#deaf clone troopers

[the-suggested-names-suck]

Now I haven't been in the Star Wars fandom for very long, but I got into rebels recently, and so I've read several fics that have something to do with Order 66, and I had a thought. Maybe somebody else has also had this thought, but I haven't seen anybody talk about it. so.

From what I can tell, the chips don't spread the order; they're triggered by being told the order. And what is an injury very likely to happen in active war zones with lots of big booms, bams, and also bangs?

That's right: hearing loss.

This is to say, I really want to consume some fics about deaf clones (recently deaf or not, makes no difference to me) protecting their jedi/padawans from the other clones.

[gh0st-c0mpany]

Captain Rex flies in on Jetpack at Gamescom 2009, "SWTCW: Republic Heros", Cologne, Germany (Pilot: Dan Schlund)

Photos More Footage Boba Fett Dan's Gallery

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I haven't had any fictional characters show up in my dreams for awhile but the other night I dreamed I accidentally left my teenage brother at a city library and he wouldn't answer his phone so I was freaking out trying to to get back to him by bus and when I made it back it turned out he was just chilling with AJ in the closed library

[flashthescalesian-art]

Dek, in bed with Ollie: Your knees are on my side of the bed!

Ollie, barely awake: Oh, I misplaced them.

[gars-weaponeer]

There is this deleted Scene from the Bad Batch arc of Clone Wars in which after Crosshair and Rex fight Anakin confronts Rex telling him that there is a possibility that Echo has been turned. To which Rex answers: "I've known Echo since Domino Squad, He is one of the bravest troopers I've ever worked with. Sure, he can test your nerves repeating every order like you are deaf, but I can tell you this: He rather die than turn against the republic." (Link)

And I wish they would have kept that.

I wish we could have gotten more of Echo's unique quirk. You know? the one that gave him his name: His tendency to repeat everything and make sure everyone is aware of what has to be done.

It's such a unique, an honestly funny quirk that we didn't really got to see outside of the Domino Squad episode and I don't see it represented on the fandom often.

I wish we could have gotten more of that little quirk that made Echo Unique in the Bad Batch. I wish we could have gotten more of Echo in the bad batch in general.

[ireadwithmyears]

Hi! Would you be able to write something for the clones (any of them) with a reader who has a guide dog. I've been running into a lot of issues with people trying to distract her and borderline harassing us (the president of my university follows us around with his unleashed dog running up to us, someone grabbed her nose when we were on a bus and then screamed at us, I'm a biology/genetics major so we get some subtle discrimination in academic opportunities like research projects, etc). Also I don't currently live somewhere with public transportation so I have to take Uber to get anywhere which is a whole other nightmare (a driver dropped us off at the wrong location and I was stuck in a sketchy part of town for 45 minutes while drivers kept denying us a ride). Maybe something with how the clones would comfort/handle their SO dealing with these things. Obviously you don't have to write about all of these scenarios, just some ideas

You don't have to of course, but I figured it was worth an ask:)

Looking Out for You:Part 1

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem Reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: 4.1 K

Tags/warnings: Visually impaired reader, meet cute, grumpy x sunshine vibes, denial of feelings(Fox falls first, he falls hard, and he denies it every single step of the way because he’s Fox), guide dog cuteness, brief mention of ableism(this chapter is pretty tame, but in future installments, I intend to explore these elements more deeply, specifically as they pertain to service dog users. These topics aren’t always the most comfortable to discuss. But I feel they are important to bring awareness to)

Summary: Making the transition from your small, rural homeworld to Coruscant already promises to be tough. But when you’re employed to work at the Senate buildings directly under senator Organa and you’re also a guide dog user, things quickly become more complicated, in a variety of ways. Luckily, you seem to have caught the eye of a certain Marshal commander, who swears up and down that he’s not falling in love with you, but who, regardless, always has your back, and is always looking out for you.

A.k.a. 

The three times Fox makes sure that you get home safely. Plus the one time he ends up following you inside

Authors note: Hii anon. I was so happy to hear from you and received this request. As a fellow guide dog user, I have so many different experiences that I feel are worth sharing, so that more people are aware of the trials we face because as amazing as it is that we have these incredible animals, it isn’t always just a nice walk in the park. Which leads me to my next point. Because of all of these experiences that I want to highlight, this 1shot quickly evolved into a four part series, to give it the proper breathing room that I feel it deserves. I hope that’s okay, and I hope you still like this one. If you’d like to message me privately so that I can make sure you’re tagged in each subsequent update, please do. I’d be happy to do that

The first time it happens, Fox is admittedly running on his default, which is to say in plain terms that he is annoyed.

“Why is this my problem?”

Fox winces upon hearing the barely concealed snarl in his own voice through his helmet speakers. He could have phrased that better. He should have at least taken the courtesy to add “with all due respect” when leading into that sentence, even if both he and the trooper who has the misfortune of being at the other end of the line are both fully aware that he doesn’t intend to sound respectful in the slightest.

There’s a pause, a hesitation on the other end of the coms, which causes Fox to silently berate himself for his initial sharp tone. He reminds himself, as he does about 500 times daily, that he needs to be more careful with it.

This warning, for some reason, always falls on deaf ears. But still, Fox wagers that he at least keeps trying, and who knows, maybe one of these days, it’ll actually stick. It probably won’t.

“It’s just that the issue is occurring at the entrance closest to your office, sir,” the trooper begins before rushing to add, “but if you’re busy, we can send—”

“Don’t bother,” Fox sighs. “I’m already on my way there.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be on such a high horse, but really, being sent to investigate a loitering complaint is far above what he, as a marshall commander, should be doing. Despite this though, he privately admits that he’s been looking for an excuse to stand up from his desk chair and stretch his legs. Maybe if he’s lucky, he'll manage to shake off the aching twinge in his left shoulder, hunched from filling out a last-minute stack of crime reports that he had been on the scene of, all from the previous night between the hours of 1 to 3 in the morning. So really, he rationalizes, can anyone blame him for being more than a little bit pissed off at the interruption? 

Maybe it’s a sign that he needs a refill on his caf. 

He rounds the corner and, with what is in hindsight probably more force than is necessary, smacks a hand against an access panel. The door slides open, and a cool breeze hits him as he steps outside into the open air.

His eyes scan through the visor of his helmet, and to his annoyance he doesn’t see the suspected loiterer that he had been warned of, at least not at first. 

Sighing, he steps further out and past the awning above the entrance. Though the air is cool, the sun still shines, and the slight glow causes his eyes to catch on the gloss of your hair as you walk past, eyes nervous as they flick around. Sensing his presence, you pause, shoulders stiffening slightly as you turn to face him with trepidation. Fox also takes notice, his eyes widening in momentary surprise when he observes the guide dog harnessed at your left side, looking up at you with big brown eyes, as if silently trying to understand your sudden hesitance.

You, of course, have every reason to be suspicious of any unannounced or unidentified presence in your vicinity, especially now that you’re living on Coruscant. But, if you’re honest, you’re already on edge, and even though it’s still morning, the day has promised to be shit if the beginning of it is any indication.

Senator Organa isn’t in the habit of firing his junior staff for small mistakes like this, you remind yourself. Still, the thought, no matter how many times you’ve repeated it like a mantra at this point, doesn’t manage to calm your growing nerves, because regardless you’re still lost, and you’re still running late. You silently curse the pitfalls of being blind and using a ride-sharing service, and then you have to restrain yourself from cursing aloud when your eyes land on the silhouette parked a few meters in front of you.

You don’t have much vision. But with what you do have, it’s enough to deduce bright, contrasting colors. And the red splotches against white armor has you stopping dead in your tracks, because within the span of two seconds, a cold clarity settles within your stomach, because the red and white armor is distinctly and unmistakably that of a Coruscant Guard member, the visor of his helmet tilted, looking no doubt with suspicion directly at you.

