeling at the feet of the man he hated most in this place, begging for mercy for his charge. Fett was cold, he knew, but not so cold that his second favorite cadet would be left to rot. 

Kote had been in isolation for almost a week, and nearly every night Seventeen had a visitor from the batch crawl into his bunk with shaky hands and red eyes. A decomm would’ve been easier on them, but knowing their second-youngest was alive and alone, trapped and left at the hands of the Kaminiise, was breaking them.

Ponds and Kote had always been the anchors of the group. Ponds was the oldest, and the automatic go-to for most things. But Kote named them all, and every single one of them adored him for it. 

Fett was unyielding when Seventeen entered with accusations on the tip of his tongue. He was prepared to yell, to scream at the man who started this, who refused to leave them alone even after everything he’d already done to hurt them. But one look at the man had him falling to his knees, a single tear escaping his eyes as he pleaded with his head bowed. 

Fett said nothing, and Seventeen left feeling humiliated and angry.

Which was why, when Seventeen heard Kote had been let out and was currently in the care of Fett, he’d sprinted across the compound to collect his vod. 

He got there just in time to see Kote leave, tears dripping down his little face, crumpling against the wall outside of the dar’manda’s room. 

Seventeen said nothing, but knelt in front of his vod’ika and scooped him up, carrying him away from that place. 

As they walked, Kote’s hands fisted in Seventeen’s blacks as he tried to muffle his sobs into the older man’s chest. He clung to Seventeen like they were the last people alive on this planet, and Seventeen made sure to hold him just as tight. They made it to the Alpha barracks, which were thankfully empty, and laid down together on Seventeen’s bunk. 

Kote wailed for hours once he realized they were somewhere safe, away from long-necks and cold-hearted bounty hunters. Seventeen just held on, running a hand up and down his vod’ika’s back to comfort him, and whispered apologies into Kote’s hair. 

“Why didn’t they just decommission me?” Kote kept asking through tears, sometimes screaming and sometimes whimpering.

“Why did Prime have to name me?”

“Why didn’t I listen to him?”

“Why didn’t he find me sooner?”

So many questions that Seventeen had no answer to.

When the tears finally slowed, Seventeen spoke. 

“He tricked you, vod’ika. He’s a cruel and callous man and he tricked you.” 

Seventeen had always hated how Fett dug his claws into this kid. He didn’t care how it would hurt Kote, he didn’t care what would have happened to him. Seventeen was a violent man but even he didn’t understand why Fett would do this. 

“They couldn’t even say my name right,” Kote whimpered, “They kept saying ‘Cody’ and when I tried to correct them they - they just -” he broke off, burying his head into Seventeen’s chest and letting out another sob. 

“They will always hate you for the freedom you’ve given your brothers,” Seventeen rumbled, “And I will make sure they cannot deny your strength.” 

A plan was already forming in his head. He’d put Kote through extra training, make him into the best of the best. He’d make him good enough to rival an ARC. The Kaminiise couldn’t throw him out if he was useful enough, sharp enough, strong enough. 

“He named me Glory, Seventeen,” Kote cried, “Why? I don’t understand!”

Seventeen didn’t have an answer for that question either. 

“You have to stay away from him, Kote,” Seventeen said. He said it firmly, like it was an order, and not a plea, though they both knew better. Fett could easily take Kote away from Seventeen, away from his batch, and none of them except the kid crying into him could make it stop. 

“He - he loves me,” Kote wailed, “I’m his ad, he loves me! I can’t just-”

Seventeen cut him off harshly, “Kot’ika, if he loved you, I wouldn’t have had to beg him to interfere.” It was harsh, but his vod’ika needed to know. “He didn’t come looking for you. We did.”

Kote cried for a long time after that. He kept trying to make excuses, telling Seventeen about all the times Fett had supposedly cared. 

It just made Seventeen angrier. Fett had manipulated his kid into thinking he was more than a paycheck, more than food for a war that hadn’t even begun yet. Seventeen briefly entertained the possibility of killing him for it. 

Out of all the tools they’d been given, hope was never one of them. The kid screaming into the pillow was proof as to why. 

Kote eventually tired himself out enough to pass out on the bunk, and Seventeen sighed in relief as his breathing finally evened out. 

Both Maze and Fordo poked their heads in, for once not laughing at the sight of Seventeen curled around one of the kids he’d once told them he’d never call his own. They told him Kote’s batch had been alerted to his release, and they’d immediately demanded answers from the older ARCs, meaning Seventeen would probably need to make an appearance soon to ease their fears.

Seventeen just nodded along to the debrief, a wave of exhaustion hitting him as well. He eventually gathered himself enough to sit up, taking Kote with him. The kid just shifted sleepily, his face scrunching up in dismay even though he didn’t wake.

“They’re going to be looking for an excuse,” Fordo said quietly after a moment, “He needs to keep his head down.”

“I know,” Seventeen murmured. 

“Seventeen,” Maze said, “He’s terrified. Whatever you’re planning, leave him out of it.”

Seventeen just sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. 

“I’m serious. He needs to stop making ripples, good or bad. He’s already too individualistic for their tastes.”

Maze was right. Kote had always been headstrong and stubborn, just like the rest of his batch. They all relied on each other too much and not only had it taken Kote down, but the rest of them either refused to or simply couldn’t pull themselves together in his absence.

“You boys remember our training on Rishi?” Seventeen asked after a moment. 

It was a stupid question, of course they did. They’d been dropped off on that moon, all in separate locations, with no comms or supplies to help them except what was expected in emergencies. They had to survive like that for a month before they were picked up again. It was the worst experience of any of their lives. 

“We need a program like that for them,” he said after a moment, ignoring the twin glares sent his way. Every single Alpha had become incredibly protective over their batchers in the two years the program had been going on. 

“Not exactly like that,” Seventeen assured them, “But their training is a lot more strategy and team focused. They need something closer to the way the ARCs were trained.”

Fordo snorted, “ARC training is a hell of a lot more brutal than what they’ve had to do so far. And it started a lot earlier.”

“It would make them indispensable,” Seventeen said after a moment, and he knew the silence following that statement meant he’d won. 

Still, he sighed and stood, clutching Kote against his chest, “I’m gonna get him back to his batch. I have a feeling they’re about to come looking.”

—

Wolffe was smiling, which immediately put Seventeen on edge. Wolffe had a few kinds of ‘smile’. There was the genuine one, which was rare but always rewarding, the smirk, which was the most common and meant he’d just kicked someone’s ass in hand to hand training and was about to get far too cocky about it, and then his grin, which meant he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to. 

Like now. 

Seventeen folded his arms across his chest, giving his best glare at the cadet. They were six months into ARC training, a year out from the event that kick started the idea, and all it had done was make his batch harder to handle. 

Not only were they trouble-makers, they were now troublemakers with all the strategy and training of their older counterparts. 

“It wasn’t me this time,” they’d finally hit that funny age where their voices no longer matched their faces, and all of them grew at different rates. It was maybe the one time in their lives they would look genuinely different from each other. 

Seventeen added an eyebrow raise to his glare. 

“Kote found him first.”

Him?

“It was his idea,” Wolffe was beginning to shrink back just a little under the glare, “But he’s not making any trouble.”

Seventeen snorted, “The day you di’kuts don’t make trouble for me is the day you’re all dead and buried.”

Wolffe flipped him off. 

“That’s ten extra suicides, cadet.” Seventeen smiled as Wolffe’s face immediately dropped and he started whining. 

“It was just a joke, you’re mean to us all the time,” Wolffe argued, not helping his case in the slightest. 

“I’m keeping you assholes alive,” Seventeen shot back, “Now what did you do?”

Wolffe scowled, replying, “Come on, old man,” before turning and marching down the hall.

“And that’s twenty,” Seventeen called after him.

Wolffe kept complaining the whole way there, even when Seventeen cuffed him on the back of the head for it. He led them to the CT barracks, which was new. To his knowledge, his batch never really came down here. There was no need to.

The experimental ARC babysitting program had gone well enough that when the CT clones were produced and of age, several Alphas had been relegated to managing these cadets, whom he’d been assured were either much less or much more rowdy than the CCs, depending on the batch. 

