#clone cadet learning helmets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

areyoufuckingcrazy · 29 days ago

Text

“Dark Water”

Chapter Twenty One: What We Were, what lingers

The Bad Batch x Reader

Location: Tipoca City, Kamino — 5 Years Before Geonosis

The halls always felt too quiet on Kamino.

The storm raged endlessly outside the permaglass windows — slate-gray skies streaked with lightning, ocean churning in shades of steel and bone. But inside the sterile white corridors of Tipoca City, everything was suffocatingly still. Efficient. Cold. Clinical.

Not made for warriors. Made for weapons.

You stood at one of the training ring overlooks, arms crossed, visor tilted slightly as you watched cadets — not even ten years old — run drills. Their formations were sloppy, timing was off, but they pushed through every round of punishment without complaint. That part, at least, was Mandalorian.

The door behind you hissed open.

“Thought I’d find you here,” came a voice, deep and worn like old leather.

Kal Skirata stepped in, followed by Wad’e Tay’haai and Mij Gilamar. All part of the Cuy’val Dar. All hand-picked by Fett to train the clones. All exiles in their own way — ghosts wearing armor and names few remembered.

“I take it you heard?” Skirata said, sliding a grim glance to the floor below.

“That Kamino’s bringing in two hundred low-rent bounty hunters to ‘help supplement training’?” you replied dryly. “Hard to miss.”

Mij snorted. “Help. Please. Kaminoans don’t want help — they want control. And hiring bounty scum with no discipline gives them more of it.”

“They’ll train the standard units, not the commandos,” Wad’e added, as if that made it better.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

Across the ring, a cadet tripped on a live round during a moving drill. His bunkmate yanked him up without missing a beat. Good instincts. They were learning.

“You look like you’ve swallowed a blaster bolt,” Skirata muttered. “What is it?”

You sighed, helmet still on. “They’re not bringing in anyone good. No high-level hunters. No real killers. Just opportunists looking for credits and a clean contract. And we’re supposed to train our vode next to them?”

Wad’e tilted his head. “What did you say when you were first offered the job?”

“I said no.”

Gilamar huffed a laugh. “Thought so.”

“I told Fett I wouldn’t disappear for a ghost army,” you said. “Didn’t want to bury myself on some ocean world with no comms, no exit, no name. But then I saw what he was building… and I said yes.”

Kal’s voice turned gruff. “You said yes because you knew what was coming. Because Mandalore’s forgotten its warriors, and the galaxy’s about to start remembering again.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to train our future brothers next to amateurs who think a war’s just a payday.”

You turned away from the cadets and started walking toward the inner corridor. “Where’s Fett?”

“Armor bay. Recalibrating the range droids again. Like it’ll make up for what the Kaminoans won’t let him control.”

You found Jango alone in the systems lab, helmet off, arms elbow-deep in a cracked droid casing. He didn’t look up when you entered.

“You hear they’re bringing in more bounty hunters?” you asked.

He grunted. “I approved the list.”

“You approved this list?” You stepped closer, voice sharpening. “Most of these clowns couldn’t outfight a training remote.”

“I know.”

That stopped you.

“You know?”

Jango finally straightened, wiping grease off his fingers with a cloth. His expression was unreadable — cold blue eyes, expression carved from beskar.

“I didn’t pick them because I trust them,” he said. “I picked them because the Kaminoans insisted. They don’t like relying on Mandalorians. Think we’re too unpredictable.”

You scoffed. “So you gave them unstable trash instead?”

“I gave them enough. Enough to keep them out of our lanes. None of those bounty hunters will go near the commandos. That’s our domain.”

You crossed your arms. “You ever wonder what happens when the clones start asking questions about who trained who?”

“They won’t,” Jango said bluntly. “Because they’ll be too busy surviving a war they don’t even know is coming.”

Silence followed.

The lights buzzed overhead. The storm continued outside, eternal and uncaring.

Jango finally spoke again, this time quieter.

“I don’t trust them. Not the Kaminoans. Not the bounty hunters. Not the Jedi. But I trust the vode we’re raising — our vode.”

You gave him a long look.

Then nodded.

And together, you both stood in silence, watching your war take shape from the bones of something already too far gone to stop.

⸻

Tipoca City, Kamino — 5 Years Before Geonosis

The bounty hunters arrived in the middle of another Kaminoan downpour.

Even from the upper ledge overlooking the docking platforms, you could hear the hiss of rain pelting the durasteel, the low hum of engines powering down, and the occasional barked command from Kaminoan handlers trying to herd the new arrivals into order like wild akk dogs.

You stood with Kal Skirata, Wad’e Tay’haai, and Mij Gilamar, all of you leaning silently over the railing.

Below, a line of ragged, poorly armed mercs shuffled out of the transport vessels. Some wore scraps of armor with mismatched plating. Some were already arguing with Kaminoan aides. Others sauntered with that self-important strut of amateurs who’d never had to survive a true battlefield. You could smell the lack of discipline.

“Well,” Mij muttered, “looks like the slugs just dragged in every half-dead, credits-desperate scumbag from the Mid Rim to the Core.”

Skirata spat over the edge. “Not even real bounty hunters. No names I recognize. No Guild veterans. Just gutter trash.”

Wad’e nodded, his arms crossed tight. “No Fett clones either. That’s deliberate.”

“Of course it is,” you said, biting each word. “Kaminoans don’t want more Mandalorians. They want obedience. What better way to gut a program than by surrounding it with clowns?”

Kal made a disgusted sound. “You see that one in the yellow coat? Think he’s wearing part of a Jawa robe.”

Mij snorted. “I think he is a Jawa. That or someone peeled a sandcrawler.”

You didn’t laugh. Not really. Just exhaled hard through your nose.

One of the Kaminoan administrative aides approached from behind, her presence announced only by the faint slosh of her step. “We are finalizing quarters. Due to the influx, we request that several of the original instructors — including you — consider sharing accommodations with the new contractors.”

You turned slowly.

“No.”

The aide blinked her wide eyes. “That is not a suggestion.”

“It’s not a negotiation either,” you said flatly. “You bring in swamp scum, you house them yourself. You let one of them in my room and I’ll throw them off the deck and say they slipped on the rain.”

The Kaminoan’s neck stiffened, a twitch of polite irritation. “We must adapt for efficiency.”

Skirata stepped forward, voice sharper now. “You want efficient? Stop putting freelancers with kill counts under twenty near our cadets.”

Wad’e tilted his helmet toward her. “How many of them even know how to teach? Not kill. Train. There’s a difference.”

“Your tone is insubordinate.”

“My tone is realistic,” you snapped. “We’re training soldiers, not babysitting a crew of drunks with scoped rifles and unresolved childhood trauma.”

Silence followed.

The aide didn’t argue again. Just turned, spine stiff, and stalked back toward the administrative wing.

Once she was gone, you leaned forward on the railing, your voice lower, tight.

“I’m not letting those fools near the commandos. I don’t care what the Kaminoans say.”

“They won’t,” Kal said. “Fett’s got our backs on that.”

You didn’t look away from the platform.

Below, two bounty hunters were already fighting over a spilled case of munitions. Another one looked like he was stealing from a crate when he thought no one was watching. Somewhere deep in your gut, something clenched — a memory of the boys you were raising, the ones you were building from scratch with blood, sweat, and care. Your vode.

You’d watched the Bad Batch take their first coordinated steps on a training mat. You’d seen Wrecker light up the first time he lifted something no one else could. You’d taught Tech to anchor himself when he got too caught in his own calculations.

And now they wanted to put these people near soldiers like them?

“Bring them in,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, “and we’ll lose more than discipline. We’ll lose them.”

Mij nodded. “The Kaminoans see assets. We see lives.”

Skirata cracked his knuckles. “And that’s why we’re here.”

You didn’t respond.

You just kept watching — the rain soaking the garbage below — and promised yourself that none of them would ever touch your cadets.

Not while you were still breathing.

⸻

5 Years Before Geonosis

Training Pad 17-B

The air smelled like recycled metal and antiseptic. The soft hum of energy shields buzzed around the perimeter of the training pad, the lights overhead casting everything in that sterile Kaminoan white-blue.

Clone Force 99 stood in a loose semi-circle, sweat shining off their brows after another brutal drill. Wrecker was grinning wide, panting hard after flipping one of the heavy metal pylons during a power-lift simulation. Tech was already reviewing the data output on a display pad. Crosshair looked bored as usual. Hunter watched you, keen and silent, sensing the shift in your body before you said anything at all.

The Nulls were scattered throughout the space — Mereel leaning back with a smirk, Kom’rk pacing like a caged animal, and Ordo sharpening a knife in the corner like he wanted someone to interrupt him.

You were halfway through setting up the next scenario when the doors at the far end slid open.

A figure swaggered in like he owned the place.

Tall, gangly, wrapped in faded green armor with chipped paint and a blaster slung low like some holonet caricature of a bounty hunter. You recognized the species — Klatooinian — with a face like ground-up stone and a permanent sneer that said I’ve never trained a soldier in my life, but I’ll sure as hell pretend I have.

“Training Pad 17-B?” he said, voice gravelly and obnoxiously loud. “Yeah, I’ve got this space booked starting now. Kaminoan orders.”

You didn’t even look up. “Not a chance.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

You turned fully, arms crossed. “This pad’s booked for the rest of the cycle. Been in use all day.”

“Not according to the schedule I got.” He held up a data chit, like that meant something to you. “I was told this was reassigned to contractors. That means me.”

Hunter’s brow twitched. Crosshair didn’t move — but the hand on his rifle tensed. Wrecker frowned.

“[Y/N]?” Tech asked, glancing up from his scanner. “Do you want me to recite the internal use logs?”

You ignored Tech. Stepped closer instead.

“You’re not taking this space,” you said. “You want to test drills, go down to the aux pads. This one’s reserved for advanced commando development.”

The bounty hunter huffed. “Yeah, I heard about that. Your little squad of glitches and failed prototypes. Cute.”

Wrecker’s smile vanished. Kom’rk stopped pacing.

Your eyes narrowed.

“You don’t get to walk in here,” you said evenly, “disrespect my cadets, and pretend you belong on this floor. You’re not qualified to lead a training run, let alone in this sector. So unless you’re suicidal or really like bacta baths, I suggest you turn around.”

The Klatooinian took a step forward.

That was a mistake.

Before he could get another word out, a hand clamped down on his shoulder with enough force to pop a joint.

Kal Skirata. Helmet off, face grim.

“I believe,” Kal said, voice low and lethal, “you’ve just interrupted a lesson run for my Nulls. That means you’re trespassing.”

The hunter tried to shrug him off. “I’ve got permission—”

“You’ve got nothing,” Kal growled. “You think just because you were handed a badge and a bunk by some brainstem in a lab coat, you’re qualified to be here? You’re not.”

He pushed him — not hard. But it made a sound when the hunter hit the wall. A wet, echoing thump.

The Nulls didn’t move, but you could feel the air thicken. Kom’rk smiled. Mereel leaned forward, hopeful. Ordo stood up slowly, sheathing his knife in the same way one might say I could unsheath it again.

Clone Force 99 stood silently behind you. Crosshair finally spoke:

“Do we shoot him now, or wait for round two?”

You raised a hand to hold him off — but you didn’t take your eyes off the interloper.

“Let me make this simple for you,” you said, stepping into the space Kal had cleared. “You’re not welcome in my space. Not in my program. Not near my vode. Next time you think about waltzing in with your chit and your ego, remember something.”

You leaned in, voice like durasteel wrapped in ice.

“I’ve trained soldiers who could rip you in half. You are not their equal. You will never be.”

The Klatooinian opened his mouth again — and Ordo shifted.

That was enough.

He stepped back, scowling, rubbing his shoulder.

“This place is a joke,” he muttered.

Kal gave a mocking bow. “Then leave the punchline to us.”

He left.

You stood there, jaw tight, until the doors hissed shut behind him. Then you turned back to the Batch.

“Reset the pylons,” you said. “Hunter, you’re first. We’re doing tower run-and-disarm drills.”

Hunter nodded, already moving. Tech followed. Crosshair muttered something about finally, and Wrecker gave a shaky little laugh.

“Was kinda hoping you’d punch him, to be honest,” Wrecker said.

You cracked a small, rare smile.

“Me too.”

⸻

Tipoca City, Mess Hall | 5 years before the Clone Wars

The mess hall on Kamino was always too clean for its own good—sterile in that Kaminoan way, like it had never once seen a real fight.

Your tray clattered down on the table in the corner of the room, steam rising from bland grey rations that somehow managed to smell both undercooked and overprocessed. You weren’t here for the cuisine.

Skirata had already taken his spot, muttering to himself between mouthfuls and occasional scowls across the hall at some of the newer “trainers.” He didn’t trust them. Neither did you.

“You see that sleemo trying to correct one of the Nulls yesterday?” Kal mumbled, voice pitched low. “Couldn’t hit the broad side of a Bantha if it were painted with a target.”

You huffed through your nose. “Kaminoans are getting sloppy.”

“Desperate.” He pushed a bite of protein cube around his tray. “Sloppy was five months ago.”

You were halfway through chewing when another tray slid across from you, uninvited.

Bric.

The Siniteen bounty hunter didn’t say a word as he sat, just nodded once in something that might have been respect… or habit. You and Skirata both stiffened, but neither of you said anything. He wasn’t your problem yet.

“Tried one of the new training halls,” Bric muttered, stabbing at his rations. “Power flickered three times. Cheaply wired. Could be sabotage. Or just Kaminoan engineering.”

You raised a brow but didn’t look directly at him.

“Bad weather,” you offered flatly. “It’s always bad weather here.”

Bric grunted. “You’d be surprised how many of those new trainers get real curious about Kaminoan systems. Wander where they shouldn’t.”

That got Kal’s attention. He sat up straighter.

“You saying someone’s snooping?”

Bric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slowly peeled back the plastifoil from the edge of his ration pack.

“Just saying…” he said, voice low, “if something was being planned, wouldn’t surprise me if some of them weren’t planning to stay loyal to their contracts.”

You exchanged a look with Kal.

“Any names?” Kal asked.

Bric shook his head. “Not my business to interfere. I do my job. Same as you.”

You snorted. “You picked a hell of a table if that’s true.”

For the first time, Bric cracked the faintest smile. It wasn’t kind.

“I sat here because it’s the only table without idiots trying to impress the Kaminoans with war stories they didn’t earn.”

Kal gave a grunt of approval. Even he had to respect that, grudgingly.

Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the lighting above and the murmur of other bounty hunters laughing on the other side of the mess.

Eventually, Bric stood, tossing his empty tray into the bin.

“Watch your backs,” he muttered before walking off. “And your quarters.”

You and Kal were quiet for a beat.

Then Kal said, “If he’s saying something’s up…”

“…it’s already started,” you finished.

You pushed your tray away and stood.

“Time to check the armory.”

⸻

Tipoca City – Maintenance Sublevels | 5 years before the Clone Wars

The air in the sublevels beneath the training facilities was thick with recycled coolant and quiet lies. Kamino kept its bones hidden—maintenance corridors and old power grids never meant for offworlders. That’s why you were down here. That’s why Kal Skirata had called you at some unholy hour with only two words:

“Something’s off.”

Now, with your back pressed to a chilled durasteel wall, you listened while Kal worked the maintenance panel with a flat knife he wasn’t supposed to have.

“You sure about this?” you muttered under your breath, scanning the junction for any surveillance nodes. “We start poking too hard, we’ll catch the Kaminoans’ attention.”

Skirata didn’t look up. “Bric wasn’t talking out his shebs. I’ve been noticing inconsistencies in the systems for weeks. Training room locks disengaging when they shouldn’t. Doors logged as opened without a genetic tag.”

Click.

The panel popped free with a hiss of vacuum-sealed air. Inside—tangled wire, fried circuits, and something that definitely didn’t belong.

“…That’s not Kaminoan,” you said, voice low.

Skirata stared at the tiny module tucked behind the circuits. It was sleek, dark metal—clearly Separatist tech. Not Republic. Not clone.

“I knew it,” he growled. “Sabotage.”

You were already pulling out your commlink, switching to a locked Mandalorian channel only the Cuy’val Dar used. “I’ll start flagging the others. We do this quietly.”

“Good.” Kal replaced the panel with methodical efficiency. “Kaminoans’ll bury this if they get wind before we have proof. Or worse—pin it on one of the Nulls.”

You both started moving—fast, quiet, efficient. You’d trained long enough for this kind of rhythm.

⸻

Later That Night – Cuy’val Dar Private Barracks

The briefing was silent save for the occasional scrape of metal on armor and the rustle of tactical holopads. Twelve of the Cuy’val Dar had arrived already—some tired, some angry, all deadly serious.

“I found a second device,” said Wad’e Tay’haai, tapping a blinking grid on his datapad. “Linked to power fluctuations in three training blocks. Could blow the whole southern hall if triggered.”

“I’ve seen traps like this before,” said Isabet Reau. “Seppie infiltration.”

“You think it’s Dooku?” someone asked.

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “Too soon. This feels like internal leverage. Pressure. Maybe blackmail. Or… insurance.”

The room went quiet.

Then Kal spoke.

“We need to tell Jango.”

⸻

Later Still – Private Hangar Bay, Tipoca City

He was waiting where he always was when things got heavy—overlooking the landing pads, armor half-strapped on, arms folded tight.

Jango Fett didn’t ask why you and Kal had called for him.

“We found Separatist tech in the training blocks,” you said, handing over a datachip. “More than one. Rigged quiet, like they were never meant to be found until someone needed them.”

He inserted the chip into his vambrace reader. His face didn’t change, but his eyes hardened.

“Kaminoans know?”

“Not yet,” Kal said. “We wanted to bring this to you first.”

“You think it’s one of the new bounty hunters?” Jango asked.

You nodded. “Could be multiple. Bric says some are wandering off schedule. The Kaminoans are too naive to notice. Or too proud.”

Jango was quiet for a moment. Then:

“I’ll start vetting. Quietly. If anyone asks, you didn’t find anything.”

“And if they come sniffing around?” you asked.

Jango’s eyes flicked up.

