#clone oc: Scruffy

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

I Have No Mother, Only A Brother

Warnings and Information: Not a new story, just a more masterlist-friendly format since I'm unable to make the edits I want to the original written last year so things fit a little more in-line with the rest of the series visually speaking. Reference/allusion to canon-typical violence, injury, death and loss. Bad health conditions for civilians as a result of a Separatist blockade. Clone OC backstories and how they died. Several characters are not explicitly named as of this installment, just like in NTMY,B. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. No Mando'a here. Use of Star Wars and real-world swearing. Canvas doesn't like the Kaminoans, he's rather scared of them.

Word-count: 3,027

"Isn't it a little sad?" the nat-born child who's been asking so many questions starts up again after five minutes, the allotted break time as asked. The little one's parents sigh wearily. Here we go. There's beckoning hands, straining arms. 

"Is what sad, little mite?" The trooper only resituated their hold on the child with a twisted ankle they'd been carrying for several klics now. They still had a long way to go before they reached the Republic camp where these starving people on a far-flung planet had been subjected to horrid war crimes by the Separatists. No; let me hold them a little longer, it's fine. They weigh far less than a supply crate, this is easy for me. 

"Well… is it true that you don't have a mommy like people say?" This little one was born just before or near the very start of the Clone Wars, supposedly, and part of a humanoid species, so they're different from human nat-born children and develop differently… but the level of intellect and insight is still surprising. 

"It is," the trooper starts, mentally shaking away the thought that he'd have to dumb this down for the toddler who was meeting Clones in the flesh for the first time now. "We don't have any mothers, except for Kamino. That's where we come from." Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks; think of your brothers! 

"So isn't it sad?" they ask again, cuddling sweetly against the stiff and impossibly firm surface of plastoid that encircles the trooper's body with a great pout on their face. That can't be comfortable for the kid. The trooper wishes he could take off the helmet so the little one can see the sympathetic smile, touched by the concern and sadness a nat-born child has for a man without a mother. But he's offered to carry this child until they get to the camp and the hospital tent where a medic-brother can splint the bad foot. There's not a great way to carry his own helmet should he remove it; other hands are busy with helping men, women and children too emaciated and weak to make this trek unsupported, or are leading the livestock with firm hands, or like the little mite's mother, carrying even littler children. An infant. 

There are so many infants. The General has cut their cloak into long strips so the brothers who have volunteered themselves to carry a suffering family's baby have something to buffer and soften the swaddling arms in plastoid armor. The three brothers who carry the five orphans of the village are quiet. They move so gingerly and are so tender to allow these little ones to sleep as long as they can; the best sleep these little ones have had since losing their mothers. 

"I guess many would see it that way. But it's hard to be sad about it when I have so many brothers to keep me company." The little one looks up at the trooper in awe and excitement. Brothers. They had something in common! The baby swaddled to the woman's chest with a meager blanket is a little boy, apparently. Born just before the Separatist's blockade and occupation. 

"How many brothers? Hundreds?" That'd been the popular guess when he and his brothers showed up with several Generals to offer aid and support to one of these many villages clustered near one another in this sector of the planet. 

"More than that."

"A thousand?" 

"Haha. More than that, little one." 

"Ah… a million? O-or the one that's bigger than that! That many brothers?" 

"That'd be "billion". A billion is bigger than a million." 

"You have a billion brothers?!" 

"Probably. Even I don't know. There's not enough time to meet all of them when we're helping people like you, ya little mite." Some he'd never get to because they were already gone. Some were already lost to this war well before he stepped off Kamino. Some shortly after. 

Cocky nerf-herder though he was, brave Gunnar… he'd been the first. Selfless. He wasn't immediately fond of the Force-wielders. The Jedi. Not like the other Shinies.

"We're their canon fodder, they don't care about us. Throw enough brothers at the problem until it goes away and then don't so much as mourn us!"

It changed when their General was cradling the body of a badly-injured brother while they were waiting for the team medic to find their position. Their General held the dying trooper and promised the medic-brother was on their way, "just hold on, son. Yes, he's coming. H-he's going to take care of you. You were very brave out there trying to keep your brothers safe."

When the battlefield medic trooper had finally reached their position and could take over for the General in taking care of this brother, he'd succumbed to his injuries only seconds later. Their General got up and left, stoic and unspeaking, and Gunnar had enough and wanted to give the General a damn tongue-lashing. But when Gunnar found the General, back pressed into the dark trunk of those towering trees and weeping silently, he suddenly realized he had their first General all wrong. 

"I think I had 'em all wrong… guess some of those Jedi really do give a banthashit about us. Found the General mourning that brother who died as soon as the medic got here. They're imperfect, brother. These… peacekeepers aren't sure how to be warriors. Not all of 'em. They're tryin'."  

Cryfar had been the second to perish. Oh sweet, well-meaning Cryfar.

To their batch, it was an in-joke that it was a miracle this son of Kamino had made it as far as he had. Either one too many blows to the head during a session of hand-sparring in one of the training centers, or something went awry with his jar, but the kid could not get his left-and-right or his phrasings sorted out when he got overexcited.

Which was often.

"Hahaha! Just wait til I send those Seppies runnin'! This war'll be a cryfar from-" The entire batch groaned, Gunnar the loudest before taking a breath to explain why the other, older brothers were laughing at the excitable Shiny with a glowering look over his shoulder. The seasoned troops stopped, recognizing the look.

"It's "a far cry from", brother. It's okay. They don't mean to be mean to ya, I'm sure… You just get excitable. Not your fault. Remember to be careful, right?" 

"R-right! I'll be careful!" 

"Watch out for the pits, too." 

"Sure thing!" 

Faro had been third. Pushed the other two brothers out of the way of danger time and time again. They'd lost Gunnar, and they'd lost Cryfar. Faro was not going to lose these brothers too.

He was gruff and stoic much in the same way like Gunnar without the impulsive streak, but about just as much patience as Gunnar had. ("You were going to kriffing lecture the General? No of course this Jedi cares about the Clones if you just paid attention to them for five min- That's the stupidest- If you would stop being so gun-ho about certain things for five minutes the COs would finally let you in the gunner's mount like you've been asking and- What's that look for!?")

Every time he'd saved their skins he'd simply sigh sharply at them before asking if these two bucket-heads really expected him to save them every time. So that last time… he looked at those yet-unnamed brothers and fondly murmured he'd do it each and every time in a heartbeat, staring up into the great and endless starfield above him with the remnants of a BX-series droid commando scattered around him.

"It's just gonna be the two of you now, brothers. I-I don't think I can watch out for you anymore. Clanker bastard got me real good with that fluke shot… but I'd do it all again in… a d-damn… heartbeat." 

Fluke took the name from Faro's dying words as a way to remember him. Maybe he shouldn't have. The word became a curse, an omen. It seemed to seal his fate. He shouldn't have survived that droid commando encounter, it was just a lucky chance that Faro accidentally strayed a little too far from his post and found his brothers getting attacked when he did.

He was thrown from a speeder-bike after getting shot and narrowly avoided plunging into a deep chasm. Two sets of ration packs fell out of the supply crate and were exposed to direct sunlight for several hours before anyone noticed and put those back in with the others. He and another brother both felt a little sick after dinner and each said he'd be turning in early to try to sleep it off.

"Guess it's just not agreeing with me, or something. I'm sure it's nothing… I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Love ya, brother." 

"Love ya too, Fluke. Goodnight.

"G'morning Fluke, you feelin' any better? Want me to get the medic to… Fluke, c'mon brother, this isn't funny; talk to me. You really feeling that bad? Y-you're cold! Wh-why are you so… FLUKE!!"

"Do you get along with all of your brothers?" The Clone unit escorting this village's survivors were getting closer to the refugee camp, so it was time to squeeze in some last questions and they'd been quiet for a while now. Canvas just chuckled. He'd been carrying this little one for a while now, watching as they turned one of his most precious possessions in their hands over and over again. The whittled nest of endangered birds from his first campaign. They'd taken great care not to drop it. Carver would've appreciated hearing that such a crude replication still held up to approval; he'd gotten so much better and thought all his old stuff was junk (save for the General's Mudhorn and this nest-set owned by Canvas). 

"Some better than others, but I get along with most of them, yes. All siblings have their squabbles; even us Clones. Maybe one day you'll drive your parents crazy by arguing with your little brother once he's big enough." The toddler grinned brightly up at the dusty helmet peering down at him and once again smoothed their hand over Fluke's scuff. Then Faro's. Cryfar's after that. Lastly, Gunnar's. Canvas's brothers all within easy reach, surrounding the scuff mark across the chest plate this little nat-born child was leaning against. Surrounded by the memory of his brothers, those who never judged him for not yet having a Name and respected his wishes not to Be Named yet. 

"Nuh-uh. I love my little brother! I never wanna argue with him when he's big enough." The little one's parents just smiled quietly in the lengthening shadows as the sun sunk behind the hills. They knew it wouldn't end up staying that way, but the sentiment was too sweet to correct. One day the screaming matches would come, and the accusations that they weren't sharing toys would rattle their eardrums, and a million other things. A welcome future to look forward to because the Republic answered their desperate plea for help and promised the inhabitants necessary aid.

"He'll tell you how lucky he feels one day that you love him so much." Canvas replied sagely, eyes staring ahead into that middle-ground where the light of the camp crept over the last ridge. That red splatter he was looking for was flying high over the center of the camp. Good. They'd gotten the medical tent set up.  

"One last question for the nice trooper before your father carries you to the medical tent, little one. Better make it count before he has to return to his commanding officers." the child's mother warned in a sweet voice. Oh he hated the way the little one frowned, Maker help him. His hold firmed up one last time. 

"I can carry the little one to the tent. It's no trouble."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am. It's no trouble." Canvas nodded affirmingly. 

"Thank you… ah, I don't believe we ever asked you your name, I am sorry." 

"Canvas. My brothers named me." he says with pride. How one came to Be Named by a brother happened in a variety of ways. Sometimes it was mockery. Sometimes it came from a joke. Even done completely unintentionally. But often it was done with love as they helped one another find an identity. More than a string of two letters and four numbers, brother. 

No mothers to name us, only brothers. 

"Your brothers named you?" the talkative toddler inquires, brightening up as Canvas continues to carry them through the camp. There was time for more questions after all. 

"They sure did." 

"And do you like your name?"

"I love my name." That name was a gift from his brothers. All of them. Its poetic origin meant too much to do anything but love it. 

"Which brother gave you your name? Was it one of them?" The little freckled fingers touched each scuff mark reverentially. (Maker, to think his own fingers were ever that little for a short time.)

"One of my commanding officers." They pass by a commanding officer with these words, entirely a funny little coincidence. But it's not Canvas's, this officer bears a different color. 

"Umm… Who has the funniest name? A-are there any?" 

"I have a brother named Scruffy." It's safe to make fun of Scruffy's name. Scruffy makes fun of his own name all the time because he knows the circumstances behind Being Named (accidentally) were silly. 

"Whoops, hair's gotten an inch past the standard cut… Think I'm starting to look a little-"

"Ahem."

"A-a little, uh, unkempt! I was gonna say unkempt!"

"Sure-sure…" 

Just three tents away from medical. 

"Who made you the bird nest again?" Canvas takes the whittled treasure back, tucking it away in his utility belt alongside the wooden worry stone. 

"My brother Carver." he reminds the toddler. Two more tents. Something's cooking nearby. It smells good. Really good. The families making their way to the camp will have their first good meal in a long time tonight. There's neatly stacked crates in front of the medical tent. That has to be Cairn's doing, but Canvas doesn't see any sign of the brother in the flesh. 

"So if he made you the bird nest, are birds your favorite animal?" 

"One of 'em, yeah." Canvas chuckles, nodding down at the child and then back up at the brother with the shattered cross painted on his plastoid. "Kid's in need of a splint, think you can help the little one out, brother?"

"Sure can, Canvas. Set up on the second cot for me, and grab yourselves a hydro pack each. You marched a long way in if you came from the southwest. No one's getting dehydrated on my watch." 

"Thank you, brother." Canvas nodded gratefully as he nabbed two foil pouches of filtered, treated water from a crate. He opened one and gave it to the child after gingerly lowering them to the second cot as indicated, and finally shucked the dusty helmet, hearing that familiar hiss as the vacuum broke. Much better. Was getting stuffy in there. "Hope you're ready for a talker." 

"Always." the medic laughs. It's promising. "I like the talkers now and then. You sit down and rest your feet." 

"But I should really go report in to the Cap-"

"Medic's orders, brother." Oh very well. Canvas just concedes; it'll be easier than trying to sweet-talk a brother who takes the mantra of "brother looks out for brother" so deeply to heart that he makes it a specified pathway beyond just his creation as a soldier. (Don't think of the long-necks… think of your brothers.) You're a fool to make these brothers upset with you. He takes a seat on an upturned crate put out for visitors to the med-tent, balancing his bucket on his knees as he cracks open his hydro pack and takes a deep swallow of water. He regrets it, but he'll be scolded for spitting it out.

Ugh. These are not the chemicals he's used to in Kamino's filtration and emergency desalinification systems. What planet treated this water? Coruscant? It's so bitter and heavy on his tongue… There's no touch of sweetness in the water like that of a bolster of emergency supplies from Naboo that had been sent by Senator Amidala. It's sour and tangy in such an unpleasant way. 

But that's not worth fussing about when he gets to listen to the little one start peppering the medic-brother with questions now as he prepared to set the bad foot in a splint so it will heal correctly and quickly with proper support. 

"Do Clones have a favorite brother?" Woof, what a loaded question to ask a medic. 

"Hah, get a load'a this kid, asking the tricky questions. Some do! Some brothers grow very close together, practically joined at the hip and I have to let the other brother stay so I can take care of the sick or injured one. Then there's Clones, like me, who love all their brothers equally. No favorites. Too many brothers to love and take care of for me personally to have favorites. But I know of a few who are someone's favorite brother." 

The medic-brother looked at Canvas over his shoulder briefly to first make sure he hadn't slunk off before he was properly rested AMA, but even in that quick look, Canvas knew there was another meaning in those warm, smiling eyes. Seasoned troopers tended to hear if a fresh-faced brother needed some extra support and became a favorite; whether that was for life, or until the Shiny found their feet under themselves. 

Canvas knew that applied to him in each sense; he was so grateful for it now. Grateful for those brothers who took care of him because they had a rather… unique mother. (Forget the long-necks.)

If Kamino was their mother, and all her sons were brothers, then they should take good care of one another. 

We have no traditional mothers. Just a billion brothers.

[FFF Masterlist] [Clone OC Masterlist] [FIRST] [NEXT]

[fandom-friday]

Happy Fandom Friday Karrde 🥰! Thanks for running this event 💙!

This Friday I'd like to submit @frostycatblr-fandom-files angsty OC fic:

I have no mother, only a brother

Canvas is their clone OC who has lost the rest of his squad and it's SO good!

OOOOOH we love a good angsty OC fic around these parts (please know I'm resisting the urge to make the "Ah, another clone OC for my collection" joke... does that count as failing?). Love taking OCs and just putting them THROUGH IT, and by the looks of it, this one's gonna crush my soul (which I am signing up for haha). Thanks so much for the rec!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[levi-venn]

Been having Thoughts about the Mirror Batch! I picture Void and Memento with black hair (like most of the regs), and I picture Headshot with gray hair a couple shades darker than Crosshair's. Do you have any headcanons about what they look like? Or if they have any tattoos?

I'm so happy you asked! Here's your answer below. For anyone curious about these OCs, here is more information on The Mirror Squad

Physical Appearance of the Mirror Squad

Striker

It isn’t often Striker is found without his helmet and his jumpsuit which helps regulate his hypersensitive senses. However, his helmet and suit can’t protect him from the sensory overload of his own hair. For this reason, Striker isn’t just bald. He is hairless. He has pale thin cuts over his body from shakily and obsessively shaving any hair he can find. Circuit crafted a laser hair-removal device for his brother to protect his skin from that dangerous obsession.

Striker has no tattoos.

His eyes are a stormy light gray that constantly bounce around his surroundings, drawn to every sound and flicker of light that isn’t often heard or seen by his brothers.

Circuit

We actually get to see Cryptid-style images of Circuit in the series finale of Bad Batch. While Circuit's hair is cut short here, Circuit's hair tends to be up in a messy bun, his face scruffy from sheer disinterest in personal grooming until Headshot tells him to clean up. His hair is salt and pepper, the white strands borne from the stress of his augmentations. 

Circuit is a brilliant artist and is covered in tattoos he applies himself. The gentle buzzing and the consistent rhythmic pain allieviates the stress of his overactive mind and calm his twitchy body.

While his skin heals, Crunch happily volunteers as his “canvas” and will sit for hours while Circuit tattoos his brother. Circuit's tattoos are a series of colorful vectors, geometric shapes, a strings of lime green binary that spell out things like “I joined the GAR and all I got was insomnia and this tattoo” and “If found, return to Crunch”

Circuit is leaner than his brothers teetering on underweight due to an instable, high metabolism and nausea caused by sleep deprivation.