Alpha had just been assigned his first case, though it was a curious one. Two of the batch had been decommed almost as soon as they came out of their tubes, and the other three didn’t get along the way most batches tended to. They were first generation CTs, so some defects were expected, but the vitriol with which they treated each other certainly was not. 

It had been a jarring change from the crew he’d been taking care of for almost four years now.

Wolffe led him to a supply closet off to the side in the barracks, chattering all the way about how this was Kote’s fault. Seventeen ignored him in favor of looking around at the empty bunks, internally sighing about whatever scheme his vode had cooked up this time. 

When Wolffe opened the door, however, the cadet inside of the closet threw Seventeen for a loop.

“7567?” He asked, surprised. He was one of the batchers Seventeen had been assigned to take care of, the one that got picked on the most, actually. What really surprised him, however, was the state he was in. 

His usual obvious blonde head of hair had been shaved carelessly almost completely off. He could see a few cuts dotted across the kid’s head, and the kid himself looked like he’d lost a pound or two since the last time Seventeen had seen him nearly a week ago. 

He’d thought the kid was avoiding him, but there was obviously something more going on. 

“You know him?” Wolffe asked, sounding surprised and completely ignoring the sharp glare being thrown his way from the kid hiding in the closet. 

“He’s one of mine,” Seventeen responded, still searching for any more visible wounds or changes to his newest charge, “Haven’t been able to find him for a week.”

“Oh, uh, that may have been our fault,” Wolffe said, looking back at 7567, “What? Why are you glaring at me?”

“I told you not to tell anyone,” 7567 bit out, the harsh tone being somewhat off put by the higher pitch of his voice. He was just a bit younger than the CCs, and wouldn’t hit the growth spurt that truly mattered for another year or two. 

“Yeah, well, suck it up. Kote’s been going crazy trying to hide you from your batch and the Alphas,” came the nonchalant reply, and Seventeen furrowed his brow. Why would Kote be trying to hide 7567 from his own brothers?

“I figured he could help,” Wolffe continued, and Seventeen ignored the brief flash of warmth at the statement of trust. 

Now it was his turn to be glared at, and Seventeen took a second to admire the size of 7567’s balls before matching it with his own sneer. 

“You’ve been skipping training, cadet.”

“I didn’t want to,” he replied sulkily, “Kote said it wasn’t safe.”

Seventeen hummed, “And why would he say that?”

7567 hesitated for a moment, before quietly admitting, “He caught them doing…this,” he gestured to his head, and a sick moment of realization came over Seventeen, “He scared them off, but he didn’t want me to go back with them.”

Batchmates teasing each other was one thing, but hurting one another?

That would have to be dealt with. 

Seventeen sighed as he moved in front of Wolffe and crouched in the doorway of the closet, “So Kote, being the di’kut he is, hid you in here.”

7567 shrugged, “‘S not terrible.”

“You eaten recently?”

The cadet shook his head no after a moment, and Seventeen turned back to look at Wolffe, “Why exactly did you boys think this was a good idea?”

Wolffe crossed his arms, “I didn’t know until yesterday, ask Kote.”

“Not helpful,” Seventeen grunted, before turning back to 7567, “Since you and Kote are so tight, I assume you’ve got a name.”

7567’s eyes widened comically at him, giving him away in an instant. Of course Kote did, he’d always had a soft spot for the littles. 7567 still looked at Wolffe first, who must have given an affirmative.

“Rex,” he said quietly.

Seventeen nodded, “Alright Rex, with me. Wolffe, you too.”

Rex looked at him with slight suspicion in his eyes, and Wolffe let out a small noise of complaint. 

“Come on boys,” he tried again, adding a little bark to his voice that had them both scrambling to follow him out the door, “Medics first, then food.”

Once they reached a medical droid, Seventeen sent Rex off behind a curtain with it, and sat down next to Wolffe, giving him the ‘you’d better start talking’ look. 

Wolffe grumbled for a bit before admitting, “His batch are assholes. Too aggressive with him. He learned how to bite back, but Kote said it was pretty bad when he found them. Kid was bleeding like crazy and scared the shit out of Kote, who tried to take him here. He didn’t let him, on the grounds of his mutation, and wouldn’t budge.” Wolffe ran a hand through his hair, a tick they’d all begun to pick up from Seventeen, “He’s with us until further notice.”

Seventeen sat back in his chair, absorbing the information for a moment.

“Good,” he said simply, ignoring the look of confusion and surprise Wolffe sent his way. 

“Sir?” Wolffe asked, and Seventeen shifted in his chair, keeping an ear out for Rex. 

“He needs a batch,” Seventeen responded, “He’s too skinny and too short, probably from lack of nutrition, and his hair is going to make him stand out. He keeps going the way he’s going, his batch will kill him before the Kaminiise get the chance.”

“Oh,” Wolffe said, a little quieter this time. 

“You boys got lucky,” Seventeen continued, still keeping an eye on the curtain, “You got each other. He doesn’t have that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Wolffe said after a moment, “He’s apparently been fighting Kote every step of the way. Doesn’t want anyone to think they have to take care of him.”

That was good. That showed spirit. If Rex had allowed himself to be cowed, to back away without a fight and shrink into the shadows, Seventeen would have had a lot more work to do. As it was…

“He won’t be around his batch if I recommend him for ARC training,” Seventeen suggested quietly, “Of course, he’d need some older vode helping him out, the way I did with you.”

Wolffe snorted, “Not sure you helped us out so much as put the fear of the Manda into us.”

Seventeen grinned down at him, “Got you moving, didn’t it?”

Wolffe rolled his eyes and settled back into his chair, now eyeing the curtain in an equally curious and concerned way, “Think he’ll make it? He’s a CT.”

Seventeen shrugged, “Don’t know. Didn’t know if you boys were going to make it either.”

Wolffe eyed him critically, “What do you mean you didn’t know?”

Seventeen chuckled, “You’re smart and strong, but it takes more than that to complete what you’re being put through. It’s only been six months, and you’ve yet to hit the worst of it.”

Wolffe groaned, “Why are you so cryptic?”

Seventeen looked back at him, a gleam in his eye, “Because it pisses you off.”

Wolffe opened his mouth to say something that probably would’ve earned him another hour in the gym, when the curtain swung back, revealing Rex looking even grumpier than earlier. His head had a few small bacta patches on it, and he promptly ignored the droid in favor of marching over to where Seventeen and Wolffe were sitting.

The droid ignored Rex’s obvious unhappiness and followed him over, this time addressing Seventeen.

“A-17,” it began, “I believe this CT-7567 has a serious defect that must be looked at. Chromosome number-”

“I’m aware,” Seventeen growled at the droid, “We’re all aware. Now fuck off.”

The droid paused for a moment, unsure what to do with itself. 

“I must report this to Nala Se,” it finally concluded, and Seventeen just huffed in response. 

After a beat of silence in which the droid scurried away, a small voice behind Seventeen spoke, “Is she going to decommission me?”

Seventeen almost laughed. Almost. 

Instead he said, “Kid, she knew about your hair the second you left your tube. If you aren’t slated for it yet, you won’t be any time soon.” He turned to face his cadets, hiding his smile at the way Wolffe acted like he wasn’t just wrapping Rex up in a hug. 

“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go get you boys some food.”

—

Today was the day.

His batch was going to take and pass the final test, and become honorary ARC troopers. Two years after they started on the shortened ARC modules, and they’d all become so much more than the Kaminiise ever believed they could be. He’d stood in front of all of them before they marched off for their tests and told them he was proud of every single one, no matter the outcome. 

Rex sat with him, both quietly pretending they weren’t shitting their brains out with anxiety, and they waited. 

Fox and Wolffe came out together, wearing twin grins, and Seventeen knew without asking. He wrapped them up, squeezing the life out of them and ignoring the groans of embarrassment. Kote came out thirty minutes later, having completed and passed his own exams and combat trials, followed by Bly soon after. 

They all sat and waited for Ponds. 

There was an air of anxiety coming from his cadets, and he knew why. 