“Then we start cleaning house.”

⸻

Undisclosed Separatist Channel – Encrypted Comms Node

The room was dark, dimly lit only by a single projector mounted above the durasteel table. Jango Fett stood alone, helmet off, gauntlets dripping with a thin layer of coolant from his last ’inspection’ of the sublevels.

The comm device clicked alive with a hiss, and a distorted holo-image shimmered into existence. Count Dooku’s form coalesced in blue, regal and calm as ever, his hands folded neatly before him.

“Fett,” Dooku said, his voice low and mildly amused. “I was beginning to think you’d gone quiet.”

Jango didn’t bother with niceties.

“Some of the bounty hunters Kamino brought in started getting too curious. One of the Mandalorians and Skirata nearly exposed the whole thing.”

“Ah. And how did you handle it?”

“I framed two of the off-world hires. Low-level types. Never knew when to shut up. It doesn’t take much to make one bounty hunter look guilty to the others.” Jango crossed his arms. “A trail of planted tech, falsified logs. Just enough to justify an ‘accidental’ airlock malfunction.”

Dooku’s expression didn’t flicker, but his voice was lined with cold approval.

“Efficient. The Kaminoans were always short-sighted to involve more than the Cuy’val Dar. Desperate, perhaps, to fill the gaps in their knowledge.”

Jango grunted. “They were so focused on their perfect product, they forgot what happens when you bring in scavengers. Too much ambition, not enough control.”

“You’ve always understood the importance of control,” Dooku said, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s why you were chosen.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Then:

“Do they suspect you?”

“No,” Jango replied. “Not yet. [Y/N] and Skirata are sniffing around, but they haven’t connected anything to me. They think it’s Separatist sabotage.”

“And let them,” Dooku said coolly. “Let them dig. Let them chase shadows. The more noise they make, the easier it will be to tighten our grasp. The Jedi will grow suspicious… but not of you.”

Jango didn’t reply immediately. He just stared into the flickering holo, jaw tense.

“And the defective units?” Dooku asked, a flicker of disdain curling into his tone.

“Clone Force 99? Nulls?” Jango shrugged. “Messy, but effective. I don’t care what Kamino calls them. If they survive training, they serve their purpose.”

Dooku’s image gave a faint nod. “Good. The timeline moves faster than we anticipated. The war must come soon, and the pieces must already be in place.”

“Understood.”

“And Fett…” Dooku’s voice dropped into something lower, sharper.

Jango’s gaze lifted.

“Be careful not to lose your objectivity. You are valuable, but replaceable.”

Jango’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “So are you.”

The transmission clicked off before either of them could say more.

⸻

Jango stood at the edge of the hangar, the rain clattering against the glass like a steady, coded warning.

He had blood on his hands. Some of it deserved. Some of it necessary. Some of it… a loose end.

His gaze drifted to the distant lights of the cadet dorms. The silhouettes of trainers moving in shadow. [Y/N] was still poking around. And [Y/N] was smarter than the rest.

Eventually, they’d start asking the right questions.

But if it came to that?

He’d clean house again.

⸻

Rain thrashed against the domes of Tipoca City like it knew what was coming.

You stood on a walkway overlooking the barracks block, visor down, hand resting casually on the hilt of your beskad. Beside you stood Mij Gilamar, silent as ever. Skirata had already gone dark—off comms—his Nulls with him. Vau was hunting solo, like a damn wraith.

There had been no formal order. Just a look exchanged across a quiet corridor, a tilt of the head, a few encrypted words in the shared Mandalorian tongue.

Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it.

Truth, honor, vengeance.

It started as quietly as it should have. Saboteurs died in their bunks. A few mysteriously vanished on “temporary reassignments” or were lost to “training accidents.” But bounty hunters weren’t stupid—they were greedy and paranoid. And after the third one failed to show up for mess, word spread.

You dropped your beskad with a dull thud onto the permacrete floor of a service hall where the fifth confirmed traitor lay bleeding at your feet. A custom vibroblade still clutched in their hand. It hadn’t helped them.

“That’s five,” you muttered over comms. “Gilamar and I are sweeping through Utility Sector Nine.”

“Seven down total,” came Vau’s clipped reply. “Unconfirmed third party in pursuit. Possibly Fett.”

“I don’t care if Fett’s in pursuit or playing dejarik with Mandalor The Great’s ghost,” Skirata snapped. “We finish this. No cowards hiding in the mess with the kids. We get ‘em before they grab leverage.”

That was the fear.

The mess hall. Fifty cadets on a break rotation, isolated in the western wing. Bounty hunter access near unrestricted. And at least three missing saboteurs unaccounted for.

⸻

Tipoca Mess Hall – Ten Minutes Later

The alert klaxons were still echoing when you smashed through the mess hall doors.

You tackled a Weequay bounty hunter straight through them, the two of you crashing over a table of untouched food trays as clone cadets dove out of the way. The Weequay let out a strangled yell—cut short as you brought your elbow down hard into his throat. He didn’t get up.

“Down!” you barked at the cadets, drawing your T-7 Ion Disruptor Rifle from its harness. “Now!”

There were six rogue bounty hunters inside. Two had already pulled cadets into chokeholds. Another was climbing onto a serving station for high ground, rifle trained. Panic radiated through the room—dozens of cadets, maybe fifty total, too stunned to move.

You didn’t hesitate.

You fired the T-7.

The shriek of the disruptor echoed like a scream through metal.

One bounty hunter vanished into light and ash.

Another tried to duck—too slow. Gone.

Nothing left but boot scorch marks and the stench of ozone.

The disruptor’s whine wound down—and then the nearest bounty hunter blindsided you with the butt of a rifle.

You stumbled. The T-7 clattered across the floor. Another bounty hunter dove for it. You lunged after—too slow.

A shot rang out.

A clone cadet—maybe 10, barely taller than your ribs—cried out and dropped to the floor, hand clutched to his bleeding side.

“No!” you roared.

You surged forward, fists up. One of the bounty hunters grabbed another cadet, pressing a vibroblade to his head. The child’s voice cracked into a scream as the blade carved across his eyebrow and temple—not deep, but bloody.

You snarled and made for them—but the bounty hunter with the T-7 was already aiming at you.

“Let’s see if that armor’s worth the noise,” he spat, and fired.

You ripped your helmet off and threw it. The ion beam slammed into it, the impact knocking it across the hall like a scorched comet.

The blast would have atomized you.

You moved. Fast. Faster than the bounty hunter expected. You were almost on him—

Then a shot cut through the chaos.

Blaster bolt. Center mass.

The bounty hunter dropped like a stone.

You froze.

Standing ten feet away, shaking like a leaf but eyes locked with yours, was a clone cadet—white-blond, buzz cut shaved,still holding the blaster. He looked terrified, but alive.

“Nice shot, ad’ika,” you said.

He didn’t smile. He just looked at the other cadets.

You turned, kneeling beside the two wounded cadets. The one with the burned side was slipping fast, blood in his mouth. The other, the boy with the sliced eyebrow, was shaking but breathing.

You scooped them both up, one under each arm.

“Someone grab the med bay door code,” you snapped.

“Wait!” the one cadet shouted. You turned.

He was reaching for your helmet, discarded and blackened from the disruptor’s blast.

He touched it.

And screamed.

The cadet reeled back, hands burned and smoking, skin blistering. The helmet clattered.

“Don’t touch that!” you barked, voice steel. “Ever.”

You moved again, pushing through the chaos with the two wounded cadets in your arms and the screaming third stumbling beside you.

You didn’t wait to check if they followed.

You ran.

Down the hall.

Toward the med bay.

With the storm still howling behind you.

⸻

The doors to the med ward slammed open under your boot.

“Emergency triage!” you barked, stomping in with one cadet draped over your shoulder, another at your side clutching his bleeding face, and a third limping behind you, cradling blistered, raw hands.

A medical droid immediately whirred over, its servos clicking.

“Prioritizing major trauma—”

“Burns first,” you snapped. “Put his hands in bacta before the nerves fry further.”

The droid moved to obey as you guided the cadet—silent, teeth clenched in agony—to a tank. He flinched as his hands went in. The hiss of pain was sharp and shallow.

“Apply direct pressure,” you ordered the next boy, shoving gauze pads into his hand and pressing it to the side of his bleeding temple, where a long gash had painted his eyebrow and cheek in red. “Don’t stop until the droid tells you to.”

Then you laid the last one down—the shot cadet. Still breathing. Barely.

Blaster fire had ripped into his left side just above the hip. Blood soaked his armor blacks. You didn’t hesitate—gloves off, pressure applied, calling out instructions as the med droid deployed surgical tools.

“Clamp there—no, lower. He’s small, organ shift is tighter at this age,” you said grimly. “We’re not losing him.”

The droid buzzed in reply. For several minutes, it was only breathing, blood, and the slick metallic smell of cauterization.

Finally, the worst had passed.

The cadet’s vitals steadied. Not perfect. But alive.

You sat back on your heels, breathing hard, blood smeared on your arms, face drawn in tension.

The one with the eyebrow gash spoke first.

“Sir,” he said quietly, still holding the compress to his temple. “Name’s Cody.”

You gave him a long look. “Of course it is.”

The burned boy sat beside the tank now, cradling his bandaged arms, shoulders tense.

“I’m Bacara.”

“Hands numb?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded.

You met his eyes without flinching.

“They’re not numb,” you said, voice flat. “You’ve just cooked the nerves so badly you might never feel your hands again.”

Bacara blinked at you. Then gave the smallest nod. Brave kid. Tougher than most grown soldiers.

“And that one?” you asked, nodding toward the boy on the cot.

“Fox,” Cody answered. “He took the hit for one of us. Didn’t hesitate.”

You looked back at him—pale, sweaty, breathing slow but even.

“Fierfek,” you muttered, shaking your head. “That one’s going to get himself killed being the brave one.”

They chuckled softly.

The med bay door creaked open again.

Another cadet stepped in—mussed dark hair, a snarl already forming. He looked at you like he was sizing up a threat.

“Wolffe,” Cody said with a nod. “He’s the one who bit our new trainer.”

You turned your head slowly.

“You what?”

Wolffe just glared, unrepentant.

“Bit him, locked jaw. Licked his arm too,” Cody added with a straight face.

You blinked. “What, like a warning or a territorial mark?”

“He said if anyone hurt his brothers again, he’d do worse,” Bacara mumbled, still cradling his hands.

Wolffe’s lip twitched. “Still mean it.”

You leaned back against the wall, stretching your neck.

“They say my cadets are feral and defective,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“We’re command preselects,” Cody said, puffing his chest slightly, as if needing to explain why they were this chaotic and still alive.

“Well,” you said dryly, looking them over—one bleeding, one half-cooked, one passed out, one with a personal vendetta—“you’re off to a flying start.”

They didn’t reply.

You sighed and stood, stretching the aches out of your shoulders. They watched you as if expecting the lecture to come next.

Instead, you reached down, adjusted the compress on Cody’s face, and said—

“I’m not your assigned trainer. But if any of you need anything—my door’s always open. You understand me?”

They all nodded. Even Wolffe.

“Good. Because next time a bounty hunter grabs a disruptor rifle, I expect one of you to throw your own helmet in the way, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bacara said quietly.

You stepped away before the moment could soften too far.

But you noticed it.

How Cody adjusted his grip on the bandage, how Bacara tilted his head toward Fox’s cot, how Wolffe sat a little closer than he had to start.

You didn’t show it.

But you felt it.

Something had just changed.

⸻

Tipoca City, Kamino – Outer Parade Deck (Restricted Access)

Five Years Before the Clone Wars

The ocean raged outside, waves slamming into the sleek walls of Tipoca City. Inside, things were quieter now—but only on the surface.

The deck still smelled like burnt metal, blaster residue, and fear. Bodies had been removed. The halls had been sterilized. But no amount of Kaminoan sanitizing could erase what just happened.

The Cuy’val Dar gathered in tense clusters, armor scratched, voices low. Some smoked. Others leaned in quiet conversation, eyes tracking every movement like it might still turn into a fight.

You stood with your arms crossed, helmet clipped to your belt, gaze scanning the deck like it owed you answers.

“Cowards ran before the real fight even started,” one Mando muttered nearby. “Tch. Should’ve let ‘em rot in space.”

“They weren’t all traitors,” someone else countered. “But enough were.”

You didn’t speak yet.

You were waiting.

And then you saw him—Bric—standing off to the side near a railing, speaking with two other trainers you recognized from the “not a threat but not helpful either” crowd. His stance was tense, shoulders rigid, jaw locked.

You moved toward him with the kind of calm that made other men nervous.

He turned slightly as you approached, frown already forming.

“You okay?” he asked.

You ignored the question.

“Where the hell were you,” you asked coldly, “when the mess was under siege?”

His brow furrowed, defensive. “I wasn’t even on that deck when it happened. I was with my squad on the range. Kaminoans wouldn’t let us off rotation—”

“Convenient,” you cut in sharply. “For someone who’s always walking around like you’ve got a superiority complex, you sure disappeared the second things got real.”

“I’m not one of the bad ones,” Bric said tightly. “I know what side I’m on.”

“And yet, I didn’t see you on it.”

“That’s enough,” a new voice interjected.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Walon Vau.

Helmet still on, voice like a vibroblade wrapped in velvet. Calm, composed, dangerous.

He stepped between you and Bric with practiced ease. “He was with his cadets. I checked myself. He wasn’t hiding.”

You scowled. “You trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Vau said flatly. “But I verify.”

Bric looked between the two of you, jaw still tight but no longer spoiling for a fight. “If I’d been there, I would’ve done something.”

“I’ll remember that next time I’m dragging three kids out of a warzone you were supposed to help train,” you snapped, stepping back with visible restraint.

Vau tilted his head slightly toward you once Bric retreated to the far railing.

“You’re wound tighter than a thermal detonator,” he said under his breath. “Need to reset.”

“I need Kamino to stop pretending this isn’t a powder keg.”

Vau gave a quiet grunt of agreement. His tone shifted.

“Word is you saved a few command preselects,” he said. “Skirata told me. One of ‘em burned his hands on your helmet?”

You exhaled through your nose.

“They’re alive. Barely. And yeah. Kid nearly screamed the walls down.”

“You gonna tell ‘em why?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Vau didn’t push.

Instead, he looked back out toward the sea. The water churned violently beyond the transparisteel.

“We’re not just training them to fight,” he said eventually. “We’re training them to survive something none of us were designed to understand.”

“War?” you asked dryly.

“No. Being cannon fodder bred for someone else’s agenda.”

You said nothing for a long moment.

Then you quietly replied, “They’re more than that.”

“To us,” Vau said. “Not to everyone.”

Behind you, the remaining bounty hunters were packing up. Some had asked for transfers. Others were under investigation. A few were still missing.

The deck felt quieter than before. Too quiet.

“You think it’s over?” you asked Vau, without looking at him.

“Not by a long shot,” he said.

And you both knew it.

⸻

It was late.

The kind of late that made even Kamino feel still. Rain drummed its usual rhythm against the tall transparisteel windows, but you’d long since tuned it out. The chaos of the day still throbbed at the base of your skull — muscle memory keeping you alert, even though the fighting was over.

Your armor was stacked neatly in the corner. Boots off. Lights low.

You sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing at the tension in your shoulder before finally crawling under the covers with a soft sigh. The stiffness in your back hadn’t eased since you carried those boys — Fox, Bacara, and Cody — all the way to the med bay. Your hands still smelled faintly of sterilized bacta.

You shifted onto your side, mind still chewing on everything, when—

rustle.

You stilled. Then slowly turned over in the dark.

There was a cadet in your bed.

You blinked once, eyes adjusting.

He was already staring at you, completely nonchalant.

“…Which one of Skirata’s Null freaks is it this time?” you muttered.

The cadet blinked back at you. A slow smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth.

“Which one do you want it to be?”

You groaned.

“It’s late,” you warned.

“You said,” the cadet replied smoothly, “and I quote: ‘if any cadet needs anything, my door is always open.’”

You narrowed your eyes. “You were in the med bay.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How the hell did you overhear that?”

“The vent system here is… interconnected.”

“…You were in the vents?”

“I refuse to elaborate further.”

You stared at him in dry disbelief. He stared back. Unapologetic. Curled up under your blanket like he belonged there.

“You ever heard of boundaries?” you asked, voice muffled in your pillow.

“You ever heard of locking your door?”

You gave him a long, flat look. He just smiled, and turned his back to you, wriggling deeper into the mattress like he’d just won something.

You stared at his back. This gremlin of a Null who had apparently spent part of his evening eavesdropping through vents and now thought your bed was his.

He scooted backward slightly, shifting until his shoulder lightly bumped yours.

You blinked in the dark.

“…You’re not subtle,” you said.

“No,” he murmured sleepily, “but I’m persistent.”

You snorted. “Little shabuir.”

“Takes one to know one,” he mumbled.

You let it go.

Instead, you reached out — slow and a little surprised by yourself — and pulled him in gently by the waist, letting him settle against your chest like he’d been there a hundred times. He went still for a second… then softened.

And then—

Thud.

Your door creaked open.

More silhouettes in the doorway.

One, two, three cadets poking their heads in. Familiar shapes now — Cody, Bacara, Fox. All in their greys, all looking like they hadn’t quite recovered from the adrenaline of earlier.

Cody’s arms were crossed.

“We saw the door was open,” he said with mock disapproval. “Again.”

“The vents were occupied,” Bacara added quietly, still cradling his bandaged hands.

Fox said nothing, just gave a long-suffering sigh and made a beeline for the other side of the bed.

You groaned softly into your pillow. “Is this how it’s going to be now?”

“You said the door was open,” Cody reminded you, as he kicked off his boots.

“Don’t you dare quote me back to me.”

“Too late.”

By the time you’d sat up, the bed had gotten noticeably heavier. The cadets curled up like feral animals finally given a safe den. Someone’s foot jabbed your calf. You slapped it without checking who it belonged to.

And then — more heavy steps.

A larger shadow in the doorway.

“Oyy,” Wrecker’s voice boomed as he peeked in, all wide grin and bright eyes, “you’re cuddling without me?”