Crunch

Crunch's pigment is lighter than his brothers, more freckled, with sandy blonde buzz cut and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes are dark brown that are rumored to turn black when he is in "Rampage Mode", though this is mostly due to extreme pupil dilation.

Most of Crunch's body is tattooed at this point thanks to Circuit. Crunch’s favorite tattoo is on his chest of a Rancor wearing a rainbow party hat sitting next to a broken growth jar eating uj cake. This was a surprise tattoo from Circuit for Crunch's "Growth Jar Day", a holiday only Circuit and Crunch celebrate. 

Void

Void, our Eerily Calm Soldier, has no tattoos as he does not see the point in them. “The body is a decaying vessel, temporary like everything else.” Void does, however, see the point in paying special attention to his hair. In fact, Void is obsessive about his coal-black hair (black hair in honor of Fanfictasia's suggestion!), sculpting it daily into a short, narrow mohawk. His facial hair is meticulously groomed into a devilishly thin mustache with a stripe of hair on his chin.

Void has a multi-branched, red lightning scar on the right side of his chest that travels up his shoulder. The scar is from a mission gone wrong that resulted in Headshot saving his life, earning a permanent scar himself. Void never speaks of that mission, but he refused medical treatment of his own scar, wishing it to be permanent. It was a souvenir of the time Headshot saved his life.

Nothing "moves" Void emotionally, but Headshot's self-sacrifice was a fascinating event he thinks of often.

Headshot (CX-2)

Above is concept art for CX-2 ("Sniper Clone") by Dawn Carlos for the official Star Wars Bad Batch Episode Guide.

Headshot is the only Mirror Squad member that kept his appearance as close to a Regulation Clone as possible. It helped diffuse tension between his brothers and the Regs since the Regs saw him as a “familiar face”. This conscious choice was also part of his larger plan to convince more Regs to defecting from the GAR (a plan that ultimately sealed his and his squad's fate to be put On Ice, their memories wiped, and become CX Troopers).

Headshot's facial scar came from an IG-100 MagnaGuard's electro staff, a scar he earned saving Void from a fatal blow. Under normal circumstances, Void doesn’t aid his squad unless directed by Headshot, but on this mission the injured Void scooped up his unconscious brother and carried him back to base himself. Void nursed Headshot back to health personally, firing warning shots at any medics who tried to approach. 

Most of Headshot’s wound healed, leaving only a single long facial scar.

Void never talks about the incident, but the squad noticed Void was quicker to obey Headshot's directions after that day.

***

Thank you again for the ask @fanfictasia. These characters are so much fun to explore and they develop just a little more with every ask!

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

oh you know what, why not? I'll take any excuse to talk about my Clone OC boys. We'll go with just a few.

Canvas: The wooden "worry stone" and whittled nest made for him by Carver get their own special compartment in his utility belt. Couple of spare credits when he's not on the battlefield, a spare ration bar when he is. Someone's bound to be hungry.

[Bonus: Scruffy's weapons as he definitely gets himself out of the hole this time...]

Scruffy: Little "gifts" and snacks he wants to give his brothers. Feathers, shells, the good travel biscuits, a whole tooth from a carnivorous creature once that he traded with another Clone for. He's got that "Latent Mando Gene" trope too and no child is safe if he sees/hears them being sad. Hard to frown if you have something to eat or pretty to look at/hold.

Carver: The vibroknife someone found kicking around his first campaign off of Kamino (it's in need of a good sharpening soon). Although it's technically hanging off his utility belt rather than in it, an All-Kit. He's got at least five worry stones on him at all times; they make for good items to toss in the direction of a battle droid stuck on watch duty to lure them from their post!

Cairn: So many of Carver's worry stones. He's generally found on escort and/or guarding details more often than when he's been called to get involved in a firefight, so he's not exactly carrying extra ammo all the time. It's a good way to keep civilian children entertained by creating his namesake: cairn formations. He'll teach them if they are interested in learning, or simply just show them.

No Pressure Tags: @dragonrider9905 @merkitty49 @the-hexfiles and anyone else who might be interested in doing this to show off an OC or maybe find someone hasn't been tagged yet. 🩷

What does your OC have in their pockets?

I know Rina tends to keep the following:

vape mod

crumpled up covering from a nic patch

a few credits in change

black com link

rope dart (the perks of having a weapon that can get small)

Pass this along to empty out an OC's pockets

@photogirl894, @techs-stitches, @techs-assistant, @locitapurplepink

[herenya-writes]

@sillywizardvoice asked me if I had any clone OCs yesterday and at the time I did not but two random clones have begun to coalesce in the sleep-deprived recesses of my mind, so imma dump random facts about them here lol

Up first is Julian, sometimes called Jules by his batchmates:

excels in hand-to-hand combat

heavy, front-line fighter

if it weren't for regs he'd have a luscious beard with braids and shit like a lotr dwarf. as it is, he tends to be at least a little scruffy

doesn't talk much but he does sing

learned about Mando battle songs at some point on Kamino and imprinted on the idea of them. he learns battle songs of every planet and culture he can, and his bass voice can be heard on the clash of front lines and around the tents deep in the night.

has pack-bonding instincts and will die for a child he literally just met

a few batches/generations older than Iza

And then there's Iza:

his name is a bastardization of the phrase 'eyes up'. his batchmates were often scolded by the trainers for not paying enough attention to the high ground

now, as a sniper, Iza keeps watch over the battlefield so that his brothers don't have to

can often be found in the training rooms running drills and doing target practice--every seppie he takes down is one that'll never hurt a brother again

didn't think he'd ever see Julian again after Kamino, and he cried when he learned he'd been assigned to the same battalion as his ori'vod.

often cracks jokes, especially with the shinies. honestly, he's kind of a chatterbox, to make up for the long stretches of silence that come from being a sniper

I have no idea who these two are, which battalion they're in, or anything else, really, but I figured I'd toss them into the void! i'm excited to see what else my brain cooks up for them lol

[smalltimidbean]

Idea: A Peppino clone with the DNA of a honey badger or skunk.

Eglantine - the clone in this post - has similar DNA to a skunk! It's striped polecat DNA, which is not skunk, but close enough, and they also have the defensive spray, hence Eg being a 'stinky gorl'

But I like the honey badger idea! Small and mighty, with near impenetrable and elastic skin! Too bad the WAR clones are easily thwarted by simply picking them up by the scruff, hehe

[starwarstbbfan]

THE BAD BATCH: THE RUNAWAY

Chapter 50 - Scruffy

Ugh, I'm so so so sorry it took me so long to write this! I hope it was worth the wait!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Calli knew right away that Hunter would not want the tooka cat, nor an animal of any kind, on his ship. There'd been a few instances when a member of the squad would ask to have a pet and Hunter would immediately shoot down the idea without a second thought. 

One example was when Wrecker asked if they could keep the rathtar that once belonged to a crime boss that they helped the Republic take down. They'd found out she'd been aiding the Separatists financial wise, and this was enough for the Republic to send their best team in to arrest the woman and without her leadership the entire operation collapsed. When Wrecker set eyes on the rathtar, it was love at first sight. Cue him going to Hunter and at first the Sergeant thought he was kidding and laughed off the question, but when he saw that Wrecker was in fact serious, he immediately said no. When asked as to why, Hunter laughed again, this time at the absurdity of his brother asking this in the first place. He spouted off numerous reasons, the first and foremost being that a.) The rathtar wouldn't fit in their itty-bitty ship and b.) rathtars are a carnivorous animal and one simple careless mistake, and they'd end up being that thing's lunch. 

"Well, Calli would be an appetizer." Crosshair quipped, unable to resist himself. That smart remark earned him a punch to the shoulder. 

There was one instance when Hunter let a pet on board, and that was simply because he didn't know there had been one on the ship until it had been discovered. The culprit: Tech. He'd smuggled a bunch of Felucian Fireflies he'd caught in a container during the first mission Calli had done with the squad on the planet these insects inhabited.  Why? "To study them of course." That had been Tech's reasoning when Hunter had found out about them. You may wonder how Hunter finally figured out his little brother had a secret stash of fireflies. The answer: when he and the rest of them woke up to find dozens, no hundreds of them flying around the ship. 

Tech at first denied that he had any involvement, and even tried to pin the blame on Crosshair or Wrecker who were known to be pranksters. But when Hunter went into Sergeant mode, Tech couldn't bring himself to deny any further. He was very hesitant, but eventually admitted that "one or two" had "possibly" escaped the small habitat he'd built. But he reasoned that without proper temperature and food, they'd quickly die and that'd be the end of it. Of course, Tech didn't think that they'd find a suitable place to lay eggs and even if they didn't, he didn't think they would survive. 

Well, this was one of the rare times Tech had been utterly, utterly wrong. And Tech hated being wrong. That's why he sunk so low as to blame someone else and avoid the humiliation. Needless to say, Tech was in trouble and Calli was given a break from scrubbing carbon scoring duty. 

But Calli reasoned that this wouldn't turn into a total disaster. Since this tooka cat was injured, he wouldn't cause as much trouble as most cats would. She told herself that she wouldn't get attached to him, just treat his wounds and give him food, then let him go. Calli could do that, right?

Hunter would still have a fit though, which is why Calli needed to come up with a fool proof way to sneak the cat aboard the ship, past the lounge where no doubt the boys would be hanging out, and into the med bay. 

Calli's plan: Hide the cat in the satchel she'd brought with her that had had a fresh change of clothes she could change into after her time in the bacta tank. It would only be for a few minutes at most, and the material was a breathable-ish fabric. Just to ensure the cat wouldn't suffocate, Calli used the knife she always kept stashed in her boot to slash a few cuts into the fabric near where the cat's head would be so that it could get a good supply of oxygen, and she hoped it would pass for just random cuts from the wear and tear that came from using something a lot. 

"Is this really necessary?" Jace couldn't help but ask as Calli slowly lowered the tooka cat into her bag that was resting on the dirt path with the top open, and the small animal was back to being weak and almost lifeless, using its last bit of strength in making friends with the two teenagers. 

"Yes! I told you, Hunter doesn't like animals on the ship. Plus, Tech would back him up with some stupid rant about "natural selection" and that I should just let "nature takes it course". Crosshair won't back me up 'cause he's mad at me, which just leaves Wrecker, and well - he'll just play mediator and won't be much help. So, you see, this is the only way to help Scruffy." Jace blinked and looked from where he'd been petting the tooka to help keep it calm as it shakily observed its new temporary surroundings. 

"Scruffy?" He repeated, and his mouth twitched as he tried to not smile at the name, which Calli noticed, and heat made its way to her cheeks. 

"Yeah. You know, cause... cause he's a boy and he's... scruffy looking..." By now Jace was holding back a chuckle, because in all honesty the name was cute and the fact that Calli came up with it just made it a hundred times cuter, but Calli didn't know this and so retaliated by slapping his arm with an annoyed scowl to mask her embarrassment, "Shut up!" She snapped before standing up and gesturing for him to do the same. 

After taking ahold of the satchel's strap, Calli slowly lifted the bag off the ground, making sure to not jostle it too much. The cat barely made a move as Calli lifted the strap over her head so it would rest on her right shoulder and across her chest with the bag resting against her left thigh. The fact that Scruffy didn't make much of a fuss was both relieving yet a concern also, and this prompted Calli and Jace to get back to the ship quicker. 

As it turned out, Calli cut up her only satchel for nothing, as when they got to the ship there was no one inside. After checking every room, the last being hers, Hunter's, and Crosshair's bunkroom, Calli noticed a data pad laying on her bed, which hadn't been there when she left. Upon picking it up, the screen came to life and there was a message that read:

Phntm's Tw and Thr wer gting antsy, so we wnt on a wlk. W'l b bck b4 sunset; pray I dn't hrt them. Lmk when u gt bck. ~ Phntm Ldr.

Translation: Phantom's Two and Three were getting antsy, so we went on a walk. We'll be back before sunset; pray I don't hurt them. Let me know when you get back.  ~Phantom Leader

"Ok, why are a lot of letters missing from this?" Jace couldn't help but ask, wondering if the data pad was malfunctioning. He didn't expect Calli to chuckle at his question.

"It's a sort of system we have when sending messages to each other. I know taking out letters might not seem like a clever trick, and to normal people it would be easier to decrypt, but to droids - especially those stupid B-1 droids, it'd take them longer figure out what the heck we're saying. They might think the message is messed up and ignore it all together, even. And Phantom Leader, 2, 3, 4 and 5 are our code names we use in the messages - I actually suggested that when I joined the team." Jace raised his eyebrow.

"Why Phantom?" Calli shrugs, though a hint of pink dusts her cheeks.

"Well, it's random, so there wouldn't be ties to us... and it sounds cool - at least in my opinion." 

Their conversation was brought to an end by a pitiful little "mew" coming from Calli's satchel and they were reminded why they came here in the first place. Calli handed off the satchel to Jace and told him to go to the med bay while she sent a quick message to tell her brothers she was fine so they (a.k.a Hunter) wouldn't worry.

Once that was done, she went to the med bay where Jace had taken Scruffy out of the bag and placed him on the bed, in a littler bed he'd made with his jedi cloak, and he was giving the cat gentle scratches on his head while looking up at Calli with a worried expression when she walked in. 

"He's not looking to good." Jace said grimly, and Calli frowned while walking over to the bed to get a closer look at Scruffy. His big eyes gazed up at Calli and she almost swore they pleaded for her to help.

"Jace, get a bowl of water," Calli instructed, and she began combing her hair back with her fingers and pulled it up to a high ponytail while continuing, "- but don't put a lot though because we don't want him to drink too much at one time otherwise, he'll get sick."

Jace nodded once. "On it."

While he did that Calli gathered all the supplies she thought might be useful and deposited them on the small table next to the bed. By then Jace had returned from the small kitchenette with a bowl half filled with water and set it down by Scruffy who hadn't moved much since being put in his makeshift bed.

At first, Scruffy didn't show any interest in the water, but then his little nose began moving as he sniffed the air, and his head lifted in the direction of the bowl, which was roughly four inches away and he looked to be contemplating whether or not to force himself to get up and satisfy his thirst. Calli chose to help him and slid the bowl closer so that all Scruffy had to do was keep his head lifted, and much to her and Jace's satisfaction Scruffy's tiny pink tongue darted out and skimmed the water tentatively, and that little taste was all it took. 

Calli let him drink for roughly thirty seconds before taking the bowl away, not wanting him to throw all that water back up. She handed it to Jace, then reached for the med scanner to see just what Scruffy's current condition was. 

"He's got heat stroke. Lots of cuts, a couple bite wounds, he must have gotten in a fight with other cats. Severely dehydrated, malnourished," Calli set down the scanner and gave Scruffy an affectionate pat on the head while sighing, "- poor thing." She muttered. 

"I can force heal the cuts and stuff." Jace said and surprisingly Calli didn't disagree, unlike the last two times he volunteered to use force healing. 

"Sounds good. I've been unconscious the last two times you've used it so I'm interested to see how it works. Just let me flush the wounds out with sterile saline." Calli's lips pursed as a thought came to mind that might hinder her ability to do that, "The only problem is how am I gonna make sure he stays still and doesn't flip out."

"I can keep him calm." Jace told her, and that's all the reassurance Calli needed, not questioning how he'd keep Scruffy calm. She remembered how he'd got Scruffy to trust him with the force, and pretty much figured he'd do something similar in this situation as well. 

After putting on some gloves, Calli got to work. She first cut the fur around the areas of the wounds to have better access to them, then one by one cleaned each one. Jace did his part and kept Scruffy relaxed, connecting through the force and transferring his sereneness to Scruffy. He also watched Calli and was impressed at how calm she herself was. Barely batting an eye at the blood, and some of the cuts were showing signs of infection, yet this didn't bother Calli in the slightest while Jace felt a little woozy - and he'd been training to be a healer! 

Eventually Calli finished her part, she allowed Jace to step in. Now as Calli had said before, she'd never seen force healing in action, and you could say she was curious to see it. She watched as Jace's eyes closed and his hand hovered over a cut on Scruffy's side. He went into a sort of trance as he focused on the wound, and Calli was figuratively at the edge of her seat as she waited for something to happen. 

Her eyes bugged out of their sockets when new flesh began growing, covering the wound inch by inch until it had completely disappeared - as if it hadn't been there in the first place!

Calli almost went into what she and her brothers called "Tech mode", wanting to ask several questions - one of them being how an invisible force had such a capability. It defied everything she'd been taught by the Kaminoans (and Tech) in the field of medicine and healing. Then again, this ability was possible by people who could move things with their mind, and that in itself was mind - boggling if you thought about it too much. 

Jace couldn't help but feel slightly pleased at how awed Calli was and might have exerted himself a little more than necessary in order to show off. In the short time they'd known each other, Jace sometimes felt inferior to Calli. She was smart, strong, clever, and not to mention pretty (he'd never admit that he thought that though). Calli's confidence in everything she did was enviable, as Jace didn't have nearly as much in himself. 

It wasn't jealousy or the need to one up her that made Jace push himself even when he felt his energy drain. If anything, he just wanted to impress her, which wasn't a bad thing, right? No, save for the fact that by the time he finished healing the final wound, he nearly toppled over and would have face planted on the floor if not for Calli catching him by the arm. 