They were supposed to graduate together, to be the first full batch to make it across the finish line. They’d worked hard for this, studied and trained together for years. They knew the manuals inside and out and had personally tested themselves against every single ARC and trainer they could coax onto the sparring mats. 

Ponds’ absence sent a shockwave through that steady confidence. 

An hour later and they were still sat there, all uneasy, all rhythmically bouncing their knees in near unison. 

An hour and a half later, the doors opened, and they all tensed, prepared for bad news.

What they were unprepared for, however, was a bloody, limping Ponds to walk through with the biggest grin any of them had seen on his face. 

“What the fuck,” Wolffe was, of course, the first to speak. “What the fuck!” He repeated, louder and more worried. 

This sent all of them into a frenzy, rushing toward their injured vod and checking him over, all shouting over one another and demanding to know what happened. Ponds just laughed at their concern, though Seventeen caught the slight wince at the movement.

After a few moments, he convinced them to quiet, and breathed deep, still grinning like a maniac.

“We passed,” he said after a slight pause, and the whole bunch erupted in cheers. They pulled themselves into a circle, Rex and Seventeen watching fondly from the outside, and congratulated each other, giving out hugs and keldabes left and right. Seventeen was fairly sure Wolffe and Fox hit each other a little too hard, and he smiled at the resulting stumble from the boys.

They were nearly seventeen standard years, which meant as soon as the war they were being bred for started, they’d all be shipped out without a moment’s hesitation. It was that thought that made Seventeen allow them to celebrate loudly, noisily, and unashamedly despite the attention it might have drawn. 

Eventually, they calmed down, and Seventeen muscled his way to the center, planting himself in front of Ponds. They were too tall now for him to need to kneel and get on their level, but still short enough that he could loom adequately. 

“Vod’ika,” he began lightly, settling a comforting hand on Ponds’ shoulder, “What happened?”

Ponds’ grin shrank slightly, but his answer was steady, “What do you mean? I passed!”

Seventeen allowed himself to smile at the no-longer-cadet’s enthusiasm, “I know, and I’m proud, but why are you hurt?”

“It was part of the test,” Ponds furrowed his brow in confusion, looking around at the others, “Didn’t all of you…” he trailed off, for the first time taking in the lack of injuries around him. Seventeen could see the moment realization dawned on his face, as well as feel the rising fury coming from the brothers behind him. 

“No,” Seventeen said gently, shaking his head, “That wasn’t part of the test.”

“Oh.”

“Ori’vod-” 

Seventeen cut whoever it was off with a short look behind him. They all looked equally scolded. 

He hated this was happening during their moment of triumph, but he knew if he didn’t address it, no one would. 

“Pond’ika,” Seventeen tried again, “What happened?”

Ponds stilled, his face becoming blank as he processed what was going on. Seventeen squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, becoming a grounding point until his vod’ika was ready. 

“I was going into my counter-insurgency exam and Ward was in the ring. He said he and I would spar and that I had to be prepared for anything,” his voice and expression remained steady, even as Seventeen’s grew concerned, “He flipped out a knife at one point and…” Ponds looked down and gestured to his leg and torso. 

“Why weren’t you wearing armor?” Kote asked from behind Seventeen. 

“He told me to take it off,” Ponds replied simply. 

Seventeen sucked in a breath. Ward was a grade A asshole, every ARC knew this. His ‘counter-insurgency’ fighting was just an excuse to fight dirty, to scar up troopers and taunt them for their lack of skill. 

Skirata should have been in charge of this exam, not Ward. Skirata had always been the kindest of the Cuy’val Dar, and by the looks on the rest of the batcher’s faces, they were thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” Seventeen said simply, “Take off the armor and let’s take a look.”

Ponds shook his head, “Can we do this in the barracks?”

Seventeen nodded, and immediately Wolffe and Fox were at Ponds’ side, helping him take the weight off his injured leg. Rex gave a quieter congratulations to Kote, his obvious favoritism not quite overshadowing his worry as he constantly looked back to check up on Ponds. Bly fell into lockstep with Seventeen, and their little crew easily made their way to the barracks. 

As soon as they got inside, Kote grabbed the medical kit and presented it to Seventeen, who began to set things out on the floor. He knelt in front of where Wolffe and Fox had sat Ponds on Wolffe’s bunk, but gave them enough space to help Ponds remove his armor. 

Bly settled in next to Ponds when Fox vacated the spot to go lock the door, and sucked in a breath as Ponds unbuckled his thigh gauntlet. Blood rushed from the wound, which had previously been pressured by Ponds tightening the straps to keep the wound secure, but it wasn’t deep enough to hit bone, for which Seventeen was glad. 

His torso was a little more complicated, the unnatural shift of skin telling Seventeen that one of his ribs was likely broken. If it had punctured a lung, they would’ve known by now, and he breathed a little easier with the knowledge. 

“Kote,” he called quietly but firmly, “Comm Aven, tell him we’re gonna need some help.”

Ponds opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when he received several glares from around the room. 

“Can’t believe you passed with this,” Seventeen mumbled, “You should’ve tapped out when he flipped out the knife.”

“We were all supposed to pass,” came the answer Seventeen had already guessed. 

“I know,” he sighed, “And this just proves how much you deserve it, but next time, you tap out, got it?”

There was no nod or sign that he agreed, which Seventeen had also expected. Ponds was just as stubborn as the rest of them, no matter how much he hated to admit it. 

He heard Kote talking quietly in the background and got to work, Rex occasionally pushing certain supplies his way and Wolffe and Bly talking calmly to Ponds as Seventeen went about patching him up. 

They didn’t want full batches to graduate ARC training, because then they could prove it was a waste of time and money. He’d known that the second he and a few others proposed the idea to Fett, the Kaminiise, and the Cuy’val Dar and nearly every single one of them had soured. 

Well they could take their elitist dar’manda bullshit and shove it up their asses. His batch had passed, regardless of Ward’s best efforts, and shoved it in every single one of their ugly faces. 

Ponds’ injuries had luckily not impacted the general mood after the initial shock, and soon they were all sharing details and comparing experiences in their different tests. They all laughed at Bly for forgetting to fill out the last digit of his number during one of the written tests, and Fox followed it up with how Wolffe was so nervous he forgot to load his blaster during the firing range exams. That was followed by a smack, which was followed with an insult, which was followed with Seventeen having to reach out and grab Wolffe before he made a move to tackle his brother. 

Nearly nine years old and they still acted four. 

Aven came in a few moments later, taking over the medical side of things for Seventeen, who took the opportunity to give the eldest a keldabe. Ponds smiled into the hold and relaxed a little further. 

They were no longer cadets, not as of that afternoon, and Seventeen knew he would have to let them go soon. 

Still, he sighed as Rex ganged up with Wolffe against Fox in their bickering, and turned around to scold his vod’ika.

—

In the years the war dragged on, Seventeen saw very little of his batchers. Rex and Kote, who was going by Cody in front of the natborns, visited when the war came to Kamino, and introduced him to vod’ika of their own. Wolffe called after what happened with Ventress, showing off his own scar from his encounter with the Sith acolyte. Bly commed often, asking mostly about business, but he’d once let slip something about him and his general. And Fox…Fox he never really saw. 

But they’d all gathered, either on a call or in person, to say goodbye to Ponds. 

Rex had sent him a message saying the batch had already had their night of grief, wallowing in each other’s arms. He was glad they’d taken the time for themselves, but even happier they still trusted him with this. 

They’d all formed little batches within their battalions, as they should, but he’d never really been able to take care of another batch like he did with them. There were too many cadets on Kamino now to focus on them one group at a time. 

So even if it was over a call, he was relieved to see their faces, and ached when they all looked to where Ponds usually stood during these video conferences.

It was quiet at first, and Seventeen took the opportunity to drink each of them in. They were all so much older, so much more exhausted, then he remembered them being. Fox and Wolffe in particular looked like hell, and though he knew it was a combination of grief and whatever osik they’d been handling recently, it didn’t look right on them. 