“Of course he shows up,” one of the cadets muttered.

Behind him stood Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair, all in their undersuits, blinking like they’d walked in on a secret rite. Hunter scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Tech looked vaguely alarmed.

Crosshair stared directly at the writhing pile of clone bodies in your bed.

“This is… feral,” he said flatly.

You raised your eyebrows. “You coming in or just gonna stand there judging?”

Crosshair looked like he was genuinely weighing the pros and cons.

“I’m not spooning anyone,” he warned as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Eventually, somehow, they all fit. It was uncomfortable. Too warm. Elbows and knees in awkward places. Someone muttering about “personal space” while absolutely violating it.

But it was quiet now. And safe.

You lay back as Wrecker pulled someone into a one-armed hug. Someone snored. Someone muttered in Mando’a in their sleep.

And for the first time in days—you let your eyes fall shut, a small smile tugging at your mouth, even as the rain outside kept falling.

You hadn’t meant for them to take you up on it.

But they did.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

20 notes · View notes

twinsunstars · 1 year ago

Text

The Medic - a Star Wars fic

Summary: In another version of a galaxy, far, far away, a clone trooper gets his name through his own skills.

Word Count: 1,794

TW: blood, some abuse

Notes: I was inspired by @warsamongthestars's post about the alternative names for "Hemlock" and one being Kix and @paperback-rascal's drawing of Kix that was based on that post. I really wanted to write something about this concept since it sounded so intriguing, so I hope you all like this! HIGHLY RECOMMEND you view the posts before reading below! Let me know your thoughts! :)

also up on AO3, read under cut if you want to read on here!

As a cadet, CT-6116 grew to have multiple interests in different areas of medicine. Chemical, botanical, anything that involved studying items that would help people heal. Though, many of these things had potential to be deadly, and CT-6116 loved learning more about them.

All clones were primarily bred for the purposes of being a soldier. With CT-6116, he would be out in the training rooms with the rest of his brothers, practicing with a blaster and going through various strength exercises. Sometimes, he was put with a few Kaminoans to learn about healing practices. CT-6116 was allowed to operate on many clones who got injured during training sessions, preparing for his purpose as a soldier and a medic out in the battlefield one day. The Kaminoans supplied him with various files and readings about many plants and substances that could help to heal injuries. CT-6116 enjoyed practicing with any of the substances he was given, often teaching himself how to make supplements to help clones heal.

CT-6116 often spent some nights studying these files, expanding his knowledge of everything that could become useful to him one day. Many of the medical plants had various locations spread across the galaxy. There could be a high likelihood that CT-6116 could stumble upon one or many of the planets in his lifetime, becoming wonderful opportunities to gather these plants to make use of.

He swiped to the next small reading on his datapad, coming across a bright green plant that was labeled as one that was highly poisonous and could be found in various distinct sectors of the Outer Rim. The plant did also have a separate species that was mostly used for healing purposes at the utmost caution. CT-6116 was intrigued by this plant, and it had various names in different dialects.

Hemlock. Or Kex. Another alternative. Kix.

That one sounded like it had a nice ring to it. CT-6116 kept the name in mind.

As CT-6116 grew rapidly over time and closer to his chances of becoming a soldier in the Grand Army of the Republic, he had kept a journal of everything he had learned from the Kaminoans regarding medical practices. Kamino had a small sector where they kept many plants and medicines collected from outside worlds, and CT-6116 had gotten the chance to visit that sector multiple times to aid the Kaminoans in their experimental endeavors.

During a training session, CT-6116 witnessed one of the trainers in charge of getting the clones ready for the war harassing a fellow clone cadet he was close with. CT-6116 hid behind a wall, listening closely.

“You barely hit any of the targets assigned to you!” The trainer slapped the young clone hard across their face. A bright red mark remained on the clone’s cheek. The trainer grabbed the clone’s face, their sharp nails digging into the clone’s flesh. The clone let out a whimper from the pain.

“Oh, you’re a crybaby alright. You’re bred for war, yet you display the weakest of skills apart from your other kind.” The trainer’s claws dug deeper into the clone’s skin. Blood was exhibited within a few seconds, dripping down the clone’s neck.

“You know you can be better,” the trainer growled, letting go of the young clone. The clone cadet hung his head down, avoiding the trainer’s gaze. He refused to cry in front of him. His lips trembled as he slowly picked up his helmet from the ground.

“Be better tomorrow, or I’ll make the Kaminoans scrap you like a droid. Understood?”

The clone cadet shook his head nervously, his hands shaking while holding his helmet.

“Get out of my sight.”

The clone cadet walked away quickly as the trainer left. CT-6116 quickly grabbed the young clone’s arm, hiding with him behind the wall. The clone cadet gasped and raised his fist, ready to attack.

“Relax. It’s me.”

The young clone relaxed upon seeing CT-6116. CT-6116 examined the clone’s face, blood continuing to drop down from his face. “Come on. I’ll patch you up. Do you want some of the warm herbal tea you like a lot?”

The clone cadet nodded. That trainer was going to pay.

***

CT-6116 arrived at a medical room, where the Kaminoans would be needing his assistance with some medical experiments in precisely an hour. He gathered a few supplies, preparing the table.

“Hey, you’re one of the clones the Kaminoans train in medicine, aren’t ya?”

CT-6116 turned to see the same trainer who had hurt the clone cadet walking in. He kept a straight face, waiting for the trainer to talk more.

“Say, I’ve got a real bad migraine. Could you whip me up a drink to help it?”

CT-6116 swallowed. He thought for a moment.

“Right away, sir!”

He grabbed a cup and heated up some water, having an idea in mind. “Be right back, sir. I will grab some things that will be useful for you.”

CT-6116 headed over to the sector where all of the medical plants were kept. He grabbed a few, ready to use them in the drink. He returned to the medical room, brewing the plants in the hot water and mixing them together.

“Here you go, sir.”

“Finally.” The trainer moaned, the pain of his migraine increasing. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. Another.

Within a minute, the trainer began to cough violently, dropping the drink on the table. His hands shook as he coughed and wheezed. CT-6116 tilted his head, observing the trainer suffer from the side effects of the drink.

“What… is this?! Are you trying to kill me, clone?!”

CT-6116 shrugged. “You asked me to whip up a drink for you, sir. So I did!”

The trainer coughed more, the taste of blood coming near. “You know… what I mean…”

CT-6116 came closer. “Ah, that. I don’t take kindly to trainers abusing their power over cadets, silly.”

The trainer understood what he was talking about. This clone had seen him yesterday. And now he was trying to make him die. He stared at the leaves that were in the drink. “How did you… What did you put in this? Some kind of weed?”

“Maybe,” CT-6116 said. “It’ll hurt for days, but you’ll live.”

The trainer tried to breathe. “You’re a danger, a poison.” He coughed again, feeling like he recognized one of the plants in the drink. “Is there a hemlock in this?”

CT-6116 didn’t answer. There was the name of that plant again he was so intrigued by. The trainer called him a poison. CT-6116 was made to be a soldier and a medic. He knew he had much more potential to do good for others by punishing evil, and everything he had learned about chemicals and plants were his open gateways.

CT-6116 grinned. “Possibly. But I like Kix a lot more though.”

***

Becoming one of the 501st Legion’s soldiers and its primary medic, Kix did all that he could to help heal clones from their injuries in the battlefield. It was difficult learning that he couldn’t save many of his brothers, but it was a hard reality he had to face.

The 501st had recently captured a Separatist spy after discovering he wasn’t all that he seemed to be. He was pretending to be an ally of the Republic, though the clones managed to see through his deceit and the way he would mistreat the clones.

The clones were getting ready to head back to the Republic with the prisoner in transport. General Skywalker had said he will meet them there after taking care of another issue the Jedi Council had assigned him to.

The Separatist prisoner was handcuffed and left with Kix. He had been severely injured during an attack, and Kix was assigned to patching up his wounds so that he could be in a good condition to talk in a jail cell at Coruscant.

Kix applied bandages to the prisoner’s injuries, keeping a close eye on the prisoner in case he tried anything to escape. He turned around, picking up a cup and handing it to the prisoner. “Drink.”

The Separatist prisoner looked up at Kix, letting out a scoff. He took the cup with both his hands, gulping the drink down. The prisoner spat the drink out, coughing from the bitter taste. His eyes watered and he felt sick to the stomach.

“How… why…”

Kix just chuckled. “I don’t take lightly to my brothers being mistreated by others. Especially by Separatists.”

The prisoner choked, trying to clear his throat. “How did you…”

Kix grabbed the prisoner by his shirt’s collar. “Next time you try to murder and hurt my brothers, I won’t be forgiving. I am not called ‘hemlock’ for nothing.”

***

Kix woke up cold one day in the galaxy, met by a rugged crew of pirates. He would soon learn that the Clone Wars were long over, and so were the days of the Republic. The First Order spread its terror across the galaxy with its reign.

Everyone Kix had known were likely all dead by now. The pirates said that all clones were extinct by now. It was just him that was left.

All Kix remembered was trying to get back to the Republic to tell General Skywalker the truth about the “virus” that had caused Tup to act strangely, and that Fives was trying to warn them about. Everything had gone black, and he never got his chance to tell him.

Out of options, Kix joined the pirates to survive, traveling through the changed galaxy and looking for lost treasures. He would often tell people stories about the clones, keeping the lives of his brothers alive. Kix listened to stories about what happened to the Jedi and what the Galactic Empire would do during the time it ruled the galaxy, and how the rebels and a certain Jedi managed to bring their tyranny to an end. Kix couldn’t believe what he was hearing when he heard the name “Skywalker” after so many years.

Whenever the pirates went undercover, Kix used the name “Hemlock” as a code name. He still used his medical skills to his advantage, and his ability to poison someone whenever it was needed. There were still dangerous people out there in the galaxy harming people who didn’t deserve to suffer under the hands of evil.

Kix had never gotten to learn that there used to be a doctor alive many years ago with Hemlock as a birth name, responsible for the torture of many clones. Unfortunately, that doctor’s name never reached the former Galactic Empire’s history books, yet Kix’s stories kept the names and tales of his brothers alive. The galaxy would forever remember the bravery and strength of the clones who served the Old Republic.

120 notes · View notes

lavenderlemonade47 · 2 months ago

Text

Shev'la Verd

Relationship: Fenn Rau x Autistic!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: You were used to the abuse you suffered at your peers' hands, both overt and unspoken. So you assumed it would continue for the duration of your time in the Rebellion. The Protector of Concord Dawn, however, will have none of it.

Rating: G

Warnings: Bullying, ableism, reader has low self-esteem and a bit of learned helplessness

Word Count: 1.7k

You wished you had your helmet right now.

If you did, you wouldn’t have to gnash your teeth at the way the fluorescent lights of the mess hall glared above you. Or the clatter of silverware and the grating chatter of your fellow rebels at the surrounding tables.

Noises that, thankfully, fell away when you hopped into your safe space—the pilot’s seat of an A-wing.

It should have been ironic. Flying wasn’t something that came naturally to you. There were too many things to keep track of: airspeed, altitude, atmospheric conditions, and engine performance, to name a few. All of which could change in an instant.

And that doesn’t even cover combat maneuvers. Had it not been for your instructor, you’re not sure you would have ever got the hang of it.

You quickly learned why Fenn Rau had such a name among the clones on Kamino. He was unlike any mentor you’ve had before. Rau was more than strict; he pushed students to their limits, testing their mettle in grueling sessions performing corkscrews and barrel rolls that would make even the strongest stomachs churn. He accepted no excuses and didn’t mince words with his criticism. It was little wonder there was such a high turnover rate among the greenhorns that trained with him in their first month.

Yet with his toughness came fairness. His instructions were clear and concise. With every lesson, he carefully noted your approach to learning and revised his methods accordingly. Sometimes, it was a change of wording—others, a different routine. His praise, though given sparingly, was sincere. Through the occasional affirming nod or solid hand on your shoulder, you were sure that he approved of, or at least tolerated, your efforts in the air.

You weren’t on such good terms with the other pilots; you stuck out like a sore thumb among the hot headed teenagers that comprised most of the cadets that Rau taught. Save for a few friendly faces like Wedge and Hobbie, your interactions with the others were marked by cautious curiosity at best and bitter judgment at worst. All hidden beneath the thin veneer of protocol.

You knew why. You were painfully aware that your difficulty in understanding social cues made you suspect among the gregarious, upstart types that seemed so drawn to the Rebellion. Knew that your tendency to take things literally made you an object of ridicule. That, and your aversion to the sensory hell that was Chopper Base in full swing during the day.

Laughter.

You were certain it was about you before you even turned your head. You didn’t even need to see him to single out the braying roar at the center of it all. Chet, a burly rookie with a smile like a rancor that joined your ranks only three weeks ago.

A face you dreaded in any proximity to you.

“I don’t know why they’re still here,” he sneered at his cadre. “They’re slower than a bantha!”

“More like a Hutt!” came Rana’s jab. The girl flicked a blonde pigtail over her shoulder. “As dumb as one, too.”

Your grip was a vise on the edge of the table. Your frantic pulse screamed at you to do something, anything , so you wouldn’t feel their mocking eyes burning into you. Escaping to the hangar sounded like a good idea. It would mean you’d get to work on your fighter. Maybe check the engine oil while you were at it. But that would mean running the gauntlet past Chet’s bench, a move that was sure to end in an outstretched foot breaking your stride and your lunch spilled all over the floor.

So you could only stay rooted in place and hope that your silence would make them relent.

Just as you always did before.

But that didn’t stop Chet’s words from hurting like they did the first time. “Do you think they’re retar—”

“Enough!”

Gloved hands slammed against the table, making you all jump in your seats. You looked up from counting grains in the laminate to the source of the sound. It was none other than Fenn Rau, visor gleaming dangerously as he appraised the now-cowering pilots in front of you.

His voice was precise and measured when he spoke next. “What is the meaning of this, cadets?”

Chet's grin faltered. A nervous chuckle escaped him. “Sir, we were just joking around–”

“I see only two of you laughing,” Rau interrupted. His gaze landed on Rana, who had taken on a striking pallor. “Would you care to explain to me the nature of your little display?”

Now it was Rana’s turn to sputter. “It was nothing, really! We do it all the time and they never say anything!”

She fell silent as Rau bristled, eyes wide as his helmeted face hovered inches from hers. His red sigil caught the light for a moment, and you were struck by the realization that he was not just a stern teacher chastising his student. He was a Mandalorian . “I asked nothing about your fellow pilot’s behavior. Only yours.”

Rau received a response in the form of silence. Neither of them dared utter a word, remaining glued to their seats as if their lives depended on it.

“I will not tolerate this. Ever.” he said fiercely. “You are part of a squad. A Rebellion. You are not to belittle your comrades on or off the battlefield. Do you understand me?”

Rana nodded vigorously. Chet opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was silenced by the look Rau gave him.

“There are a dozen ships in this fleet that need the carbon scoring scrubbed off of them,” he hissed. “I will return in one hour, and if they are not clean enough for flight, I will see to it myself that you never fly with Phoenix Squadron again.”

Chet gulped, eyes bulging like a scalefish. “Y-yes, sir.”

The two of them nearly tripped over themselves as they scrambled to the hangar. The confrontation weighed on you like a boulder until you stood at the sound of your name.

All the ferocity in Rau’s tone was gone. “I’d like a word with you,” he added gently. “Come with me.”

You followed him to a secluded corner of the mess where the lights were dimmer and the raucous din of the crowd quieted to a hum. You exhaled slowly and allowed your fists to uncurl.

Rau set his helmet down beside you and sighed. His brow furrowed when he spoke again.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

You stiffened. Even if you couldn’t say it outright, the answer was heavy in the back of your mind. It lay in the distant memory of grade school teachers that shrugged their shoulders and looked the other way when you complained of your classmates’ insults or your belongings thrown into the dirt.

Your years at the Imperial Academy were no better. The Empire did not look kindly upon those who deviated from its rigid model of what constituted acceptable human behavior. Bureaucrats in crisp gray suits laughed in your face when you asked for accommodations. Your instructors left you to flounder while the rest of your peers earned accolades and honors.

How could you explain that every authority figure in your life had chosen convenience over consequences, time and time again?

“I wasn’t sure if you would do anything,” you managed.

Rau frowned. “You thought I would stand by while your squadmates ridiculed you?”

“It’s different than that,” you protested. “Everything they said—it’s true! I am slow. And weird. I’ve always known it.” Your eyes burned hot with unshed tears as you continued.

As achingly as pulling thorns from your skin, you told him about the long hours spent in a clinic when you were young. The bespectacled doctors with datapads that prattled over this reason or that which disqualified you from their help. It took years of exhausting standstills before you finally received a diagnosis—one that guaranteed no aid except in name only.

By the time you finished, it felt as though all the air had left your lungs. "It's because I'm on the spectrum."

You could have cut a vibroblade through the silence that followed.

Rau’s expression was inscrutable.

“There is a phrase for that on Mandalore,” he began. “ Shev’la verd. ”

Your eyes widened. You looked at him, then, and really looked. Not just at the brow or hairline like you did with most people. In his eyes.

The conviction you saw in them made you feel something you couldn’t describe.

“You are not lesser because of your differences. They are your strength.”

His words felt foreign. Unlike anything you’ve heard before.

Instinctively, you objected. “It took me twice as long to learn the control panel. I am slow—”

But Rau would not be dissuaded. “You are thorough ,” he corrected. “And deliberate. Those are admirable qualities in a pilot.

“You memorize the schematics of a starship down to the smallest details. Not only that, you apply what you learn in ways your peers could only dream of.”

He leaned in.

“You are one of the best pilots I’ve had the honor of training,” he insisted. “And I will not allow you to diminish your own talents.”

You couldn’t hide your incredulity even if you tried.

Never had anyone demonstrated such an unwavering belief in you for years. Something loosened in your chest, and you took a shuddering breath. “You mean that?”

Rau smiled. “I am certain of it.”

That day, you felt lighter as you took to the skies.