Resisting the urge to bemoan the shortage of orientation and mobility droids designed to assist with transitions like this—which would have ensured that you would have been able to smoothly get yourself out of this situation in the first place—you bring your guide dog to heel before gesturing for her to sit, then slowly and hesitantly raise your eyes to the trooper, already feeling a mix of anxiety and guilt stirring in the pit of your stomach.

There’s a small sound from his helmet, a hesitation as he seems to clear his throat before speaking. 

“Personal Senatorial aides aren’t permitted to use this entrance,” he says, gesturing to the badge on the lanyard that hangs around your neck. 

He speaks as if this is a reminder that he’s given more than once, which you’re sure he has. Still, there’s an underlying sharpness to it that makes you jump despite your efforts not to react. 

“I, I know,” you say, swallowing before rushing to continue. “I didn’t mean to be dropped off here, sir. I took a Speedershare to get here this morning, and I didn’t realize the driver dropped me off at this entrance until I got out, and by that point it was too late, and I should have asked to verify which one he was going to but—”

“Hey, easy. Slow down.”

The trooper steps closer to you, and it’s only then that you register that you’ve been rambling, your anxiety ratcheting up with each word. Now that you’re silent, you can feel the way your heart is pounding. You’ve seen the Guard around, of course, but you’ve never really interacted with any of them. He’s tall, you realize as he stands in front of you and you look up into the visor of his helmet. Tall and broad, and you were already nervous before he showed up. 

But his hands are raised, in supplication or as an offering of peace, you’re not sure. But regardless, he doesn’t seem on the verge of scolding you further for your silly mistake, which is good, because your nerves are still so frayed from getting out of your ride only to realize that you had no idea where you were, and that apart from knowing that you were somewhere at the Senate building, you were effectively lost and alone. A scolding, delivered with just the right amount of displeasure, would probably be enough to make you start crying, which would make this day go from being the worst to certifiably irredeemable.

“Speedershare isn’t always the most reliable service. Your employer is Senator Organa,” he says, eyes once again scanning over your badge. “I’m sure he could arrange an alternate transportation service that is much more consistent and professional for you to use.”

“I don’t want his charity,” you say, and you can’t help the hard edge that creeps into your voice when you speak.

But really, you don’t. You know that he could, and knowing Senator Organa, he would be happy to do so. But it’s unnecessary. You grew up needing extra accommodations and things that, despite your teachers’ constant stream of reassurances, always made you feel singled out. 

You’re an adult now, and you don’t want that. You don’t need his charity, his pity, or to be added to his ever-growing list of things to worry about at the beginning and end of each day—an item to be checked off. 

As far as you’re concerned, the best thing you can do for the both of you is to keep this to yourself, and you’ll figure out how to manage sooner or later.

Fox takes a step back, able to recognize your quick deflection of his suggestion as a sign that he’s slightly overstepped, and he nods, glancing towards the door.

“Well,” he says, forcing his voice to sound lighter. “I suppose I could let you off the hook this once and let you use this entrance.”

“Thank you,” you say, before hesitantly adding, “I, I’m not familiar with the route to get to Senator Organa’s office from where we are. Would you, I mean, you don’t have to if you’re busy, but—”

“I’ll take you there,” he cuts you off, finality in his voice. “Do you, uh, need a guide or anything?”

Fox internally kicks himself for not knowing how to handle a situation like this, but you give your head a small shake, which allows him a moment of relief. 

“The color on your armor is bright,” you respond, and for the first time in this interaction, you smile. He can’t help but admire the way it seems to transform you, your previous nerves and worry disappearing like the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s quite lovely, he observes, and then internally kicks himself just a bit harder as punishment for that traitorous thought. 

Useless, he scolds. Unnecessary. But it’s already been thought, and he can’t take it back. He’s grateful for the helmet concealing his face, hiding the way his lips repeatedly twitch in an effort to turn upward as he hears you, your voice giving a soft, encouraging command, and the slight pitter patter of paws against pavement as your guide dog leads you to follow after him. 

He firmly resolves not to speak unless necessary until he’s taken you to the senator's office.

This resolve lasts for less than two minutes before he feels the slight brush of a wet nose against his hand and hears a small sniffing sound at his hip. Turning his head, he finds your guide dog, who has stopped walking and is sniffing at a pouch around his waist, and you looking sheepish as you stand behind him.

“Mandalore, leave it,” you scold, your voice lower than he’s heard it and with a suddenly authoritative edge that has his eyes widening slightly. You’re so little, he thinks, and all you’ve ever been whilst interacting with him is timid and quiet like a mouse. Seeing that side of you, as if flipped on by a switch, well...he can’t help but be taken by slight surprise. You pull back the harness, giving it a slight shake and the dog, with obvious reluctance, backs off, abandoning its curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, your cheeks heating with a blush. His hand twitches of its own accord, struck with an unexplained urge to reach out and touch, wondering if he would feel the warmth of your cheek beneath his gloved fingers.

Kriff, his internal monologue groans, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you today? He refocuses, looking down at you and shaking his head.

“Your dog’s name is Mandalore?” he asks, genuinely curious and unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You laugh, nodding your head. “The one and only,” you grin. “Certain training schools do things differently. But the one we went to likes to name each litter by theme, and hers happened to be planets.”

You lower your voice, leaning in conspiratorially with a slight twinkle in your eye. 

“You know, for a Mandalore, she doesn’t look very intimidating, does she?” you ask, and he’s surprised, startled even, to hear the snort of laughter that is pulled from him as he nods his head, looking down at the guide dog who’s unaffected, her professional mask barely concealed behind a tail that wags at him and big, pleading eyes that seem to pierce through his soul.

“No, she really doesn’t,” he agrees, and your grin widens.

“I’ve always joked that if a burglar broke into my house, she wouldn’t bark or growl or try to bite at them,” you say, still smiling as you continue to walk. “She would simply flop down on the ground at their feet and roll over to demand a belly rub.”

“Well…” he says, and faintly, in the back of his head, he registers that he’s 

actually smiling. Huh, he thinks, taken slightly off-guard by the strange feeling. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened. It’s almost slightly disturbing. “If she’s not a fighter, she at least has some good distraction tactics.”

You laugh, your previous nerves surrounding getting lost and being late all but forgotten. It’s a nice sound, bright and lively, and Fox, the Maker help him, finds that he wants to hear it again.

“She probably smells the treats I keep in my pouch for Grizzer,” Fox explains, slightly rueful. He rolls his eyes and pretends to dislike it every time Hound brings the massiff to his office, citing that his panting is distracting, and that his drool gets everywhere, which is disgusting. Those things are both true. But Fox also can’t help but appreciate the warm weight of Grizzer’s head against his leg or the large, imploring eyes the massiff gives him when he knows that Fox has food. 

“I figured it would be unprofessional of me to offer one to her,” he continues, and you nod your head, glancing down.

“It would, but...” you begin slowly, calculating as you clock the staircase you’re approaching and turning your head to look up at him as a slow smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “If you give it to me, I could give it to her by proxy if you want.”

He nods, unzipping the small pouch, guiding you to hold out your hand as he places several small treats on the palm of it, which already has the dog vibrating with eagerness. But you don’t give in right away. 

“Forward,” you say, gesturing your head to the small set of stairs. The added incentive makes the dog quick on her feet, and you have to tell her to slow down as she rushes to comply, guiding you towards the stairs, barely able to contain the excited trot in her step. “Okay, Mandalore, show me where the railing is.”

The guide dog turns slightly, changing course to lead you towards the railing on the far right, placing her front paws up on the stairs and pausing, turning her head to look up at you for approval. 

“Yes,” you beam, stroking a hand along her head. “You learn so fast. Good girl.”

Fox watches, a smile on his face as you hold out your hand with the treats, giving it a few taps against the railing before opening your palm, offering it to her. She eagerly gobbles them up without hesitation, her tail never ceasing its happy little wiggles, which makes Fox want to laugh.

“You know,” he says, stepping up beside you and beginning to mount the stairs. “On second thought, maybe she is a fighter. I mean, she looked like she was ready to take off your fingers along with the treats.”