Kote spoke first, telling Seventeen what happened and declaring Boba dar’manda with vitriol hidden behind his teeth. He and Rex were in person together, as were Bly and Wolffe, and Seventeen appreciated Rex putting a hand on his shoulder to ground his ori’vod. Bly went next, starting to tell a story about Ponds during a fairly recent fight that brought small grins to his brothers’ faces. Wolffe joined in, as did Rex, and soon they were all at least smiling. 

The one vod that never spoke was Fox. 

It puzzled Seventeen how quiet he was. Fox had always been the first to speak up, the first to step in, the first to very loudly give his opinion. But now he was silent. He looked almost like he was disassociating. 

“Fox’ika?” Seventeen called, “You alright?”

Fox looked up once he noticed all the attention was on him and nodded quickly, “‘Course,” he assured them, his tone still sounding off, “Just…reminiscing I guess.”

There were a few murmured agreements from around the table, before the conversation turned back to Ponds. Seventeen caught Wolffe looking over worriedly a few times. He idly wondered how many of them made the effort to keep up with each other. He hoped all of them, but knew better than to assure himself of it. 

The call went on for a long time, most everyone having a good cry at some point. Seventeen was the only one that left with dry eyes when it was said and done. 

He sighed as their blue forms flickered out of existence, and looked across his desk. It was scattered with paperwork, test results, security reports, all the paperwork he’d been relegated to once his leg made it so he could never fight again. 

He unlocked the lowest drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of moonshine Spur had snuck to him once Ponds’ death had been officially reported back to Kamino. He poured himself a drink and sat back in his chair, scrolling through old comms. There weren’t many with Ponds, just little questions his vod’ika had here and there, and a few scattered conversations about life in the thick of things. 

They were clone troopers, which meant they didn’t get holos or recordings of kids running around just being kids. They didn’t get keepsakes or days that could be spent talking and catching up. He’d known he would have to let them go eventually, and that when he did, there would be nothing to tether them to him.

It still hurt. 

Three glasses in, he picked up his comm again, and pulled up his conversations with Fox. 

It had been nearly six months since they last talked. 

A-17: I’m being sent to Coruscant soon for an escort

A-17: We should catch up

He waited a few minutes, then put his comm down. Fox was a Marshal Commander now, he’d respond when he could. 

Until then, Seventeen was content to drink to the memory of both Ponds, and the boys his batchers used to be.

[stellarbit]

Devotee

Word Count: 3.8k Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Imperial Warnings: NSFW smut with little plot, piv, creampie, oral Summary: You joined the imperial army because of CF 99. They trained you as a freedom fighter and you hadn't stopped thinking of Crosshair since. He'd yet to come across someone who looked at him like you did, and he wants more

Crosshair never substantially interacted with civilians before the Empire. In just one week, he transitioned from dealing with those outside his squad on a need-to-know basis, to leading and training not just regular clones, but also regular people.

It was dismal work that, to him, proved nothing more than his superiority over the majority. Still, there were those who looked down on him for being a clone. Not that it mattered. They were of no significance to Crosshair, it only showed their lack of vision and poor taste.

However, when you came under his command, the opinion of another became of some interest to him.

As a new recruit in a promising class of soldiers, you were part of the elite he was tasked to train between assignments. Among your cohorts, you stood the straightest—rigid as a board, chin raised, eyes fixed forward. It caught Crosshair’s attention in the wrong way.

Walking the lines of you, he stopped in front of you and turned his hawkish gaze on you. Under the weight of his stare, your eyes wavered from their focus.

 In a low, annoyed tone, he challenged, "Something on your mind?"

You hastily shook your head, sealing your lips tightly to maintain composure.

Crosshair took your silence as insubordination. His voice sharpened, "You answer when spoken to by a superior officer."

You responded promptly this time, "No."

“No…?” Crosshair pressed, dragging the etiquette out of you.

You swallowed, willing yourself to relax and offered him a subtle smile. "No, sir."

Crosshair turned to face you fully, his expression tightened with displeasure. He heard attitude in your voice and with it the opportunity to let off some steam.

“Congratulations. You earned yourself an extra hour of training today.” His crisp tone fixed your posture, forcing your eyes forward again.

With a sharp nod, and a dry mouth, you squared your shoulders. “Yes, sir.” He made an annoyed noise and walked on. You’d spent too long planning your first interaction with him for it to have gone that poorly. The worst of it was that you didn’t even know how it managed to go that poorly.

Despite that, it was your first training session under Crosshair’s leadership and you were going to make the best of it. The exercises were more intense than you’d experienced since the Clone Wars. But you had experienced it before.

By the session's end, you still had enough energy to spare. Training to be the best and serving with the best was your ultimate goal. Disappointing Crosshair on your first day was not an option.

The other soldiers filed out, some muttering snide comments. Your instinct was to grab them by their hair but you stood determined to impress. Keeping your composure was crucial; losing it would only show weakness.Once the doors closed and you were left alone with Crosshair, all you could think to do was stand at attention, silently waiting his next command.

Crosshair took slow deliberate steps towards you. He’d been planning this all morning. Using you as a punching bag was going to serve two purposes. keeping the others in line and venting the rage that was consuming him—not just the condescension from the regs but also his fresh frustration with his brothers.

He halted a few paces away, his voice icy. "Anything to say, or is speaking to a clone beneath you?"

Your composure instantly vanished, head whipping to face him. “Absolutely not!” You protested.

"No?" Crosshair began to circle you like a predator assessing its prey. "Then you’re insubordinate." Having once embodied insubordination himself, he recognized it well and had no tolerance for it.

"Insubordinate?" you repeated, shocked. Your mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words. "Sir," you scoffed, tracking his movements, "I think you’re misunderstanding."

A cruel smile flickered across his lips, his eyes challenging you to further provoke him. He paused while still in front of you, taking two long, intimidating steps closer. "Are you questioning me?"

The severity of the situation was beginning to dawn on you. In a sudden panic, you turned towards him, your hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Your words tumbled out in a rush, "No, no! I'm not trying to— I mean, I didn’t mean to—" As his smile twisted into a snarl, you blurted out, driven by desperation, "I'm here because of you.."

Once the words were out, you wondered why you had been so fearful of expressing them in the first place. There was a pride swelling in your chest at the admission, genuine satisfaction in declaring it aloud. His expression didn’t change, but he fell silent,  waiting for you to continue.

You slowly lowered your hands, clearing your throat before adding, "Your squad helped retake my city from the Separatists. I was among the freedom fighters you aided." As you spoke, you watched his features soften, the simmering rage cooling into something more reflective. "I enlisted because of you and your squad. I want to help people the way you helped us. There were rumors about clones leading the best of us and here I am.

"In the Mid Rim?" His voice was a low murmur, recognition flickering in his eyes. You nodded, a spark of hope lighting up your face as he pieced the memory together.

Crosshair scrutinized you, shifting his stance slightly. Your eyes were wide, not with fear or challenge, but with something he hadn't expected—admiration. The smile on your lips wasn't mockery but genuine, warm respect.

You fidgeted under his gaze; it wasn’t a seething stare-down but a thorough inspection. The sensation of his eyes on you ignited a warmth in your stomach that quickly spread throughout your body. His focus intensified, sending heat creeping up your neck and flushing your cheeks.

With muscle memory, Crosshair plucked a toothpick from a compartment on his forearm, stepping closer as he placed it between his teeth. His expression, previously tight with anger, now relaxed into a scoff. "You came here because of me?" he asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

Crosshair rolled his head to one side, pulling out the toothpick to point at you. “You were an archer.”

A giddy flutter ran through you. “I was.” You didn’t think he would remember you. “Actually you showed me-”

"How to ricochet a shot," he finished for you. He all but forgot that mission—it had been a relatively straightforward one for Clone Force 99—but he did recall your group. Your enthusiasm back then had been noticeable.

Your squirming and the flush of your cheeks didn’t escape him.

“Well then,” Crosshair drawled, stepping away and easing the pressure off of you. When you visibly relaxed, he continued, “Then let’s see how good of a student you turned out to be.”

When the extra hour was up, you’d barely broken a sweat and your shooting accuracy rounded out to crisp 93%, Crosshair had to admit - he was impressed.