You were under no impression that your struggles were over. You would meet many more people who didn’t understand you, either out of a lack of knowledge or willful ignorance. There would be those that would underestimate your abilities and denigrate your differences no matter how you shone on the ground or in the air.

For the longest time, that terrified you.

By and large, it still did. But now, your fear didn’t paralyze you.

You would persevere and hone your strengths with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be facing this alone.

You would fight your battles with a sure ally at your side.

#star wars #fenn rau #fenn rau x reader #star wars x reader #autistic reader #autism #neurodiversity #actually autistic #star wars rebels #sw rebels #gn reader #gender neutral reader #no use of y/n #fanfiction #my first fanfic #I am starved for content of this man #the title is inspired by the Maori word for autism: takiwatanga #I headcanon that Mandalorians have their own word for it as well

12 notes · View notes

overdueforarevival · 9 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 13 - Picture Perfect Shiny Family

Team As Family | 'death do will us part'

Summary: Cody imparts some vital advice to Rex before the war, advice that he swears he'll keep. Don't get attached to your men, it will only end in pain. But then, he meets his Commander and his men and somewhere along the line, it doesn't quite work out. Somewhere along the line, Rex finds himself not only as part of a team, but part of a family. A family that is doomed from the start.

Also posted to AO3

When Rex was just a cadet, Cody took him aside one day, held him firmly by the shoulders and looked right into his eyes. Cody was only a few inches taller than Rex and barely a year older, but Rex was sure that Cody knew everything. Rex listened to every word Cody told him and this way was no different.

‘You’re going to have a battalion one day, Rex, and you’re going to be responsible for every single one of those men,’ Cody began and Rex couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest, he’d been fast tracked into the officer’s training programme early on and never looked back. ‘And one day, more than likely, every single one of those men will be dead,’

Rex’s shoulders sagged under Cody’s grasp. The older boy had just gotten out of one of his own training sessions, one led by a guest the Kaminoans brought in to talk to the highest ranking cadets. Rex wasn’t at a point where he went to the special sessions yet, but Cody always told him everything he learned.

‘There’s a reason the long-necks don’t like us naming each other; it makes us people. You can’t think of them as people, Rex. One day they’ll all be dead and there’s only one way to make it through war, so you survive and you don’t let anyone get in your way. You can’t get attached to your men, Rex,’ Cody insisted, fingers digging into the flesh of Rex’s shoulders.

‘I thought we were meant to work as a team?’ Rex countered, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d never seen Cody like this, eyes frantic as he imparted what seemed to be vital information upon his younger brother.

He sighed heavily. ‘Yes, Rex, always work together and aim to bring them all home with you but if only one person it’s getting out, it has to be you. They can give you a new battalion, they can’t give your battalion a new you,’

Rex frowned at that. It didn’t really make sense, but Cody reminded him of it every day until it slowly took root: support your men, fight with your men and fight for your men but never care. Don’t care if they live or die, don’t care if they scream or fall, don’t care because it will only drag him down.

The day that they’re called out to Geonosis, Cody stays behind with some other high ranking officers to make the finalisations on regimental rosters. That doesn’t stop him from finding Rex as he’s loading his men up into a venator, barking orders through his helmet. Cody marches up to Rex, composure kept in tact but at the very last moment, his shoulders sag and he grabs Rex’s shoulder, just as he did all those years ago.

‘You can’t care, vod. They’ll die but you come home,’ Cody reminds him one last time, holding up an arm for Rex to grasp. The truest sign of brotherhood the clones have found.

‘I’ll come home,’ Rex promises.

They don’t see each other again for months. Not until the Siege of Christophsis and then they’re both in the presence of their respective Generals and can’t do much more than nod in greeting. It’s all they need, though, a simple sign that they’re both still here. Rex has watched countless men die already, more than he had thought in his younger and far more naive years. But not one has weighed on Rex.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

As the men in his battalion begin to dwindle, he has to look at recruiting more. For the most part, Command simply throws more soldiers at him, more numbers on a page that he’ll never memorise. Some, however, he hand-picks. Like Fives and Echo, the two sole survivors from the Rishi Moon station, who are exactly what he needs in his regiment. Men who will fight to the ends of the galaxy for the Republic, men who will do what needs to be done. Kix comes highly recommended, a new upstart medic who is promised to be able to save more soldiers than any other. This is what Rex needs.

Not because he doesn’t want to watch so many men die anymore, because he doesn’t want to have to keep finding more soldiers to bulk up their numbers.

General Skywalker and Commander Tano are good Jedi to have on their side. Although, he reckons they might need some of Cody’s teachings. They’re both still young, though, and neither appear particularly accustomed to the realities of war.

More than once, Rex has found Anakin pouring over mission reports in the command centre in the dead of night, muttering names under his breath. Names of the dead. Rex tells Anakin what his brother told him:

‘It’s what we’re here for, General. To die for a better galaxy,’

This doesn’t seem to comfort Skywalker as it had himself.

‘You shouldn’t have to. We should be better, we should be doing something so you can live,’ General Skywalker insists, slamming a fist down on the communications table.

‘With all due respect, sir, we weren’t born to live. We were born to die,’ Rex informs him simply. ‘Don’t feel bad for us, just make sure that at the end of this war, it’s you who comes out on top,’

With that, Rex leaves.

Commander Tano is a little trickier. Anger and disappointment, Rex can handle. In fact, he becomes quite accustomed to settling his General down in the middle of the night and ushering him to bed (only so he’ll be at peak capacity for the next battle). Commander Tano is different.

She’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure, and Rex would dread to find himself on the wrong side of her, but she doesn’t get angry like General Skywalker. To be honest, he’s never seen anything other than a wide grin on her face. Which is why when he walks in on her, hidden behind an assortment of ammunition crates in the storage room, with tears streaking down his face he’s more than a little stunned.

At first, he wants to turn around and walk the other way. But if Commander Tano is upset, then she can’t fight at her best and if she isn’t fighting at her best, he is more likely to lose a battle.

So he steps forward and awkwardly clears his throat because the girl had been so engrossed in her tears that it takes a moment for her to register his presence. When she does, Ahsoka immediately springs to her feet and starts wiping the tears off her face.

Rex holds his hands up, motioning for her to settle down and then, rather gracelessly, pushes himself up on top of a crate and sits with his legs dangling down next to her. Ahsoka settles back down on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest, arms resting on top.

‘What’s going on, Commander?’ he asks casually, watching her carefully.

‘Nothing,’ she says stubbornly, but her voice cracks on the word and she sniffles pitifully.

‘Would you like to try that again?’ Rex counters.

Ahsoka sighs, the sound morphing into something more akin to a sob as it’s half way out of her lungs.

‘I don’t want to watch people die anymore,’ Ahsoka whispers. ‘I don’t want to only remember people by the look on their faces when they die, I don’t want to only learn their name because they’re dying in my arms! I don’t want to do this anymore,’

Rex stares down at her, more in shock now than any sort of pity. He has his ‘buck up and crack on’ speech all prepared, the one he’s been spewing to anyone he finds crying or screaming or anything other than getting on with their job. But he can��t say it to Ahsoka.

How can he tell this girl, this child, to suck it up and march thousands of men to their deaths as if their lives don’t matter? How can he say that she shouldn’t care when it’s clear that Ahsoka Tano can do nothing but care.

Rex doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing he can do to fix this, no magic words that will help her get over the fact that everyone she cares about is slowly dying. War isn’t something that can be fixed.

So Rex does the unthinkable. He’s seen some of the men do it, seen terrified civilians do it with their friends and families. Sometimes they’re smiling when they do this, others they’re crying. It seems to be a remedy for most things, so perhaps it will work for her.

Slowly, Rex lowers himself off of the crate, landing gently in Ahsoka’s little hiding spot and kneeling down next to her. His arms feel too long all of a sudden and he’s not quite sure where they’re meant to go, but in the end he settles for wrapping them around her from one side, clasping his hands together next to her opposite arm.

Immediately, Ahsoka tenses in his grasp and he’s about to back away and prepare his finest apology to date, but then she sags. It’s not like anything he’s seen before, the way she all but collapses against him and he’s hit quite suddenly with all her weight on his chest. He grunts with the impact, but doesn’t let go when she starts crying again, ear-splitting sobs wracking her body as she cries against him.

A hug. That’s all Rex can offer.

Ahsoka seems to feel better for it, so he starts to do it more often. When nobody is around, he’ll sling an arm over her shoulder as they walk to the latest meeting or late at night when she’s wandering around, dead on her feet, he’ll hold her close and walk her back to her bunk. Some nights he stays, sitting by her bedside until she falls asleep. Other nights, she wants to be left alone in her misery.

That first day, she had mentioned not wanting to only find out who they are when they’re dying, so he starts inviting her over to the rec room. He’s never really been before, never been interested in the boys’ antics and, besides, he has too much paperwork. Now Rex finds the time, though, and he brings her along for a game of sabacc with the boys or sometimes just to watch some shitty holofilm.

Ahsoka smiles the whole time, laughing with the boys as she learns every single one of their names and personalities. Somewhere along the way, Rex learns their names as well.

Fives and Echo are closer than most, attached at the hip and yet they couldn’t be more different. While Fives has never learned the miracle of shutting one’s mouth, Echo rarely opens his. He doesn’t seem to mind, opting to watch his brother with a smile on his face and pipe up with the occasional jab at the chatty man. Kix and Jesse get along well, chatting loudly with each other and making lewd comments. Rex always tells them off for this when Ahsoka’s around, though she rarely seems to understand the jokes they make. Even still, the General might kill him if he finds out about Ahsoka’s new level of education.

He’s never seen her happier, though.

Cody still checks in with Rex every now and then and every time, he has to promise he’ll come home. Then they promise each other that they’re doing okay, that the war isn’t breaking them down piece by piece and that they don’t feel each death like a layer of skin being peeled away. They don’t care about their troops, how could it possibly hurt?

When Echo and Charger die, Rex forgets to find Ahsoka. Normally, he’s quite good at this, but this is different. When Fives gets back from the Citadel, he storms out of the debriefing half way through and Rex has to promise to sufficiently admonish the man. Ahsoka stands on the opposite side of the holotable, refusing to speak a word when Tarkin insists she tell the Chancellor what she knows. General Skywalker stands by her, a hand on her shoulder but Rex can tell from the look on her face that it’s making her skin crawl. Over the years, after all the grief he’s watched on her face, he knows when she just wants to be given space.

Still, he should have found her.

Instead, as soon as the debriefing finishes, he marches from the room and sets about finding Fives. It doesn’t take long to find the man, slumped over the bar at 79’s, waving at the bartender for another drink.

‘I think you’ve had enough, vod,’ Rex says gently, shaking his head when the bartender reaches for another bottle. ‘Time to go home,’

‘No,’ Fives grinds out, banging a fist against the bartop. ‘’Nother drink… Where’m drink,’

‘You’re not getting another drink, Fives, you’ve had enough,’ Rex repeats. Normally, he has no issue with Fives getting blackout drunk, most of the men spent half of their leave time completely shit-faced. In fact, they managed to wrangle Ahsoka out to 79’s one night, though Rex insisted she not be given a single drink. Fives still thinks Rex didn’t notice him pass her a shot of whiskey which she only managed half of before wincing and handing him the rest.

‘’Nother!’ Fives shouts into the table. By this point, they’re gaining more than a few looks, but everyone here knows who Fives is and everyone here will have heard the news. Gossip travels fast in the GAR.

‘No, Fives. Back to the barracks, you’re not even allowed to be out here right now,’ Rex points out, grabbing the man by the shoulders and trying to haul him up. Somehow, Fives still has enough cognitive ability to toss his elbow out to the side and catch Rex around the jaw and he stumbles back.

‘Fuck me, Fives, smarten up!’ Rex snaps, rubbing the blossoming bruise with one hand.

‘Jus’ leave me alone,’ Fives slurs, waving Rex off casually. ‘I’ll find m’way back tom’rrow,’

‘Look, Echo isn’t here to drag your drunk arse back to the barracks now which means that falls to me and I promise I’m not as nice as him,’ Rex says roughly.

‘Fuck off,’

‘Fives, you’re coming back with me right now,’ Rex says one more time, reaching into his pocket while Fives still refuses to look at him. He’d stopped by Kix’s briefly, figuring he might need a little back up.

‘No’m not,’

‘Yes, you are.’ Rex pounces on him without warning, jamming the needle into his neck and holding his arms out as the man falls backwards off his stool. It’s a graceless affair and Rex wishes he didn’t have to strip his brother of his dignity quite so viscerally, but he’s not having Fives court-martialed for desertion just because he wanted a few drinks after his best friend was blown up in front of him.

One of the other troops, a member of the Coruscant Guard who has witnessed more than one of Fives’ less-than-stellar performances silently walks up to Rex and picks Fives’ legs up, hauling them over his shoulder as Rex does the same with the man’s body. They don’t speak as they march his unconscious body into a taxi, but Rex offers up his arm to his fellow trooper to clasp before the taxi moves off.

Fives isn’t in any fit state to sleep in the bunkroom. He can stay in Rex’s where there’s an en-suite ‘fresher for when he no doubt heaves his guts up and nobody will have to see him like this. What Rex hadn’t planned for was a young Togruta sitting on his bed, knees up to her chest and chin tucked in. She’s clearly been watching the door because their eyes lock as soon as Rex is in the room and his heart clenches.

Ahsoka’s eyes follow Rex as he crosses the room, Fives slung over his shoulder, and moves to drop the sleeping soldier on the sofa. The weight falls off his shoulder faster than expected, though, and his body floats easily down onto the cushions. Rex looks over at the Commander to see her hand outstretched towards him and a sad look on her face.

‘Is he going to be okay?’ Ahsoka asks childishly.

No.

‘Yeah, he’ll be fine,’ Rex smiles, walking over to join her on his bed. ‘Just needs to sleep it off,’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Ahsoka frowns as Rex settles down on the opposite side of the bed, starting to pull off bits of his armour. It’s filthy, in desperate need of a clean and, in some cases, replacement entirely.

‘I know,’ Rex sighs.

‘Can I stay here tonight?’ Ahsoka speaks softly, almost as though she’s scared of the answer. Normally if they’ve spent a night together, it’s been in Ahsoka’s quarters after he’s herded her to bed. He can’t deny her anything right now, though, so he simply nods and gets himself ready for bed.

Ahsoka waits for him patiently, but the moment he settles himself next to her under the covers, she latches onto his side, head resting on his chest and arms clinging around his torso like a lifeline.

‘I did the right thing,’ she whispers firmly, an attempt to convince herself. ‘I can’t tell the Chancellor. Master Piell said not to, right?’

Rex wouldn’t know, he wasn’t there, but he’s not sure he’s exactly being asked the question. He answers nonetheless.

‘Yes, ad’ika. You did the right thing,’

When Hardcase dies, Ahsoka finds Rex. He’s in the storage room, sitting behind the spare ammunition crates with his knees pulled up to his heaving chest, trying desperately to find some air as the walls come crashing down on him.

‘What’s going on, Captain?’ Ahsoka’s voice rings out from somewhere up high. Rex jumps slightly then, upon realising that his Commander is currently perched on top of the crates he’s hiding behind, looking down on him, springs to his feet. He moves to wipe the tears off of his face, but there’s a pressure on his hand and he can’t quite reach his face.

‘I told you not to do that, Miss Jedi-Tricks,’ Rex grumbles as Ahsoka jumps down next to him, releasing his hand with a grin on her face.

‘Well, I outrank you, so,’ Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at him. He wants to laugh at it, he can feel it in his chest but all that comes out is a choked sob.

‘Experience outranks everything,’ he reminds her quietly.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there!’ Ahsoka insists. ‘Anyway, I heard what happened. You know if Dogma hadn’t done what he did, I’d have done it,’

Rex winces at that. She means well, and he appreciates the notion that she would break her oath for him, for their men, but… but Rex couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to kill a man who had marched his brothers to their deaths. A man who played them like puppets in a children’s show, pulling their strings and laughing maniacally. Rex couldn’t pull the damn trigger because he let the monster get in his head.

‘I failed them,’ Rex sniffs, looking down at his boots and this time Ahsoka doesn’t stop him from swiping away a few stray tears. ‘I failed all of them. What am I going to tell Cody?’

‘Cody isn’t going to blame you. Nobody is. You haven’t failed anyone,’ Ahsoka insists. She must sense his disbelief in the Force because she lifts a hand and smacks him up the back of the head. ‘Look at me. You didn’t fail anyone, Krell failed you. As Jedi, as Generals in your military, it is our duty to protect you the best we possibly can out there and he failed to do that. That is nobody’s fault but his—’

‘I should have—’

‘No, shut up! You can’t think like that. You care about your men, Rex, and that’s a good thing, it means you do your best to bring every single one of them home. That doesn’t mean that every time something goes wrong it’s all your fault,’ Ahsoka tells him firmly. ‘You taught me that. I know you think you’re all tough, Mr ‘I don’t have emotions about my men’, but you do. I know what Cody told you, Obi-Wan told me all about it and I get where he was coming from, but I don’t think he said it very well. You do care, Rex, and that’s good. It’s okay for it to hurt right now,’

Rex bristles at her words, but he can’t help but find the comfort in them too. His chest aches now, every bone in his body screams to be put out of its misery because he does care. He can’t help it. He doesn’t think Cody can either, or he wouldn’t have told Rex what he did.

‘You’re going to be okay, even if they aren’t. We’re swimmers, you and me,’ Ahsoka smiles at him.

‘Swimmers?’

‘That’s what Anakin told me. In life, you either sink or swim and we don’t sink, Rex. We swim,’ she tells him firmly. ‘So get kicking,’

Obi-Wan dies and Rex can’t find Ahsoka anywhere. As soon as he heard, he sent his best men off to locate her, but she’s nowhere to be found. Not in the Temple according to Master Plo and not anywhere on their venator. She hasn’t gone to find him in his barracks or anywhere in the clone quarters. She’s simply disappeared.

When he’s exhausted every idea he can think of, he finally contacts the only person who can find anyone anywhere. Rex doesn’t question his methods, most likely a mixture of civilian intel and CCTV, but he still reckons it’s not anything he wants to hear about.