"I'm-I'm ok." Jace insisted, but the words were slurred together and Calli huffed out a dry laugh. 

"Sure, you are." She said sarcastically while making him sit down in a chair I'm going to go out on the limb here, and say force healing takes a lot out of you, huh?" 

"Kinda." Jace admitted with a weak chuckle, and Calli did as well before leaving him to rest in the chair while she went to give Scruffy more water. 

Once that was done, Calli suggested they hang out in the lounge and watch holovids, figuring that the boys wouldn't be back for another couple hours. She knew Hunter would push his brothers to their limits on the hike, so they'd all be tired and crash by the time they got back. 

They settled on the lounge while Scruffy laid on Jace's robe that had pretty much become his new bed. Calli didn't want to chance that Scruffy would claw the leather. He seemed to like Jace's cloak though, as he curled up into the fabric and promptly passed out. The tooka cat was already looking ten times better, but was still lethargic from the heat stroke, which is why Calli didn't want to leave him alone in the med bay. 

Unfortunately, Calli and Jace were so engrossed in the show they'd been watching that they didn't pay attention to the time, so when the boarding ramp began opening, they both jumped up from their seats and looked at each other with panicked expressions, then at Scruffy who also startled at the sudden noise and the fur on his back stood up as a low growl came from his mouth. 

The next ten seconds were spent scrambling to find a hiding spot for Scruffy. Calli and Jace were whisper shouting at one another, asking each other what to do. When Calli's eyes landed on the basket that once had the bread Padme had bought (Calli and Jace had snacked on the rest during their holovid watching), she made a split-second decision to use that to hide Scruffy. It wasn't the best plan but given the circumstances it was all they could do. Calli gave Scruffy a little pat on his head and gently shushed him before placing the basket over his little nest, making sure to tuck any part of the cloak that stuck out. 

Calli barely made it back to the couch where she shoved Jace back into his spot and resumed the holovids, so that when the four male member s of the Bad Batch lumbered in, it appeared that they had just been hanging out this entire time.

All eyes were on her and Jace the second they entered the room, and you'd think Calli was hiding spice and not a harmless little animal by how nervous she was, though she hid it quite well in Jace's opinion, compared to him at least. The second Hunter looked him in the eye with that stern look of his, the poor boy felt like he'd crumble. 

Wrecker was the first to verbally acknowledge his sister's return, smiling at her.

"Hey Scar, how ya feelin'?" He asked while the Sergeant continued to wordlessly stare at Jace, picking up on his frantic heartbeat and wondering why the young Jedi looked so nervous. Calli noticed and subtly looked at Jace with concern, fearing he'd fall to pieces if they stayed in this room for very long. 

"Uh good." Calli replied while subtly giving Jace a look that said "keep it together". She of course understood the effect of Hunter's intense staring - it could make even the most tough of people crack, her included. Calli used to be immune in her early days with the squad when Hunter would give her the "dad stare" as she called it, when she was more strong-willed and obstinate, years of being on her own giving her such an edge. But little by little, she mellowed out, as her life now had more structure and discipline, though her fiery nature was still very much there. The only downside was in instances like this when Hunter would give her this "no nonsense" type look and she'd concede defeat, and like when she got drunk on Coruscant and wound up scrubbing the outside of the ship without Hunter having to tell her to do it. 

But Calli was determined to not break this time. Tech picked up on the nervous tension in the room and asked Calli if everything was alright. 

"Uh, yeah. We were just hanging out, right Jace?" Calli answered and she looked pointedly at Jace while saying that last part and he looked at her with wide eyes. Was she seriously expecting him to lie to these people? He was no liar, after all Jedi don't lie - a majority of the time at least. Jace had never told a lie so far as he could recall, and especially not to four guys who were physically and undoubtably smarter than he himself. Heck, they've threatened to kill him and for the first time Jace felt as if the force wouldn't be enough to protect him should they ever follow through with such a threat. Still, he didn't want to leave Calli hanging. 

"Mhm." Was all Jace managed to get out, his lips pressed into a line, fearing that if his mouth opened the truth would come spilling out. Calli mentally face palmed while flashing her brothers her best "everything is a-ok" smile. 

Crosshair sighed dramatically. "This is boring." He said in a flat tone before making his way to the bunks, but he stopped when something to his left moved. His eyes snapped in that direction, along with everyone else's and landed on the basket resting by Calli's feet. He pointed to it, "What's that?" He asked and Calli scoffed as if she was offended.

"Duh, it's a basket." She replied and then she smirked, "You losing your sight in your old age, Crossy?" The sniper's eye twitched at the annoying nickname, but before he could bite back with a remark of his own, Hunter stepped in with another question. 

"Why is the basket moving?" Calli opened her mouth to blurt out the first lie she could come up with, only to be interrupted by some light scratching coming from said basket that now was at the center of everyone's attention, which Calli didn't want, but it was kind of hard to ignore the noise.

"Uhhh, so, how was the walk?" Calli tried asking in a loud enough voice in an attempt to block out the scratching noise, which seemed to only get louder and louder. "See anything interesting?" Suddenly a loud, drawn-out yowl came from the basket, followed by more scratching which was an obvious signal that Scruffy wanted out from his little prison.  

Both Calli and Hunter moved at the same time, lunging for the basket. But before Calli could stop Hunter, Crosshair had trapped her in his arms and prevented her from doing so. 

The basket was lifted from the ground and Hunter was met with a very ticked off tooka cat, whose back arched as he let out an angry hiss aimed at the Sergeant who despite freeing him was a stranger. 

"What the heck is that ugly thing?" Crosshair questioned while still holding a thrashing Calli, perplexed by the angry furry thing that continued to growl lowly from the back of his throat at the big people surrounding him. In hindsight the poor thing looked less like a cat and more like something a mynock dragged in. 

Calli had tried her hardest to preserve as much of Scruffy's fur as possible, but a lot of it had been matted beyond help or in the way when cleaning the wounds so she wound up cutting quite a bit off, so there were patches of shorter fur that added to the overall derpyness of Scruffy's appearance. Add in the ears that looked too big for his head, his chicken like legs, and a single tooth sticking out of his lower jaw - well let's just say Scruffy was a sight to behold. 

That didn't mean Calli wouldn't come to Scruffy's defense. "He's not ugly!" She exclaimed, "...Just had a rough day, that's all." 

"Calli..." From the tone of Hunter's voice, Calli knew that a scolding and lecture were imminent, but she wasn't about to let that happen - not without explaining herself first. She stomped on Crosshair's foot, so he'd let her go (while saying a few colorful words) and bent down to scoop Scruffy into her arms and he calmed down some now that one of his humans was with him. But he continued to eye the weird looking dude before him (Hunter) though in all fairness Hunter mirrored the expression. 

"Look, I know this looks bad but hear me out-" Hunter didn't let her finish.

"Get that thing off my ship." He ordered, and Tech looked at Hunter with insult written all over his features.

"Your ship?" Hunter sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form. Despite this Calli began pleading her case.

"Hunter, he's sick! Jace healed the cuts and stuff, but Scruffy's still dehydrated and hungry and recovering from heat stroke. Plus, he's missing a leg, see?" Calli adjusted the cat in her grasp to show the limb - er, lack of one. "I want to build him a new one and then I promise I'll let him go!" 

"Bull." Hunter retorted flatly, and Calli's frown deepened, "You're going to get attached to "Scruffy" and won't want to get rid of him, like Wrecker did with that rathtar. And I don't want another disaster like the fireflies." Hunter looked at Tech when saying that last part, and the goggled clone pretended to not hear him, tapping away on his data pad but you could see the tips of his ears turn red regardless. 

"That's not gonna happen, I swear. I'll not take my eyes off him for one second. Just for our last couple days here, then Scruffy should be good to go by the time we have to leave. Please Hunter. I'll do anything." Wrecker could see how strongly Calli felt about this and came to her defense.

"Come on Sarge, let him stay!" He said while going over to Calli's side and looking down at the little furball with a smile. "He's kinda cute!" Wrecker reached out one of his large hands for the cat to sniff, which he did and then proceeded to nuzzle, making Wrecker "aww". Hunter's teeth gritted.

"Not helping, Wrecker."  Instead of backing off, Wrecker and Calli both gave Hunter their best puppy dog expressions. It was amusing for everyone else, save for a certain Sergeant. 

"Pleeeeeeeeease?"   Hunter liked to think he was a tough nut to crack, and that puppy dog eyes wouldn't work on him. But as Wrecker and Calli looked at him with their big, pleading eyes, he felt his resolve crumble. He blamed it on the fact that he felt guilty for allowing Calli to go on that mission without backup and that it's his fault she got hurt. He shouldn't have let his brothers convince him that everything would be fine. Yes, guilt is what made him say the next few sentences. 

"Keep him in the med bay." Hunter said sternly, and siince this was basicallu his way of saying yes, Calli and Wrecker mentally cheered and shared a fist bump. But Hunter wasn't finished, "And if he breaks anything, you have to work to pay it off, got it? And I don't want that thing anywhere near my bed." Calli nodded

"You got it. You won't regret this, I promise!"

"I already regret it." Hunter muttered under his breath, and Calli purposely ignored that statement, too ecstatic about the little furball in her arms that was allowed to stay to care if Hunter grumbled about it. But he wouldn't be the only one to make comments. You can probably guess who spoke next. 

"What kind of name is Scruffy?" Calli turned and glared at Crosshair. Their recent argument was still raw and fresh in her mind, and this prompted her to not hold back and say something especially harsh in response. Her lips turned up in a coy smile before replying to his question.

"Well, I thought about naming him Crosshair Jr because he was kinda moody and not the best looking, but I figured that would be an insult - to the cat I mean." Crosshair's left eye definitely twitched, much to Calli's satisfaction. As if having a little animal in his ship was bad enough, those two were still very much angry with each other, so life would be a living hell for the next little while until they eventually made up and became friends again.

But the cat would keep Calli occupied and thus maybe they could enjoy the last two days of their vacation so long as Crosshair kept to himself and brooded in any room of the ship that Calli wasn't in. 

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When nighttime rolled around, Calli and Jace had a plan to take shifts keeping an eye on Scruffy throughout the late hours, making sure he drank water every so often and maybe eventually they'd get him to eat something. 

Hunter was laying down in his bunk when Calli walked in, and he raised a curious brow as she yanked the blanket off her bed and took the spare one from the drawer underneath her own bunk. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Jace and I are going to stay with Scruffy, otherwise he'll bug out being alone in an unfamiliar place." Calli answered while adding her pillow to the pile of things in her arms, and she was to occupied looking for her datapad that she didn't see Hunter almost fall out of his bed (while still laying down, mind you.)

"Wait, you're both staying in the med bay? Alone?" It was the whole trip to Coruscant debate all over again. Except Hunter might actually have an aneurism this time. He was out of his bed and waving his hands like a crazy man, "Uh uh, he's sleeping on the opposite end of the ship and that's that." Calli rolled her eyes.

"Come on Hunter. Can't you cool it with the overprotectiveness? It's getting old. Why can't you just trust me when I say that nothing will happen? More specifically, I don't want anything to happen." 

"I trust you, but I don't trust that Jedi. He sleeps in the spare bed in Wrecker and Tech's room, end of discussion."

"We'll wake everyone up with all the going back and forth, you know that Hunter." Calli tried to reason, knowing that with Hunter's sensitve hearing, it would doubly affect him as any little noise could easily wake him up, "It makes more sense for us to both be in the med bay. If it makes you feel better, one of us will be sleeping on the bed and the other on the floor."

"That doesn't make me feel better." Hunter replied bluntly. 

"Will you both please shut up." A gravelly voice snarled from the other bunk, "I'm trying to sleep here." Instead of apologizing, Hunter whipped around and pulled Crosshair into the conversation.

"What, you're telling me that you don't care about this? You're the one who threatened to off him at one point." Crosshair removed the arm that had been covering his eyes (he'd done that when Calli barged in and turned on the bright lights, and stared blankly at Hunter, then Calli, debating what to say, after all he was still pissed at Calli but at the same time knew she was capable of defending herself. He just didn't feel like saying anything nice, but he also wanted this conversation to end as he agreed that this overprotectiveness thing Hunter had going on was indeed getting old.

"Calli's not a child, even though she acts like one." There, he was supportive yet still made a dig to show that he wasn't going to accept defeat in their little disagreement. He felt the need to add something else though, "That Jedi tries anything, and she'll give him what for. Then we each get a turn teaching him a lesson."

"He's not gonna do anything. If he wanted to in the first place, he'd have done it when I was black out drunk. Like Cross said, I can kick Jace's butt, and he knows that too. Not that I'm agreeing with Croissant or anything, I'm just making a point." Yep, another eye twitch. "Hunter, I don't want to argue about this. Please don't make a scene." 

"Oh no, please do." Crosshair couldn't help but say. Yes, Hunter being protective wasn't that entertaining but having a full-on freak out - that was entirely different. It was then that Hunter realized that maybe he was being a little neurotic and this was one of the rare times his face turned red from embarrassment, and this was enough to make Crosshair smirk, which only further embarrassed the Sergeant.

"Fine, go." He said shortly, and he rolled on his side facing away from Calli so as not to see the triumphant smirk on her face. 

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Calli walked into the room and tossed the spare red blanket at Jace, and it was his face that caught it, but he chuckled regardless. That quickly stopped though when he saw Calli toss her pillow on the ground, followed by the mat she grabbed from the cargo hold, and lastly her blanket. 

"Uh, I was going to take the floor and let you sleep on the bed." He confessed and Calli shrugged, making no move to put her things on the bed where Scruffy was currently sleeping at the foot of.

"Well, I was planning on giving you the bed and me on the floor." 

"It's your ship."

"Tech would disagree. Look, I'm used to sleeping on less than comfortable places. I've passed out on the hard, metal floor of this ship cause I was too lazy to get up and go to my actual bed.  I'm sleeping here, and that's final." To prove that this conversation was over, Calli plopped herself down on the mat and silently challenged Jace with her eyes to defy her. He held up his hands and accepted defeat. 

"Fine. But I'll take the first shift watching Scruffy and that's final." He crossed his arms and mirrored Calli's defiant stare, "So there." Calli tried not to smile, but for a second her annoyed facade dropped and that was enough to let Jace know that she wasn't truly upset.  

Their little "moment" was ruined when the door to the med bay opened unexpectedly slid open and standing on the other side was a sheepish looking Wrecker who was holding a sleeping mat and blanket of his own.

"Room for one more in here?" He asked and Calli felt a flash of irritation, though it wasn't towards Wrecker specifically.

"Did Hunter put you up to this? I told him we were fine." 

"N-No..." Wrecker tried to say, but he wasn't the best of liars and when Calli gave him a look that showed she didn't believe him he deflated a little and began massaging the back of his head like he always did when he got embarrassed, "- ok yeah, but I figured I can also help look after the little guy. Three of us means we can divide shifts three ways and we can get more sleep that way. No offense but you're pretty scary when ya don't get enough rest."  "I brought snacks?"

"Ugh fine, but only because I'm too tired to argue." Wrecker smiled and squeezed himself through the small doorway. He closed it behind him and decided that it was more spacious by the door, so after tossing the bag of snacks to Jace, he began setting up his sleep space. "If you start snoring, I'm kicking you out, got it? There's a reason you and Tech have your own room."

"Hey you snore too, ya know." Calli scoffed, not liking that he brought this up in front of Jace who was smart enough to not interfere with the argument that was imminent.

"Only when we camp outside during missions and my allergies act up." Calli said in defense, and she hoped that would be the end of it. 

"Yeah, and it's loud enough it scares any animals away." Wrecker then turned to Jace as he began recounting what he thought was a hilarious story, "Once, she let out a big snore and it woke Tech up, and he was in a tent on the other side of the camp. And when Tech sleeps, he's dead to the world." Calli was beyond embarrassed - bordering on mortified - and in an attempt to stop Wrecker she began hitting him with her pillow.

"He - doesn't - need - to - know - that!" She exclaimed while hitting him once after every word, nailing him in the face a few times then he successfully blocked her attacks, laughing at her flustered state. Even Jace couldn't help but chuckle, amused at their sibling antics and for a brief moment sadness clouded his features as he wished he had what they had. 

He didn't know much about his birth family, only that they had died when he was young in an accident and so even though he was too young, the Jedi Order was willing to take him in earlier than they did with most younglings. Padme's parents had been the one to arrange it, as they were his next of kin. And he had no siblings so far as he was aware. The Jedi Order was all Jace knew - he had no memory of his family. It was only by chance that he learned of his origins when shortly after becoming a padawan that he and his Master had been assigned to go help Padme with some negotiations of some trivial matter. Padme had seen holo pictures of Jace's parents in her childhood home and the boy was the spitting image of his father. And when he said his name, Padme knew it was her cousin. 

Eventually Calli stopped her pillow assault, and she decided that sleep would be the only way for her to escape this. 

"You know what, I'm tired. Goodnight." Calli declared and she flopped down on her mat facing away from the boys. But two seconds later she sits back up and seems to pull out a blaster from nowhere, shooting the single light on the roof and engulfing the room in darkness, being too lazy to get up and turn it off the normal way. Somehow Scruffy didn't jump at the noise, not even the slightest flinch came from him.