While you wracked up your training blaster, Crosshair felt something more than being impressed. He toggled through what it could be, almost settling on approval, until you faced him again.

You were smiling at him and whatever it was it didn’t matter anymore. He just wanted more of it.

From that point on, whenever his duties allowed, you had the privilege of receiving Crosshair's exclusive tutelage. He had intended to make your training a form of punishment, and perhaps to others it might have felt that way. But you clung to his every command, turning it into something different for both of you. It turned out there was more than one way to let off steam because Crosshair always felt lighter after your sessions.

At some point he even found himself looking for you in hallways. When the day came that he spotted you and you kept your attention forward, with not a glance his way, his approval soured to annoyance.

Over dinner, he thought about what that meant for your next training session. He was barely a bite into his solitary meal when a tray clattered down in front of him. Mid-bite he glanced over his fork to find you out of uniform and, again, smiling at him.

Swallowing his bite, Crosshair sat his utensil down to ask, “Why are you here?” His tone was more cautious than curious.

You settled into your seat and lightly shrugged, “I saw you headed this way and I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” You gave him a wink, adding, “Trust me, I see you more than you see me.”

Crosshair studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “Is that so?” he asked, half-joking yet intrigued by your boldness

.Your eyebrows bounced as you quickly replied, “I followed you into the military. You don’t think I’d follow you to the cantine?”

There it was again—your unabashed admiration for him. That unfamiliar, stirring feeling returned, churning something inside him. Crosshair was momentarily taken aback, reveling in the pleasure of this new sensation.

You hummed at him, snapping him back to reality. He blinked, then chuckled—a rare sound from him. “How shameless,” he remarked.

Laughing as you took a bite, you managed to say, “Coming from you?” Setting your utensil down you leaned forward. “I’ve seen you in battle, you pose when you shoot and you and I both know it.”

He stopped mid-bite, slowly lowering the fork with a little smirk. Crosshair forgot what it felt like to banter or be lighthearted. It spurred that feeling inside him.

“If that’s where your focus was in battle, no wonder the mission took so long.” He said in a teasing tone.

Pressing a hand against your chest you laughed innocently, “I was just watching your back.” No matter how you tried, you couldn’t tuck your smile away.

The Clone Wars had been grueling. Imperial boot camp less so, but still a challenge in conformity. You did it all for the chance to be trained again by Clone Force 99. To do for the Galaxy what they’d done for you. Even one session would have made it all worth it. This unfettered attention was beyond what you imagined.w1

“What is your schedule after this?” Crosshair’s question brought you back to focus.

You shrugged, frowning in thought, “Just headed back to my barracks.” You couldn’t resist pushing him. Daring a flirtatious tone you asked,“Why? Trying to catch me alone?”

Crosshair stood, tilting his head back with a lazy smile. “Something like that.” The low tone of his voice sent a chill down your spine. 

“Let’s go.” He said as he waved you on and he left the table.

“Go where?”

“My barracks.” Crosshair said just loud enough for others to hear.

You didn’t hesitate to abandon your tray, nearly tripping to get around the table and catch up.

As you walked, Crosshair found himself discussing small, inconsequential details of training schedules and mission outlines - things that, without his brothers, he’d keep to himself..

"You're different from the rest," Crosshair finally admitted, his voice low as if confessing a secret.

You met his gaze, your expression serious. “I’ll take that as a compliment, because so are you.," you responded earnestly. ”So thank you.”

You could’ve swore you saw his step falter, but regardless in a few more steps you made it to his barracks.

Crosshair let you cross the threshold first, giving him the chance to watch you peruse his space. The room was devoid of life, his new cohorts adhering to strict barracks regulations. Your buzzing about brought a warmth to the space. 

After circling the room, clearly in awe of being in the barracks of the men you so admired, you paused at a rectangular table in the center. Running your finger along its edge, you seemed lost in thoughts of what it must have been like when the entire squad was together. The placement of a rifle nearby hinted at which bunk was his.

Leaning back against the table, you took a deep, satisfied breath. This moment, here in this space, might have been the happiest you’d ever felt. Resting on one hand, you turned to face Crosshair, your expression radiantly beaming.

You were by no means a soft person, if anything he would mark you as fierce. Strong, resilient, and fierce.

And, perhaps his favorite, loyal.

In a few slow strides, Crosshair met you at the table just as you perched yourself on top of it. He scoured your face, and while he wouldn’t call you soft it’s exactly what you made him feel. The feeling inside him grew feverish for more of you.

Crosshair leaned into your space, hands gripping the table on either side of your legs. He couldn’t get enough of the way you looked at him. Admiration, adoration, and Crosshair knew there was attraction. The longer he watched you heat through him and he started pressing his pants.

“Are you enjoying training?” To anyone else he may have sounded imposing, but you saw beyond that. He was teasing you and pinning you with his full attention. The last and only time he’d been this close to you he’d been wrapping his arms around you to show you proper shooting form. And just like the last time, the very scent of him made your core ache.

“Yes.” Your smile squirmed, refusing to go away. You gave them to him so often and freely and still Crosshair wanted more.

He lost all tolerance for the space between you and slipped his right hand down the length of your thigh until he angled it out of his way. “Then I must not be doing a good job.”

The sudden advance took your breath away, but quickly and hushed, you responded, “That’s not true. There’s no one better than you.” Your eagerness got the better of you as you hung a hand on his bicep. A few stars came to your eyes as you added, “You’re exactly what I thought you’d be.”

“And what’s that?” He tilted his head, eyes falling to your lips for only a second.

“The best of us.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His eyes flared with a sharp inhale. When had anyone looked at him like you were? You were so devoted to him and, beyond that, he suspected you were desperate for him. In one motion he slid his fingers under your thighs, wedged himself between your legs, and pulled you against him. A small noise left you and Crosshair purred, “Am I now?”

Steadying yourself with a grip on his shoulder, you managed a little scoff,  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know that.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow with a small smile, “Tell me anyways.”

For awhile you thought you’d been deluding yourself that Crosshair at least found you attractive. Now that you had concrete proof, you felt frantic for him. 

“You’re-” you started, interrupted as he stepped even closer. Crosshair pulled one leg to wrap around him, encouraging you as you continued on a gasp, “The epitome of precision and skill” 

Crosshair’s hips rolled into you on their own, suddenly very fervid to show you what you did to him.

Feeling him rock hard against you, you cursed under your breath. Slowly, you slid a leg to hook behind him. “Crosshair.” His name felt heavy on your tongue.

He only hummed in response and before you could second guess yourself you confessed, “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you.” You took a deep breath and pulled him in. “And I want you right now.”

He snaked a hand behind your neck and angled you towards him. “I know you do.” His voice was strained, grunting against the urge to jump you and the pressure between you. “And I think I’ll have you.” His tone sent a thrill through you all the way to your core.

In a burst of motion, you tugged him against you and pulled him back by the neck. You moved your lips against his as you both fell back onto the table, Crosshair laying across you. His cock dug into you as your hips ground together. After a moment of shock, Crosshair’s eyes fluttered shut and he moved to consume you.

With a hand under your hip, Crosshair pulled you up just enough to give him the space to pull down his pants. They fell to the floor and his hand met yours at the hem of your pants. You both fumbled with the clasps and worked to wiggle you out of them. Simultaneously you stripped off your shirt, tossing them aside and grabbing each other’s faces. 

Crosshair maintained the kiss while pulling you to the edge of the table, his fingers sliding between your legs to your slit. He found you completely slick, feeling like velvet as he dipped his finger into you.

He moaned into your kiss at the feeling of you so wet for him.

His touch strummed you, pushing you into a feverish frenzy. “Crosshair.” You whined through kisses. Again, he only responded with a hum. You pulled away, panting and reaching between you two.

You found the length of him and gave him a few pumps that he leaned into.

“I need you.” Your words were another confession, an invitation, and a plea.

Crosshair’s huffed a laugh as he removed his fingers. Two were glistening with your juices with a small strand of you hanging between them. He brought his fingers to his open mouth, sucking the taste of you off his fingers.