‘Go for Commander Fox,’ his brother’s voice crackles through the device.

‘Fox, it’s Rex, I need your help,’

It takes Fox barely fifteen minutes to find Ahsoka and when he calls Rex back with the answer, he’s never been more stunned in his life. Of all the places he thought Ahsoka Tano might run to, a seedy bar in the back streets of lower Coruscant would not have been on his list.

Fox sends two of his men ahead, knowing they’ll reach her before Rex does, although it only takes him an extra five minutes. He pushes the speeder he commandeers off some poor civilian to the maximum, breaking every speed limit to find her. Fox assures him the whole way that she walked in of her own accord, he tracked her on CCTV all the way from the mouth of the Jedi Temple, through public transport all the way to this bar.

It’s nothing like 79’s. There’s no loud music, no cheering and laughing, in fact it’s almost dead quiet. There are a few gatherings in various corners of the rundown bar, talking in hushed voices. Ahsoka is alone at the bar, now flanked by two troopers tressed in red armour whom he greets with a nod. They leave her in his care and march out without a word.

‘Ad’ika, what’s going on?’ he asks hesitatly. He’s never seen her like this. The only time she’s been to a bar was that time Fives dragged her out and, as they soon found out, she doesn’t have much of a taste for alcohol.

Apparently, this has changed.

‘Havin’ fun, Rexy,’ Ahsoka slurs, turning around in her stool and nearly toppling right off. He turns to the bartender with a fury in his chest he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. There’s no point in preaching about serving minors to this man, though, Rex knows what this part of Coruscant can be like and things like drinking laws are the least of anyone’s concern.

Taking a deep breath, he turns back to his Commander.

‘I can see that, maybe we should get you home,’ Rex suggests, walking up and placing a hand on her back, just in case. ‘I think it’s time to get out of here,’

‘No! I like it here,’ Ahsoka whines. ‘Gan’Shaa gives me the good stuff, he says,’

‘Yeah, I bet he does,’ Rex mutters through gritted teeth. ‘Come on, it’s time to go,’

‘Don’ wanna,’ Ahsoka frowns, swinging around once again and this time Rex does, indeed, have to lunge after her when she goes surging to the floor. ‘Whoa!’

‘That’s why it’s time to go home,’ Rex says, hauling her back onto the stool. ‘It’s not safe out here for you,’

‘I can handle myself,’ Ahsoka crosses her arms indignantly. Her legs don’t reach the floor and they kick against his shins as they dangle.

‘Sure you can, will you please come home? Fives has a bottle of whiskey I’m sure he’ll be willing to share,’ Rex compromises. He doesn’t have much of an issue with her getting shit-faced if she wants to anymore, he’d just rather she be safe when she does.

Ahsoka pouts, glancing between Rex and the bartender. ‘Fine. But I’m gonna bring Fives here one day,’

‘I’m sure he’ll love it,’ Rex tells her placatingly, making a mental note to tell Fives to never let her bring him to this shithole. ‘Now let's get you home, ad’ika,’

Ahsoka grumbles the whole way out of the bar, muttering nonsense under her breath that Rex doesn’t pay much attention to.

‘Obi-Wan told me about this place,’ she mumbles as he gently guides her into a taxi. ‘Said he once took someone here,’

‘General Kenobi took a girl out here?’ Rex raises his eyebrows at the girl, unsure if he can trust this drunk version of Ahsoka. Not a single part of his mind can picture Obi-Wan Kenobi taking a girl out to such an awful place.

‘Yeah, he said he was really young then, like a few years older than me kinda young, I didn’t know he ever did that. And anyway, they didn’t want anyone to see them, ‘cause, you know… Jedi,’ Ahsoka explains, lazily draping herself over Rex’s lap as he sits next to her and asks to be taken to the clone barracks. ‘I didn’t want anyone to see me,’

‘I could gather that, yeah,’ Rex comments lightly, watching in amusement as he eyes move back and forth haphazardly, following random ships and buildings as they pass by.

‘You always find me,’ Ahsoka pouts, though she doesn’t seem as upset by it as she is trying to look. Rex chuckles and shakes his head.

‘Commander Fox found you, you had me stumped. You’ve scared the balls off the boys as well, they’ve been out all night searching for you,’ Rex points out.

Ahsoka’s face scrunches up. ‘Sorry,’

‘Ah, don’t be. You can just be our defense witness when we all get court-martialed for being out of bounds without leave,’ Rex jokes.

The boys are relieved when Rex brings Ahsoka into the bunk room. Fives flies down off his bunk, declaring that their long-lost princess has come home, Kix immediately insists on checking her over for injuries. Tup points out that she can always just ask to come to 79s and Jesse announces that they’ve finally corrupted her.

Rex tells them all to shut up.

In the end, Ahsoka decides she’s too tired for Fives’ whiskey, so they put her to bed and then crack it open for themselves, drinking and chatting well into the morning. All the while, keeping an eye on their little Commander.

In the morning, they’re all glad to have one more day of leave before it’s back into the action, and Kix is at Ahsoka’s side as soon as she wakes up with painkillers and water.

‘Why did nobody tell me it hurts this much?’ Ahsoka groans, having downed Kix’s offerings, bowing her head over her knees.

‘We would have if you’d told us where you were going,’ Fives points out with a grin. ‘Gotta watch yourself with the solo-drinking, you’ll end up like me,’

‘Not funny, Fives,’ Rex scolds lightly.

‘I just wanted to forget it all… I don’t know what to do now,’ Ahsoka admits, lifting her head slightly to look at Rex. He smiles at her sadly.

‘Get kicking, ad’ika,’

When Fives dies, Ahsoka isn’t there, but Cody and the boys are. Cody takes them all to 79’s and everybody toasts Fives, a man who single-handedly kept this place afloat every time he had leave. Everybody who frequents 79s knows Fives, from every regiment and every station, Fives is famous to all. Even some of the shinies have already heard of his antics and they drink all night and well into the morning. The bar stays open all night out of respect and it’s light by the time they all stagger out, leaning on each other and giggling when Kix vomits on the pavement.

Piling into a taxi, they tell each other all the stupid things Fives has said over the years, the crazy ideas he somehow convinced everyone to agree to. Jesse recounts the insanity of flying Umbaran ships and Kix tells them about the time Fives was talking loudly about all the girls he’s had only for Echo to point out, in what seems to have been a routine for them, that Fives has never, in fact, been with a girl.

Ahsoka also isn’t there when the Bad Batch comes to Anaxes, though he knows that she’d have fit right in with them. She isn’t there when Rex finds Echo hanging from that machine, limbs missing and talking gibberish. Ahsoka isn’t there when everything in the Outer Rim goes to shit and Ahsoka isn’t there when Rex promises Cody one more time that he’ll make it out of this war. It’s even before Cody goes to rescue the Chancellor with General Kenobi; they don’t manage to catch each other, but Rex sends his brother a quick message over their comms.

And then they lay siege to Mandalore and capture Maul and Cody messages back, promising that the war will be over soon and they’ll both have made it. They’re so close to the end now and even if neither of them know what that means, it must mean something. No more death, no more grief. No more fear.

That is, until the Chancellor’s voice crackles over the comms. Until Maul escapes. Until Rex has to kill his brothers. Until Rex and Ahsoka dig through the wreckage and bury every single body. It takes them days to find everyone, even longer to dig each grave and find every helmet. The war’s been over for a long time before Ahsoka’s lightsabers drop from her hand into the snow.

Rex is packing up the little fighter, ready to fly them off to wherever they may go. There’s nowhere to go, no mission to accomplish, no enemy to vanquish. It’s all just over. In pieces. And Cody is nowhere to be found.

For all the times Cody made Rex promise to come home, Rex never thought to do the same.

Ahsoka joins him at his side and he starts slightly. She’s always been uncannily good at sneaking up on him.

‘What now, Commander?’ he asks, turning to her and swallowing down the lump in his throat.

‘We kick,’

#whumptober2024 #no.13 #team as family #'death will do us part'#clone wars #star wars #fic #canonical character death #rex #cody #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #fives #echo #tup #jesse #kix #hardcase

9 notes · View notes

ask-the-almighty-google · 1 day ago

Text

Star Wars: The Clone Wars Cadet OCs

For My Fic Tate Akaan'ad'ike

SUMMARY: Tate Akaan'ad'ike - (Mando'a) Clone Army Cadets(Tah-tay Ah-kahn-ahd-eek-ay) From the combination of the words: Tate (tah-tay), meaning "twins" or "clones," Akaan'ade (ah-kahn-ah-dey), meaning "army," and Ad'ike (ahd-eek-ay), meaning "children" (<^>) After experiencing heavy losses on Geonosis and realizing that they will need New Leaders for the Next Generation of Clone Troopers, the Kaminoans reluctantly agree to begin the Adjutant Program for the Command Track. Select Cadets are to be paired with Commanders in the field, much like Padawans accompany their Jedi Masters, and any Commanders willing to accept such a mentorship role are applicable. Initially against the idea of endangering one of his vod'ike in such a way, Captain Rex is adamant he won't participate in this experiment, much in the same way his General, Skywalker, is adamant that he will never take a Padawan. But when he encounters a young Cadet facing Decommissioning after a training accident has wiped out all of his squad but himself, there really isn't any other option...

MIRSHKO

CT Number: CT-8374-60

Age: 6 (12) - 8 (16)

Commanding Officer: Captain Rex

Jedi General: Anakin Skywalker

Jedi Commander: Ahsoka Tano

Unit: 501st Attack Battalion, Torrent Company (332nd Company)

Unit Color: Navy

Specialization: Pilot (Formerly), Tactician

Preferred Weapons: A Bes'bev (Mandalorian Flute, heavy metal such as durasteel or beskar, with a sharpened end) for melee combat - something he takes after from Rex - and a single blaster pistol. He prefers to shoot right-handed while holding his Bes'bev in a defensive offhand position in his left, as all Clones were trained to be ambidextrous

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in navy stripes and the pattern of a fighter squadron across the chest, and the helmet has a splattering of blue freckles over the bridge of the t-slit with Jaig Eyes gifted to him by Rex and includes a rangefinder at his personal request.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Mirshko is an exception to this in that he also has numerous freckles over the bridge of his nose, and his left eye is blue in color for heterochromia. He wears his hair in a soft wave midway over his ears with a white and navy stripe in his bangs, the length growing longer over the course of the war and being tied back in a messy ponytail, and he has a scar of a cut from shrapnel bisecting his left eyebrow and eye (the damage it made causing that eye's heterochromia).

Personality Traits: Mirshko is quietly stubborn and suffers from anxiety due to his accident, sometimes resulting in select mutism and a crippling fear of transport shuttles or starfighters in general. He has a mind for tactics, and greatly enjoys spending time with his Ori'vode in Torrent Company. When he isn't sticking to Rex like a shadow, he is usually with Fives and Echo learning how to get into trouble as all Vod'ike must (this later expands to include Hardcase and Tup).

Trivia: Mirshko was originally known as Kiss prior to being moved from the Pilot Program into the Command Track after his Squad was killed; Mirshko is a Mando'a word meaning "Courage."

TGIASE

CT Number: CC-3746-05

Age: 7 (14) - 9 (18)

Commanding Officer: Commander Cody

Jedi General: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Jedi Commander: Cal Kestis

Unit: 212th Attack Battalion (Ghost Company)

Unit Color: Gold

Specialization: Linguistics

Preferred Weapons: Standard blaster rifle with a ranged aerial attachment added on to it (Battalion-Typical)

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in large sections of gold paint and narrow jutting lines, while the helmet (including a sun visor as many 212th helmets do) is inverted with main color being gold and white lines crossing over it. Additionally, his armor sports a jetpack as all 212th members do because of their Jedi.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Tgiase follows this easily with somewhat neat waves of a slightly longer length. He was given an illegal (non-age appropriate) tattoo of a wing curling around his left eye by General Kenobi; Cody was not thrilled about this.

Personality Traits: Tgiase is expressive and high-energy, though he behaves well in front of authority figures. He is inquisitive and studious, and has an attention to detail that Cody particularly finds helpful in his duties. He is endeared to his Ori'vode; Waxer is especially taken with him.

Trivia: Fondly known as "Tyg" to his friends; Tgiase is a Mando'a word meaning "Curious."

JACKAL

CT Number: CC-3587-33

Age: 8 (16) - 10 (20)

Commanding Officer: Commander Wolffe

Jedi General: Plo Koon

Jedi Commander: None

Unit: 104th Attack Battalion (Wolfpack Battalion)

Unit Color: Grey

Specialization: Sniper

Preferred Weapons: Sniper rifle and vibro-knives

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in sharp, accentuated grey paint mimicking the Wolfpack's unique art style, and he wears a Kama when switching over to Phase 2.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Jackal has a standard haircut and a stylized tattoo on his brow line and framing his eyes.

Personality Traits: Contrary to Wolffe's gruff demeanor, Jackal is light-spirited and has an impish sense of humor. He and Master Koon get on well as a result of this, much to Wolffe's chagrin, but Jackal is a very competent soldier and has all the makings of becoming a very promising Commander.

Trivia: Jackal is predominantly left-handed after breaking his right arm in training at the age of four. While he is, like his right-handed brothers, ambidextrous, he often does things such as writing or shooting with his left hand. Colloquially known as "Jack" to his friends.

SOLA

CT Number: CC-3754-63

Age: 7 (14) - 9 (18)

Commanding Officer: Commander Bly

Jedi General: Aayla Secura

Jedi Commander: None

Unit: 327th Attack Battalion

Unit Color: Yellow

Specialization: Medic

Preferred Weapons: Blaster pistols

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Sola has his waving at barely regulation length around him in a dyed golden mane, committing fully to the "ray of sunshine" aesthetic. His eyes are also a naturally more golden shade of brown.

Personality Traits: Sola was named for his sunny disposition and bright, optimistic attitude. Nothing ever keeps him down for long, and he has great empathy leading towards having all the hallmarks of a promising career as a medic.

Trivia: Everyone swears that when Sola smiles, his eyes sparkle. Sola and Lumen are Batchers.

LUMEN

CT Number: CC-3574-29

Age: 8 (16) - 10 (20)

Commanding Officer: Commander Grey and Captain Styles

Jedi General: Depa Billaba

Jedi Commander: Caleb Dume

Unit: 97th Attack Battalion

Unit Color: Light Green

Specialization: Demolitions

Preferred Weapons: Blaster pistol and vibroblade

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. His hair is dyed a snowy metallic silver, very curly and somewhat fluffy.

Personality Traits: Lumen takes his job very seriously and holds passionate distaste for the goings-on of the Senate. He half jokingly says that Palpatine has to be a Sith (though never in the man's presence), and usually bonds with Fox over drowning in paperwork. He is a hard worker with an amiable disposition overall.

Trivia: Lumen got his name from accidentally bleaching his hair white as a cadet when a prank he'd rigged for one of his batchmates backfired. Upon joining the Coruscant Guard, he fully embraced the moniker and willingly dyes his hair to keep the joke alive and well. Lumen and Sola are Batchers.

JAY

CT Number: CC-3795-32

Age: 7 (14) - 9 (18)

Commanding Officer: Captain Keeli (Briefly); Captain Howzer

Jedi General: Ima-Gun Di (Briefly); None On-Planet

Jedi Commander: Nari

Unit: 91st Reconnaissance Corps (Partial Forces Stationed with the Twi'lek Freedom Fighters)

Unit Color: Brown (Briefly); Teal

Specialization: Scouting

Preferred Weapons: Sniper rifle and offhand pistol

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in a camouflage base with minimal colored paint to better help him blend with his environment, though he does edge the plates and t-slit of his helmet with company colors. This color was initially brown in accordance with their Battalion before earning a separate color for their unique assignment, being teal.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Jay has his close-shaved with a single stripe braided into a cornrow curving around from the nape of his neck to curl over the top of his left ear, undyed.

Personality Traits: Jay is an independent spirit and prefers solitude to companionship, but he is fiercely loyal of his brothers and the Twi'leks he serves with on Ryloth. He and Hera Syndulla became friends during his stay on-planet. He can be blunt and standoffish, as he is not comfortable making polite conversation.

Trivia: Jay was initially assigned to Captain Keeli, and was coordinating the run on the Separatist Blockade in orbit when Master Ima-Gun Di and Keeli were killed defending the resistance. Di's Padawan, Nari, was also in orbit. After the planet was liberated, the pair returned to Ryloth with the newly-appointed Captain Howzer to coordinate supply runs in the region and to keep a careful eye on Separatist activity, as Ryloth is in a hotspot for invasion.

DUO

CT Number: CC-3786-98

Age: 7 (14) - 9 (18)

Commanding Officer: Commander Fox and Commander Thorn

Jedi General: None; Military Police

Jedi Commander: None

Unit: Coruscant Guard

Unit Color: Red

Specialization: Tech/Slicing

Preferred Weapons: Standard blaster rifle and a riot baton for melee work

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in rich red paint with the Coruscant Guard logo emblazoned on the chest. The plates are bedecked in interlocking circles for his design.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Duo has a rare lack of melanin in his irises, making them grey-blue, and he wears his hair in a tight curly bun.

Personality Traits: Duo presents a no-nonsense persona professionally and can come off as quite prickly, though to those he bonds with they find him to have a rather wickedly sarcastic sense of humor. He greatly enjoys hacking into security systems for fun in his downtime.

Trivia: Duo once hacked the Senate building during a fit of boredom and kept displaying ads for fried nuna legs on all of the screens inside for a full day.

SPARKZZ

CT Number: CT-8321-44

Age: 6 (12) - 8 (16)

Commanding Officer: Commander Herc

Jedi General: Bant Eerin

Jedi Commander: Mororo Ketaan

Unit: 18th Attack Battalion

Unit Color: Purple

Specialization: Medic

Preferred Weapons: Standard blaster rifle

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in the vibrant purple of his Battalion in loops and swirls, very artsy. There are splashes of it dried on his helmet he decided he liked and never bothered cleaning up.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Sparkzz has his tied back in a braid constantly coming loose because he can't be bothered to weave it tightly enough, and there is a scar over the left side of his nose from slamming his face into a window on accident one time.