Wrecker didn't express any shock - it's not the first time someone used such... a unique way to kill the lights. Crosshair like to practice his sharpshooting in what some might consider an unconventional way and Calli adopted the habit much to Tech's dismay. 

Now Tech will have something to fix tomorrow, thus curing his boredom. 

These guys don't appreciate me enough.

Jace of course was still new to this squad's peculiar habits, so Calli's action did surprise him, his hand instinctively going to his lightsaber at the sound of a blaster bolt, but in the split second before it went dark, he saw it had been Calli who fired it which made him both relieved and confused as to why she did it. 

But Calli was out like a light (hehe) within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

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She was back in the lab. Her arms and legs were strapped down, like always.

Her peripherals catch movement and Calli's head jerks in that direction, expecting to see Nala Se or one of her assistants. But it's not one of those terrible long necks. No, it's another surgery table, and to Calli's horror, Crosshair is the one occupying it. He's also restrained.

Calli tried calling out to him, but somehow, he didn't hear her. Or maybe since he's angry with her, he's choosing to ignore her. Noises on her other side catches her attention, and when she looks, she finds the rest of the Bad Batch, who are each strapped down in their own surgery table. But like with Crosshair, they didn't acknowledge her. There was also someone else. Jace. He does look at Calli, and there's nothing but fear in his eyes. 

Then she walked in and Calli's blood ran cold. Almost immediately she feels the stinging in her arms, those horrid needles piercing her skin. Her initial reaction is to try and scratch her arms, but the restraints prevent her from doing so. Calli begins to hyperventilate and thrash around. 

"CT-9901, we have deemed you to unstable for duty and you are therefore decommissioned." These are the words Calli had dreaded to hear and hearing them actually voiced made her heart sink and the panic grows worse. 

Calli tries screaming but no sound comes from her mouth. When she looks to her brothers for comfort, they're not there anymore. She's all alone. Suddenly it goes dark, and that's Calli's breaking point. She hated the dark.

"Let me out of here!!!" Calli shouted at the top of her lungs, and this time her voice works. "Crosshair! Hunter! Please!!" There's no response, and Calli is being consumed by the darkness-

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Calli's eyes shot open, and she lets out a silent scream while bolting up from the mat, only to be met with darkness again. Oh no, she's back in her little prison on Kamino. No, not again. Calli curled into herself, bringing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in the crook of her arm, and a whimper left her mouth before she could stop it.

"Calli?" She jumped at the voice that came from the darkness, and a second later she felt the presence of someone right next to her. Calli blindly tried to punch at whomever was there, and the mystery person stopped her by grabbing her wrist. "Woah, hey easy. It's me."

"Jace?" Calli said in a shaky voice, and the hold on her wrist disappears, and Calli missed the comforting warmth. Two seconds later the room is illuminated in a faint green light, the source being Jace's lightsaber. Concern was written all over his features as he met Calli's eyes, which were unfocused as she was still unsure of what was real and what wasn't, "What are you doing here?"

"We're in the med bay. Remember, we're taking care of Scruffy." Jace gently reminded her and Calli's forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember.

"Scruffy..." She whispered, and then her eyes widened, "Wait where's Wrecker?! He's in trouble, I saw it - they all were!" 

"Shh. It was just a dream, everyone's fine. Wrecker ate all the snacks and was still hungry, so he went to go get more food." 

"No-no, they're in trouble! She's gonna hurt them and you!"

"No one's going to hurt anybody." Calli couldn't believe this and shook her head violently while also beginning to scratch her arm, still feeling a stinging sensation - she didn't know that during the nightmare she'd already begun scratching her arm and that's what was causing the sting. Jace stopped her with his free hand though, as some of the cuts had been deep enough to draw blood and more scratching wouldn't be good. 

Jace could sense Calli's anxiety increasing, and he worried that she might have a panic attack. As he wracked his mind on what to do, never really having been around anyone who had one. Needless to say, when Wrecker made a reappearance, Jace was relieved as maybe he would know what Calli needed. He also had a lamp, which was a better light source than his saber. 

"Hope ya like popcorn, Commander Goldie Locks, cause that's all we got left." Wrecker stated as he walked in, yet when his eyes landed on Calli's huddled form and Jace (a.k.a Blondie as Wrecker had dubbed him), the container holding two bags of freshly made popcorn was dropped and he rushed to the other end of the small room - in two big steps - crouching in front of Calli with his expression mirroring Jace's, "Oh no, did she have another one?" 

"If by another one, you mean nightmare than yes." Jace answered since Calli was to out of it to do so. She didn't even acknowledge her brother, when just a minute ago she had been worried about his whereabouts. Calli's breaths were coming out in short gasps. She was trying everything in her power to calm down, as she didn't want to have a full-blown panic attack in front of anyone, especially someone she's only known for a few weeks. 

"I-I should go get Tech-" Wrecker tried saying and he made a move to stand but Calli stopped him.

"NO!" She shouted, before clearing her throat and lowering her voice, "No, just-just give me a minute, I'm-I'm fine." Calli stuttered out, yet she had begun rocking back and forth, which didn't help her claim. Despite trying every technique, Calli couldn't calm down, and while she heard voices talk to her, they sounded muffled and far away. 

Suddenly she felt something warm and furry nudge her leg. Calli couldn't bring herself to unbury her face, which didn't sit well with Scruffy, who had leapt down from his perch on the bed and crept up to the girl's side. He wasn't deterred though, and nudged and wormed his way into Calli's lap, and he began purring very loudly. Scruffy continued to nudge and rub Calli's hand, an obvious sign that he wanted to be pet.  

Somehow through all the turmoil going on inside, Calli both felt and heard Scruffy's purring, and she found it somewhat soothing. Jace sensed some of her anxiety lift, and encouraged her to focus on Scruffy, even gently guiding her hand to Scruffy's head so she could pet him. 

Scruffy was all for the pets and when Calli even scratched behind his ears, oh it was like heaven for him. When she stopped for a second, he'd bump his head and even lick Calli's hand, impatiently asking for her to continue. Both Wrecker and Jace were surprised at the effect Scruffy was having on Calli, yet at the same time relieved that they didn't need to wake one of the others up to help.

Eventually Calli's eyes lost the faraway look in them, and she was able to be more aware of her surroundings, specifically the two people looking at her with worried expressions. By then Scruffy had passed out from the bliss, and Calli finally noticed him. 

"You alright?" Wrecker asked in a surprisingly soft voice, and after letting out a shaky breath Calli nodded.

"Yeah... Yeah I think so." With the way both were looking at her, Calli wanted to curl up into a ball again. It's bad enough having nightmares, but the pitying looks were just as worse. She shifted in her spot and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Sorry about that."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Jace told her firmly, and he looked at Wrecker, "Maybe she needs a glass of water?" Wrecker nodded and after giving Calli a gentle and what he hoped was comforting pat on the shoulder, he got up and left the room, leaving the two teens in an awkward silence. 

Calli shut her eyes and dropped her head back until it hit the wall behind her with a quiet thump, snapping Jace out of the reverie he'd been in. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say, as he still didn't know Calli very well and wasn't sure if she'd snap at him if he tried to comfort her. Not that he was well versed in such things anyway. His gaze settled on the scratches on her arm, and his immediate thought was to force heal them, but he remembered how Calli said she trusted bacta and med patches. She might have let her off the hook for healing her before, but figured it was better to treat her cuts the old-fashioned way. 

He briefly left Calli's side to gather the needed supplies before settling back down. When he opened the bottle of antiseptic, Calli tensed as the smell reached her nostrils, triggering flashes from her nightmare to resurface. 

"Put that away!" Calli hissed, shifting farther away from Jace and pressing herself into the corner, in the process making Scruffy fall off her lap. The cat meowed, voicing his annoyance before slinking away and going back to his little nest. 

"I-I just wanted to treat your cuts." Jace said, but he put the cap back on the bottle regardless, not wanting Calli to break down again. Calli's eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what cuts he was referring to, until he pointed to her arm, and she saw the numerous scratches. Calli sighed and banged her head on the wall again, this time out of frustration. This wasn't the first time she scratched her arm raw during a nightmare, hence the reason why some scars were fresher than others. 

Calli hesitantly scooted back to original spot and held her arm out, silently allowing Jace to resume his task. After giving her a small smile, Jace reopened the bottle of antiseptic and he watched Calli's reaction from the corner of his vision as she got a whiff of the smell. She tensed like before but didn't shrink away, which encouraged Jace to continue. After putting some of the sterile liquid on a cloth, he gently took hold of Calli's hand, both as a way of keeping her arm in place and for comfort as he dabbed her skin. Calli drew in a sharp breath as the antiseptic stung, and she unwittingly squeezed Jace's hand, but she didn't pull away and allowed the Jedi to continue. 

As Jace worked, he couldn't help but glance at Calli's face every few seconds.  He wished he could take away Calli's pain. He'd do anything to see that spark that was usually in her eyes and that mischievous smirk that put butterflies in his stomach. 

Once that was done, Jace wrapped a bandage over her cuts, using the same gentleness as when he cleaned the cuts. Calli was unused to such treatment, and it made it somewhat easier to accept his help. Gentle was not in the Kaminoan's vocabulary, and Tech - or any other medic in the heat of a battle - well, they were more focused on keeping you alive than worrying about your comfort. 

After making sure the bandage was secure, Jace hands lingered on her arm, which Calli noticed and this prompted her to brave a glance at the young Jedi, up until that point keeping her gaze on the floor. She was prepared to thank him, but when her caramel-colored eyes met his emerald ones, suddenly talking was very hard to do. Jace was faring no better, Calli always having this effect on him the minute they met. His hand had a mind of its own when it left her arm and traveled up to her face, tucking a strand of hair that had stuck to her face that was once wet with tears behind her ear. Calli shivered at the contact, but it wasn't because she found the gesture unpleasant. In fact, his touch was comforting, which surprised Calli because she didn't usually like being touched unless she initiated the contact. It was less so with her brothers, as Wrecker was prone to hugs and brotherly shoves, but that's because she knew them. It was different with Jace, however, and Calli couldn't explain why. 

Before Calli could think more on the matter, Wrecker came in, and after scooting slightly away from each other it was then that Jace and Calli realized he'd been gone for way longer than necessary to get a cup of water. He had a cup, but the steam coming from the top told them it wasn't water. 

"I uh, made you some tea. It's probably not as good as Tech makes it, but..." Wrecker drifted off, becoming very bashful as he shrugged before sticking the cup out for Calli to take. Even though Calli felt like crap, the fact that Wrecker went through the trouble of making her tea made her smile a little bit, which was a win for the strong clone. 

Calli blew on the steaming liquid before taking a small sip, just the warmth of it giving her comfort. It didn't have quite the strong flavor that Calli usually preferred, and there was no milk, but because she knew Wrecker put his heart and soul into making it, Calli looked appreciatively up at her brother.

"It's perfect." She told him, and Wrecker grinned. 

Calli told the boys that they could get some sleep, as she'd most likely be up the rest of the night so she might as well be the one to watch Scruffy. But neither Wrecker nor Jace wanted to leave Calli alone, and the former said they could watch holovids until they got tired. 

They sat in a row on the floor, backs against the cabinets, the order being Wrecker, Calli in the middle and Jace at the end. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it worked. Scruffy joined in on the little watch party, alternating between all their laps, even Wrecker's! 

At some point during the night, Wrecker looked at his sister and Scruffy who was sleeping in her lap, and he found himself wondering if Calli would be able to say goodbye to the little guy when they left. The gears began turning in his head, and by the time morning came around he had a plan that would ensure that Scruffy would stay with the team. All he had to do now was wait. 

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I hope you guys liked the chapter! Again, sorry it took me so long to finish it!

I also hope you love Scruffy, both the cat and the name! It just came to me. I got carried away and have already drawn a few sketches of him, pictured below.

Anyways, that's all for now!

(The little squiggly lines are meant to represent his purring)

Scruffy is a cute, derpy little thing. And is Calli's new bff. I hope you find him as adorable as I do!

Bye!

~B.C.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Nice To Meet You, Brother

Warnings and Information: Not a new story, just a more masterlist and reader-friendly format since I'm unable to make the edits I want to the original. What was written with the idea of being a one-off became the establishing story for the main bulk of my Clone OCs, so this was written at a time not much had been planned in advance. Reference/allusion to canon-typical violence, injury, death and loss. Several characters are not explicitly named as of this installment. Narrative and stylistic use of italics, capitalization, and colored text. No Mando'a here. Minor language. My takes on Clone culture and their brotherly bonds have more thematic and narrative elements than how it's shown in the series, perhaps, as a heads up.

Word-count: 3,264

"Get a load of these plastoid puppies…"

They're getting new Shinnies to bolster their forces, and Maker, these boys just look younger and younger every time they get more Seppy blaster fodder reinforcements… It makes the hearts of the commanding officers hurt seeing how fresh-faced and bright these boys are.

The armor looks fresh off the assembly line and fitted onto little children fresh out of their growth jars. But they're all children. These are babies in the eyes of the Commanding Officers.

And they know the numbers of these plastoid puppies who are almost afraid of getting their armor scuffed, but no names. So young. Too young, General, please, send them back for more training...

They were never Named by their batchmates or their brothers under the rains of Kamino. They'll have to find their names out here in the galaxy. 

That will have to come later. But first it's the unofficial marring ceremony a Captain came up with before they were KIA.

Scuff the armor before they even see their first Seppy encounter.

If they get it over with now, or if they allow themselves to be scuffed by their COs, the sequential scuffs will be easier to accept. Take a knife, a wad of steel-wool used for weapon cleaning/care, or just a little rock and scratch your armor.

No really, you heard me. It's for, uh… good luck! Each deployment has their own traditions, in-jokes and superstitions. We scuff our armor for good luck. (Thank the Maker, they bought it.)

That's okay, rookie, you take all the time you need to scuff your plastoid. I can wait nearby if you need me to. (We want you to steal that first scuff for yourself so the Separatists do not have the satisfaction, brother.) 

They worry about the young brother who takes an hour to decide where to scuff his chest plate. He might be the first of the Shinies they lose. One of the Captains wants to keep an eye on him, close under his command in place of the Marshal Commander's ranks. The effort is probably as good as a Separatist's credit out in Republic space, but brother looks out for brother. They're all glad most of the Generals understand that. 

Sure, Captain. Take the Shiny. Show him the ropes. Keep him safe.

Took-an-hour survives their first encounter since the bolster of reinforcements; the Captain kept him safe. He's shaken. He's lost his closest neighbor-batchmate (the batch that was below his, in this case) and he's mourning. He's dropped his blaster in the mud of the trenches and he's having a hard time cleaning it now that they've pulled back their forces. His weapon is no good to him if it's jammed up with the thick, sandy mixture.

The Captain has to tell him to stop attempting to clean the DC-17.

"Forget it. Throw it in the dirty bucket next to the graffitied helmet on the gunship. Take a fresh blaster. Take a breath."

(Take yourself back to Kamino, please… You're just a kriffing kid. We're all just kriffing kids.) 

There's a kid who's gonna get his paint design out of this inevitable ambush and he doesn't even know it. He's a plastoid puppy with two left feet when he's nervous and keeps following the General and the Captain like a second shadow. They keep pulling this kid out of the naturally formed pits of the planet by the "scruff" of his armor. They're impossibly patient with this Shiny. The Captain has given the kid his Name when he pulls this brother out of the seventh pit and says "It's like scruffing a rowdy Tooka kitten!" with a mighty heave.

(Heh, any guess what that kid's about to get from the Captain, General?)

(You mean other than "on my nerves", Commander?!)

The kid likes the sound of the word, but he wants to change it a bit, first…

Welcome to the galaxy, Scruffy. It's nice to meet you, brother. The whole unit celebrates Scruffy and his name and his new paint and his identity. He's no longer just a number. (The General takes the time and tells him he is and feels unique in the Force, like all his brothers the General has served with, to make the moment all the more memorable.)

Scruffy is still falling into pits and still getting pulled up by the scruff of his armor by his COs and his brothers, but he's no longer a Shiny. He's no longer scared to get his armor scuffed. He's actually helping others, much later on, get their armor scuffed when they step off the gunships, and the COs see that he's got the same 'oh by the stars these boys are just plastoid puppies' look in his eyes now too. He'll show these Shinnies his deliberate, superficial damage he's so proud of and carry on the new tradition of it's for good luck!

The kid the COs have been secretly referring to as Took-an-hour is struggling. He's the last of his batch now. His last batch brother was alive just last night and never woke up. Something about the food. Something spoiled. He won't eat anything out of fear. You can't have a hungry brother out on the battlefield. You have to do something. The appetite stims just make him sick. This is hardly the right set of conditions to cook food. The only thing that placates him is the General's rations that they themselves are in charge of.

They're different and better suited for the General's metabolism and nutritional needs, but it has to be better than nothing. The General takes the rations in field supplies marked with the CT's number.

It takes an hour for the man to take his first bite. He's almost sick immediately after because the anxiety is paralyzing. But he's assured again and again by the General that the rations will be safe, he needs his strength, eat.