Slipping them off his tongue, he directed them right into your mouth. The taste of you on him sent your eyes rolling back only for a moment until you felt him slip inside you.

The sudden fullness of him jolted you up right, your hands dropping to his hips. You pulled him against you in time with his rhythm. You both needed him to be deeper.

You squirmed around him, whining as he hastened his pace. The sounds of your body working against each other only heated the room. His moans stood out the most to you, stoking the growing ache inside you.

Not once did he look away from you. You were stunning as you writhed before him, cradling your hips against his. And never did you look up at him with anything other than a lopsided smile.

“Say it again,” He panted, relentlessly driving the full length of him into you.

There was no question as to what he wanted. “I need you, Crosshair.”

As soon as the words were out, his mouth was on yours. He groaned against you, filling you him in a smooth, long thrust. Pulling back just enough that his lips brushed yours, he ordered, “Get up and turn around.”

In perfect tandem, he slid out of you and you slid from the table. You quickly bent yourself over the table for him and he didn’t make you wait.

Crosshair leaned over you, putting one hand between your legs and the other on your face. He lifted your chin, aiming your gaze to the viewport in front of you. The pitch black night made a black mirror out of the glass and your reflection, dizzy and lost in lust, stared back at you. 

Your eyes moved to Crosshair’s. The moment your eyes met his in the reflection, his cock met your folds and pushed right through you. He held you in place as he fucked you, his hand just out of view as he made stroked your clit. 

“Is this what you came here for?” His voice reverberated from his chest into your back.

Had your fantasies played into your journey to Kamino? ”Yes.” The affirmation came out a happy trill.

Crosshair moved your head so that his mouth reached your ear. “You know what you are?” Every word that came from him pushed you further to melt around him.

“Tell me.” You sobbed. The kiss he pressed against your ear ended with a light bite, pulling a whimper from you.

“Mine.”

That was it. One single word and you were crying his name. Your orgasm hit and a moment later Crosshair sheathed himself deep within you. His cock swelled, throbbing and cumming in waves until it leaked out around him.

You slumped against the table, both exhausted and elated, but Crosshair gave you no time to rest. He pulled out of you and dropped to his knees, watching as his cum spilled out of you. After a few drips, Crosshair spread you with his thumbs and gave you a long lick. He started at your clit and ran his tongue all the way up.

“Crosshair!” His name was a mumbled moan from you. “You can’t.”

From his knees, Crosshair turned you around to stand before him. “Too late.” He crooned before diving back into you. His licking and sucking made it hard to stand. When he put two fingers in you and started curling them inside you, another, almost painful, ache bloomed in you. You were so sensitive and his mouth was already bringing you to a second release

You dared look down, not expecting to see his brown eyes looking up at you. With your full attention; Crosshair hummed into you and focused his fingers on a soft spot inside you. The stimulation struck something more in you. Warm pressure pooled between your legs while you reached the brink of release.

“If you keep that up I’m going to-”

You didn’t need to tell him, he knew you were close by the way you convulsed on his fingers and the noises you made. He rocked his fingers harder into you and as his mouth focused on your clit. Impatience took hold of Crosshair and in his drive to see what more you could show him he took your clit into his mouth. He sucked on you, swelling your bundle of nerves so much that when he let his teeth lightly graze you, your entire body shuddered.

The pressure that built around his fingers snapped and you came around him. His fingers didn’t stop though and they kept playing you until your own cum coated his hands. You couldn’t stop the shakes hitting you or the way the floor became wet from you.

Only when you were on the verge of collapsing did Crosshair let you go. You barely caught yourself, elbows catching the edge of the table as your legs gave way. 

Drained in every way you huffed and puffed with a barely there smile. “That was-”

“Have you ever came like that?”

You didn’t have to look at the small puddle you left to know what he was referring to. Getting your feet back underneath you, you admitted. “Never.”

Crosshair got to his feet, helping you straighten out as he went. “Good.” Tipping your chin up he returned one of your smiles. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Your knees went weak again as you said, “Sir, yes sir.”

[candyskiez]

he's a child soldier. he's manipulative and extremely cunning. he's kind and sweet and takes on an older brother role to anyone younger than him. he took out several highly trained soldiers while severely malnourished and sleep deprived. he likes birds. he's made out of wood. his girlfriend controls plant life at will. he's bisexual. he was raised by a puritan. his eyebags have eyebags. he had a redemption arc because a bird was nice to him. he almost drowned his future sister in boiling water when they first met. he's on a sports team. he's a furry. he likes rip off star trek. he licked his nemesis' hand to freak her out. said nemesis became his little sister. he fought for his life in a wolf shirt. he used to be his dad's boss. he's a genius teen progidy. he fell down the stairs after asking if they were real. he thought he could teleport via the magic of friendship. both of his service animals have breakfast food names. he is extremely talented and intelligent. he may or may not have severe nerve damage. he almost drowned in his uncle's mind once and was saved by a piece of paper. there's so much adoption discourse around him. he fell in love with a girl who pulled him from the sky and terrified him and then asked him if he wanted to play sports with her. he's kidnapped almost all of his friends at some point. he has overwhelming anger issues. he loves his friends and animals. his dad/former employee taught him how to sew after being rude to him about how bad he was at it. he was possessed by his uncle because he cut himself sewing. his first introduction was jumping out of the sea. he has a hand motif. his very introduction foreshadowed him being a clone. he bonded with his little brother over giving the man who tried to kidnap them a complete and total mental breakdown. he wears crocks. I didn't say his name but you know EXACTLY who I'm talking about.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU... Part One:

(WARNING: Depictions and mentions of abuse, neglect, physical harm, self-harm, depictions and mentions of wounds and blood, self-harm ideation/actions, and Reader at one point is thought to be dead/almost dies. Viewers discretion is advised...) (Side note: Wolverine and Sabretooth are brothers, and their relationship is platonic, and Kurt, Kitty, Fred, Lance, and Todd join the X-Men/Brotherhood after the X-Men/Brotherhood lose Reader and have changed)

• They weren't always the way they are now. There had been a time when they were hopeful, happy, cheerful... Or maybe it was obvliousness, their subconscious the only part of them to understand that something was wrong.

• You can't remember much of anything past the age of five, but you remember some parts of your childhood. It was spent with a mutant group, ones who had taken in or had others like yourself, who were honed to be soldiers. To be unstoppable weapons. You thought they were good for the longest time. Too long, to be honest. You weren't smart back then the way you were now. You didn't understand jokes or sarcasm or much beyond facts in a book. You didn't really understand that the others, the kids and the adults, didn't like you. That they thought you were annoying. Useless. Simple. Someone not worth the effort. Someone unworthy of being with them. Someone unlovable.

• When training, you tried your best, but you weren't naturally aggressive in the way they said you should be. That for a feral mutant, you weren't much of one. You tried to be quick, tried to be kind, tried to go along with what they told you to do, who they wanted you to be. But you just... weren't that. You weren't ruthless, weren't violent, you cried when you killed a moth by accident, what was to be expected? But you still, somehow, did well enough to be allowed to stay. To not disappear. Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered to do anything about you, one way or the other.

• The kids thought you were weird. You looked weird, acted weird, talked weird. They thought you weren't bright. They certainly made jokes at your expense, you knew that, you simply couldn't understand the jokes and sarcasm they used. It hurt. It hurt, bad enough that you grew quieter, more sullen and downtrodden. You weren't as happy or talkative as you once were...

• It came to a head when you caught the ire, the hatred, of your two "mentors"... Two of the three adults ferals, the ones you heard whispers of late at night, talking about how you might be related to them, perhaps a clone... You weren't sure what you did, just that when they found you that day, you were dragged off into a lone room, given no explanation or warning. Their faces were filled with a blind rage, a freezing wrath, and the next thing you know you're being yelled at. Loud, furious roars, a tight, bruising grip on your arm, and no way out... And suddenly-

• SLASH!

• A searing pain filled your senses, and you're crying, trying to hold a hand to the wounds on your face, hoping to stop the pain, the hurt, the redredredred- They order you to stop crying, to stop wailing, or they'll give you a reason to. And so you cover your mouth as best you can, sucking in sharp breath after sharp breath, blinded by the blood dripping down your face. It stains the floor, once clean, a filthy, ugly crimson, garnet-colored ichor growing into a small puddle. They huff, but go to leave, only telling you to clean yourself up. And then they're gone, and you're on your own, and nothing is right anymore.