“When it comes to food, she definitely is,” you say with a grin, following after him. “If only all burglars came covered in peanut butter or dog treats, I’d feel much safer about our odds.”

You both snicker, and the rest of the journey up to the senators’ offices passes in a relatively comfortable silence apart from Fox giving you a few quiet directions as you make your way through the halls. You never fail to turn your head and smile at him each time he warns you of a crowd of people incoming so you can maybe take a step to the side, or if you need to turn left or right at this next intersection.

He isn’t sure how to describe it, but his heart does something strange each time you do. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience...” you trail off, uncertain of the trooper’s name as you stand outside the doorway to Senator Organa’s office.

“Fox,” he responds, and he’s quickly struck by the strangeness of how he felt compelled to give you his chosen name first instead of his rank. That, he thinks, is definitely odd and out of the ordinary, but he recovers himself quickly. “Commander Fox,” he adds, and your cheeks rapidly heat with a blush.

“Oh, Force,” you groan, covering your cheeks with your hands and closing your eyes, mortified. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to inconvenience so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, and the brush of gloved fingers against your arm is barely there, brief and gone in an instant, but it’s enough to startle you out of your embarrassment, your eyes widening as you look up at him. “It wasn’t an inconvenience,” he says, sounding so sincere that you lose any ability to respond to that, falling into a silence in which the both of you simply stand, contemplating each other.

Fox, for his part, is struck by the realization that, for once, he means every word he’s just said. 

“Well,” you say, blinking as you try to shake yourself out of your stupor. “Regardless of the circumstances, it was lovely to meet you, Commander, and if we ever encounter each other again, you may want to introduce yourself by name if we speak. Every trooper shares the same voice, which makes it much harder for me to differentiate between you all, and I’d hate to mistake you for someone else and embarrass the both of us any further. At least, more than I probably already have.”

“Right,” he says, equally as slowly and strangely hesitant for this conversation to end but not knowing what else to add. “Understood.” 

“I should go,” you say, feeling suddenly shy as you give him a small smile and turn to the door. “See you around, Commander,” you murmur, giving him a playful wink.

You step into the office, not waiting for his response. It takes him a full 30 seconds of just standing there out in the hall listening to the sound of dog paws tapping against the floor, growing distant as you move out of his listening range, to realize that you left him—completely and deliberately if the smirk that was pulling at the corners of your lips was any indication—with a blind joke.

He chokes, uncertain of if he’s allowed to laugh—of if it would be completely inappropriate for him to laugh. His cheeks heat with belated awkward embarrassment. He shakes his head, making a note as he forces his feet to move and forces himself to walk away, heading back in the direction of his office.

The next time he sees you—and he can’t help the strange and foreign hope that twinges in his chest at even the thought of seeing you again—he’ll have to ask you.

Until then, he thinks, giving himself a firm shake as he maneuvers himself through the halls of the Senate building. He resolves to keep you—the girl with the pretty smile, the hair that looks like it was made to run fingers through, and the infectious laugh that he still hears clear as a bell even now that you’re gone—far from his thoughts, ordering himself to stop acting like some sort of lovesick puppy and for kriff sake to just get back to work.

*

Fox, to his consternation, is unsuccessful.

The whole day, as he goes about his tasks—filling out reports, sending requisitions to the Senate, doing patrol—he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Your smile as you tilted your head to look up at him, your warm, encouraging demeanor as you worked with your guide dog, the excitable pup looking up at you like you’re her whole galaxy, the way that he had been able to make you genuinely laugh...

Okay, maybe his bar for sharing friendly interactions with natborns was insanely low up to this point. But knowing that he had brought that out of you had felt strangely good, leaving a warm, unfamiliar feeling in his stomach that lingered every time he thought of it.

He’s so unsuccessful at keeping his mind off of you during the workday that it’s still early in the afternoon when he pulls up your file on the database, scrolls through your work schedule, and at the end of the day is standing outside of Senator Organa’s office waiting for your shift to end.

When he sees you come out, Mandalore, sensing his presence before you do, happily begins to waggle her tail, her footsteps quickening as she leads you out of the office. He calls out to you, and you turn, searching for the voice.

“It’s Fox,” he says, removing his helmet and tucking it beneath his arm. “From this morning.”

Is he imagining it, or do your eyes actually light up when you spot him? 

“I just wanted to make sure that your ride picks you up without complication,” he continues. “Not that I don’t think you can do that on your own,” he rushes to add, his cheeks heating slightly. He’s already gotten the sense that you don’t like being underestimated, and he respects that. “I can make sure that you have detailed instructions in the app so that your driver knows exactly which entrance to collect you.”

“That would actually be super helpful!” you exclaim, and there’s no masking the relief in your voice as you pull out your comm, fiddling with it for a second before passing it to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask someone to update them, because I have a vague idea of what each entrance looks like and how to describe them, but honestly, I don’t think it’s enough to be helpful.”

He takes the device from you, and working quickly, types up detailed directions on how to get to the staff entrance along with a description of its surroundings. He pastes a copy into your notes for good measure so that you’re able to keep reusing it at your convenience. He explains all this to you as he passes it back, letting you know your ride is booked.

“You’re an angel, Fox,” you say in a relieved breath, beaming up at him. “Moving here has been so stressful as it is, and getting used to the transit options is just one more thing on top of that.”

You miss the way his cheeks go pink, but you do catch his quiet, breathy chuckle as he awkwardly avoids your gaze. 

“Right, well,” he scratches at the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “Your ride should be here soon. Want me to come with you and make sure it shows up?”

“I don’t want to hold you up if you have other things to do,” you say uncertainly, biting your lip.

The truth is, you so badly want to say yes. Waiting for a Speedershare on your own can be anxiety inducing. So many things can go wrong. Your driver might not be able to find you, and when they call and ask you for directions, you aren’t able to provide them with much help. They could drive past and cancel altogether once they realize you have a service dog. Or worse, they can turn it into a full out yelling confrontation. In all cases, you’ve learned, your anxiety is significantly lessened if someone else is with you, ready to back you up at a moment's notice.

It’s true, you’ve only met Fox today. But his presence is steady, safe, and you get the sense that he would stay without question and without hesitation. But you also don’t want to become his burden.

“You’re not,” he states, hooking his helmet to his belt. “And I’m not. Come on, let’s go find your ride.”

And that’s exactly what he does. 

He leads you out towards the pick-up point, and when the speeder gets there, he verifies the plates, opens the door, and helps you inside, waiting patiently for your guide dog to tuck in her tail before beginning to let it close. Before it does though, before it drives away and you’re left wondering if and when you’ll ever see him again, he speaks, his voice low and carrying the softest, lightest undertone of teasing.

“See you around, mesh’la.”

It takes you a moment, but as you drive off, the echo of the words you had jokingly thrown over your shoulder at him just this morning flashes through your memory, and before you know it, you’re tipping your head back against the headrest of the seat, quietly laughing to yourself, uncaring of the driver giving you a funny look from the corner of his eye as he picks up speed, driving away from the Senate building.

You’re still smiling as the speeder rounds the corner, and the building, as well as Marshall Commander Fox, disappears from view.

If you like and enjoy this story, please consider dropping a reblog, as you might help someone else find something they enjoy just as much. Thank you :-) and thank you to @strangergraphics-archive for such cute puppy dividers

[awkward-tension-art]

Viral Vector Chp.1 (Echo X Reader)

Another addition to Caduceus. We've hit The Bad Batch now! This may be a bit of a brief series, but we'll see!

Enjoy!

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Epilogue

Galactic Empire

TW: Order 66, death, shooting, Jedi genocide, mention of blood and gore, reader insert, Reader is gender neutral, Reader a medical scientist, Echo x Reader, a bit of a slow-burn though

Minimally proofread and edited LOL

Minors DNI

DNA.

Deoxyribonucleic acid

Definition: a self-replicating material that is present in nearly all living organisms as the main constituent of chromosomes. It is the carrier of genetic information.

Living organisms. Humans. Pantorans. Twi’leks. Togrutas. Many more species in the wide Galaxy.