Scruffy (of a different batch out of the bolster of Shinnies) just sits with this brother and fellow soldier until the food is gone. It takes an hour. It's one hour less of sleep for both of them. But Scruffy doesn't complain once. He's also now keeping an eye on this nameless brother, along with the Captain, the Commander, the General. He's falling into a few more pits than usual the following day, but he just blames it half-jokingly on something flying overhead distracting him.

This brother refuses Naming. He doesn't want to Be Named. He's certain he's not long for this galaxy. He's convinced he'll join the rest of his batch soon enough and Being Named will give him hope.

"I'm a string of two letters and four numbers and I'll never be anything else."

Not on Scruffy's watch. 

Not on the watch of the COs.

Not on the watch of the General.

You will Be Named is not a threat. It is a promise. You are an individual, brother. Our paints, our tattoos, our haircuts are all signifiers: We've found our Name. We will help you find yours, brother.  

More scuff marks are added to the plastoid. The scuff marks of his fallen batchmates. He won't add them in paint. He'll add them in the same ways that they did. It takes the expected amount of time to complete the task. 

Welcome to the galaxy, Carver. It's nice to meet you, brother. He was inspired by the nameless brother who bares his batchmates scuffs in his own armor, and carved little etchings into his helmet with a vibroknife he picked up somewhere. He's quite good at it.

(Scruffy thinks it would be funny to ask Carver to add GRAB HERE in Aurebesh lettering in the ring of paint on the back-plating of his armor up near the neck, but the COs don't share the sentiment.)

Lots of troops ask Carver to, well, carve little pictures in strips of thick bark that have shed from the trees indigenous to the planet. Flowers they found pretty. That scary hellcat with four eyes they heard about once. The General cutting a clanker in half. No wait! The General cutting a TANK in half, that would be so cool! (Hey, Commander, here's the coordinates to rendezvous with the General. Once you've memorized them we can add it to the fire.) Do you think you can whittle? Guys check it out, Carver figured out how to whittle!

Oh the General is gonna love that little Mudhorn, Carver! 

The General does in fact. They keep their little Mudhorn in their pocket at all times and regard it with love. When the sour tang of the loss of life feels too heavy in the Force around them, the General holds Carver's little Mudhorn and feels the deliberate shape of the gifted token as they meditate to clear their mind. This campaign has been hard for the peace-keeper, but the little things, like this whittled Mudhorn, are cherished when things seem bleakest.

Scruffy asks Carver to make him something he thinks might help the nameless brother (and others). He's not sleeping well because he's having bad dreams. Dreams about the brothers he lost. Heard about them on the Holonet somewhere, they're called worry stones. They look like this, they're small and discreet and will be easy to carry on his utility belt. They'll be easy to replace if they get lost and misplaced.

"Whaddya think? You'll do it? You're the best, Carver, thank you."

Carver makes several, enough to give all the COs and General a worry stone, and slips the last worry stone into the nameless brother's things in the middle of the night. It's found in the morning and almost discarded, thinking it's debris in his drowsy stupor that he was about to toss without looking, but the smooth divot in the wood catches his attention. It… feels strangely nice to roll his thumb back and forth in this little space.

Okay. He'll keep the thing. He'll get rid of it if a CO tells him to. Except he later notices the COs also have one. So if they have "non-GAR contraband", he's not about to get into trouble for having it himself, right? Well then again they're COs and they'll be allowed more "luxuries".

He almost gets rid of it again after that thought. But the Captain catches it before it's kicked into the fire that night when they made camp and says it "was a close one, kid nearly lost the gift a brother gave him. That would have been a shame". Oh. Oh kriff. He nearly burned a gift? Carver made this? 

Carver wouldn't have been mad if the nameless brother had burned it. He's made so many at this point. The nameless brother was always a little tighter on the rules than most other brothers, he'd probably have been reluctant to keep "contraband".

He and Scruffy had seen him using it on a few separate occasions. The tension seemed to melt right out of him, even just for a moment. He'd grabbed it at least once when he woke up from a nightmare. Carver wondered if he would be able to find the material to make a really small one and put it on some string so this poor not-a-Shiny would have a way to keep one on him, maybe under the armor, under the bodyglove, so he'd never have to worry about not having a worry stone on him if he really needed it. Sometimes just holding his worry stone was enough for the brother. 

One not-a-Shiny claims the name Cairn finally. (He'd been given many nicknames, open to Being Named, but none had spoken to him until someone said the word "cairn" in front of him.) He's ended up with so many of his friends' worry stones one way or another that he'll build the little or big towers of wooden 'rocks' for the fun of it.

Sometimes the General uses gentle nudgings of the Force to make the towers take impossible, gravity defying formations. It boosts morale. It makes the men wonder if Cairn can find a way to replicate the upside down formations the General sometimes does with the right sized worry stones. Welcome to the galaxy, Cairn. It's nice to meet you, brother. 

It takes an hour to get this not-a-Shiny to get out of one of the towering trees after a Separatist ambush. He made for an excellent sniper, to the surprise of the Captain who'd taken care of this nameless brother since he'd gotten there nearly a month ago. He's on the comms channel, voice high and tight with fear that if he comes down he's going to knock this bird's nest out of the crown on a branch he'd need to use to get down.

They're endangered. They can't fly yet, Captain. I don't want them to get hurt if I climb down. One already fell from the nest and-

Oh the General found it? Did it… survive the fall? Why is the General scaling the other tree with only one hand; did they get hurt in the Seppie ambush?

Oh the General is okay? Thank Kamino's rains. They… found the bird alive?

The bird is returned to the nest with the Force, and his General uses the Force to pluck him out of that tree and lift him over to the other one so he can crawl down, finally. He's sorry for getting worked up about some blasted birds but they just… He got kinda attached to them because he had imagined he was protecting not just his brothers and the General from the Seppies, but those birds too. He's sorry, General. It was silly.

The General assures the trooper that the compassion and empathy he had for the birds was not "silly". In fact, they were unaware that these birds they'd been seeing for so long on this planet were endangered. They thank the nameless man who takes a long time to do certain things for teaching them something that day. Maybe one day that thinking will make him a brilliant strategist, too.

(Yeah, the Jedi are a little weird. But that's okay, brother. Apparently when you come up in conversation now, the General hears the fluttering of these birds through the Force… Good question, don't know if they hear anything when our other brothers are brought up in conversation with the General…) 

The nameless brother is just beginning to feel better, hopeful, the longer they've been taken care of by the likes of the COs, General, and Scruffy. Mostly Scruffy. Maker, Scruffy nearly cries when this brother, bearing all the scuffs of his batch additional to his own on his chest plate, asks the General if they want their rations, because he thinks he's ready to start eating his again.

He's not afraid to eat the rations meant for himself anymore, he thinks. That's a step in the right direction. 

There's a few survivors from the first bolster who still don't have names, but only because they don't know what to decide on just like Cairn did. There's another bolster scheduled to arrive soon. They've decided on their paint patterns, at least.

The brother who takes an hour to do things when time allows is the only unpainted man of the unit. He looks like a Shiny, so out of place. Everyone aside from him is vying to find a Name except for him.

But it feels like hours or days after the COs welcome their new brothers who now have Names… they get picked off by Separatist forces. Hello, and goodbye, brothers. 

"If I find my Name now, I'm cursed" is the new sentiment. The new anxiety that replaces my rations are spoiled and I'll get sick, I'll die if I eat them.

"I'm just two letters and four numbers and nothing else. Please don't name me. Please don't doom me, brothers…"

Maybe it's best that when the second bolster of Shinnies and other, more seasoned troops arrive, this brother is… sent back to the Jedi cruiser. We can't have him sent back to Kamino by now, there's no telling what the long-necks will do to him.

Wipe him clean with reconditioning? Decommission him? No chance in the galaxy they'll let their brother go through that. They'll turn him into a spacer instead before they'll let the Kaminoans decide.

So the COs are trying to find someone to go with this brother. Scruffy is willing, he's already done so much to take care of this brother, this will be a piece of meiloorun cake to accompany his anxious brother. If it wasn't a result of mistreatment at the hands of the… bounty hunters hired to be "Trainers", then it wasn't his fault something probably went wrong with his growth jar. It wasn't the fault of a brother who had a leak in his acceleration chamber that made him hyperactive and impulsive if the rumor mills are to be believed. They, all brothers, blame that on the Kaminoans. Or the Trainers. They do their best not to blame their brothers.

Brother looks out for brother. 

"Took-an-hour" is used less and eventually abandoned. The COs call him the Unpainted Brother as a nickname, now. U-Brother, or just Brother, for short. It's easy enough to pass off as a general term of addressal.

He's far from a Shiny, he's not open to Being Named, he's clearly not finding his Name out here.

"General… please, send Brother back to the Jedi cruiser when the next reinforcements come." We're… scared for him that he's just getting worse out here and he'll get himself killed the next time the Separatists attack us. 

"Another General will take him? And Scruffy? Thank you."

Brother, before you leave with Another General, we want you to take some of Our color. You may have been "unexpectedly" reassigned to another unit, but you'll always be one of Us.

Don't forget us, we won't forget you.

Carver and Cairn have a few little presents for you to remember us by. (A whittled nest of those endangered birds.) You take care of yourself, our painted Brother. Maybe your painted scuff marks will bring you good luck.

Maybe your brothers, Gunnar, Faro, Cryfar, Fluke, will bring you good luck. You, heh… kinda look like a paint canvas, now! All your batchmates scuffs glazed over in Our color. Your scuff on your chest plate is still naked, but that's okay. Maybe you can pick up the color of the unit of Another General and paint your scuff in that color, really make yourself look like a canvas. 

… 

What's that?

Oh. 

(Oh, brother. Now? When he's about to leave with Another General?)

You kinda like that, eh?

Well…

"Canvas: it's very nice to meet you, brother."

Do you want to go, still, or do you… want to stay?

Will you stay? You know our brothers are going to want to celebrate you and your name. It'd break their damn hearts if you left now, Canvas. After all that's happened up to now, the experiences that shaped up to finding a Name for yourself and have marked your armor… 

Of course, Canvas. You're welcome to stay with us longer. You're always going to be Our brother. I'll let the General know so they can let Another General know there's been a change of plans. They'll get it sorted out. Now, go grab Scruffy and let him know we'll need his skills with a brush. Need to add a little more paint to our Canvas.

Wouldn't ya think, brother?

[FFF Masterlist] [Clone OC Masterlist] [Next installment]

[mandoposting]

Cresh Squad face reveal!

Finally settled on some face designs for my OCs

Feel free to pop me an ask if you'd like to know anything about them :D

Taglist: @ct-9904, @xviii-themoon, @twisted-falcon, @findhimfives, @the-dreamy-space, @fake-fullbuster, @parkotedarasuum

dm/send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed :)

just adding this hacksaw here cause i think this is literally my favourite thing ive ever drawn jndsfnsdf

[clonememesfrikyeah]

How y’all feeling tonight cause rn I’m imagining Rex slow dancing with his husband to some old timey music they both like in the dim light of their kitchen in the house they built themselves in the middle of the woods while they laugh and think it’s cheesy and they twirl each other around and Rex pulls him close and rests his chin of their shoulder and feels safe for the first time in years and their so in love and now I’m sobbing uncontrollably 🥲

[keravnos-kori]

return to sender - chapter one: commencement

tech x ofc (eventual)

word count: 6.7k

read the prologue here!

cw: in-universe cursing, baby's first fic, thoughts of isolation, anxiety, loneliness, etc. alcohol mention, slight references to body image issues, sensory overload mention, vague canon-typical violence (PLEASE let me know if I missed anything else!)

summary: halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…

a/n: can ya'll believe I'm actually committing to a project for once? you have no idea how happy i am to get this chapter out - it's personally not my favorite since it's based around a lot of internal exposition rather than interactions with other characters, but we need that sick ass character development before we get to the good stuff. shout out to @keldabekush for allowing me to reference their epic oc band of clone deserters, The Meat Droids for a little sentence near the end - it's an amazing concept and I just couldn't help but want to include it somewhere. also, some lines from the notes sent back and forth between tech and halla were taken from the original rp a bit of an homage to the “source material” bc i’m a simp. thank you in advance for reading! hope you enjoy

~~~~~~

Subspace transceivers were near ancient technology by Galactic Republic standards. Comprised of pulse radars, input/output transducers, and sorosub omni arrays, the technology was far more economical in practice than sending messages through the holonet. Yet, this method was a bit riskier to engage in since the files had the potential to stall or become corrupted altogether while jumping from satellite to satellite. Modern interplanetary infrastructure not only made it possible to ensure these cases occurred less frequently than before the start of the war, but also allowed transmissions to be sent nearly anywhere within Republic or neutral territories. As long as civilians avoided the more secure frequencies by sticking to their own metaphorical hyperlanes, the privileges of owning these devices were granted without many restrictions in place. With hundreds of thousands of networks interspersed throughout the known regions dispatching millions of communicative datafiles at approximately 492,459,264 kilometers per standard hour, it is considered by gearheads and gurus alike to be one of the oldest, yet intuitive, technological marvels of contemporary times.

Halla hadn’t a clue how any of it worked. 

All she knew was that she had been lucky to find a pretty, gold-plated module at a local junk shop in the next district over that still had its original frequency assigned. After asking a former instructor at the university to reset the device with her own personal information, she lugged the contraption home and set it up proudly underneath her desk. Installing the corresponding application on her main console and personal datapad was pretty straightforward from there.

The other thing she knew for sure was that when she departed that morning to attend her commencement ceremony, there were no messages in her inbox.

And now there was.

That morning for Halla had begun less jubilantly than it probably was for the other graduates in her class. This was most likely due to the fact that she did not awaken until nearly 14:00 standard time, and therefore had no opportunity to attempt to enjoy the first half of the day. Her alarm sounded right on schedule, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything productive for the first fifteen minutes other than stare at her ceiling, affect completely blank.

For just a few moments, she allowed herself to think of her monna – her mother – and how she, along with Halla’s stepfather and half-siblings, would be absent from the occasion today for one reason or another. All four of them were back home on Scarif, and she hadn’t heard from any of them for about an entire week now; odd, especially from the overbearing matriarch and her regular attempts to badger her daughter. Did they even know it was today? Surely they must, the topic of graduation came up nearly every time her family commed her. Perhaps there was no shuttle available to arrive on time: logical, considering the remote nature of the tropical planet and its relative distance from the core worlds. Or maybe the scorching sun finally fried their brains and they got caught up harvesting sea grapes near the basin, the event escaping their minds completely.

Her biological father, now he was an entirely different story, and not one Halla gave much thought to on a regular basis. Since she didn’t keep up regular contact with him, she had no reason to believe he had any idea what she was accomplishing today – too deeply involved in his career trajectory to notice his little girl was growing up without him. Who needed family when you had your own Venator-class?

Once the dissonant bell tones had finally overtaken her psyche, Halla made the effort the kick the thick duvet from her body and plant her feet on the bedside rug, worn from the previous day and the countless days before that. Padding across the hall and into her apartment’s single washroom, she made an effort not to gaze at herself in the looking glass in passing. Once she had properly relieved herself and scrubbed her hands clean, she made the mistake of looking up despite her initial efforts. 

Facing herself for the first time since waking up, she couldn’t help but groan at the state of her hair, half out of its updo from the night before, with what looked like a bit of drool caked around her left fringe. Not to mention the dark circles hugging her bottom eyelids, the way her cheek was stained red with imprints from the sheets, and the enormous crick in her neck she had yet to stretch out, causing her to lean at an unnatural angle.

What a fantastic way to start your big day, Lala…

Slapping her cheeks two or three times to rouse a semblance of consciousness, Halla turned around to start up the ‘fresher, warming it to a desirable temperature before removing her tousled sleepwear and stepping onto the tiled surface. She scrubbed herself down and even pushed herself through the extra effort of shaving her legs and underarms for the first time in what was probably scandalously too long by Coruscant Level 5,127 standards. As much as she despised trying to wrangle her hair beneath the spray, it was an additional chore that demanded to be completed. Halla cringed internally at the number of strays that fell down the drain as she wrapped herself in the thickest towel available from the linen shelf.

Getting dressed was a lonely affair, with no one to dramatically fawn over her appearance or tell her how proud they were that she was the first on that side of the family to complete a collegiate education. There was no music, no clinking glasses, and no emotion-melding ritual as was the custom with her stepfather’s culture. Nautolans sure knew how to throw a party, and it was striking to the Very Human Halla how much she missed those comforts now that it was her own day to celebrate.

The second time she faced herself, now in front of her full-length mirror, it was a far less distressing image – her coppery-brown hair, dried and styled as well as she could manage on her own, fell about her shoulder blades and framed around her round face flatteringly. The cosmetics she chose to work with were tasteful, but she couldn’t help but let some of her personal artistic flair shine through as she was applying it – gold and green pigment bordered her hazel eyes, the black liner angling down slightly to compliment the shape of her eyes. Blush was an absolute must for her complexion and an attempt was made at dabbing a darker shade of concealer below her cheekbones, though her soft features and jawline were not the most conducive to the technique. Her lips were painted a darker tint than she wore on an everyday basis, but it was by far her favorite part of the look. Gold and bronze accessories decorated the rest of her skin and hair, complementing the stark black material of the commencement robe.

Overall, it wasn’t her worst work, but something about the circumstance made it nearly impossible to enjoy. Halla tried to smile at her reflection, feeble as it was. A few holopics were even snapped when all was said and done, so that she might have something down the line to remember that day.

Like you have anyone to impress today.

With that excessively constructive thought, Halla was out the door just in time to reach the taxi terminal and ride up to the University’s auditorium for the last time as an undergraduate.