Personality Traits: Sparkzz is hyperactive in a way most of his brothers are not, and while he has a very natural ability to heal he struggles with book learning due to being mildly dyslexic. He is very good with his hands and enjoys, honest, tactile work that keeps him occupied, and in general he is light-spirited and happy. He makes friends easily, and is very close with Padawan Ketaan.

Trivia: Sparkzz is a month older than Mirshko, making him second-youngest of the group; he was originally on the Medic Track before being placed into the Command Track at Master Shaak Ti's request, knowing he would do well under Bant Eerin's MedCorps Command.

TYVEK

CT Number: CC-3146-08

Age: 9 (18) - 11 (22)

Commanding Officer: Commander Ponds

Jedi General: Mace Windu

Jedi Commander: None

Unit: 187th Attack Battalion

Unit Color: Maroon

Specialization: Tactics/Logistics

Preferred Weapons: Dual wield blaster pistols

Armor: Standard Cadet Field Armor at age appropriate levels as well as the age appropriate fatigues. Like all Field Cadets, he wears a special Training logo on his right shoulder plate. The plates are bedecked in simple, thick lines and sections and his helmet is modestly adorned with color around his macrobinocular add-on.

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Tyvek keeps his shaved close to his scalp and as a result it can be a little bit bristly along his bang line, as he rarely has time to shave it as often as he would like.

Personality Traits: Tyvek bears all the hallmarks of a proficient and steady Commander, though at times it is noted that he seems to put far too much stress on himself after being forced into an active Commanding role at barely 9 due to Ponds' death. He is quiet, reserved, and empathetic, but stubborn and stoic, feeling he is alone because he cannot appear weak in front of his older men under his command.

Trivia: Tyvek became the Commander of the 91st after Ponds' death at the hands of Boba Fett during the first year of the Clone Wars, having earned the respect of his General and his men for his quiet and dedicated service as Ponds' Adjutant. He is also the oldest of the Command Cadets and shifts into the regular army shortly after his appointment.

FETCH

CT Number: CC-3799-02

Age: 7 (14) - 9 (18)

Commanding Officer: Commander Gree

Jedi General: Luminara Unduli

Jedi Commander: Barriss Offee

Unit: 41st Elite Corps

Unit Color: Dark Green

Specialization: Encryption/Codebreaking

Preferred Weapons: Vibroknives and blaster pistols

Physical Characteristics: Most Clones have more tanned skin and brown eyes with black, curly or wavy hair. Fetch is one of the rare clones to have natural platinum blond hair, and he usually dyes it a dark reddish-brown to hide that fact. It is more wavy than typical and tends to cling to his forehead, particularly his bangs, which do not like to lie flat. Barriss gave him his own Mirialan tattoos after he became interested in meditating with her to calm his anxiety, and they cover much of his body.

Personality Traits: Fetch is prone to anxiety and high stress, and finds the presence of his Jedi soothing due to their calm demeanors - particularly Commander Offee, who he became close friends with after she taught him some extremely helpful meditation techniques. He is very competent at his job, preferring to do close work rather than distance fighting, and he speaks in very soft, quiet tones.

Trivia: Fetch enjoys working with numbers in particular because they are exact, and there is very little room for unpredictability.

BONUS IMAGE:

Rex With Slightly Longer Hair

Rex chooses to grow his hair out just a tiny bit in this AU, as Mirshko is self-conscious of his left eye, and Rex wants to support his vod'ika being a little bit different, so he chooses to show his natural platinum blond active recessive hair color - considered a rarity for clones but not an impossible trait to express. It is still very, very short however, as he doesn't like having a standard hair length when wearing his helmet and finds it uncomfortable.

#star wars oc #clone cadet oc #concept art #fic: tate akaan'ad'ike

2 notes · View notes

the-starry-seas · 23 days ago

Note

new OCs, who's them? 👀

a Mando, a clone, and a strill walk into a bar-

so I was thinking about the horrible things that happened to clone cadets in their training. and then I started thinking about a Cuy'val Dar who objected to the way the cadets were being treated, and who was forced to hurt her cadets during training to prove she wasn't going to betray the Kaminoans. and then I thought of how legends!Jango would occasionally smuggle clones off Kamino to keep them from being killed. and then I thought about the emotional fallout of being made to hurt her own cadets and how that would push her over the edge into hating them and wanting to escape with her kid. little eight-year-old with a broken arm and a broken heart because he never thought she would hurt him...

Jango considers her a liability because she's become too attached to her cadets, and he doesn't think she'll be able to be objective in their training. it's better to get Trin out of the way instead of letting her mess up someone's training. (he absolutely does not have emotions about a scared little kid trying to suppress every good part of himself to survive on a world full of people who will kill him if he makes a mistake. none at all.)

he drops them off on Nar Shaddaa while he's working a job, since that's a pretty easy place to disappear. if she paints her armour differently and always keeps her helmet on, it'll be hard for anyone to track her down. so Trin has her freedom! with her favourite cadet, her CC-1002, her Ten-Two, who flinches every time she looks at him. she can't keep calling him by his number around other people, so she names him Be'sol, the Mando word for priority. he doesn't know enough of her language to understand her promise, but he'll learn, someday.

she finds them a cheap apartment in a part of the planet where the cops don't bother going, and warns him to never go anywhere alone. if the Kaminoans ever find out where they've gone, they'll come to kill him, and she refuses to let that happen. she stole him so that he'd never be hurt again, so he could pursue any life he wanted. he needs a future, not a battlefield.

on their second day on Nar Shaddaa, she takes him along to a shady underworld dealer. Be'sol stays close to her despite himself, because there's things in the shadows, some of them with quite large jaws. it wasn't her intention to scare him into staying near, but she's relieved to see that she's not a complete monster in his eyes, that some part of him still considers her a protector. she shows Be'sol a crate full of little creatures, new to the world and unsure of their place in it, just like him. strill pups, because she grew up with one and she knows she can rely on a strill to protect Be'sol when she can't be there. there's one with black and white patches in its fur, and she can tell that Be'sol is enchanted with it, even though he's trying not to show it. so she picks it up out of the crate and puts it in his arms, and tells him that he's going to have a very good friend when it grows up. he names it Patch.

(maybe, technically, there aren't supposed to be pets in their apartment. but nobody has to know. he sleeps better with his pup at the foot of his bed.)

she feels better about leaving him alone when Patch is with him. she won't take him on bounties with him, she'd be too worried about him to focus on the job, and she doesn't want him to think he's going to be trapped on one battlefield or another. his future is open, now.

things get a little complicated a few weeks later when Be'sol has to get his cast cut off. he's just a little guy! the saw scares him! so he holds his hand out to his buir, wanting her to tell him that it'll all be okay. Trin promises, and then gives the doctor a death glare that says he better not put a scratch on her boy. it's over quickly, and Be'sol isn't hurt at all, and she kisses his forehead and tells him that he's brave.

she gets him a set of durasteel armour in the Mando style, because at the rate clones grow, proper beskar'gam would need to be constantly reforged, and that's far too expensive for her to afford. she promises to get him a real set of armour when he turns ten, which he's very excited by. even though she tells him to be anything he wants, he wants to be like her, and he's fascinated by the speed and adrenaline of a bounty hunter's life.

(she teases him that his armour might also come in handy when it comes to bathing Patch. her boy is the smartest on Nar Shaddaa, but you know what's smarter? a strill who is insistent on Not Going In The Tub. or who sees a rodent. Be'sol's face when he first saw Patch claw its way up a nearly-vertical wall after a rat, was a sight to behold. Trin has pictures.)

eventually their luck runs out, however, because the Kaminoans somehow discover that one of their clones is running around on Nar Shaddaa with their missing trainer. they send a bounty hunter to get Be'sol back immediately. Trin manages to hold them off long enough for Be'sol to get away, but she's badly hurt and he knows it's serious. he manages to flag down some other Mandos, who lend their help easily. what's more Mando than busting into a stranger's fight to protect their kid?

Trin doesn't want anything to do with her rescuers, because she's met too many Mandos who would sell out anything for credits, and the Kaminoan will kill her Be'sol'ika if they ever find him again. but she's too injured to hold off any further attackers, so the Mandos convince her to go with them until she's healed. in the course of her recovery, she comes to trust them, and Be'sol begs her to stay with their clan because he's gotten attached to them. she has a hard time saying no to him when he really wants something, so she agrees on a temporary basis (that was never temporary. she got attached too, but god forbid she acknowledges that.)

Extra lore: Trin has six species in the past three generations of her family tree! because Mandos are always adopting people and I kinda ran with that. her paternal grandparents were Chiss-Kalzerian and Espirion-Kalzerian, and her maternal grandparents were Kage-Echani and Chiss-Meerian. Trin herself has blue skin, yellow-green eyes, black teeth, and metallic silver hair.

#priority au #i had this entire thing written out and then my browser crashed and nothing saved >:|

2 notes · View notes

jastervhett · 5 months ago

Text

Star Wars Republic Commando (Released 02-28-2005)

"You have been born into dangerous times. A sharp mind can be the key to survival. But as often as not, it will be your inherent physical traits that win the day. And in this regard you will be superior to your more common brethren. For you are a Commando, an elite unit, something truly special."

-Kaminoan Taun We to Clone Commando-in-training Boss

❤️ this classic, dope video game. (And the novels, too.) Hard to believe this was released 20 yrs. ago. Would've been SO cool if we had a Remaster or even a Republic Commando II sequel.

❤️ when playing Republic Commando how whenever Boss (AKA Delta Squad Leader AKA RC-1138 AKA 38 AKA Clone Commando Sergeant Boss) drew his BlasTech Industries DC-15S pistol, he would always spin it - just like Jango Fett, Boba Fett, Captain Rex, etc.

Also ❤️ that right-to-left laser-wipe that would clear away icky fluids that splattered on your helmet's T-Visor after any close encounters with hostiles & your Armor's trusty Knuckle Plate Vibroblade.

A-A-AND also ❤️ discovering a Jedi's lightsaber aboard the assault ship The Prosecutor which led to this line from Boss: "An elegant weapon for a more civilized time, eh? Well, guess what? Times have changed…!"

It's little details like these that make the lore of Star Wars, Star Wars video games & the Star Wars universe so immersive & enjoyable.

Poor Sev.

232 notes · View notes

ravensilversea · 1 year ago

Text

Victory Comes Late

Summary: Victory came too late for Ponds and for so many other brothers. Three years of war plus some months of hashing out a peace treaty written in the blood, sweat, and tears of his brothers but makes no mention of them at all. It’s a Senate proclaimed accomplishment, like they hadn’t refused to even consider peace for three years.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Palpatine Dies AU, Post-War, Light Angst, Grief/Mourning, Reunions, Bittersweet Ending

The largest exhibition hall in the Jedi Temple is almost too small for the sheer number of clone troopers in it now. Really, it is actually too small, but none of them are too concerned with the concept of personal space when this is the first time they’ve all been together for three years.

And yet, Fox pulls his helmet off and tucks it beneath his arm. His guard brushes past him, calling out into the space that’s already echoing with brothers trying to find each other. And yet, they aren’t all here.

Rancor Battalion is still on Kamino and participating in negotiations alongside General Ti to hopefully place the cadets and tubies into the custody of their brothers. The thought alone is almost inconceivable: entire batches of clones who never have to serve on a battlefield, who can stay together and stay alive for years longer than their elder brothers could.

“You joining the party, Fox?” Stone asks, coming to stand beside him.

“You really think Salvo would let us miss it?” Fox walks into the exhibition hall instead of just hovering in the doorway. “Besides, someone has to tell them all how the chancellor really died.”

Ao3

Stone coughs into his hand. “Would that be the actual story or another one of your tales this time?”

Fox refuses to learn about any of the details of Chancellor Palpatine’s, unfortunate, accident. It would ruin the fun of coming up with stupider and stupider ways the late chancellor died and sharing them around the caf brewer. Call it his own personal revenge against the man who insisted on calling each and every one of his brothers by CC or CT number and number alone, the way the Guard all but tiptoed around him, how many of his brother assigned to the chancellor’s guard when traveling off planet simply disappeared without a trace, and every single shiny who the chancellor sent down into the lower levels who came back in a body bag, if at all.

“I have a list of stupid ways for asshole politicians to die, and this might be my only chance to share any of them,” Fox says primly. “Allow me my fun.”

Stone shakes his head. “If you say so.”

They weave through a particularly thick crowd of brothers, and someone flags them down. “Hey commanders, I think your squads are meeting over on the stands!”

“That’ll be Cody’s idea,” Fox mutters as Stone thanks the brother for the directions. “Always did need to be on top of things.”

“Not sure the stands top Tipoca City’s comm tower.”

Fox looks up at the ceiling that rises so high above their heads it can barely be seen and then gives Stone a look.

“Okay, so maybe they could.”

The commander squads are gathered in a clump in the middle of the stands, and sure enough, Cody’s yellow-orange paint is higher than anybody else, shining like a beacon. Fox and Stone pass Alpha Squad on their way up the stands where Wolffe and Thire look about two seconds from murdering a squadmate or two.

“I’m sorry,” Gregor says just as they pass by, “but do you think you could repeat that? Or maybe replay it? I’m not sure I heard you correct-ly!” His voice rises sharply as he falls back under the weight of two brothers, and Fox hops up a handful of rows. Stone jumps back with a curse.

Poet looks up from their padd with a distinct ‘can you believe I’m stuck with them?’ expression of their face. Fox bites his lip and shakes his head, mentally wishing them good luck.

Force, Alpha’s only missing Blitz whose stuck on Kamino. They all made it, the lucky bastards.

“Fox! Stone!” Salvo slams into Fox with a broad grin and pulls Stone up the remaining steps to wrap his arm around him too. For a moment, the three of them just breathe. “It’s good to see you again,” Salvo whispers.

“Yeah,” Fox pulls away and meets Gree’s eyes over Salvo’s head. “Wait until you hear what happened to the chancellor.”

“The old one, right? Cause the one we have now is an upgrade.” Gree throws a thumb back over his shoulder. “C’mon, we grabbed a spot by Chimaera.”

Fox starts laying out the first ‘So this is what I heard from somebody who heard it from somebody’ as they walk lengthwise along the stands until Gree and Salvo pull them down onto the benches. Just above them sits Chimaera Squad with it’s three near-silent members. As he tells his story, Fox watches Neyo try to get Keller and Faie to say more than a few words strung together, and it suddenly hits him that both Lock and Colt were dead.

The story ends, and his brothers make noises of disbelief. “Oh really?” Fox says. “Well, how about this one that I heard from a janitor who heard it from his sister’s husband’s brother’s friend.” Stone buries his head in his hands with a groan.

Ponds would have told Fox to stop by the second story, but he’s not around to hear them. The lack of protest from that quarter sits heavy in Fox’s chest. He barrels through the story anyway, almost even more spitefully.

Victory came too late for Ponds and for so many other brothers. Three years of war plus some months of hashing out a peace treaty written in the blood, sweat, and tears of his brothers but makes no mention of them at all. It’s a Senate proclaimed accomplishment, like they hadn’t refused to even consider peace for three years.

Almost four years of war because of one man who strung them all along like dew drops on a tent-line.

Fox’s eyes land on a small empty space in a sea of brothers, and his next words die in his throat. There’s a brother standing in the middle of the empty space. He’s thin with shaved hair and implant scars. What’s left of one arm is in a sling across his body, and Fox knows who he is even without the blue of the 501st edging his almost shiny-white, probably borrowed armor.

Come get your Dominoes, Rex had messaged three years ago.

Unless they’re commanders, I don’t claim them, and even that’s debatable, he had messaged back.

Within days, Rex had informed him that due to the sudden death of their commanding officers and the subsequent lack of collection by Fox (Fox had rolled his eyes at this), he was personally taking them under his wing. Rex then spent every other message to Fox bragging about ‘his Dominoes’ like there wasn’t hundreds of Domino training squads spread throughout the army.

For a moment, Fox selfishly wishes that Echo truly had died on the infamous Citadel mission. Seeing him standing alone in a sea of reuniting brothers when Fox is the one who killed his last squadmate…

Victory really did come too late for Rex's Domino squad.

The reunions and conversations continue on around Fox, blurring into the background. A sea of noise and color turning into a drone as a time seems to slow, but Echo never blurs. He continues to stand alone, seemingly in the middle of a swirling galaxy of brothers without a single person to welcome him home.

Fox finds his feet moving without any input from him. He's halfway down the stairs before Salvo asks him where he's going. “To get another Domino,” he says, almost under his breath, but his squad hears him just the same.

The floor of the exhibition hall seems to echo with his footsteps. Which is impossible. First of all, the sheer number of clones in the room alone would drown out any noise Fox could possibly make even if they weren't talking at loud volumes. Second of all, there was no way in hell that the Jedi didn't sound proof this room within an inch of its life given the number of lightsaber duels- duels between children at that!- this room must have been used for.

Maybe his footsteps are echoing through him, Fox muses. He takes another step and feels it in his chest.

Time and sound suddenly crash into Fox. Conversations burst into a roar, suddenly Fox can hear so many squadname jokes all at once. It no longer feels like he's stepping through taffy, and all he can do is stand there. Like an idiot. Just in front of Echo.

Force, all he has to do is lift his arm and he could touch this orphaned shell of a brother.

Well, maybe not a shell, he reconsiders as Echo straightens, jutting his chin out a bit and brown eyes flashing with a challenge. There's still quite a bit of fight left in his one, which is more than Fox can say for the Chimaera commanders back on the stairs.

“Echo,” Fox says, figuring that's as good a start as any.

“What do you want, commander?”

Fox falters. Opening and closing his mouth, he glances back at his squad who have ceased any and all conversations to stare at him trying and failing to talk to a CT.

“If you're here to apologize, don't. There's nothing you can say,” Echo continues, and Fox winces. If it was his squadmate shot and killed by another's hand, he doesn't think he would have said those words so mournfully acceptingly. No. Every trooper in this hall would likely have to hold him back from trying to beat the shit out of the one who killed his squadmate.