And clones.

Clones of Jango Fett. a Mandalorian bounty hunter with a strong paternal instinct and superior fighting skills. 

Handsome too, but you try not to let anyone know. 

Kamino, your home and workplace as a medical scientist, did not see clones as living beings. Most of your colleagues viewed them as property. A notion that went against everything you knew with ethics and morals. 

Even if you weren’t technically a part of the cloning experiments, you still interacted with many of them daily. Afterall, along with your lab and research, Shaak Ti had put you and several others incharge of running a clinic for the clones. 

Your place was taken from a lower level Hospital on Coruscant and put all the way to Kamino at the Jedi’s request. Once the war had begun, they wanted several non-Kaminoan doctors overseeing the clones' health as they grew and trained. You, along with a few others, had volunteered to stay on the stormy planet. To you, this was an escape away from the dark, crime filled low levels of the Republic planet. 

Apparently the Jedi tried to stress ethics to the Kaminoans, only for their words to fall on deaf ears. So, the compromise was the clinic.

You mostly saw cadets with bruises from tussling with batchmates, training accidents and occasional sicknesses their rapidly developing immune systems couldn't handle. Rarely did you receive any true emergencies, but it was fine. Less emergencies meant more time for you to research. 

It was medicine. Created specifically to slow a clones ' accelerated aging.

It was a secret. One that you were careful not to tell anyone. 

Well…Except for Omega. 

The little girl was a helpful assistant. Nala Se didn’t like her going out of the lab, so you meeting her was entirely an accident. She hid in your office months ago during a surprise lockdown. Apparently a clone had triggered a false alarm, but no one knew that at the time. 

Ever since then, when Nala Se didn’t have her, she wanted to spend time with you.

Right now, she was with you and Rig Nema, a Jedi healer. The older woman had come to visit Kamino at the request of Shaak Ti. You weren’t entirely sure why, but she seemed interested in your clinic.

“How many patients do you see in a day?” The Jedi asked as she helped you tend to Rein, a Kamino guard who, unfortunately, was hit by the shrapnel of an exploded training droid. 

“It can vary,” You informed her with a smile, “depending on when specific batches train. Some are more prone to injuries than others.”

“Like Clone Force 99?” Omega chimed in from where she was organizing some medicine for you.

Rig tilted her head, silently asking you to explain. 

“Genetically different clones.” You explained quickly, “They had genetic mutations that gave them…advantageous traits.” They were your friends. Having developed a rather close relationship with them since they were often at Kamino. 

Especially Echo. The ARC trooper had always been polite and kind to you. He’d visit your clinic first whenever Force 99 had returned from a mission. You were already friendly with the other members of the squad when he officially joined them.  His addition was welcome, and you treated him with the same amount of respect as you did the rest of them. It helped him feel welcome, even normal after everything he went through on Skako Minor.

She nodded in understanding. The Jedi was about to speak before an alarm blared. The lights overhead turned red, bathing everywhere with crimson. In between the high pitched beeps, a gravelly, unfamiliar voice announced.

Execute Order 66. 

You looked around confused, stepping away from the clone on the medical bed. What the hell was Order 66? The beeping stopped just as quickly as it started, but the lights were still a deep red.

Beside you, Rig stumbled back, gripping her head. You were at her side, hands holding her arm firmly. She was weak all of a sudden, and worry washed over you.

“Ms. Rig?” Omega approached, looking concerned. She had abandoned her task, and approached the two of you. 

“I got her.” You informed the blonde child, “Omega, go to the back of the room and hide behind the scanner. Can you do that?”

She nodded and rushed back, getting out of sight quickly.

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you’d be damned if anything happened to Omega.

“The Force…” The woman in your arms was trembling, “It's…It's weeping.” 

Your hands squeezed her arm, “Stay with me, Jedi.” You lead her to the bed across from Rein, who was already standing. He seemed ready, tense and prepared to fight if needed.

It was a relief, having a trained guard. Once he was up, you turned to see him holding a laser scalpel. Your brow furrowed and you spoke, “Rein…What are you-”

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He mumbled coldly, twirling the medical instrument in his hand, “The Jedi have committed treason against the Republic. Step aside or you will be executed.” His steps were slow and deliberate.

“Rein, what…?” Your confusion was palpable. You tried to get between him and the Jedi healer behind you, “Slow down, whats-”

The clone guard grabbed your shoulder and shoved you out of the way. He used enough force to cause you to stumble, hands and knees hitting the sterile white tiles. You looked up as soon as you heard the Rig and Rein scuffle.

“Get back!” Rig shouted. She raised a hand, lifting him with the Force. Her free hand activated her bright green lightsaber, “Why are you doing this!?”

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Rein repeated, raising a shaky hand to make a weak attempt at a stab. She, however, raised him higher before throwing him into the wall.

You heard a crack and Omega yelp from her hiding spot.

Before you could speak, the healer panicked. She ran out of your clinic, lightsaber ready. However before the door fully closed, you saw Kamino guards with their blasters aimed, as if waiting for her.

The sound of multiple rifles firing pierced your ears through the door. After the barrage of noise, there was the thump of a body hitting the metal floor of the hall. Then silence.

“What…” You scrambled to your feet and shot to the door. It slid open and you nearly tripped over Rig’s smoking corpse. She had been riddled with blaster bolt holes. Her eyes were still wide with terror, and her lightsaber was tight in her palm. Blood began to surround her, staining the once white floors.

All around you were clones. Those you recognized. Those you treated. But they looked…empty. Their helmets were on. Their blasters were steady. 

“Doctor,” Captain Silvo lowered his gun, “Did this traitor harm you?” 

“What…What is going on?” Even the Captain sounded unlike himself. It seemed like every clone had their personality stripped away, leaving only husks. 

What the fuck was going on!?

“The Jedi have committed treason against the Republic.” He answered, repeating Rein’s words. He motioned for the others to lower their own weapons, “We were given orders to execute them.” 

“The Jedi…as in…All of them?” 

“Yes, Doctor.”

It felt like the floor beneath you collapsed. The Jedi. Peacekeepers. Were ordered to be executed?

Omega had crawled from her hiding spot, and you turned, raising a hand to her, “Stay back. Close your eyes and stay right there.” You didn’t want her to see…Rig.

Kamino suddenly felt…cold. Empty. Everyone around you, your former friends, were now strangers. 

“I..I see Captain.” You swallowed. Your instincts were screaming at you to run. But Omega was behind you. She could be in danger if you acted out, “Well…I…I’m glad none of you were…hurt by the…traitor.” 

The word barely managed to leave your mouth. You swallowed thickly.

“There is still more out there. But they will be brought to justice.” He answered your statement with coldness. 

Your nod was stiff, “Thank you, Captain.” 

“Return to your duties, Doctor.” He turned swiftly before commanding his men, “Spread out, there are more Jedi on Kamino. Find them and execute on sight. You three, get this body covered and out of the way.” 

You were shaking when you turned back into your clinic. the door closed behind you, and there was silence. The light switched back and you blinked, adjusting your eyes to the sudden lack of crimson.

Omega stared at you, wringing her hands and looking so small. Wordlessly, you knelt and she ran into your arms for a hug.

You waited as you held her. Until you didn’t hear the plastoid boots outside. Until you didn’t hear the shuffling of Rig’s body being taken. Until you were certain the chaos had passed.

You waited until Nala Se walked into the clinic, “There you are.” She sounded as steady and emotionless as ever, “Come. There is still work to do.” 

Behind her were two clones, both wearing the identifiable Coruscant red. 

Shock troopers.

“Nala Se…?” You looked at the Kaminoan, “What…happened?” 

“The Jedi have betrayed the Republic.” She stated, repeating things you already knew, “They are being hunted and executed.” 

None of this made sense…

You squeezed Omega before letting her go to follow your boss. She gave you a sad look but remained silent as she stepped behind Nala Se. Wordlessly, you watched as the two of them walked out of your clinic. Once they were gone, you grabbed your holo, attempting to get a hold of your other colleagues. 