~~~

The ceremony itself was a slog. Halla was expecting it, and it seemed as if everyone else in her cohort was too. Name after name after foreign name was called, and after a while Halla had nothing better to do than sit back in her assigned seat, fingers twisting and knees shaking, and take guesses as to where everyone else came from as they walked across the stage. Some were easier than others: Glee Anselm for the Nautolans, Pantora for most of the periwinkle-skinned, fur-donned humanoids, Naboo for those that wore red stoles and the ceremonial scar down their lip, etc. It was always a tradition to represent your homeworld at functions such as this, which was why Halla opted for the more subtle, yet just as symbolic lei of plom blossoms hanging low around her neck. The most interesting graduate to cross was a feminine-presenting Kel Dor, not a figure Halla had ever encountered before, but wonderful to behold all the same since their species never traveled too far from Dorin from what she’d studied. 

Eventually, Halla felt herself nodding off slightly, only jolting awake just in time for her row to be summoned to stand and make their way to the foot of the podium. Accepting the piece of flimsi with a handshake from the headmaster, Halla was able to register in the back of her mind that there was no one in the audience screaming in excitement at her name being announced like those before and behind her in line – just polite, subdued applause.

No relatives, no friends, no colleagues.

Returning to her seat, any sense of accomplishment she anticipated the impact of never struck her. Now all she wanted was for it to be over with, and for some inexplicable reason, she blamed herself for ruining the occasion for herself. She found herself to be quite pitiful at that moment, and the rest of the ceremony passed in a grey, dull, unsatisfactory blur: the kind of blur that makes you want to slink home, order takeout, and never surface from your bed’s comforter even if the sky was falling.

Maybe Rodian curry is in the cards for later…

There better be something good on the holos tonight…

Do they deliver alcohol all the way down here, or does that cost extra…?

These were the thoughts dominating Halla’s mind the entire journey home. After swiping her taxi chit to pay the automated toll, she began her ascent back up towards her apartment, footsteps echoing distantly through the durasteel hallways. It seemed like everyone who resided in her complex was out to celebrate tonight. Everyone, that was, except for her.

Lucky them.

Even the front door must’ve sensed deep in its wiring what sort of emotional state she was in, taking sympathy on her and opening up right as she punched in her key code – a departure from its usual malfunctioning temperament for which she was immensely grateful, just this once. Safely locked inside, Halla unceremoniously tossed the flimsi and its embossed folder onto her entryway table along with the rest of her belongings. She couldn’t care less about any of it, not anymore. Her main goal was to tear the overpriced garb from her body and toss it to the bottom of her closet, never to be seen again.

The frustration only grew as she stripped out of her dress and gown, shucked her shoes off haphazardly, and picked out mismatched sleepwear from her dresser – as she pulled the oversized University Boloball team sweatshirt over her head, Halla made the error of looking into the mirror for the umpteenth time that day. Her carefully applied mascara and eyeliner had smudged sometime between her application and return home, and not the sexy kind of smudge she’d seen models wear to promote perfumes and lingerie; it looked like she had narrowly missed being collided into by an over-the-limit speeder. That, along with her windswept hair and flushed cheeks from the taxi ride had left her in a state of disarray.

Have I really looked like this all evening?

Standing there in just the long-sleeved shirt and black cotton underwear, Halla couldn’t pull her eyes away from the railspeeder-wreck that was her physical appearance in its current state. Her previously tamed hair had lost its gentle, artificial curls and had returned to its natural mess of frizzy waves and overgrown, split-ended thickness. The heels she had elected to wear had done nothing to support her feet and left blisters on the backs of both her ankles where the straps had been secured. And, of course, there was the chafing between her thighs from forgetting to include any sort of slimming garment in her outfit’s ensemble. The sensory overload was getting to be too much – physically, mentally, and emotionally, it was more than she could bear.

Grabbing a microfiber cloth from her vanity, Halla leaned in close to her mirror and began to wipe under her eyes, trying her best to regain some sense of self-perceived normalcy. Washing her face was the second step in recentering herself, and as soon as she was all patted dry (and finally decided to step into her linen shorts) she figured it was about time to order the meal she had been considering as a consolation for such a shitty, kriffed up, no-good day. Halla retrieved her datapad and stopped short once it had unlocked.

The red icon on the screen flashed impatiently over her transmissions app – a notification that hadn’t been there when she had left earlier that evening.

Halla didn’t know much about subspace transmissions, but the world seemed to shift as she threw herself down onto her unmade bed, holding the pad over her eyes as if she were trying to decode a Jedi Holocron (at least that’s how she thought it worked, how was she supposed to know?). 

Over the past two days since she’d first sent her message to her selected trooper, she couldn’t pull herself away from checking every few minutes for a new message – and every time there was one, it was always a false alarm: spam and scams, rather than a message from a particular commando originating from outside her contact list. Halla couldn’t help but allow her excitement to grow again, her heart pounding in her ribcage like a child waking up on Life Day morning. All of the events from earlier came rushing back to her at once; all of the strife would be worth it if this actually turned out to be from who she hoped it was.

Kark, let’s just get this over with.

All opinions on what end meal she would purchase from the market were suddenly paused, momentarily forgotten in favor of the abrupt, but not unwelcome turn the night was taking. The lone message was selected, buffered for a bit, then displayed itself before Halla’s very eyes. And there, at the very bottom of the text box, was a simple sign-off. A one-syllable name that caused her to almost choke on her saliva as she swallowed in disbelief.

It’s him.

It’s really him!

Halla sat there, incredulously holding the electronic device in both hands, afraid that if she were to make any sudden movement the message would vanish like some cosmic prank. But it didn’t disappear, it remained right where it was supposed to. Scrolling back up towards the header, Halla read it to herself, slowly, deliberately. Her fingertips began to shake as she read onward:

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:07

Recipient: Halla Ismaren <hismaren.uccore.holo>

Subject: Re: Requesting Assistance

Miss Ismaren,

I received your initial message two days ago and would like to account for the delay on my part. I am interested in your cause, if somewhat minimally at this point in time. The filters installed within my transceiver are far too advanced to grant unwanted solicitation. This is how I knew you were genuine with your request for assistance. Though I have never received a post-secondary education as you have, I am quite familiar with the processes and definitions associated with various types of research and dissertations – there is no need to expand on these concepts for my sake. Your thesis topic seems a bit vague. Would you mind explaining further what it is you are trying to accomplish? I don’t believe I would be of much use to you unless I know the specifics of your mission statement.

Additionally, a disclosure must be made before I lead you astray: You state that I am the best potential candidate to provide insights for this project, and while I agree I would have an exceptional awareness of the operations within the GAR, I do not claim to represent the rest of the army’s homogenous population. I can expand on this at a later date if you wish. Your desire to advocate for us is admirable, to be sure.

-Tech

P.S. Statistically you are correct, someone is undoubtedly thinking of my squad out in the greater galaxy. However, I doubt it’s in a friendly manner as I face many adversaries in my line of service. If you are insinuating it’s you who regards us positively, thank you, I suppose.

Transceiver Identification: CT-9902-D-622-E.modified

*This transmission is liable to data retrieval and analysis, all rights and liberties of communications monitoring afforded to the Grand Army of the Republic*

Halla read over the transmission what felt like a million times, emphasizing different words, trying to imagine what the cadence of his voice would sound like. Her first impression was that he was, well…rather clinical. Not cold or detached precisely, merely efficient with his syntax. She figured this was a byproduct of his training – why waste time writing long-winded letters to a stranger when you could be preparing for battle or offering humanitarian aid to refugees? Halla couldn’t find it within herself to be offended by his tone. In fact, it was nearly impossible to wipe off the stupid grin she had plastered across her face.

A soft giggle escaped from between her lips, followed by a slightly louder one which evolved into full-blown laughter by the next breath she took. Hysterical, Halla had no choice but to drop the pad next to her hip, gaining another free hand to wipe away the overflowing tears of elation.

IT WORKED.

Halla scrambled her way off the bed and began pacing across her quarters, punching the air several times in triumph. This was it – this trooper, Tech, was going to be her saving grace. She would collect his statements, bring them before the Senate’s Ethics Committee, and attain something beneficial for an underserved population that had no voice within the government it was forced to serve. Just like all those figures from her civics texts growing up, Halla’s name would go down in history as someone who did something good, something right for others. The tuition money wouldn’t be wasted, she wouldn’t return to her settlement an utter failure. She would be a living legend, a hero, a champion for those soldiers who needed it the most.

Hubris, who?

Despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a few nagging thoughts strayed behind the self-preening ones: should she respond tonight? Would that come off as too desperate, too much? Or would he appreciate her not wasting his time, waiting for a response while she was too busy freaking out dozens of star systems away?

Putting her tirade on hold for a moment, Halla knew she had to come up with a decision by the end of the night, sooner preferably than later. After weighing her options and realizing it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d made a fool out of herself that night, she resolved to at least draft something up before she settled down to sleep – if it was respectable enough to send, it would happen. If not, she’d just continue to work on it until she was satisfied with the end result. A seemingly rational compromise. A reason to step back mentally and assess all the options. Also, an excuse to address her rumbling stomach, aggravated by the long-term, unintentional fasting and the mercurial pendulum that was her constantly shifting mood.

Ultimately, Halla decided to order from the curry joint she originally had in mind on her main holonet terminal, keeping her holopad nearby just in case Tech suddenly changed his mind and decided he wanted nothing to do with her proposition. If this were the case, she wasn’t quite sure how she would respond, but the security she found in its proximity was too reassuring to pass up.

This worst-case scenario, however, turned out to be just that. Tech never wrote back to change his mind. Not while Halla paid for delivery, not as she waited for its arrival, and not even as she was eating, legs crisscrossed underneath the to-go containers of fried veggie rolls and Iskaayuman hen flatbread. She even went as far as to pour herself a glass of wine from her top cabinet, saved only for special occasions, which she believed was warranted that night. It was intended to calm her more than anything – Halla was no longer intent on drinking herself into a stupor as she had been mere hours ago. So there she sat with her feast-for-one, mulling over Tech’s words she had practically memorized by heart.

He doesn’t seem arrogant or anything, just a little…different. Probably not used to talking to outsiders, I guess. I wonder if he’s ever communicated with someone other than his squad, or even the Seppies. He wasn’t really an ass, either – he seemed curious about what I’m trying to do and wanted to ensure he has all the details mapped out before we begin our exchange. I can get behind that, I respect that. But the last thing he mentioned, the postscript…has he never had someone tell him they hope he’s hanging in alright? What a basic thing to be taken for granted…Yes, sir, I am insinuating that it’s me…was that a joke? Is he the joking type? I’ll keep it in mind, maybe he needs that bit of reassurance from time to time. Maker knows he probably isn’t receiving much validation from his XOs…

After the empty boxes had been properly disposed of and the rogue crumbs had been banished from the bedsheets, Halla once again sat down at her terminal to compose a second message. The ease with which she felt herself composing was a stark contrast to the persistent second-guessing and revising she faced just days ago. This time, the words seemed to flow smoothly from her mind, through her fingertips, and onto the monitor’s messaging system.

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:07

Recipient: Specialist-Commando CT-9902, “Tech” of CF-99

Subject: Re: Requesting Assistance

Tech,

Please, if you wish for me to refer to you by your name without rank, I insist on you calling me Halla. Words cannot possibly describe how elated I was to hear back from you – it might not mean much to you, but I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say I owe you my entire livelihood right now! The research I’ve been conducting has been an unrecognized labor of love for far too long now and I intend to make it known how the clones deserve to be treated better than they have been to all those that think otherwise. I know I will never understand what you all are going through, but just knowing that you’re willing to help means more to me than all the stars in the galaxy.

To answer your inquiry, there are several issues I plan to bring before the Galactic Senate’s Ethics Committee: namely, the past transgressions committed by the Kaminoans before the initial events of the war and current civil rights and liberties that are barred from both active and decommissioned military personnel (i.e. the ability to find affordable housing accommodations, the opportunity to vote and retain governmental representation, and all adjoining benefits from becoming private citizens). These are just some of the areas I have studied, but there are many more, I assure you. I’ll be glad to walk you through it all once we reach that point.

Your opinions are vital to the success of this gaining the attention of the bureaucrats – not only do I have to prove that the army suffers from the lack of these basic services, but that by granting them access to them, their quality of life will escalate and put more trust back into the Senatorial process, which lost popularity since I entered university. By publishing my findings, I also intend to sway the court of public opinion. That might become a stretch goal, but it’s worth mentioning now since most other civilians aren’t impressed by any of the fighting, especially the battles that take place near other core worlds. Those here on Coruscant don’t know how good they have it, as much as I hate to be a pessimist. Besides a few incidents, no true harm has come to the majority of the surfacer population, who oppose you all the most here.

Would it be possible to ask some additional personal questions about you as well? You have my word that I won’t pry deeper than you allow me, and you are always welcome to establish your boundaries if you become uneasy. I don’t expect you to be able to tell me everything, what with the security protocols and secrecy and all, but it would be nice to learn more about who I’m interviewing - let everyone know that you’re a real, breathing, autonomous person beneath all that plastoid armor. The GAR profiles only detail so much. Could you tell me how you got your name? I never was able to figure out if all clones chose their own, or if they were more like nicknames granted by others assigned to their squads. Or maybe you could share what sort of role you play within your squad? Truly, whatever you’re most comfortable with sharing, I’ll accept anything!

Thank you again so much, Tech. You won’t regret this, I swear.

All the best,

Halla <hismaren.uccore.holo>

University of Coruscant

College of Interplanetary Law & Relations

Capital Campus

P.S. Yes, I can assure you that I am thinking of you, quite amicably, in fact. You seem like you could use an outside ally, and I don’t mean that as an insult. On the contrary, Maker knows I could use one too. I’m surprised you would ever expect to receive any warm sentiments, as I believe you quite honestly deserve all the kindness and admiration the galaxy can offer. Keep yourself safe, please!

Huh. That really wasn’t so bad. There was always the chance it would come off a little too familiar for his tastes, but it was a chance Halla was willing to take, fueled by the late hour and the glass and a half of Alderaanian merlot she had downed prior to writing her response. If she had no objections to it, was there really any reason to hold off on sending it tonight? Again, the send button was selected before there was any more internal monologuing. Smiling drowsily, Halla shut the terminal down along with the overhead lighting module, and returned to bed for the final time that night, rather than brushing her teeth as she knew she probably ought to after eating such potent cuisine. With curry on her breath and her mind on a soldier thousands of parsecs away, the graduate was able to succumb to the comforting darkness provided by the backs of her eyelids. Not bothering to think about the disenchanting start to her day, Halla was instead looking forward to learning everything she could about her new soon-to-be-whether-he-liked-it-or-not friend.

Friend.