He flexes his hands, tries not to imagine how Aurra Singh's neck would feel wrapped in them as he squeezes the life out of her for what she did to Ponds.

“It's not something that can be forgiven, no matter how much I regret it,” Fox says. “But that isn't why I'm here, trooper... Echo.”

“Then why, sir?”

For a moment, Fox hesitates, unsure of whether his invitation, his touch would be welcome, but he decides to do it anyway. He reaches out and gently grabs Echo's remaining wrist and lightly tugs it in the direction of the stadium. “Come on. No Domino gets left behind.”

He waits for Echo to take the first step, watching his brother's eyes blink, widen, and then sharpen. Echo looks past Fox towards the Domino commanders, and whatever he sees there, convinces him.

Fox settles Echo down in the empty spot where Ponds should be, and the way Echo looks around with brighter eyes and a harsh swallow tells him everything about how Rex's little dominoes must have gathered too.

Setting that aside, Fox turns back to his brothers. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, so the Chancellor had ordered breakfast and for some reason, this involved fish. And you know how fish have these tiny little bones they don't always manage to get out when preparing them?”

Gree sighs loudly as he realizes where Fox is going with this latest story about Palpatine's death, and Salvo begins slapping Fox's knee like that's going to stop him. Behind him, Echo muffles a snort, and Fox grins.

Victory came late, but not too late. There are still brothers here who were saved after all.

#star wars #commander fox #arc trooper echo #commander stone #raven's pen #*shakes out scrivener and another years-old one-shot falls out* oops #anyway i made a phonetic alphabet for star wars and fox randomized into the commander domino squad and that was too perfect and tragic #also squadnames are like childhood nicknames and wolffe and thire are Very Tired about the jokes made about theirs lol

17 notes · View notes

mayxthexforce-moved · 1 year ago

Text

@mutatiio said:

the force had provided - at least that was what he had settled on believing, the conflict didn't leave much room for ruminating on the details. they needed an army and now they have one.

loyal to a fault and ready to serve without question. though the thought now brings him some embarrassed shame, anakin had initially (quietly, to himself) likened the clones to droids. the b1 battle droids to be exact. anakin, perhaps more than anyone, knew the value of other droids - how unique each one was. the b1's were nothing short of an insult to droid making, all funds pushed into the mass production over anything else. the tactic itself wasn't bad, but the principle!!

it hadn't taken him long to learn and accept that the clones weren't mindless machines. a single mission was all it took. the obedience was still eery at times, but it was not too dissimilar to how most jedi obeyed the council orders. in the end it always came down to rank.

which is why he squints at alpha, soft features scrunched up. even as a padawan, he technically ranks higher than him. "you're awful mouthy." anakin comments, the unspoken finish quite loud; for a clone.

Since the moment they gained consciousness, the clones were funneled with stories about the Jedi that they would one day serve. Magnificent warriors who possessed a power beyond their comprehension, something that the Kaminoans and the Mandalorian instructors had called 'the force'. Calling it magic seemed to be the easiest way to understand what it was that the Jedi had that other people didn't. It is, based on the instructors' descriptions, one of the things that made Jedi special.

Alpha 17 has come to find that it is the ONLY thing that makes them specialist.

He's reached the conclusion that General Kenobi is one of the —if not THE— least unbearable Jedi. The same cannot be said about his Padawan- an apprentice, for what Alpha 17 understands, who follows Kenobi around like a loyal shadow. It reminds 17 of the cadets back on Kamino.

Except, somehow, the cadets annoyed him less.

They wouldn't have dared speak the way Skywalker does, that's for sure.

As —once again— Skywalker opens his mouth, Alpha 17 looks up, down, towards both sides and behind himself. He even activates his helmet's sensors, and the results come back blank. Showing him nothing. No one.

"The rumors must be true, Jedi DO speak to ghosts," he hums with feigned amazement, his visor finally focusing back down on Skywalker. "That explains why, no matter how hard I try, I cannot find who asked for your opinion."

#||mail: alpha 17||#||in character: alpha 17||#& anakin #||verse: loyal to the republic; alpha 17||#mutatiio

2 notes · View notes

orange-twilek-guy · 2 years ago

Text

Been thinking sooo much recently about my oc Silvanis.

So I’ve made him some friends !! 😊

CT-0849 or ‘Splash’ is a member of the Coruscant guard. Like the other guy on this list they are frequently assigned to guard Silvanis’ office. Splash is Silvie’s favourite and Splash thinks Silvie is vod’ika shaped so eventually the two get along quite well. Splash is relaxed and a good mediator although occasionally he comes off too casual and accidentally offends a higher ranking being.

Splash is the height of an average clone and he has no visible tattoos or scarring despite being an older clone. He has white hair that’s in the usual regulation cut. He has the typical dark brown eyes. On his armour instead of the straight red lines on the arms his is wavy but that’s the only noticeable change he has from the classic Coruscant guard armour look.

Splash earned his name from being a horrible swimmer when they were taught as cadets on Kamino. So awful in fact that even though he did eventually learn to swim the memory of almost drowning a few dozen times keeps him away from large bodies of water.

CT-6656 or ‘Clover’ is also a member of the Coruscant Guard. He is a rigid follower of rules and tends to address everyone in a formal manner. Clover has a sarcastic sense of humour that many natborns find difficult to work out at first.

Clover is the height of an average clone and has the usual brown hair and brown eyes. He has a long scar from his nostril to his forehead from breaking up a fight while patrolling. He has a tattoo of a clover on the back of his neck however his longer than average hair covers it now. He has the typical paint of a Coruscant guard member

Clover received his name after Leaf(umm one of my other clones in big bag of ocs- Leaf typically works near the gardens and as such knows a lot more about plantlife than most clones) jokingly rubbed the then shiny’s helmet for good luck before placing a bet. Leaf won the bet and started to call his Vod’ika his lucky clover and sought him out before every bet to rub poor Clover’s helmet. No matter what Clover does he ends up with a spot on top of his helmet where the paint wears thin much faster than the rest of the paint job.

#oc:silvanis #oc:leaf #oc:splash #oc:clover #star wars ocs #this has been in my drafts for eight centuries I forgor to post it

11 notes · View notes

stardustallaround · 11 months ago

Text

GOTTEM I GET TO RANT NOW! (thanks so much btw!!!)

apologies this is gonna be really long

format is [lyric]: description; explanation/comments

- [I've earned myself a reputation]: all of the commanders and Rex as cadets; I wanted to start from the beginning

- [That my bark | is much worse than | my bite]: zoom in on cadet wolffe, change to older wolffe; I mean. self explanatory bro chose his name to be a misspelled animal pfff

- [But I keep snapping at Goliath's hands]: the iconic scene when Plo Koon and two of the Wolfpack are stuck and Plo Koon says they’re not expendable; I liked the idea that Plo Koon rebelled in his own way, eg. appreciation of his sons

- [With all of my tiny might]: pan to the two troopers; clones have very little control, but they fight for each other as hard as they can

- [There are no stones at my disposal]: Rex’s helmet; Rex likely often feels powerless to stop Anakin’s antics

- [There's no God to award me a crown]: hands grab Rex’s helmet; Rex means “king,” this is sorta alluding to the idea that he gave himself his own crown (name/helmet/honor)

- [But I am always swinging at]: 501st on umbara

- [Somebody I can't knock down]: pong krell, blasters in peripheral; self explanatory, except they do shoot him down

- [All of the fire I've swallowed]: gree with luminara unduli; no concrete reasoning for this, but possible suspicions that luminara encourages the troopers to hide their feelings for others since she’s like that with barriss

- [All of the sparks that went dark in my gut]: gree watching ahsoka and barriss walk away (gree is slightly smiling); he worries for barriss, especially considering how young padawans are, and he feels like an older brother

- [I am always burning up]: gree watching hologram of the tank getting crushed; canon episode reference! he’s distressed abt potentially losing barriss and has no power to stop it :(

- [Dress me in red and throw your roses]: fox on patrol and a bottle gets thrown at him; red armor! bottle=roses!

- [And I'll wrangle the beast with words]: fox standing behind palpatine; palps is a yapper also fox lies to him to save his brothers (often at his own expense)

- [It's a graceless dance of epithets]: fox standing behind senator chuchi; uhhhh senators scheming but for good ‼️

- [We learn to make somewhat hurt]: fox standing alone without helmet, bleeding; note he has lighting scars (rude palps) and early gray hairs (due to his brothers, but I also like the head canon that he’s “defective” and has been getting these his whole life and that’s why he never takes off his helmet)

- [They will consume your sweet resistance]: bly looking at Ayla; bly is a sweetheart just try to argue with me

- [And they'll carry your heart in their teeth]: Aayla smilkng at bly; teeth literally with the smiling, also blyla <3

- [But I am always feeding them]: Felucia battlefield; very sad parallel with canon

- [The ugliest parts of me]: bly and aayla fighting droid; they for sure don’t want to fight, but they have to

- [All of the words I've swallowed]: ponds fighting with windu on ryloth; as cool as windu is, it must have been difficult to work with him

- [All of the sharp things I've kept in my mouth]: ponds and Zillo beast; teeth. sharp things in mouth are teeth

- [I am always bleeding out]: death by aurra sing; uhhh this was supposed to be aurra sing I drew the wrong person, but symbolically I think I had boba bc he was technically fighting against the other clones (ngl I drew this one a while ago and was very sleep deprived)

- [Take me to war]: cody, obi wan, and anakin at holotable; this was a common scene in the war, eternal planning

- [Honey, I dare you]: obi wan, from over Cody’s shoulder; obi wan had many antics that poor cody had to suffer through, and codywan <3

- [I'll be the sweetest thing]: ghost company with obiwan; they’re all besties ur honor

- [To ever scare you]: obi wan “dead” arc, ghost company watching hologram; BIG sad, wish we could have seen at least ghost company at the “funeral”

- [Give me a fight I can't resist]: numa; this was originally gonna have boil and waxer with her but I got lazy, anyway they want to protect her

- [Give me something to break with my fists]: cody punching droid; the commander class is just Built Different, cody even more so

- [Take me to war]: cody picking up lightsaber; I often think abt the fact cody canonically has a belt clip for a lightsaber

- [Honey, I dare you]: cody handing lightsaber to obi wan; really wanna know how often this happened for the aforementioned belt clip

- [I watched a weed usurp the garden]: a corrie in senate pod, palps at the center of the senate talking from over a guards left shoulder; crusty dusty palps swaying the senate, also over left shoulder indicates “bad people” and the opposite for right

- [And it poisoned the rest of the crops]: senate pods with corrupt sentars going forward

- [Would take days of fighting stubborn roots]: padme, bail, mothma over right shoulder of guard; let them cook ‼️

- [To tear the whole damn thing out]: senate building; the whole place is pretty much corrupt

- [So I will leave it where it's standing]: back to guard looking at senate floor, leaves out of frame

- [And instead I will find me a match]: fox w/blaster facing fives; fives could have been the key to avoiding the Horrors

- [I'll turn it all to kindling]: fox lowers blaster; what I wish could have happened, don’t ask me how this would have been feasible (I hc that palps was controlling fox here)

- [I'll burn it all down to ash]: hologram of The Chip; this could have been the key to fixing it all, so in my delusion fives gets to tell fox and spread the word

- [All of the ire I've swallowed]: fox w/gun; he’s mad when he finds out

- [All of the coals that still sit in my gut]: palps, menacing; he’s actually The Worst

- [I am always burning up]: fox raises gun, blaster pulled, silhouettes, palps shot; man I just wanted fox to shoot palps bc he deserves it the most

- [Take me to war]: plo’s bros on side of ship; this section is all “memories”/ happy times

- [Honey, I dare you]: Rex and ahsoka spying on padme and anakin; bestest siblings, legit one of my favorite ideas, in the original sketch I had anakin ranting abt sand

- [I'll be the sweetest thing]: Ayla leaning against bly, asleep; once again, bly is the sweetest

- [To ever scare you]: coruscant guards laughing around a table with cards and drinks; don’t tell me everyone else wasn’t afraid of the Corries, also I like to think they would have game nights every now and then

- [Give me a fight I can't resist]: ponds at 79’s with others

- [Give me something to break with my fists]: gree is gifted a mug from barriss; this is an extremely obscure call back to another piece of art that I did where obiwan had a mug from ahsoka that says “best grandmaster” and I like to think the padawans have an arts class

- [Take me to war]: ghost company with obi wan at dex’s; the usual suspects including boil, waxer, cody, wooly, AND fanmedic helix (he’s canon in my heart)

- [Honey, I dare you]: fives rescuing ech from skeco minor; echo was def sad when he realized his twin wasn’t there so I fixed that :)

Some general notes on artistic choices:

• While I usually draw in grayscale (rendering scares me), I specifically made any "identifying" features (like armor paint, hair color, etc.) for clones be present, partially for identification and partially with the idea that these are the things that show their individuality. The only exception to this was when there was a lightsaber (I like the cool glowing sticks).

• Characters besides the clones are specifically in a single shade of gray to put more focus on the clones (as this is meant to be an animatic about THEIR tragedy). However, there are a few cases when I made the other characters be "rendered" but in grayscale if what they are doing/their character arc has an impact on the clones in the panel.

• Most of this portrays canon or canon-adjacent to a certain point, I made the second half in mind of "What if Fox was able to chose differently."

• During the final "Take Me to War" section, the panels are specifically grayscale because they are supposed to depict happy "memories" of the war. In my "headcanon what-if" clones no longer need their identifying colors after the war because they have found their autonomy with the end of the war, though many may still keep them. (this is totally not because I didn't want to fully color more panels shhhhhhh)

• I learned how to edit videos in Blender for this

animatic depicting the tragedy of the clone wars and answers the question: what if Commander Fox was able to put down the gun and raise it at at someone else?

Song: Take Me to War (Live) by the Crane Wives

if one (1) person asks I will post an in depth analysis of every panel

#I am so sorry that was so long #I love correlating lyrics to specific characters so it was nice to yap abt my reasoning #hopefully this makes sense #also sorry if there’s any spelling/format issues I did this on my phone #star wars the clone wars #the crane wives #take me to war #ramblings #star wars #my art

252 notes · View notes

enigmatist17 · 2 years ago

Text

I'm not sure what I might do with this, but this is a young!Rex thing that's been on the brain for a while

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

He doesn't know if they ever would have had names.

Names are earned, by blood, by jokes, little things that you had to experience when you were older. Most of them don't earn their names until they leave Kamino, the biggest dream in the heart of every cadet.

This place was as much a home as it was a prison, their wardens uncaring about the charges in their care.

So when they round up all of his batchmates, the only clones with blonde hair, they're scared. When they are forced into the decommissioning wing, the boys are terrified, trying to run and beg and please we did nothing wrong!

They're just five years old!

He's the last one when there is yelling, arguing, and the door is forced open. The cadet watches from the table he had been strapped to as a Jetti, a force of power and anger, makes the equipment around him suddenly rocket to the other side of the room. Troopers seem to just flood the room, and the ringing in his ears prevents the cadet from understanding what one of them is saying, gloved hands gentle as they slice through his restraints.

He sees the bodies of his batchmates as he's hoisted up and into the trooper's arms, and he screams.

Their eyes are all grey.

He doesn't stop screaming until the rain from outside, the outside they could never touch, soaks him to the bone. A gunship, one the cadet would normally know from memory, takes him far away, and the only thing they can hear is his intermittent screams and sobs. The trooper who is holding him doesn't let his grip falter for a second, not even when they board a ship and he's carried throughout. Everyone is watching as they pass, and helmet or no helmet, they all carry the same fury and sadness the Jetti had.

Their journey ends in some barracks, and he doesn't want to let go when the trooper sets him down on the single bed in the room. He's older, one of the first gen if he had to guess, and the cadet sees that one of his eyes is blind, with a huge scar lapping over the top of it.

"Breathe son." He does as ordered, and the canteen that's soon offered is drained. "You're safe."

Safe, that word means nothing to him now.

"My name is Wolffe, what's yours?" The trooper kneels down, and the cadet watches him warily.

"CT-7567." Wolffe frowned, but just reached up and gave the top of his head a gentle pat. "They're dead..."

"I know, we couldn't reach you in time." There's pain behind every word, and the cadet nearly cries to learn Wolffe is hurting as much as he is. "Do you know why you were taken there?"

"Lama Su ordered our decommissioning. Said we were "an eyesore that had to be corrected with the Jetti not around". Wolffe...it was our hair color."

Wolffe would very much like to snap Lama Su's neck right about now.

Instead, he sits with the blonde cadet who starts crying again, only moving when someone else enters the room. The comforting aura of Plo Koon fills the space, and the Jedi kneels down next to the duo, able to see curious red-rimmed eyes staring at him.

"How are you little one?" His voice is soft, and the cadet cautiously pulls back to get a better look, hazel eyes singing with curiosity as much as they do pain. "I am Plo Koon."

"CT-7567." The cadet hiccuped, and offers one hand when Plo holds out both of his own. The metal on the Jedi's hands isn't cold, and it's comforting the small squeeze he receives, and he finds he doesn't want to let the man go.

"I am sorry I could not save your kin in time." One hand moves to gently cup the side of the cadet's head, thumb wiping away a latent tear. "They will not hurt a single one of you ever again, you have my absolute word."

"You can't promise that." He knew it was rude, but the Kamonioans and their constant statements of you are property ring through his mind.

"That I can little one, the cloning facility is no longer Kaminoian property." It's such a small statement, but the cadet's eyes go wide at the idea. "Wolffe and I will explain later. For now, you should rest."

"But..." The cadet wants to say something, anything, gripping Plo's hand tightly. The hand on his face, such a comforting warmth, seems to grow a bit warm as exhaustion falls over the cadet, and he slumps back into Wolffe's arms a few short seconds later.

"Cody has arrived with Kenobi, and Jesse with Skywalker." Plo updates his commander as the cadet is tucked into bed, looking so small compared to the two. "Should we return him to Tipoca?"

"No." Wolffe's eyes were trained on the boy, and Plo doesn't need the Force to see he was radiating pure protective energy. "The CC's and I have already decided that he's staying with us."