Silence. The others, those you came to Kamino with, didn’t answer. 

Assuming the worst, you tried to seek them out. Your assumptions were half-correct. Some of them were killed, either by interfering or cut down by panicked Jedi. Others you managed to catch in the hangar before they left to go back home. 

“The war is over, we’re leaving before Nala Se fires us officially.” Doctor Ulluk stated, stepping on the transport. You debated on going with them. Leaving the cloning facility behind, but before you could move, another ship touched down. 

The Marauder. Clone Force 99. 

You stepped back, watching your colleagues and friends leave Kamino.

The troopers, Guard, Shiny and Shock, shuffled and moved around. They resembled droids, emotionless and empty as they walked in line. Announcements rang out from the intercom system, directing them. No one bid you any mind.

Level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams report to the command center.

You walked towards the ship slowly, waiting until the clone force stepped off. Once they did, you approached.

Hunter stepped down first, brown eyes scanning the area. He was alert, guarded yet calm. He gave a questioning look to you when he was on the Kaminoan floors. Wrecker was the same, but more curious than tense, he gave a friendly wave. Tech was beside him, unsurprisingly tapping a datapad. Crosshair looked uninterested, bored even, at the state of Kamino.

Once Echo Stepped down, he saw you and got to your side first, “You look spooked.” He was concerned, looking your form over for any injuries, “What happened?”

“Doctor, do you know what's going on?” Hunter got beside the ARC trooper, “This…isn't a drill.”

“Oh, man. What did we miss now?” Wrecker huffed, crossing his arms. 

A shock trooper, one with a datapad, stopped and answered, “The end of the war.”

The sergeant turned to him, “Say again, trooper?”

He answered, voice flat and emotionless, “General Grievous was defeated on Utapau. The Separatist leadership has collapsed. The war is over.” Behind him, two other clones were pushing a wheeled autopsy table. Draped over it was a white sheet, covering the body underneath.

Your eyes widened, watching as it passed. You were frozen, hyper focused on who was on the table.

“Just like I said.” Tech barely looked up from his datapad. His eyes roamed the screen, uninterested in the world around him.

Wrecker gasped, “It is like you said!”

Crosshair and Tech both rolled their eyes.

A lightsaber rolled from the autopsy table and hit the floor with a clatter. A hand, Rig’s hand, slipped out, confirming it was her under the sheet. 

Your throat tightened as the Shock trooper knelt and picked up the Jedi weapon, “Is there a problem?”

Hunter answered first, “No problem.” He looked to his squad before continuing, “We'll just head to our barracks then.”

The trooper nodded, continuing to walk, “Best hurry. There's a mandatory general assembly at 1500.”

Echo put a gloved hand to your shoulder, “Doc?” 

“That was Rig,” You whispered, “I watched them…they just…”

“Stay calm.” Hunter’s harsh, hushed tone snapped you out of your state, “Explain everything once we have some privacy.”

With a nod, you followed them to their barracks. Echo was at your right, and Crosshair was at your left. Occasionally Hunter would cast a glance back to you, as if making sure you were still present. Wrecker and Tech were behind you. The squad encircled you, as if intending to protect you. 

“Are you ok?” The ARC trooper leaned closer to whisper, “did anyone hurt you?” He was protective. Ever since you met him he’s always tried to keep you safe. 

Really all the clones had the drive to protect. To fight and defend. But after….after order 66….

That instinct was gone now. From all of them.

You shook your head and were about to speak when a shock trooper snapped, “Where do you think you're going, doctor?” He wore the standard painted red armor. There was a rifle in his hands as he spoke to you. 

You froze and damn near jumped out of your skin when he demanded an answer. Echo stopped beside you, as did the others of his squad. 

“I…They..” Your voice was lost, and after a quick clearing of your throat, you gave a proper answer, “Examining Clone Force 99. They’ve just returned from their mission and…”

“There is a Level Five Lockdown in effect.” The trooper stepped towards you, “All nonessential personnel are to go to their quarters and remain until the all clear is given.” 

You hated pulling rank, but in the hierarchy of Kamino, you stood above most clones, “Excuse me,” your tone became stern, hiding your shock from earlier. With a quick movement, you had your I.D out and nearly shoved in the clone's helmet, “I head the clinic in medical wing B. I am essential personnel. If it's such an issue for me to be out, you can take it directly to Nala Se.”

After a second, the Coruscant Guard stepped back, “My apologies Doctor. Continue on your way.”

Echo shared a look with you, “Are…you allowed to be with us?”

“No.” you admitted once the guard was out of earshot, “But I…I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone.” It felt like you were in the ocean, surrounded by predators. All they needed was a single drop of blood before they attacked.

Would they gun you down like they did the Jedi? Or would they opt to throw you in a cell? Would they try to mind-wipe you the same way many of their brothers had been? 

Your pace was hurried once you got to their barracks. The door slid open, and Crosshair damn near shoved you inside. Hunter caught you and gave the sniper a harsh look. 

Their barracks were messy but homey. There were posters and used targets on the walls. There were scribbles and doodles carved into the once shiny metal. Tables had droid pieces, tools and other projects that Tech most likely worked on. 

It was…personalized. Very Un-Kaminoan.

Hunter was about to speak when his comrade cut him off.

Wrecker walked past you, letting out a small cheer, “Ah! Good to be back!” He stretched his large arms above his head, entirely missing your state, “Well, I'll get the board. Eleven more successful missions.”

“Kaller wasn’t a win,” Hunter softly chastised his brother. He wanted to hear what you had to say, but Wrecker chimed in again to argue.

“Says who?” The larger clone turned, facing the team leader, “We completed our objective.”

“Not every objective.” It was Crosshair that spoke, not allowing you to talk, “Hunter let that Jedi kid escape.” His arms were crossed, glaring at the long haired sergeant, “Or do you want to keep lying to us?”

“E-even the padawans?” Your throat tightened. Horror washed over you all over again. Nausea slammed into your stomach, and you nearly dry heaved. You slapped your hand over your mouth and bent slightly. 

Children were executed too?

Echo’s arms were around you, “Everyone, shut up!” He snapped, “None of this makes sense!” His angry gaze was trained on the sniper, clearly not happy he wanted a padawan dead, “Those clones served alongside General Billaba for years. How could they have turned on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming,” Tech finally spoke up, hands tinkering with a small robotic project.

Programming…

You looked up at the intellectual clone, realization dawning on you. 

Months before this, Kamino was put on lockdown. A clone and a Coruscant doctor had infiltrated the labs and went through genetic files searching for something. To your knowledge they were trying to cure another clone from a disease of some type. 

The trooper had died anyway. And according to the news from Coruscant, once the ARC trooper and doctor left, the clone had gone insane and killed the doctor before trying to assassinate the Chancellor. 

It was shared with the medical team that every clone had a bio-mechanical chip in their brains. You were told that the chip was planted to help the clones deal with the stresses of war. What caused the ARC trooper to go insane was a breakdown of said chip. In his insanity, he killed the doctor.

But now it was clear, you had been lied to. 

“It's been well documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the cognitive functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without question,” Tech continued, “The good doctor here can confirm.” His eyes were on the small trinket he was working on.

You nodded, “I…I think…Yes. But I’d need to confirm. Check some records…” You straightened, still feeling sick to a degree, “All the clones were programmed to kill Jedi after being given an order.”

Wrecker furrowed his brow, “If that's the case, why weren’t we affected?” 

“Obviously, we are different,” The intellectual clone picked up a small screwdriver and continued to tighten something in his project, “They manipulated preexisting aberrations in our DNA, resulting in your brute strength, Crosshair's sharpshooting skills, Hunter's enhanced senses and my exceptional mind.”

“Those differences make you immune.” You looked at Echo. He still kept a hand on your shoulder, something you appreciated, “And Echo, most likely what happened to you on Skako Minor…it might have affected the chip. So the order didn’t affect you either.” 