• Over the next two weeks, you keep your head down and stay out of everyone's way. No more talking than needed, no direct eye contact, and no being around anyone for longer than you're required. You weren't blind to it anymore, were you? That you weren't safe. That you weren't cared about. That you were alone. And with that realization, you grew to dread being near them, near the other kids and the adults and anyone else who was around. But... you had the beginnings of an idea. One that could end your suffering... It would be risky, but... At this point, you'd rather risk the threat of death than stay another day.

• It's at night when you make your move. It's quiet, dark, chilly. You aren't dressed for the weather, and you aren't prepared for whatever is out there. All you have are the clothes on your back and the boots on your feet. You make it mostly all the way, out of the compound, facility, whatever they called the place yo- they, lived in. There's snow out, thick sheets coating the ground and flakes of it dancing down from the sky. It's beautiful... You wished you could have enjoyed it, but there wasn't time to do so. You made your way from the field towards the woods, the icy dirt crunching beneath your feet...

• "Wh-? Reader, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

• And then you're running, as swift and fleet as you can, as far away as you can run. Your feet carry you through the frosty woods, stirring up small bits of snow as you race by, the wind howling around you as you flee for your life. Sometimes your feet nearly slide out from under you, having stepped onto an ice patch, but you quickly right yourself and go faster, forcing yourself to keep going no matter what you hear or how much it scares you...

• Until you eventually reach a seething, ice-studded rocky outcropping. The beginnings of a river spill over a ledge, crashing into a foaming, roaring current, twisting away into the wintery night. You're stuck. And then the worst possible thing happens- they find you.

• "Reader. Get back here. NOW."

• You take a step back, pulling your hands closer to your chest. The noise is almost unbearable, being so close to the raging water so close to you. They only take a step closer, an angry, annoyed look on their faces... "Get over here. NOW. Or you're going to be in even worse trouble." A whine hums in your throat, a pathetic sound. You take another step back, and feel a subtle shift in the rock beneath you. "That's it, I SAID-!"

• CRACK!

• The ground beneath you breaks, sending you tumbling down into the rocks and water below with only a scream as your last words. And soon, all you know is the icy touch of water filling your lungs and the sting of rocks on your skin...

• You weren't sure how you initially woke up... You weren't sure you were even alive... But with a weak, gurgling gasp, you cough up the water sitting in your lungs, gagging into the dirt as you try to hold yourself up. When you eventually finish with one last rasping breath, you crack open your eyes, looking around you. You're by the river, lying in the dirt and rocks and silt of its shore, which is surrounded by endless snow-capped trees and endless sky. And somehow... You feel a small pang of hope. You made it, after all. You weren't dead. You were... free. Of course... now you had to actually get to where people were. Find food. Maybe drink some of the water from the river...

• You weren't quite sure how long you had stayed in the wilderness, scrounging up small, half-starved animals and barely surviving the few times you tried to take on larger prey. Having your cheek ripped open by an antler and having a bear bite through your arm weren't fun experiences, but you had learned that while you could hunt some prey, the larger, more filling prey wasn't what you could go after. You'd learned plenty of things from your time alone in the wild, but your loneliness still grew. It was always festering under the surface. You were glad once you stumbled into a small town, dragging yourself through an alley to spy on the normal going-ons of humans. You hadn't really seen or met a human since before you were five, and you only had the hatred of the X-Men/Brotherhood to explain them. Which led to your decision to scout the woods around the sleepy town, to find a way to read them before you met anyone. And what a thing you found: A small, dusty yet cozy abandoned cabin, just right for you to move into.

• And so that was how your first year was spent, foraging bones and rocks from the forest and hunting animals, selling their pelts or even the whole bit of prey to make a living. You came up with a small story for any townsfolk who asked about you, saying you had an ill family parent to take care of and a relative who visited from time to time to make sure your schooling got done (it was all a lie. You had to say something, and saying you were a mutant child who escaped a dangerous group of bigger, meaner mutants was a no-go). They more or less bought it. They didn't press for any information after that besides occasionally asking if the fake family members were okay. All in all, you had been doing... alright...

• You didn't reveal anything beneath the surface of your skin. You didn't talk about your nightmares, of being back with them, of being hurt, of being laughed at, of being killed- You didn't mention how you got hurt when you hunted, how you sometimes used your own claws to do the hurting for you, slicing them through your skin until blood ran like water- You couldn't bring yourself to deal with your panic attacks, your paranoia and inner turmoil, the fact it hurt to think-

• Yet it didn't last more than three years...

• You weren't sure how they found you. You weren't sure if it was an accident, or if they knew you were alive the entire time, or if someone tipped them off. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter, because they'd stumbled on the little town and had found you within a few days. Seeing them for the first time in so long... You only felt a rising, bubbling feeling of blind fear. It didn't matter if their faces went all weird and soft, or that they tried to get near you, you didn't care- You ran, you bolted, running deep into the woods and not looking back for a second. It didn't matter what you left behind! You had to move, you had to run, you had to fleefleeflee-!

• It shouldn't have surprised you when something thunked into the earth next to you, thin and sharp and leaving an odd smell behind. It shouldn't have surprised you when your old mentors managed to find you, their eyes dark with something that wasn't hate or malice... But you didn't think it would be any better. You know a few of the others, older now than when you last saw them, are close by. You keep your claws out, your face set into a fearful snarl, ready to flee or bite or scram at a moment's notice.

• "Oh, cub... What did we do ta ya?" You do your best to keep an eye on both of them, which proves difficult. They're on either side of the small clearing, each watching you with sharp, unwavering eyes. It doesn't help that when you try to move further away, as far as you can from them, they only move towards that side, keeping themselves in your way of escaping. Their scents are off, something dark and deep and somber, not their old usual fury and annoyance. Their claws aren't out, either... It's strange, for people who want you dead... (Right? They want you dead, to kill you, right?) "Shhh... Cub... I know a lot has happened... I know yer scared, an' yer hurtin', an' I know it's our fault. I know nothin' we do er say can make up fer it... But... please... please give us a chance ta help ya. Please... all we want is ta help ya. All we want is ta give ya what we should've from the beginnin'..." Your eyes dart between them fearfully, a soft whine building in your throat. This is worse than your nightmares. This is your nightmares come to take you back. And you can't have that.

• You try to dart out of the clearing, trying to dodge past the hands that go to grab you-

• But large, warm hands grab the back of your shirt, tugging you back into an iron grip. "Cub, calm down, please! We promise ya we aren't gonna hurt ya! Yer safe, yer okay, yer not gonna be hurt-" You don't pay it any heed, kicking and scratching and biting at what you can, doing everything in your power to break free from the arms keeping you captive. It does nothing. All that happens is the arms tightening and a flurry of panicked words filling the air. "Kid, cub-! Just, calm down fer one minute! We can talk this out-! Please, ya gotta stop fightin' us, ya gotta stop fightin' me! I know yer scared, I know, just, please-!" It doesn't matter what either man says, as all it earns from you is a fearful scream as you struggle harder. The scents around you are rife with sorrow, salty and cold and damp like earth after rain. You hear a wounded noise come from them, but you don't stop your attempt to escape the hold on you. A long, hurt sigh whooshes out, followed by the hold on you pinning you further.

• "I'm so sorry, cub... But we can't let ya keep goin' on like this. Yer hurtin' yerself. And we just can't let that happen."