"So soon?" Plo lets out an amused noise at the side-eye he receives and wonders when Wolffe had the time to spread the message. "Congratulations are in order then."

"Later." Wolffe smiles softly, and motions for Plo to follow him out of the room. "We have the rest of the planet to secure."

"That shouldn't take long, Master Aayla reports her men have taken quite the excitement in locking down the main facilities."

"Good." Several clones are already milling around outside the door, and Plo can already tell they've gotten attached to the cadet resting inside the officer's quarters, and there they remain as Wolffe surges for the bridge.

Kamino was theirs, and they were going to make sure of it.

#personal #star wars #star wars clone wars #plo koon #commander wolffe #rex #bly #aayla secura #young rex AU #I don't know where Im going with this #but now that some of it is out of my brain #we'll see #cody #jesse #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

34 notes · View notes

aphantpoet · 2 years ago

Text

Boba Fett

When looking at fans reactions to the series “The Book of Boba Fett” I was surprised by the number of people who's complaints hinged on the idea that the series is some sort of redemption arc that should take a long time I will admit, I haven’t got the chance to watch the series yet as I do not have Disney plus and have not found a way to watch it elsewhere, but I have found in these reviews that people seem to have a very one dimensional view of Boba Fett as a character.

When we first meet Boba Fett he’s a minor antagonist in the original trilogy. Less of a character and more of a plot device. His armour aside, the most notable things about him is that he’s pragmatic “He’s no good to me dead” and a bit of a ladies man [the scene in Jabba’s palace]. That’s hardly any nuanced characterisation. He “dies” as he lived, an ultimately one note but cool antagonist that provides some colour between the grey, black and white of the Empire.

We see him next in the prequal trilogy where, despite the relatively small screen time, Daniel Logan is giving it his all. We see him in his father’s apartment on Kamino ,when Obiwan Kenobi goes to investigate the planet and we are introduced to the clones. Young Boba is shown in this first scene to be a smart kid who distrusts the Jedi [or at least strangers]. We see him observing his dad’s interactions with the Jedi, We’re also shown that despite him not having the inhibitor chip, he still listens to his dad with Boba closing the door to hide Jango’s armour. When Obiwan leaves before Jango can order Boba to pack so they can get away Boba’s the one who prompts his dad. This first scene shows him as a kid who is observant, smart and cares about his father.

During the confrontation and chase with Obiwan Boba plays a mostly supporting role. He is only seen actively engaging when he scrambles into the ship and fires the guns at Obiwan. He manages to fire impressively well when you conside that he;s can’t even see over the steering wheel. He’s also the one who points out that they’re being tracked. he’s not shown to be especially ruthless except when he laughs at Jango’s “we’ll have a couple of surprises for him” comment. other than that he mostly spends that scene in the cheap seats. This shows him a proactive and demonstrates that he is still learning from his father, still a far cry from the feared bounty hunter he’s shown as in the OT.

He’s next shown at the execution of Padme, Obiwan and Anakin, where he cranes his neck to have a look. He doesn’t really say anything during that scene or during the ensuing battle. His only major appearance after is when he holds his father's helmet and rests his forehead to it. during these scene Boba does not play a major role, presumably because George Lucas thought having the heros’ fight a ten year old would be a little too far.

During TCW, Boba is shown in three arcs, playing a relatively minor role in two of them. His first major appearance is when he is trying to kill Mace Windu. Boba executes the plan quietly and efficiently , in a way that minimises damage to the crew. It is not until Mace Windu asks a clone to put something in his room because Anakin needed him that things spiral out of control.

Aurra Sing is the one who orders him to blow up the reactor rod. Boba protests “But the crew, this isn’t about them”. He is still ultimately persuaded to do it. When he’s caught Boba easily slips into the “vulnerable cadet “ role and tricks the trooper into handing over his blaster. While Boba has no problem fighting the trooper when the helmets are on Boba hesitates when the helmet comes off and he’s faced with his father’s face staring up at him in fear and confusion. It is only with the assertion that he and the clone are “brothers” that Boba is able to follow through with stunning the solider. This sequence of events shows Boba's competence as well as his moral compass, It also serves to demonstrate his complex surrounding the clones.

This moral compass is further challenged when he sabotages the escape pod and Aurra Sing intercepts them to pick him up. Boba is more than ready to just leave and even suggests to her that they let them go. Aurra Sing is the one who asserts that the have to be jettisoned into the unknown. he only leaves with her after this threat is applied to him. He walks away telling the cadets that he’s sorry and, as Aurra demands, lets them loose. Through this arc Boba is shown acting with competence but anger, displaying instincts that were likely taught to him by Jango. When speaking to the captive clones Boba removes one of their gags and tells him that this isn’t what he wanted. It is only when the clone reminds him that he is also a clone that Boba hardens up, though not enough to hold back a wince when Aurra slaps the clone and by the time shooting the hostages comes around Boba is not angry enough to go through with the threats. This shows that despite his quest for vengeance he is still an immature and insecure kid in a galaxy where there are thousands of him made everyday. The only thing that makes him different from the other clones is that he ages normally and was chosen by Jango, one thing that is not unique to him and another that says nothing about his accomplishments. He is still far from revenge and from living up to his father’s legacy.

Through the following scenes Boba slowly becomes disillusioned with the quest as he sees Aurra shoot a member of their crew in cold blood and is threatened by her. He still tries to hold onto the moral high ground and insists that “i’m not a murderer, but I want justice ” even when that drive for “justice” has flown way out of his control. He is eventually left to the mercy of the Republic. Plo Koon brings Boba to Hondo Onaka to get him to tell them where the remaining hostages are. Boba protests that he has no one so why should he help?, it is only when Hondo, the only person at this point who has treated Boba’s loss with any respect convinces him that it’s the honourable thing to do and that it’s what his father would have wanted that Boba caves and expresses genuine remorse for his actions. Despite his age and arguable part in the carnage as a whole, Boba is sent to prison.

There is not much to be said for his appearance when Obiwan goes undercover but his actions after getting out of prison, either by release or escape show how he has hardened and stayed the same. He is tasked with bringing a bride to a warlord, for this mission he is teamed up with newcomer to bounty hunting, Ventress. Boba is short and demanding to the Dathomirian, claiming that's she’s a “rookie”. Neither seem to know that the other s in fact overqualified. It is worth noting however that this same energy is also given to him by Ventress so he is hardly the only one acting like this. It is also worth noting that Boba is not incapable of taking advice from others. This is seen when he questions the need to subtram travel, when he thinks that just using the ship would be easier. When the reason why is explained to him Boba has no problem with the direction. Boba comes out of prison much harder than he was when he came in, having no problem with making himself bigger or dishing out violence where he has not changed is seen in his actions later in this event.

When Boba and his crew are attacked the chest they were keeping the bride in comes open Boba’s first instinct is to run to her and assure her that he’ll protect her from the attackers. The dubious honourability of him delivering a slave bride to a warlord aside, it is clear that Boba has internalised Hondo Onaka’s lesson on honour. It is only when he realises that she’s on their attackers side that Boba orders they be tied down so he can get the mission done. Ventress subsequently switches him with the girl and delivers her home. Boba is not seen after that but it is in this scene that his portrayal as a ruthless bounty hunter makes more sense. even still, during this arc Boba is not seen being especially bloodthirsty. He’s ruthless towards the people who stand in the way of his mission but for innocents, those he cares for or assumes he’s being paid to protect he’s especially careful.

Boba has no other major appearances in the shows or movies until the Mandalorian. When he saves Fennec Shand he has no connection to her, he is not even aware that she once hunted the closest thing he has to a biological sister in canon. Despite seeming to have softened Boba prove this not to be the case. He threatens Grogu to get the armour back and fights well against the troopers. he is also the first to suggest that there’s not need to fight and they they put down their weapons. During the fight Boba gets his armour back. Boba honours his deal with Din Djarin and joins in the mission to get Grogu back, one again showing Hondo Onaka’s lesson about honour has made an impression on him even all these years later.

When Bo Katan starts to insult him Boba is not quick to violence. It is only when Jango Fett is brought into it that Boba brings put the threats. He then fights Bo’s sidekick before she agree’s to help Din Djarin because Grogu’s involved. After the mission he ruthlessly shoots down Bib Fortuna and so begins his hostile takeover of Mis Eisley. Looking at some scenes he seems to be going a good job, having mellowed while retaining his fire and sense of honour.

So, looking at all that together, there is no reason why the arc set out in Book of Boba Fett cannot work. While I’m sure some of the criticism I’ve seen is valid, I do not think the assertion that Boba Fett should remain a ruthless killer is one of them, nor do I think that this is part of some moralist agenda to make villains not evil anymore .

#star wars #boba fett #long post #character analysis

6 notes · View notes

theocs-strikeback · 3 years ago

Text

Created By: @crackedopen

OC Name: Darro Nag

Pronouns: He/Him/His

Species: Kaminoan

Status:

Darro Nag is a skilled bounty hunter, a pilot and a mercenary skilled in political assassinations, covert operations, spying, mechanics and slicing. His distinct features are severe burns that cover almost one half of his body, prosthetic legs, his black armour suited specially for his body and species and a white helmet which he rarely takes off. His weapon of choice are- two Kaminoan katanas with aiwha handles, throwing knives, an altered Amban pulse rifle and blasters, along with his spaceship Phalanx.

When it comes to his personality, he is a stoic, quiet person, lethal in fight, rationally thinking but not incapable of having a rather dark, ironic sense of humour. He may be cruel and focused on the result in his profession, but he has a code of honour. He would first harm himself than do any harm to a civilian, a child or to a clone trooper.

He simply isn't capable of hurting them, even if he's paid an amount of money he's never seen with his two huge almond-shaped eyes.

His past was pretty normal, he grew up on Kamino in the lower caste, growing up and learning to be a mechanic and an armour maker for the clone troopers. Everything changed when he saved a young cadet from decommissioning. The Kaminoan government found out about their bond, and soon captured two boys, wiping the cadet's memory and horribly scarring Darro. The boy escaped, killing his captors and burning his prison down, which he payed for by severely burning most of his body and losing both legs.

He got found by one of the Mandalorian trainers, who noticed his fierceness and determination and decided to train him. Darro learned from him such skills as piloting a spaceship, martial arts, hunting and shooting. When he finished his training, he left Kamino in his spaceship which he named Phalanx and dissapeared among the starts, promising himself to do one thing- find and/or avenge the boy he'd saved, who now is probably fighting in a war against the CIS.

#hello Darro Nag!#ocs strike back #kaminoan #bounty hunter

23 notes · View notes

phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three – Chrono

Warnings: grief, resentment, lactation, animal death

----

For all that Anakin had said he could handle the twins, Rex still takes one in the sling as they go into town. They don't have a hoverpram yet, and neither of them could figure out a way to fold the fabric to securely hold the babies' heads up. Anakin takes Luke, and Rex takes Leia, and they ignore the whispers that still follow them.

The General keeps just behind his shoulder when they get to the hardware shop that carries the closest paint they can find in such a small town. It's not meant for armor, really, but speeder paint will do the trick for now. Rex's hands shake as he picks out the shades he needs, and the young Rodian at the register almost asks about it.

The issue isn't pressed.

They make their way back to the cottage, and Leia starts fussing fifteen minutes past the town's edge. Anakin looks like he wants to offer to take her back, but Rex is fine. He can comfort her. He can--

Anakin takes the paint, floating it along in the air before them, freeing Rex's hands to focus on the infant strapped to his chest.

"I'll feed her as soon as we get back," Anakin says, low and calm. "She's a little hungry."

Pacifier, then. They're only a few minutes out, by now. She can wait for them to get back to where exchanging the twins won't involve juggling.

Rex feels eyes on him, looks up and sees the soft, quiet smile on his General's face, and ducks his head back to Leia.

She glares up at him as well as a newborn can, sucking angrily on the paci in her mouth. Rex has no idea if she's actually upset or if her face just naturally follows such an expression, but it's adorable nonetheless. He hums to her, nonsense without words.

He's never learned lullabies; they picked up drinking songs in the field and from local soldiers, from their Jedi, war songs from their trainers, pop songs from the radio. A few learned lullabies, those who loved children and wanted their own, one day, brothers like Waxer who would have adopted Numa in a heartbeat if it had been an option.

He wants to learn lullabies. He wants to be able to sing children's songs to these tiny, helpless lives he holds in his hands, day in and day out. He wants to learn Mandalorian songs, real ones, not just battle chants and mourning melodies. He wants to be able to raise them with the childhood he didn't have.

"Rex? Door's open."

He looks up, and Anakin's standing on the porch, pulling the keys from the lock and gesturing in with his head. Rex hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, subconsciously waiting for the blockage of the door to be handled. It's easier to focus on the children.

The paint gets sent to the backyard--trapped fumes wouldn’t be good for the children--and Rex lays Leia down in her crib. Anakin urges him to the backyard, says I’ll handle it about anything Rex uses to delay, and it’s only a few minutes later that Rex finds himself sitting on the grass, armor spread across a sheet of disposable flimsi, paints and brushes at the ready. He doesn’t quite remember setting it up, but he must have.

Anakin joins him, a twin in each arm and the Force laying out a picnic blanket. Leia’s nursing, swaddled up but content to suckle, and Luke seems happy to doze when Anakin sets him down on the cotton gingham. It’s a warm day, with a light breeze, and the babies are where the wind won’t carry the paint fumes.

“I’m here if you need me,” Anakin promises, though his attention drifts immediately to his daughter.

Rex begins to paint.

----

His remembrances are endless.

Every brother he’s ever known, every general he’s met, every small commander and random civilian, everyone he loved and knew. He lights a pyre, sings under his breath and tries not to break in a way that can’t be patched together. He mourns the tubies and cadets, the Jedi younglings, names he never learned and now never would.

Anakin gets Japor from somewhere, carves it whenever he’s too jittery to sleep and the twins are asleep. Rex recognizes a few symbols, like the open circle fleet, like Fives’ helmet eel, like Ahsoka’s markings. There are more, though, that are wholly unfamiliar, things he thinks are born of desert sands and binary suns, rough and painful and deeper in Anakin’s heart than even the Jedi.

He asks about the one for Fives, when he sees it.

He hides his anger.

Explanations, first.

“It’s an apology,” his General tells him, eyes distant. “I should have listened to him. I didn’t. The carvings are regrets, broken trust... that sort of thing. I’m part of why he died, and in that, part of why the rest is gone. He and his memory deserve a place of honor.”

Rex considers that, and accepts it.

Fives deserves an apology. The General recognizes that.

The General recognizes that he fucked up.

This is a good thing.

Rex lets go of his anger, still curled tight to his chest after months, as best he can.

He’s not very good at it, but he can try.

Luke starts crying, and Rex gets up to warm a bottle.

----

“I need to stay close to home until the twins are a little older,” Rex says. Teskarim, the woman at the childcare store, tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “I’m... I’ve never been anything but a soldier, and nobody here needs security services, but I can hunt. Do you know if there’s any kind of licenses required, or lists of which animals are legal hunt and which are endangered?”

“I... don’t,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But I think the butcher’s shop can probably point you in the right direction.”

Damn. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone new today.

“Thanks,” he sighs, and shells out some of the local currency for more formula.

----

The butcher has answers, and preferences. Rex isn’t much of a trapper, but he’s a hell of a shot, and decent enough scout and tracker. He listens to what there is to hear, and mentally takes all the notes he can. There aren’t any licenses needed in this hemisphere, but there are legally-defined hunting seasons for different creatures. The butcher knows when the optimal times of day are, which parts of the nearby forest and mountains are best to stake out, and so on.

Rex tells Anakin about his plan. He gets a slow blink in response, a cringe in what he thinks is guilt, and an offer to meditate for the best direction to take when he goes out. He accepts the offer in the spirit its meant, and sets out the next morning with the expectation that he may need to spend a few nights out under the leaves and stars.

The calm and quiet are their own kind of comfort. He’s loyal to Anakin, and he already loves the twins, but there’s a part of him that needs to be away from natborns right now. Anakin was a Jedi, a general, and fought in the metaphorical trenches with the rest of them, but he wasn’t a brother.

They grieve many of the same people, but they do not grieve the same way.

Rex needs the solitude. Not forever, not even for very long, but he needs it.

It takes two days, but he finds one of the in-season creatures, a creature shaped much like an Alderaan deer, but larger, and with longer fur. It’s darker in color, too, and he gives it a bit of time to wander about until he can be sure it’s a male, and he’s not about to leave some fawns without a mother. The shot is clean, and it doesn’t take him very long to tie it up and sling it over his shoulders to bring back to town.

The trek back takes hours, and the creature on his back is a pain to carry, but it’s almost worth the looks he gets from the civvies. Eyes bulge out the sockets at the sight of him, and he’s glad his helmet hides his smirk. He’s Kamino stock, hardened by over three years on the front lines, and there’s a pride in how easy the physical things are for him. It’s not impossible for a natborn to carry this kind of creature this far without help, but it’s uncommon.

He kind of likes the attention, now that it doesn’t come with the many prejudices that being a clone always had.

Anakin meets him at the butcher’s, one twin on his chest and the other on his back.

Seems he’s found a solution to that.

“Here to help me barter a fair payment?” Rex asks, and gets a too-charming grin in response.

“Well, I’ve been doing it most of my life,” Anakin says, cheery in a way that feels pasted on. “And I’ll have a trick to know if we’re being cheated.”

It’s a solid response, but Rex doesn’t like it. He takes note of the bags under Anakins eyes. “Have you been sleeping, sir?”

“Twins,” the man himself says. “And don’t call me ‘sir,’ Rex, we’ve been over this.”

“You need to sleep, General.”

Anakin pouts at him, probably because of the title. “I can handle two days alone, Captain.”

Rex rolls his eyes and sidles through the entrance of the butcher’s shop.

They’ve got this.

#Rexwalker #Captain Rex #Anakin Skywalker #Skywalker Twins #Luke Skywalker #Leia Organa #past Anidala #Phoenix Posts #Rex and Anakin Raise a Family #star wars #the clone wars #time travel #I have a couple tumblr-based ongoing fics but this one... meanders

208 notes · View notes