He sighed and looked down, “Lucky me…” However, his eyes met yours again, “All the Jedi executed, even…”

“Most likely General Skywalker too. I’m sorry, Echo.” You raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder before pulling him into a comforting hug. 

He told you stories of Skywalker. How he was a good, if adventurous general. How he cared for his men deeply enough to risk everything for them. 

And now…the Jedi general was most likely dead too. Shot in the back by the very troopers he fought alongside.

You hoped, for Echo’s sake, he was alive and in hiding. 

The former ARC trooper accepted the embrace before he pulled away, turning to look out the window. You could see the storm of emotions in his soft brown eyes. Hunter was about to speak, most likely offer words of sympathy, but he had been cut off by an announcement over the PA system.

All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.

You shared a confused look with Wrecker. That was sudden…

“This is one meeting I don't want to miss,” Hunter shrugged and began to walk out of the barracks. 

“First time for everything.” Crosshair snarked, following the sergeant. 

You followed the others before bidding farewell and going to your designated place. Your thoughts overwhelmed your mind and you nearly walked right into Nala Se’s back when you met up with her and Omega.

The young girl greeted you happily and grabbed your hand. She smiled up at you, “Good to see you, doctor!” 

Your smile was small but you were relieved to know that she seemed to handle the rapid change well enough, “Glad to see you, Omega. Are you alright?” 

She nodded, but remained silent when Lama Su joined you three.

You were behind the heads Kamino. The scientists and leaders you reported to walked steadily to the observation deck. None of them seem bothered from the chaos just hours before. No one seemed to care that Shaak Ti was gone…

Was she dead? Did Commander Colt shoot her down? Or did she escape and survive? 

You were so deep in thought you missed the entirety of the beginning of the briefing. In fact, you didn’t even register that it was Chancellor Palpetine announcing the news. By the time you snapped into focus, he was already giving a speech. 

“and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.” The holo echoed around the large staging area. “The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed. But I assure you. My resolve has never been stronger!”

Troopers stood in line. You could easily spot clone force 99. Their black and red armor was stark against the white plastoid of the other soldiers. 

“In order to ensure the security and continuing stability the Republic will be reorganized,” Palpetine continued, and you perked up. 

“into the first Galactic Empire!”

Immediately troopers began to cheer. Many raised their fists in celebration, however, some of them looked around as if confused, entirely shocked by the news.

Your head spun, no longer hearing the speech. 

Galactic…Empire…?

[questforgalas]

Thank you for coming back

Notes: So once again, @zaana's incredible art lived rent free in my head until I put it down on paper. So here's a delightful AU where Crosshair doesn't get sent to Tantiss because guess who gets to him first? Chose to do a rescue from Barton IV because Cross is in his imperial armor in the art, and I thought "Hey, let's maybe give him a break and not make him go through torture before he's rescued?" Neat idea, right? Let's tell Jen and Brad

WC: 3K (lol this was going to be a drabble)

Characters: The Bad Batch (all of them!)

Tags: Wrecker POV (he deserves all the Crosshair reunion energy), angst at the end (Crosshair is going through it ok), hurt/comfort, giant family group hug, Crosshair and Wrecker cry, Hunter is emotional, canon typical violence, implied mistreatment by the Empire (did I mention Crosshair is going through it?), family reunion, all the family fluff I could fit into 3k words

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The sound of blaster fire was becoming permanent in Wrecker’s ears. Hunkered down behind a duracrete barrier, he kept his DC-17 trained on the Imps attempting to advance on his position, blaster bolts streaming past his head. 

“Seriously, who trained these guys to shoot,” he thought to himself, needing to only dodge a few bolts from the barrage while his targets fell with each pull of his trigger. 

The landing platform at the depot on Barton IV was looking more like a true battlefield and less like a remote outpost with every passing minute. Two T-4 shuttles lay in smoking ruins - the first thanks to Hunter’s skill on the Marauder’s rear gun and the second thanks to an excellent detonator throw by Wrecker - and stormtrooper bodies lay scattered across the duracrete ground. So far, Wrecker and Hunter were executing their part of the plan perfectly, but when it came to creating distractions, there wasn’t much guess work as to Wrecker’s success rate. 

The Batch’s intel told them that the depot, located on a desolate, frozen planet that rivaled Hoth’s  icy temperatures, normally operated as a blip on the Empire’s priority list. In fact, blip might have been giving it too much credit. The small clone trooper squad that was assigned to protection detail put in requests for equipment, supplies, and reinforcements throughout their year of service, and every request fell on deaf imperial ears. Gathered from the information Tech found during his hacking, Commander Mayday of the squad put in a request for reinforcements 40 rotations ago, citing that only five members of his squad remained alive at the time the request went in, but Tech couldn’t find any log of a response anywhere in the records. Complete silence from the Empire. 

Until 4 rotations ago. The call went out for a platoon of stormtroopers to ready for deployment to Barton IV with orders to transport cargo of high importance to the Empire from the depot to the military base on Coruscant. Prior to the platoon’s arrival, a small squad of clone troopers was sent to scout and ready the depot for the cargo transfer. The squad consisted of two standard troopers and one specialized. One prickly, stubborn, unyielding specialized trooper who Wrecker couldn’t wait to see again. 

When Tech caught chatter that a clone trooper shot a commanding imperial officer in broad daylight in front of an imperial depot, he initially intended to send the intel directly to Captain Rex, informing him of another defecting clone who would be in need of assistance, but after he scanned the information log, he didn’t register his datapad falling from his hands, thudding on the floor, only able to to focus on activating the comm on his vambrace, urging Hunter to get to the Marauder as quickly as possible. Because there in front of him, written across the Marauder’s main computer, was CT-9904: Defector. Charged with the murder of Lieutenant Nolan. In custody on Barton IV. Scheduled for armed transfer in two rotations. 

The discussion was short - Hunter the only one remaining cautious until Tech confirmed the lack of security at the depot, even with the stormtrooper platoon coming in - and the Batch set their course to Barton IV less than two hours after the message was intercepted. The plan was easy, one the Batch could nearly execute in their sleep, even with their newer blonde addition. Create a distraction to draw the majority of security out into the open which Hunter and Wrecker would engage while Omega provided cover from the Marauder. Meanwhile, Tech and Echo skirt along the edge of the chaos, slip into the depot undetected, locate Crosshair’s location, and extract him while neutralizing any remaining threats if necessary. 

Plans 5, 4, and 21. The Batch specialty. 

“Wrecker, incoming! Northwest!” Hunter’s smokey voice called over the commotion. 

The far gate of the depot opened, ten stormtroopers running out to join the fight. “Yeah, I see ‘em, Sarge,” Wrecker confirmed. “They look excited to see us.” 

Hunter took cover behind his barrier, and turned his head in Wrecker’s direction.

“How about you give our hosts a warm greeting?” Hunter suggested, cocking his head to the side. Wrecker could feel the smug smirk under that helmet.

“Gladly,” Wrecker responded gleefully. 

Reaching into the pack on his back, he grabbed two thermal detonators, clicked them live, and chucked. They arced into the air, curving in opposite directions, landing right in the middle of the oncoming troopers, and Wrecker watched as all ten stormtroopers disappeared into a beautiful burst of orange, red, and black. 

“Direct hit,” Wrecker yelled, pumping his DC-17 in triumph. 

Across the way, Hunter gave a quick thumbs up and popped his head above his barrier. Wrecker did the same, confirming that the landing platform was clear of imps for the moment, but they knew more troopers would arrive soon. They’d only taken out about 30 of them so far. 

“Agh, where are they,” Hunter wondered, helmet trained on the door they expected to see their brothers emerge from. 

“Give ‘em a few more minutes, Sarge. I doubt the Empire just left Crosshair in a set of binders on a crate.” 

“They’re dumb enough to,” Hunter said. A soft chuckle came through his modulator, “Wonder how long he’d humor them until he took them all out with his hands still bound.” 

“Knowing Crosshair? They wouldn’t even get the binders on him,” Wrecker laughed. 