What a fantastic way to end the day…

~~~

Gradually, Halla’s spirits began to soar again thanks to the deliberately unhurried, yet sincere virtual companionship she had formed with Tech. When she found the time to paint, faint humming matured into full-blown stage-worthy performances; while she cleaned house, dance recitals commonly took place in front of her audience of stuffies that sat neatly in a row against her pillows. The vibrancy she had lost from fear of the unknown came back in full force. Two weeks had flown by since she had received his first response and a habitual regimen emerged between them, sending messages back and forth nearly every day if possible. Depending on which system he was traveling through, sometimes there were two or three she would receive within a set period of time – in other instances, there had been radio silence before he returned and updated her (vaguely) on what mission he had participated in. Without fail, Halla was always there, waiting intently for his comms to come through. She was far past the mindset she first found herself in, feeling the need to proofread twenty times over before sending – it was natural to talk to him now, without worrying over what his judgments of her would be.

Tech’s blunt verbiage and outspoken tendencies spurred Halla into asking deeper, more nuanced questions each go around:

What kinds of food and medical supplies are considered regulation for space travel?

Are you given any sort of allowance to spend, any time allotted for shore leave?

What were your experiences like with the Kaminoans before you were deployed?

In how many situations, confrontational or otherwise, did you feel like the Republic didn’t grant you the appropriate amount of support? Have you ever felt excluded from society on the basis of the method of your creation?

Nothing she threw at him seemed to elicit any sense of reticence from him – he only ever answered truthfully and commented on how impressed he was that a civvie would stop and take the time to ask these things of him. Halla learned that this was high praise coming from him, and she felt a swell of pride at the knowledge that while she was attempting to make the surfacers care more about the clones, she was simultaneously convincing a clone that at least one civvie wasn’t all that bad either.

The headway on the monograph’s contents was a monumental success that continued to grow exponentially every day. Whenever there was a roadblock or an option to incorporate more anecdotes, Tech was only ever just a transmission away. If Halla had been conducting his interviews in person she’d have a more definitive answer, but from all of his responses it seemed like he was becoming just as invested in Halla’s work as she was. That was the most impressive progress in her opinion – not the way she was producing the work faster than a Malastarian podracer, but the rapport that had formed between the two. To her, he was more than just an interesting figure with fascinating stories to tell, and she liked to believe he found some comfort in talking with someone that didn’t share his genetic makeup for once.

Eventually, topics outside the realm of academia began to intermingle with her evaluation. It seemed inconsequential at first: she sent him a holopic of herself from graduation attached to one of her own messages, mentioning how since she knew what he looked like from his profile, it seemed unfair that he didn’t know the same of her. It wasn’t something he prompted, only a bit more about herself that she was willing to offer, hoping to strengthen the comradery in an organic fashion. From there on, he seemed more comfortable with asking Halla about herself as well, finding civilian culture to be a vast departure from his own encounters. Tech’s thirst for knowledge turned out to be completely insatiable, which Halla accepted as a welcome challenge.

The back and forth between the pair was invigorating to Halla: she would send a full-length biographical account of her pet guppy Boonta, and Tech would respond with a tale of his own, recounting memories of 30-meter eels found within the depths of Kamino’s vast oceans. She mentioned she had half-siblings once in passing and he was more than eager to tell everything he could about his brothers as they traversed star systems aboard the Havoc Marauder, the name of their Omicron-class shuttle that Halla thought was more than a bit ridiculous (not that she’d ever tell him that, he loved that ship to death though he would never admit it outright). For every image of her artwork she transmitted to him, Tech explicated his most recent inventions along with the logic and mechanics behind it all. Halla was lost half the time but found it endearing nonetheless. His intellect wasn’t as intimidating as she originally thought – if anything, they were equally matched in many ways, just in different areas of study. Tech told her as much in one entry:

Your theories on the sociopolitical status of migrants from Outer Rim systems were revelatory. It had never occurred to me that the prisoners held in neutral territory detention centers had the right to request asylum in Republic-controlled sectors. If democratic systems have the ability to support these underserved populations, yet deny them citizenship while allowing their naturalized and native population to planet-hop as they please, it is the government that should be held responsible, not the refugees themselves. This is not what we were taught as cadets, and I thank you for opening my eyes to a new perspective regarding this common phenomenon.

It was that kind of commentary that made Halla’s days seem all the more bright. She managed to find a confidant that valued her insights – not only that, but he told her as much. He wasn’t put off by a young woman with the ability to match his intelligence, nor did he ever let his ego overtake the conversation (at least not to a degree that couldn’t be brushed off with humor). Tech was confident in his abilities – of course he was, being clever and quick-witted was what he was literally designed to do – but it never came at Halla’s expense. This proved to be beneficial, especially since the range of subjects they covered spanned from interplanetary relations and military strategy to what foods Tech would never want to try even if he were offered a million credits and how Halla was of the opinion that the kloo horn was far superior to the blissl:

Y’know, I played the kloo in secondary? Third chair and everything. I always froze up at the auditions but somehow always made it into the ensemble. I learned to play the valachord after that (another instrument that’s better than the blissl, in case you were wondering). I enjoyed that one the most since it stuck me in the back of the hall and I got to read on my holopad while we weren’t playing. The conductor used to get so seethed out at me, but no one else wanted to play that monstrosity, so he had to pretend everything was fine when really I could tell he wanted to knock me over the head with the tubing-bells. Biths, right? Always taking their music too seriously…

Not all the conversations were as lighthearted as these, however. Eventually, Halla itched to share her unease regarding the current political atmosphere that took place above her midlevel dwelling. Politicians and lobbyists were beginning to become bolder in their demands that the war end immediately, that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine step down and transfer his power to a seasoned candidate, such as the Prince Regent of Alderaan or Tynnrra Pamlo, the Senator from Taris. The tension was stifling, the outcome seemingly as distant as Iego’s furthest moon.

Over the course of her last few transmissions, Halla hinted at how there was something in the air, thick and brewing, that just didn’t feel right. She knew it would all boil over before a resolution could be met. You couldn’t pay attention to the holonews every day and not think something was amiss. Thankfully, Tech paid attention to the net’s updates as much as he did the GAR comms – he was on the same page as her, though remained levelheaded despite Halla’s pseudo-paranoia since he was much more accustomed to constant conflicts and conspiracies. This was nothing but the same old stories making their rounds again. At least, that’s what he tried to reassure her of whenever it came up.

Whether or not he completely concurred with her concerns, Tech always instructed her to stay safe and keep out of trouble at the end of each and every one of his messages. Halla, likewise, did the same for him, internally admiring just how far they both had come since her initial outreach. Tech had become much warmer towards her (well, warm for Tech) in the standard half-month they had been writing to each other. He was much more willing to express smaller affections in that way he had about him – stay hydrated while you work, don’t stay up all night like I do whilst trying to complete your monograph, remember to charge your terminal fan so it doesn’t overheat itself. His friendship was a marvel to behold, a closeness that Halla hadn’t felt with anyone else in recent years.

~~~

This was where she found herself now, sending off her most recent transmission before signing off, intent on enjoying her weekend - attending to her beloved watercolor work in progress set up across the room while blasting her favorite band over the loudspeaker. Lounge clothes adorned with The Meat Droids’ latest album blaring, Halla made to stand when everything went completely silent for a moment. The holovision responsible for the music stream had been paused by some unknown perpetrator before erupting into the most egregious alarm Halla ever heard, worse than even the drills she’d undergone at the university.

Rushing out to the common area with her hands clapped over her ears, she watched in disbelief as the room was flooded with red lights from the display. “Take Shelter Immediately!” scrolled across the bottom of the screen with “EMERGENCY ALERT” front and center. The screen went black after a moment before being handed off to a broadcast reporter, seated in her usual position at the local station. The twi’lek anchor had the most devasted look upon her face, the spring green tint of her skin paled and wrinkled across her narrow face as she read from the teleprompter.

“Live from the Three-Thirty-Eighth District, a notification has just been released from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard stating that a Confederacy blockade has formed over the northern and parts of the southern hemispheres, preventing any travel in or out of the keystone spaceports. Three battalions of hostile droid units have made landfall and are moments away from entering the capitol’s boundaries.

“Republic forces are currently engaging this ongoing threat both on the ground and in the exosphere, but more pressing news has been revealed just moments ago: the Supreme Chancellor himself, Sheev Palpatine, has been abducted by General Grievous, head of the CIS Droid Army. It is unclear at the moment why the Chancellor has been targeted, as there was no apparent assassination attempt. According to our political analysts, it is believed the Chancellor has been taken as a means to negotiate a Republic surrender, held for ransom by until victory can be claimed. 

“There are reports of multiple casualties and damage caused by live fire and debris. If you are not in a secure location, please find your nearest shelter and remain there until the all-clear signal has been released from a reputable source. We will stay on air until…”

Halla shut the rest out, feeling her knees tremble as her eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was as if all the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room.

This can’t be happening…

Her own safety was far from her mind at the moment. If this was happening here, who knew what was happening across the rest of the galaxy? Was Tech alright? Were his brothers watching out for him? Halla was trapped, the war had finally found its way to the heart of the Republic, and all she could think about was how helpless she felt, unable to aid her friend when he might be in severe danger. Tears fell in twin rivers to the floor before she even realized she was sobbing.

What if something happens to him? Why in the Void did I have to be stuck here when he’s all the way out there? H-He can take care of himself, I know that but…b-but it’s not…it’s not fair…he – I need…

The sounds wrenching their way from their throat felt like a nexu clawing its way out, bursting forth in agony as Halla struggled to maintain breathing steadily. She felt herself collapse into a nearby chair, hands shaking as she held them close to her body. All the anxiety she had compartmentalized over the years seemed to take her by the roots of her hair and shove her down, down into a dark, wretched pit of despair. Drowning, deeper and deeper.

Everything was wrong. It wasn’t about the kriffing dissertation anymore – it hadn’t been for some time now. He just needed to be okay. She needed him to be okay. Needed to be able to write to him again, to tell him how much she looked forward to his transmissions every day. To hear back from him, even if it was just about how much irritation his brothers were causing him, or how bland his ration bars were. That’s all she wanted right now.