• And just like that... something presses into your flesh, a sharp sting, which is gone just as quick. A hiss escapes you, your hands suddenly clawing so you can feel at where you were stung. "Shhh... don't worry, cub... It's justa small sedative... It won't hurt ya, all it's gonna do is make ya all sleepy an' tired..." Your eyes widen, then with a small shriek you try to tug yourself away. You can already feel the drug seeping in, a buzz at your skin and thoughts. The more you struggle, the more your thoughts cloud up, earning more movement from you as you do your best to snap out of it. Something akin to a sob breaks loose from you as your tugs and scratching grows weaker, the drug nestling into your system and numbing your limbs. Your mind keeps growing more muddled, thick and soft and syrupy... A hiccup pushes past your lips, being met by a hand patting lightly at your hair. It's weight feels good, the warmth sending you deeper into your tired state. When you try to speak, the words leave you, turning into a sleepy mumble, your body slumping into the hold around you. Everything feels quiet... barely there... So soft... So calm... Hardly any thought stays inside you as your breaths soften, the fear and fight leaving you as you stumble into unconsciousness...

• "Good cub... Just go ta sleep... We'll help ya feel better, that's it..."

• They're careful, one of them holdin' their kid while the other alerts the others, letting them know they have Reader with them and that they had to use a sedative to calm 'em down. It feels so surreal, seein' their once bright kid so... tired. So scared. So hurt. Bein' near 'em, even tha other teens, scared them enough that they were runnin' inta freezin' weather, all ta stay away from 'em. But... They can't let 'em go. Not again. The last time they let 'em go, they thought they died (maybe they actually did, and only came back due to their small healing factor...). They hurt them, they terrified them, they were tha reason they were afraid, the reason they were hurtin'. And now the kid was hurting themself. Was causing themself pain, with no one ta stop them er help them er let 'em know they'd be alright. They'd be d*mned if they let it continue. They'd be worse than dead if they left 'em ta wilt away on their own, ta slip off inta the blinding snow once more... They might have ta keep them calm, make it so they're relaxed enough so they can help them... But they'll do anything, just ta keep them alive. Ta make them feel loved. Ta be their family. And this time, they're gonna do it right...

[moriaarts]

ARC Trooper Corporal Jaig

Blorbo the second, Jaig the ARC of the 343rd. In house mother and bleeding heart in disguise. With the text under the cut.

CT - 8407 “Jaig” has proven herself to be a survivor. Calm, collected and aloof, Jaig comes across as a cold and unapproachable soldier. But its a mask of a hunter observing the world for signs of danger.

The name “Jaig” was given to her early in the war when a B1 droid got in close and disarmed her. It’s not in Jaig nature to go down without a fight. It’s not in her nature to go down at all. All clones are trained in hand to hand combat, made stronger and more agile than base humans. But these are necessary against unyielding mechanical fists. Knocked off her feet by a metal backhand, she remember the raw of the wind across the sands, of the LAAT’s, of blaster fire.

She registers the B1s flooding in and going for her batchmates, her squadron, helmet forgotten she goes for the nearest one and shreds out the wires in its neck. It’s a valiant effort. It’s luck. The droid reaches back, grabbing her by the face to pull her off. It’s joints seize and all thats left as it turns on her is the command prompt to shoot and keep shooting. The fucker took her eye. Tore the skin off around it.

The scar that it left was triangular shaded, the skin too smooth for the rest of her face. A jaig eye, Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se, a shreik-hawk eye, they said. Said her quick thinking took out a platoon of clankers when the droid she hardwired mindlessly shot a downed LAAT, blowing it, sending it crashing on top of the ones storming their trench. She just remembers being pissed because they knocked her bucket off and didn't finish the job. So she gets to trained as an ARC. It’s an honour. And she agrees but it doesn't feel real. Even assigned to the 21st Nova Corps, under the command of Commander Jet, Clone Marshal Commander Bacara, and General Ki Adi Mundi.

She never really like red. Liked the long kama though. She also had not like General Mundi. The rumour was that he had ten wives. The number changed depending on the battalion they were bunking with. It was more like four. But knowing the jedi’s no string policy she's even less of a fan. Even less in the coming months before. Jaig would be with the nova corps for few campaigns. Used to smile when Block chased her around with hair shears. How Duke would always grumbled getting dirt off his armour, and asked how she kept hers so clean and not smelling of wet bantha. But besides that she hadn't known much about herself until they had met them. Two of General Mundi’s wives met them at a medical station one a doctor the other visiting from a relief mission. Pamania. She was lovely. Covered in simple jedi cream robes all except for her eyes. Eyes of deep pools of dark purple, nebulas set in russet skin. They creased when she smiled. Lashes fluttered when she cried. They visited the medical base often. Pamania was gentle with them. Patient and kind, and fierce as a forests fire when they came back in a state. Jaig thinks she liked her. The first one to call her sister. The first to run fingers through her hair rather than playfully pull it when she gave her some self sacrificing crap. The first person to kiss her on the cheek and tell her she had a right to live in this world. War or no war.

Jaig had been younger then, Naive and unsure what to do with such gentle treatment. Who knew an innocent kiss to a clothed cheek would do such damage? Jet had scolded her and within a week she was decommissioned for improper behaviour, officially. Unofficially reassigned in shiny armour to the 343rd.  

Bonus:

Jaig loves the twins like her own. Especially Lash, whose quiet sarcasm is a family brand of deflection. She wants more with Ro, but Ro has a whole host of issues to make up with before Jaig is next in line. Doesn’t stop her having the ARF troopers back though. They both got on best, both being recon troops and with her 3rd in command and Ro in 2nd, they often share looks of exasperation and concern at the expense of Kiss.  

Here is Captain Kiss x and the rest of the company.

WIP Playlist

[getvalentined]

I'm thinking about First SOLDIER.

I still think I'm right about the battle royale being a Synaptic Net Dive (particularly since the event in Ever Crisis where we literally faced down the system that was used to train that first round of would-be SOLDIERs in the battle royale), but the iteration of First SOLDIER in Ever Crisis isn't. Not exactly, anyway. It seems like it's whatever the energetic equivalent of the SND would be for Sephiroth, whatever you would call the way that he (and Lucrecia) can pull memories out of people's heads and put them on display, run through them and relive the experience tangibly, beat for beat—only in Ever Crisis, it's Sephiroth doing it to himself.

Sephiroth gave up his memories in Meteorfall, using his only surviving Clone as an anchor to keep his consciousness from being burned away forever—this is why the Remnants don't actually know him, because they're made from what the Lifestream remembered of him, not from his own concept of himself. He doesn't have a concept of himself anymore, he needs someone or something else to pull him back together.

Jenova "remembers," such as she can, because they were temporarily fused into one being prior to Meteorfall. This is why Kadaj's assimilation of the last piece of Jenova at the climax of Advent Children opened the way for Sephiroth to come back up out of the Lifestream, albeit in an obviously incomplete state.

Cloud also remembers, and he's special: as the only surviving Sephiroth Clone, as the man who struck him down both in Nibelheim and in the Northern Crater, as someone who actually met him prior to everything falling apart, Cloud's memories contain both the most accessible and the most complete version of Sephiroth that can currently be found.

But it's still someone else's memory, because Sephiroth doesn't remember himself.

The Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation at the end of Remake comes from some point well beyond the end of the series, postcanon by some incomprehensible degree. And he's...different. That Sephiroth uses his old personal pronoun, that Sephiroth is almost soft with Cloud—and that's the same Sephiroth as we see at the end of the opening arc of First SOLDIER, because the corresponding cutscene appears to take place just before Cloud arrives at the end of Remake.

That Sephiroth is out there at the Edge of Creation thinking about his childhood, thinking about Rhadore, thinking about Wutai, thinking about who he is and what he's done.

And he remembers. Somehow, in spite of everything, that Sephiroth remembers. He knows what happened to him, what he went through, what he did. He knows himself. And Sephiroth is not some horrifying amalgam of a extraterrestrial pathogen and the incandescent rage of a man created only to be used, he's not an incomplete echo of a memory of a hero long dead; and the Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation knows where he came from, how he got here, and everything that happened along the way.

And he's playing it back to himself.

What's he looking for? What's he hoping to see? Why did he start there, on his first field mission, where he learned the only thing he really had to prove was that he's capable of compassion? Where he learned that it's not black and white, and that death can also be mercy?

Why did he move forward to the night that he ran himself ragged saving lives in an attempt to never have to show that kind of mercy again?

That Sephiroth remembers, and he's choosing to remember this.

And I think...that might make him a Sephiroth that can be saved.