Hunter went quiet, helmet still pointed at the door. Then his shoulders fell like he was bowing to a weight Wrecker couldn’t see. “We’ll have to be patient. He’s…” Hunter paused. “He’s probably not the Crosshair we remember. There are going to be some … invisible wounds.” 

Wrecker released his own shuttered breath. He looked down at the ground for a moment, and then looked back up to find Hunter looking back at him. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’ll help patch those up too.” 

Hunter remained still for a breath and then nodded. 

The silence was interrupted by a chime on Hunter’s comm. “What’ve you got, Omega?” he asked as he activated the connection. 

“I’m picking up multiple heat signatures heading our way. Looks like our little break is over,” Omega’s voice chirped over the comm. 

“Copy that,” Hunter responded.

Wrecker brought his own comm up to his mouth. “What’s your count, kid?” he asked playfully. 

“I’m at 4,” Omega answered, a smug tone floating through. 

“Only 4? You’re falling behind. I’m at 18,” Wrecker said. 

“I don’t think the thermal detonators should count,” Hunter interjected. 

“What?! Did you see how perfectly those landed? Probably my best yet! Not even Tech could pull that off.” 

“It’s hardly fair when I’m all the way back here on the Marauder!” Omega argued. 

“Excuses excuses, kid,” Wrecker teased. Their debate came to a quick halt when the remaining hangar doors of the depot opened, revealing the last wave of the platoon. “Alright, break time’s over. Shoot good, kid.” 

The platform became engulfed in battle once again. Blaster bolts peppered the air. Thermal detonators flew. Line after line of stormtroopers tried to take the advantage on the two ground soldiers and their coverage, but Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega held them back with ease. Wrecker heard General Skywalker speaking to Hunter about something called meditation once - a staple Jedi practice of centering one’s mind and connecting with the force through quiet sitting - and while Wrecker wasn’t sure this would meet the Jedi standard, he imagined this was the closest to meditation he would ever come. Surrounded by the sounds of battle. Adrenaline pumping in his veins. He’d hit a point of focus that drowned everything else out, his mission the only thought in his mind. And he was dam good at it, too. 

His DC-17 sang, and he let out a jovial laugh as he took down another line of troopers. As he focused on the enemies in front of him, the squad’s comm channel chimed in his helmet, and the only thing in the galaxy that could divert his attention from the battle in front of him called through the speakers.

“Hunter. Wrecker. We’ve got him. We’re approaching the exit. What’s the status of the platform?” Echo’s voice came through. 

For a second, Wrecker and Hunter turned towards each other, both chests rising rapidly with fast breaths not caused by the battle in front of them, and Wrecker knew if he could see Hunter’s eyes, they’d reflect the same bottomless relief he was feeling. 

Wrecker forced himself back to the present and provided cover fire while Hunter responded. 

“You’re clear to exit. A few imps left but nothing we can’t handle. Wrecker and I will provide cover fire while you cross the platform. Go directly to the Marauder,” Hunter ordered. 

Wrecker’s breath caught in his throat when a low, raspy voice could be heard in the background. “No, we thought we’d take a hike in the mountains.”

A hitched breath came through, and in his peripheral, Wrecker noticed Hunter lean his helmet back against the duracrete barrier, shoulders shaking. 

“I never thought I’d miss his attitude,” Omega piped in. 

That broke the tension building in Wrecker’s head, and a laugh barreled out from his chest. Brain clear and ready to act again, he focused on the remaining stormtroopers trying to hold their ground. 

“Omega, get the engines running. We’re getting off this hunk of ice as soon as we’re all onboard,” Hunter finished relaying the orders. 

“One more thing,” Tech’s voice came through this time. “I did the scan. The inhibitor chip has indeed been removed, but only after the encounter on Bracca. Crosshair did remove it voluntarily unbeknownst to the Empire.”

“Tech kind of refused to leave the holding cells until he was able to confirm it all. Hacked records and everything here on the depot. That’s what took us so long,” Echo supplied.

“Thank the Maker for Tech, and his stubborn need for knowledge,” Hunter mumbled. He went back on the comm, “Glad to hear it. Now get out here.”

Hunter turned to Wrecker. “Let’s take out as many as we can before they get here. Once they emerge, you lay down cover fire, and I’ll take overwatch.” 

“Copy that,” Wrecker replied, and they went to work. 

Time that had been passing at light speed slowed to the flow of Mustafar lava. Only ten stormtroopers remained posted across the platform, and Wrecker was determined to clear as many as he could before his brothers emerged. 

Another minute passed. Another. Then another. Time was taunting him.  

A whoosh floated over the blasterfire. The blasted door to the depot finally opened, and there in the doorway were three bent over figures - two supporting the weight of the third in between them - hobbling onto the landing deck. Wrecker allowed himself one glance hoping it would calm his running mind. Echo took most of the middle figure’s weight, flesh arm wrapped around their waist and scomp arm securing the arm wrapped across Echo’s back dangling over his shoulder, while Tech kept one arm around the figure’s waist and kept his blaster at the ready in the other. 

As Wrecker glanced at them,  it wasn’t the figure’s distinct all black armor - the armor of the imperial special forces - that identified him to Wrecker. No, it was the tattoo around their right eye. The tattoo Wrecker sat and watched as Tech gave it to them when they were still just cadets. The tattoo that represented their pride in their skill. The tattoo that told everyone exactly which batch he belonged to, front and center for all to see. The crosshair. 

Flanking from behind, Tech easily took down three stormtroopers before they made their way down the stairs. The remaining seven stormtroopers barked out orders to fall back, trying to regroup due to the new arrivals, and Wrecker used their confusion to his advantage, taking out another three in one go. Realizing they were outnumbered and outmatched, the remaining four stormtroopers fell back to the hangar, shooting wildly at any target they could see. 

Slower than Wrecker would like, his three brothers made their way to his and Hunter’s position across the platform. As soon as they crossed the threshold of their barriers, Hunter stood from his coverage, falling in step to provide cover directly at their backs. 

“Alright, Wrecker. Let’s keep these guys pinned as we head to the ship,” Hunter said. 

Jumping into position, Wrecker kept a steady pace back to the Marauder without breaking his fire on the remaining stormtroopers. Hunter hit one more as they walked, and Wrecker had his finger on the trigger to take down another when a streak of pink flew over his head and directly into the helmet of his target. 

He glanced over his shoulder. 

“Final count: 12,” Omega beamed down at him from the top of the ramp into the Marauder. 

“Aha! Nice shot, kid! Now let’s get out of here,” Wrecker said, barreling up the ramp into the ship. 

The ramp closed up as the ship made its way into the air, and the energy within immediately went still. Tech sat in the cockpit, taking over the controls from Omega once on board, but Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Omega, and Crosshair remained in the hold. 

Crosshair sat in the chair in front of the computer, slumped over, one hand on the armrest propping him while an elbow rested on a knee like that was all the energy he could muster. He was breathing heavy, chest rising and falling as if he’d just finished a training sprint back on Kamino. Wrecker quickly gave his body a once over. Crosshair had always been lithe, by far the smallest body mass of the Bad Batch, but there had been muscle underneath those long limbs that gave any regular clone trooper a run for his money. Now, Wrecker clocked only bones showing underneath the exposed areas his armor didn’t cover, and his cheekbones were sharp above the hollowness of his cheeks. Purple blotched under his eyes, and it was impossible not to notice the deep scar that covered the right side on the back of his head. The scar he received when he took the full heat of a Venator ion engine. 

The same engine he tried to trap his brothers in. 

“Thank you…for coming for me. I…I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t,” Crosshair drawled, head bent down. Whether he was unable to lift it from lack of strength or not being able to face the current scene, Wrecker wasn’t sure. His own heart was thudding in his chest, threatening to burst out. He called on every ounce of discipline and self-restraint he learned in his years as a soldier and remained rooted in place, holding his breath. The rest of the Batch stood as still as statues, four sets of eyes on their silver-haired brother. 