Exhaustion consumed Halla after hours of shedding tears, curled up on the settee a few steps from the chair she had occupied before. As she drifted off, the tears dried in clear tracks down the apples of her cheeks and the furrow between her brow vanished ever so slowly. The rest of Coruscant was not so fortunate. In the cityscape above, skyscrapers were demolished, civilians were slaughtered, and the designated law enforcement was spread to its bare bones even more than it had been during the Zillo Beast Incident. Fire and blood reigned above, but Halla was unwitting to it all, unaware of the events that would soon unfold in no more than four distressing, horrifyingly traumatic days and beyond.

~~~~~~

taglist: @thegoodbatch @microdeers @zinzinina @boontaeveboba @hansonveggieclub @imalovernotahater @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @bobas-missing-codpiece @passionofthesith @discofern @shannon-lynn-21 @morelikekitfistme

[zinzinina]

hot jango, nerf (gun), and tony

Jango’s self esteem is never going to recover from this, also LOL @ Nerf oh my god

[hunnythebee]

Stow Away

Chapter 7: Sleep Talking

Jo is struggling with the fact that Mando is beginning to open up and get closer to her. Conflicted about opening up herself Mando leaves for an overnight excursion, leaving Grogu in her capable hands. After a long day, Jo falls into a deep sleep. Little does she know, she talks in her sleep.

Tags: Mando x oc, Mando x ofc, sleepy sex, light dom/sub vibes, aftercare

Warnings: Canon Violence, flirting, threats, nightmares, crying, questionable consent at first but quickly becomes consent (consent is sexy), somnophilia, cock warming, PIV, gentle choking, possessive, creampie

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Masterlist

A/N

Writing this chapter has been a wild ride. I rewrote it entirely, twice. Edited more times than I can count, but I think I am finally satisfied. Also another update on AO3, I think I have finally decided to start cross-posting my work. I just have to figure out how. Its gonna be great. Can't wait to see y'all next week!

Enjoy!

Everything changed after that night on Lothal. Mando became more relaxed around her. He would roam the ship while in deep space wearing nothing but his flight suit, slightly undone, and his helmet. When they would eat, if he was seated before her, he would begin lifting his helmet before she could turn away. Jo could have sworn she had caught a glimpse of his scruffy jaw once, but she would never admit it. He had explained the extent of his Creed to her, and she respected it. Just because she respected it didn't mean she had to like it.

Mando also began to engage with Jo more. He would start conversations with her, asking her questions about her life. He also grew into the habit of touching her more. A hand on her thigh whenever they were seated next to each other, a gentle hand on her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. What really shocked her though, was this morning’s interaction.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked after lowering his helmet back down from eating his breakfast. Jo took a beat before responding. She hadn't told anyone about her childhood, and she still wasn't ready to. Not yet. She opted for the safest route.

“I was born on Naboo.”

“Hmm…" his gaze was fixed on her, making her feel as though she was about to be interrogated, or that he might pry further, instead he gave a simple nod at her answer, "makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Nabooian women are always beautiful.”

She froze mid-bite, the anxiety of confrontation melted away, and she smiled.

Is he flirting with me?

She abandoned the bite and cleared her throat. “What about you? Where were you born?”

“Aq Vetina.”

“Not Mandalore?”

“No, I was a foundling, taken in by a Mandalorian warrior during the Clone Wars.”

“I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. I don’t talk about it with people, but you’re special.”

Jo’s cheeks turned pink at his words and a small well of guilt opened in the pit of her stomach. He was willing to be transparent with her, yet she couldn't do the same for him. A silence fell between them and he stood up to collect the plates as usual, this time she stood as well instead of handing him her plate. They both entered the galley, and dispensed with the plates. He moved to pass behind her, or at least that's what Jo thought he was going to do. Instead he placed his hands on her hips and pressed against her ass.

"Don't think for a moment that what we did was a one time thing, sweet girl." His voice was deliciously low and close to her ear. "Soon."

Jo’s heart nearly stopped. She leaned hard against the counter in front of her which caused the Mandalorian pause.

“You good?” he teased, pulling her tighter against him.

A meek, “Mhmm,” was all she could muster.

He lingered a moment longer, she couldn’t see it but knew he was smirking. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had desperately wished he could have fucked her again after that night on Lothal, but there had been no opportunities. The bounties had been particularly difficult and their break on Takodana had put him behind.

He finally moved on to preparing to leave for the hunt and she followed after collecting herself. He strapped his rifle to his back and turned to face her before leaving. She expected some kind of instructions to be given. Something along the lines of ‘stay on the ship’ or ‘don’t be seen’ but instead he reached out and pulled her against him.

His arms wrapped tight around her waist. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, but her arms were already instinctually around his shoulders. He squeezed her tight to his chest, and she hugged his shoulders tighter. They stayed like this for a moment, her head resting on his shoulder. Breathing in his aroma, and letting the memory of him imprint on her. He pulled back slightly, his gaze fixed on her through the visor. She stared back at him, searching for eyes she knew she would never see. He finally broke the silence.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close them. I won't say it again."

She did as she was told and closed them. The familiar hiss of his helmet depressurizing filled her senses as she realized what was happening. He cradled her face in his hands and pulled her in for a kiss. He hadn't kissed her since that night. He hadn't done anything like this since that night. She happily sank into the kiss and out of her mind. This kiss was different than last time, sweet and soft, not as desperate as before. They finally parted and he put the helmet back on. She opened her eyes and looked at the Mandalorian.

“I’ll be gone overnight,” he spoke softly. “Feel free to explore the village, just keep yourself hidden.” A hand brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Especially your hair.” He walked off the ship and stopped at the end of the ramp to turn back, “Also, you’re welcome to my bunk tonight.”

“Be safe!” She shouted after him and he nodded in response.

Jo spent another hour on the ship, straightening up and dancing to music. Once Grogu finally woke, she fed him quickly and then placed him in a satchel on her hip. On the opposite hip she attached a hip holster for a vibro-knife and picked one from Mando's arsenal to take with her. Jo had no intention of using the knife, but it made her feel safe to have it anyways. She wrapped her head with a scarf, covering her hair and the lower part of her face. Finally she grabbed a cloak she had brought with her when she left Tatooine. Jo pulled the hood up and disembarked the Crest. Whilst exploring the village she came upon a marketplace. An alleyway filled with adobe alcoves and stalls adorned with colorful awnings and woven fabrics. Vendors called out from their stalls, advertising their wares in basic. One stall in particular caught her attention.

A twi'lek woman greeted Jo, "Bright Suns traveller, I see you are wearing a headscarf. I have many beautiful scarves, ones that would compliment your beautiful eyes. Come, come see." The shopkeep gestured to several tables where scarves of a variety of textiles and patterns were neatly on display. Jo selected a few headscarves and hoods, and decided to purchase them, given that having to cover herself was becoming more common. She thanked the woman and went about her shopping.

After exploring for a few hours, she decided it was time for a break. She found a quiet spot near a large pool of water and allowed Grogu out of his carrier. He sat in her lap while she fed him some kettle-popped grains that she had purchased. While he was happily munching away, a old quarren man approached Jo.

"Ex-excuse me. I hate to be a bother, but how much?" The man inquired.

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she glared. "How much... For what?"

He laughed as if she was the one asking an absurd question. "How much for your rare critter? I've never seen a creature like it! I must have it for my collection. I am willing to pay handsomely, name your price."

She stood up, placing the child into the satchel and shifting him so that he was resting behind her. "He is not for sale. He is a child, and he is under my protection."

He cocked his head to the side and scoffed, "My dear, everything in this galaxy has a price." He reached a hand out to touch her, and she caught him by the wrist with one hand and unsheathed her vibro-knife with the other. Jo held the knife to his throat, beneath the tentacles protruding from his jaw.

"Fine. Name your price." She shook with anger as she echoed his request back to him. "How much are you willing to pay for your own life, old man?"

The quarren's chest rose and fell with rapid, anxious breaths. "Apologies. I will leave you in peace with your... Son. No need for threats." He held his hands up in surrender, and she relinquished her hold on him.

She kept her knife firmly in her grasp as she watched him back away. It wasn't until the man had disappeared from sight that she finally re-sheathed her vibro-knife and checked on Grogu. His ears perked up when they made eye contact.

"Everything is okay little guy. I won't let anything happen to you." She patted him on the head and he cooed happily. "How about we finish the shopping and head home?" She froze at her own words. Jo hadn't given it much thought but, she was starting to feel more at home on the Crest than she had anywhere else since... She shook the thought from her mind and returned to the present, focusing on the young one on her hip. He was still happily cooing, waiting for her to begin the trek through the marketplace once more.

Mando had left her a substantial number of credits to be able to purchase necessities, which she took full advantage of. She returned to the ship at sunset, hands full of bags of bursting with food. It was nearly dark when she finally made it aboard. She placed the food down on the floor and closed the ramp behind her. Grogu was set down onto the floor and proceeded to waddle around the hull, searching for something shiny to play with most likely. She left him to his own devices and began to put away the food she had acquired. Since she had joined the Mandalorian's 'crew', the pantry had gone from sparse to bursting. Cooking was one of her favorite pastimes, and it was much easier to do when there was variety. Once that was done she prepared dinner for herself and Grogu, something small since it was just the two of them. They ate and he fell asleep, leaving her to her own devices. She stared at the closed door of Mando’s bunk, debating whether she was going to take the offer to sleep in there. She hadn't been inside since Lothal. 

Jo decided that a shower, regardless of where she would sleep tonight, was in order. As she washed herself, she found the bruises he had kissed into her skin several nights ago. They were mostly faded, but the memory still lingered. She traced over every single mark, reveling in the fact that there was evidence that he had been there. Jo realized she had been in the refresher for so long that her fingers were pruning. She turned off the water and dressed in a silk night dress that Peli had given her that she had 'lyin around'. It was one of the nicest things Jo had ever been given, so she didn't ask any further questions about the origins. She exited the fresher and took a deep breath to gather her nerves.

Fuck it.

She brought the egg-shaped crib with her into Mando’s bunk and the door hissed shut behind her. She crawled into his cot, which was definitely more comfortable than hers. His scent was everywhere, but hung especially heavy on the bunk. Jo let herself imagine he was lying beside her. She drifted to sleep to the thought of his arm draped over her waist and his body pressed up behind her.

She dreamt of him, of Mando. His face was always hazy in her dreams, the only visible feature was his scruffy jaw. He’s holding her on Naboo, and professing his undying love and loyalty to her. She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, and he lifts her completely off the ground. The pair of them fall backwards into the meadow and the dream morphs into something much steamier than it had started as. Clothes were being thrown off each other. Burning hot kisses being pressed against one another. Their moans of pleasure echoing through the field as they gave into it completely.

Jo was moaning in her sleep. A wetness pooling between her thighs. She was grinding her hips against nothing, desperate for a sense of real friction in her dream world. Unbeknownst to her, the Mandalorian was bearing witness to all of it.

It was dark and he was back earlier than he had anticipated, but he could make out her body in his bed perfectly. She was wearing something he had never seen on her before and he liked what he saw. He wasn't sure what he should do in a situation like this. In truth, he was planning to just sleep in her cot for the night, let her rest peacefully. Then she began speaking in her sleep and all rational thought left his mind.

"Mando..." She moaned loudly, "Need you...Don't stop." Jo continued to whimper and moan while he carefully removed Grogu from the room and quietly stripped down. He climbed into the small bed with her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her backside against him. She grinded her hips against his aching erection, lighting a fire in his veins. He grinded against her in return, letting out a ragged breath at the friction. He pressed soft kisses to her neck as he reached a hand between her legs. As his fingers made contact she let out a shaky breath.

"Fuck, what I would give to know what you're dreaming about that would make you this wet." He gently pulled the hem of her dress up over her ass, and dragged his tip through her wetness. Another loud moan left her lips as he sank his hard cock deep inside her. She was soaking wet and so warm. He let his cock just rest inside her for a long moment. The feeling of her pussy clenching and pulsating around him was something he wanted to fully enjoy.

"Please," came her voice in the dark, different than when she had spoken in her sleep before. This time it was a pleading whisper, heavy with lust and sleep. She grinded back against him, an intention there that hadn't been there before. She was awake. She was grinding and begging, desperate for him to move. The fact that she was this needy for him made his head buzz. Experimentally, he brought a hand up and grasped her throat with a gentle pressure. She bit her lip and moaned loudly at the new sensation.

"Keep begging for it, sweet girl. Convince me you deserve it." He growled into her ear.

"Please fuck me. Need your cock so bad. Want you to take me. Only you." She whimpered, pressing against him as much as possible. Her last two words nearly took the wind out of him.

Only you.

He began to pump into her with a slow, aggressive pace, burying himself completely in her with each stroke. He pressed his mouth to her neck and moaned.

"All. Fucking. Mine." Punctuated with each rough stroke. Her moans were unbridled, her mind still in the fog of sleep. She gave her body to him completely. She wanted him to make her his. She craved this.

"All yours. Fuck! Don't stop."

"That's it, come for me. Come on my cock mesh'la." He continued fucking into her, his pace never faltering as she fell apart for him. Her orgasm ripped through her, a blinding heat crashing over her, but he didn't stop. Instead he began fucking into her faster, he groaned against the skin of her neck.

"Where... Where should I..." He couldn't manage a full sentence, his ecstasy clouding his mind. Jo reached behind her and grasped his hair tightly.

"Inside. Want you to fill me up."

"F-fuck. Are you-"

"I'm safe, come inside me. Please." Mando sank his teeth into her shoulder as he came. His release coated her walls and dripped out around his cock. He was huffing and panting. He pulled out of her and she felt it slowly drip out of her. Jo hummed happily as she sank back into the pillow, her body relaxing completely. As she started to drift to sleep once more she felt a shift behind her which pulled her back from the edge.

"Stay," she whimpered, grasping for him in the dark. He grabbed her hand a placed a kiss to her palm.

"I will, but first I need to clean up the mess I have made." He laughed lightly.

"Fine. As long as you promise you'll be back."

"I will always come back." He disappeared for a few moments, and when he returned he had a towel with warm water. She was almost completely asleep at this point, so he wiped her thighs clean for her. He readjusted her dress and threw on a pair of boxers. Mando climbed back into the bed and held her tight as he followed her into sleep.

She was dreaming the same dream again. They're on Naboo and he's confessing his love. She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips like before. This time the dream turned, she pulled back and her gaze was met with red eyes. He gripped her tight, bruising her skin with the force. She screamed trying to pull away, it’s no use though. She was too weak in his grasp, unable to run away. The world fell away from beneath her and she awoke in the familiar bunk. She bolted up, startling Mando awake.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice a mix of sleep and panic. She was choking on sobs and shaking uncontrollably. Hearing this woke him up entirely. He pulled her into his arms and gently stroked her hair. "Shh… it's okay sweet girl… you're safe. It was just a dream."

She buried her face, her voice muffled by his shoulder, "But it wasn't… it was him…" He cradled her against his chest. He still wasn't sure what memories plagued her, but it didn't matter. She was obviously upset.

"I'm here now. I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you." He promised softly.

Jo was too delirious to process his words, but her body responded. She relaxed into him and her breathing slowed. They remained like that, her in his arms with Mando stroking her back. Once her breathing became slow and rhythmic again, he relaxed. He cradled her face with his hand as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Ni Kelir cabour gar mesh'la." He whispered softly.

I will protect you beautiful.

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Masterlist

[there-was-love]

I am politely asking you to tell me about any OC you wish to talk about, I wish to hear about your children

OOOOOO OK OK sO

I'm going with my two boys, Caw and Jaguar.

So they're two clones, batchmates, and they're the only ones left from their batch. I believe that the clones have various shapes and heights, so Caw is way tall for a clone (190cm/6'2) while Jaguar is more average. Caw is kinda scruffy looking while Jag is more kempt. Jag has bleached blonde hair but he likes his roots to show a bit.

So Caw is kinda,,,,,, let's say Shane Madej level weird. He's just. Slightly off. He'll nap anywhere he can too. It's like an artform to him. Sometimes you'll just see two long legs stick out from a storage cabinet and you just gotta mind your business. Man is tired. He's also got it out for Bad Textures. He once ate a soggy nutrient bar on a dare and immediately was running for the nearest fresher. Poor lad.

And now, Jaguar is maybe the more normal one at first glance, but you'll soon learn, that's not the case. This fucker may be silent and serious, but you put him near a tree and you'll suddenly know where he got his name from. This is a sport to him. He be climbing. Basically, I based him off of me when I was a weird 10 yr old 'girl' lol. Think autistic swag.

Anyways, they're both sharpshooters in the 104th. They terrorise any form of group chat with their banter, including the comms when on the literal battlefield, much to their sargeant's chagrin. I have their whole squad figured out btw, I just like these idiots the most.

This was all over the place because I'm an all over the place type of person, but I hope you like them <3

[palettepainter]

Could I ask for some parent headcannons with Ectoloader? I’ve known of the ship but never seen art of them as parents. If no can I just have some headcannons of Haiya?

This ended up being mostly headcannons about Haiya and his relationship with some other students at UA and Ecto and Higari but a few at the start are Ectoloader

-Powerloader isn’t the most cleanest person. He has a little wash in the mornings, shaves if he needs too, and that’s it - off to work. With his job Powerloader often ends up a mess afterwards, even if he hasn’t used his quirk to go digging in the dirt. It gets hot in the design studio, and with Powerloader being stuck under that helmet all day he gets sweaty, and his hair becomes such a tangled mess, plus with his engineering he gets muck on his hands and trousers. Since no body really visits the design studio (besides students) Powerloader doesn’t really keep up appearances, unless of course theres some big meeting in which case he’ll clean up a little. Ectoplasm has tried to get Higari to take better care of his apperance such as taking a shower or a bath once in a while but Powerloader doesn’t really see the point in it - more times then either will admit but Ecto has had to chase Higari round the house just so he can take a damned bath. Ectoplasm may have a lot of clones but Higari has a lot of strength, plus being smaller he can find much more places to hide. Ectoplasm either gives up, manages to drag Higari to the bathroom, or compromises and joins Higari

-Based off an Ectoplasm x Powerloader story I read but Ectoplasm is ticklish. Higari discovered this accidentally when the two where cuddling and his hand brushed over Ectoplasm’s ribs making him stiffen and squeak. Ectoplasm had hoped Higari wouldn’t think too much of this, but he was wrong. Very wrong. Powerloader is a sneaky little weasel and has found through testing his theory that tickling Ectoplasm is one of the fastest ways to get him to unwind, and with Powerloaders added strength he has no issue wrestling Ectoplasm so that he can tickle him.

Higari isn’t as ticklish as Ectoplasm, but his weak points are his neck and ears. Ectoplasm had a suspicion that might be the case since his ears and neck are always covered by that scruffy mane of hair. One day the two where at home, Higari has pulled his hair into a loose ponytail that hung over one shoulder, leaving his neck open for attack. Ectoplasm watched him for a moment, before very lightly tickling his neck. Higari full on jumped at the unexpected tickling attack, actually surprising Ectoplasm, who hadn’t expected that great of a reaction. Needless to say Ectoplasm enjoyed getting his revenge    

-When Hatsume is over she becomes Powerloaders right hand in the design studio, and while she still is prone to blowing up the occasional machine every now and then Higari sees explosions and fires in the studio as just a regular start to a morning. Higari has come to just expect something to blow up when he goes into work, if sometimes doesn’t it’s a miracle. Ectoplasm doesn’t take Higari’s warnings on Hatsume’s inventions all that seriously, she’s just passionate about her work. One day, say their anniversary or something, Ectoplasm and Higari had planned to go out for the evening and thus needed someone to watch Haiya. All the other teachers where busy but in the end Ectoplasm manages to find a sitter and the two leave. While having dinner Higari casually asks who it was Ectoplasm found to watch Haiya, in which he replies Hatsume.

Cue Higari spitting out his drink - If Hatsume is watching Haiya then who’s watching Hatsume?!

They end up going home an hour early and return to find their home untouched, totally fine. Higari has a moment of stunned silence before doing a double take and looking round the home.The only problem they found was that Haiya was up a little late, that was it. Higari was still suspicious but Ectoplasm thanks Hatsume regardless. It’s only two hours later when Higari finds no hidden broken object or exploded oven does he awkwardly admit that Ectoplasm was right, and then apologizes for ruining their anniversary dinner. The two end up having a small make out on the sofa (At this point Haiya was in bed) and then counting said make out in the bedroom.

The next morning Higari lumbers to the kitchen to make a coffee..only to find the coffee pot broken. 

Powerloader made Hatsume but him a new one

-Hatsume and Iida end up having a kid, and dear old Powerloader was the very first to know, by that I mean Hatsume just showed up a work with a baby after he was born making Powerloader choke on air because ‘HATSUME  YOU BROUGHT A BABY TO THE DESIGN STUDIO?!’ - Powerloader isn’t bad with kids but he’s no Merry Poppins, but he was at least smart enough to know a baby of all things didn’t belong in a design studio. Dealing with one Hatsume was hard enough, and now he had a mini Hatsume crawling about the place. Powerloader ends up roped into babysitting becasue Powerloader was not letting Hatsume’s machines do the babysitting while she was gone somewhere. Dear little Tensai (Iida named his kid after his brother) grows up loving Powerloader and, to Powerloader’s relief, is less prone to blowing things up. Powerloader is dubbed ‘Grunkle’ by Tensai, a combo of Uncle and Grandad. Higari tried to get him to call him one or the other, and failed miserably. Ectoplasm finds the name quite sweet and can’t help but snicker at it

-Before meeting Ectoplasm Haiya was nervous about the topic of his arms, even with prosthetics he saw his lack of arms as a failure - his view on this was caused mostly by his biological parents, if they had raised him in a better way Haiya wouldn’t have grown to be as sensitive about it. Ectoplasm was called in by Eri who runs a therapy center in my NGAU. Haiya was brought to the center along with Kowai and Furu (I know I haven’t done as much stuff with Furu so to anyone who’s new she’s another MHAOC who goes on to be adopted by Bakugo and Sero) as orphans. With no biological or adoptive parents the three stayed at the center while Eri and other staff helped in their recovery. Whereas Furu was more defensive and hostile Haiya was more nervous, he didn’t (and still doesn’t) have an issue with heroes, but his low self confidence has led to him being somewhat anti social, it can be hard for him to start conversations with new people, especially adults or people he looks up too. Ectoplasm was a big help in boosting Haiya’s confidence, so much that by the time students where allowed to apply for courses at UA Haiya was given the opportunity to study there. With Eri’s parents (Aizawa and Mic adopted her) working at UA Eri is able to give kids at the center the opportunity to go to a proper school when she feels they have progressed enough to fit in with a school environment, and when their are spaces available on certain course

He was given the choice to be on the hero course, with his quirk it was likely he’d pass the entrance exam. Though Haiya himself has no issue with hereos or those who decide they want to be a hero, Haiya no longer wishes to be one, his old parents didn’t really give him much of a choice for his career, so Haiya decided instead to apply for general studies, so that he could explore his own interests.

-Haiya doesn’t like Jin. Jin is another OC who goes to UA and is in class 1B on the hero course. Jin is in short an ass, he’s coy and rude and will say whats on his mind, even if it’s impolite. Jin has a knack for hitting people where it hurts, since joining UA he’s gotten better with his attitude but he’s still got a long way to go. Haiya’s kind of scared of him to an extent so tends to avoid him. He’s disliked Jin ever since he made an arm joke

Jin: Hey Haiya

Haiya: Hm?

Jin: Mind lending me a hand?

Haiya:....Banned

Jin: What?

Haiya: That joke is BANNED!

-Haiya’s attitude can sometimes come off as overbearing. He’s very over the top and easily excitable, which can lead to people thinking of him as annoying or stupid. Haiya attends counselling with Hounddog to help with his anxiety, and he also writes stuff down in a book, he finds writing down his thoughts and feelings easier then talking. Haiya can be mature and chill when he wants to or if it’s needed, but that’s often rare. Haiya acts more childish then most kids his age because he didn’t really get a very fun childhood with his bio parents, he’s trying to make up for lost time

-Haiya has dyslexia, this is still something I’m learning to write about accurately so if anyone has any tips on how to write a character well with dyslexia let me know. In Haiya’s case he has difficulty reading and interpreting words and letters, and when Haiya was little and was in a public school, it deeply affected his learning. His parents thought home schooling would be better for him, but it just lead to Haiya becoming more anxious over his own intelligence. Due to this Haiya can be reluctant to try something new and sometimes needs encouragement from a friend, he also has a fear of failure so when he does pick up a new hobby he does genuinely try to give it his all. Praise gives him a lot of confidence so words of encouragement do a lot to his confidence. 

Before Haiya went to UA he along with others at the center got some school education. The center did classes for certain subjects over the weekdays and did stuff like small tests and gave out homework pieces for them to complete in their own time. Eri uses these classes to decide which kids would be better off going to a propper school, and which ones need more help then others. Haiya was one of the kids that needed some help with his work due to his dyslexia. Eri put two and two together when she brought Haiya aside to talk about his progress and he ended up admitting how he has difficulty with reading sometimes

-Before his arms where removed Haiya had both his mothers quirk, Overclock, and his fathers quirk, A quirk that allowed him to speed up or slow down the movement of an object based on touch with electricity he generated from his body - the draw backs to this quirk being that to generate the electricy he had to sacrifice his on energy. The more he generated the more tired he’d get.

With his arms gone his second quirk was also gone, so he only has Overclock now - however he can still use his second quirk, just in a different way. With his quirk Overclock Haiya can generate big amounts of electricity in seconds, I’m still planning on how Haiya discovers this as he himself isn’t aware he can do this, but the draw back to the quirk is that it’s essentially an instant knock out both for himself and his opponent. Generating large amounts of electricity all at once and so suddenly severely drains him of his energy, so it’s a guarantee when he does use this quirk that he’ll pass out shortly afterwards until he has better control over it.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Scruffy, going over the batch's weekly calendar: Hey Scuff! What's this "Gossip Doctor" thing that last for an hour this Taungsday?

Cypher: That's what he calls his therapist.

Scruffy: ...

Scruffy: Yeah, that tracks.