“You can drop me off at the closest port. You can pick. Doesn’t matter to me,” Crosshair said to the floor. Still, no one else spoke. He raised his head, glancing at each of them. His gaze settled on Hunter. “I…I’d understand if that’s what you want to do. It’s what you should do.” 

The five of them felt the Marauder lurch into hyperspace, but still, Echo, Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker didn’t budge. Footsteps approached from the cockpit, and soon, Tech joined them, choosing to sit in the chair across from Crosshair. The silence grew, and Wrecked noticed the crease between the sniper’s eyebrows deepen while his eyes darted around the group.

“Well, aren’t any of you going to say something?” Crosshair asked, frustration creeping into his voice. He glanced around one more time, and finally stood up from the chair, a growl coming from his throat, back hunched like he was ready to pounce, and his gaze locked on Hunter, a finger pointed at the sergeant. “Listen, I didn’t ask you to come get me. I was ready to die on that platform after I shot the lieutenant, and I was ready to die in whatever maker-forsaken place they were going to send me. You hear me? I didn’t ask for this.” He gestured around the room, around the Batch. 

“So don’t make me a burden you don’t want. Drop me anywhere. Leave me. It’s what I deserve - oof!” 

Wrecker couldn’t take it anymore, and as he watched Crosshair teeter on the precipice of self-destruction, he took two strides towards his brother, and engulfed him in his arms. 

Crosshair stiffened, his arms frozen mid-gesture to the side. Wrecker stood there, arms firmly wrapped around Crosshair’s back and shoulders, head dipping to rest on top of Crosshair’s head, and he waited. Eventually, Crosshair’s arms fell to his sides, but his body remained stiff like he wasn’t actually registering what was happening. Then, after a few breaths, his arms slowly rose, one wrapping under Wrecker’s arm and the other circling over his shoulder. 

“Why did you come for me?” Wrecker heard muffled into his chestplate. 

“We don’t leave our own behind,” Wrecker answered simply. 

Wrecker felt the shaking first, then he heard the soft sobs. Tightening his arms, he held his once-lost brother as if challenging the galaxy to try and separate them again. When he felt Crosshair crumble into his chest, he released the grip he’d been holding on his own emotions, and the tears flowed freely. Tears of sorrow for what Crosshair endured. Tears of rage at the Empire. Tears of sweet relief at his family being whole again. 

Wrecker felt a pair of arms sneak between his waist and Crosshair’s chest, and when he looked up, he saw Hunter wrapped around Crosshair’s back, arms crushing the sniper into the sergeant’s chest. “We’ve got you, Cross,” Hunter murmured. 

One-by-one, Tech, Echo, and Omega joined in, the last squeezing herself into the middle, wrapping her arms around Crosshair’s leg, and even when the sobs quieted, they remained that way. There was a lot to talk about. A long road of trust to regain. They were about to navigate rough terrain. And the past will resurface, in old wounds, physical and not. But none of that mattered right now. In the middle of their home, a family reunited. Unsure what the future would bring them, but ready to face it all together.

[dickarchivist]

Grave squad of the 404th.

This is the biography introduction for Grave Squad, clone OCs made by me. They're part of a fake battalion, the 404th. The jedi mentioned are for context only at this point, and are also my OCs.

Jedi of Note: Jedi Master Dax'Malkin Valka. Zebrak. General of the 404th. Padawan Athena Bello, near human. Master Dax's last Padawan.

Word count: 2815

Minors DNI 🔞 there is the N S F W alphabet for Grave Squad toward the bottom.

Meet The Clones!

Ghost, Phantom, Specter, Banshee, and Wraith!

Clone Captain 1313: Ghost

Nickname: none

Ghost is the oldest of the Grave Squad Clones. He's a mission focused and goal driven soldier, but this doesn't stop him from making time to check on his men. Ghost is known to be incredibly kind hearted, making sure that everyone in his command is taken care of before he takes care of himself.

During a field mission, Ghost sustained acid burns to his eyes while protecting natives. Ghost lost his eyes, but Master Dax saw to it that he be given cybernetics to stay in the fight and prolong his life. Ghost's eyes are predominantly white, with a gray iris and white pupil. The splash like scars remain across his eyes like a mask. Ghost has short hair, shaved on the sides with a slightly longer top. After his accident, Ghost starts growing facial hair. The dark hair is mixed with patches of silver, fading in some places.

ARC Trooper 1404: Phantom

Nickname: Tom/Tommy

Phantom's a little cocksure and brash. He likes to think himself the leader despite his place in the Squad, and will sometimes challenge Ghost for his position. He's never beaten Ghost, even when his Captain was blind. Phantom is extremely competitive, keeps count of Droid kills on missions, and is known to cause bar fights.

When he's in the field, Phantom earns his name. He moves silently and follows the orders to a T unless the situation calls for quick thinking, which it often does. He's best with long range assault, yet remains a vital assent in melee situations. Phantom sports goatee facial hair with longer locks. He ties it back with a beaded ribbon given to him by Athena.

ARC Trooper 1551: Specter

Nickname: Specs

Lovingly nicknamed "Specs" by his brothers, Specter is the more technologically inclined of Grave Squad. His area of expertise sits with improvised weaponry, often making explosives or blasters with anything he can get his hands on. Creating gadgets and hacking systems are his second favorite hobbies. His first is photography. Specter takes photos every chance he gets, and when asked why, he simply says, "Proof that we lived." He's a little harder to get to warm up than his brothers, very blunt, but he understands when gentleness is needed.

Specter has a shock of white hair on his head, fluffy and wild, a broad Mohawqk. The sides of his head are shaved, decorated with tattoos of intricate swirl patterns.

Clone Ordnance Specialist 1666: Banshee

Nickname: Ban

The scars on Banshee's throat tell many stories, but you won't hear them from him. His brothers can tell you a million different stories, but they always change, and Banshee won't tell you which one is true, if any of them. He's quiet, yet despite his role in demolition, he likes it quiet too. He wears in the ear headphones near constantly to drown out the tinnitus from explosions. some say he's deaf, but even so much as whisper his name and he'll look your way. But he's not mute. On the battlefield if you hear his voice, you either duck for cover or you run. Things are about to get loud. Banshee communicates in hand signs more than anything else.

Banshee is often seen with a neutral expression, and half hooded eyes, making him appear sleepy despite how high alert he always is. Aside from the scars across his throat, Banshee's hair is his most defining feature. Near shaved bald, the fuzz on his head is blonde. Sometimes, for fun, Banshee and the rest of Grave Squad will draw on his head. Athena once drew a heart near his temple. He had it tattooed there shortly after.

Clone Medic 1789: Wraith

Nickname: Ray/Rai

One of the hardest Clones to pin down, Wraith is always running from place to place without end. He's a worrier, much a mother hen, and consistently double checking to make sure everything is in order. He's one of the few people that can get Ghost to sit down and take care of himself before others. Wraith is incredibly firm when it comes to the safety of his brothers, and has been threatened with a court martial numerous times for disobeying jedi orders in favor of the preservation of his brothers. Luckily, Master Dax never let them take Wraith, always saying that the medic was indeed following orders, his orders.

Wraith loves flowers. He pressed them when he can, collecting new ones on his missions and preserving them between the pages of a hand bound book with blank paged that Master Dax made for him. Wraith has a slight mutation in his genetics, giving him one green eye, and one standard brown. He has a well kept beard, and a slightly longer, natural curly hair cut.

Some Spicy ABC's beyond this point 👀💦

NSFW ALPHABET FOR GRAVE SQUAD

A note: All of Grave Squad is Pan, they like everyone and everything. However, unless requested, I tend to write fem/afab partners for them. With that in mind, that's how these will be answered.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ghost: As with everyone under him, Ghost makes sure your needs are met. He'll man handle you, clean you up, had make sure you drink some water within the hour. If you're really messy, he'll take you to the shower and clean you up himself.

Phantom: he's shockingly clingy afterwards, asking if it felt good, if it still feels good, do you need a safe word next time, are you sure it was what you wanted, etc. For a man as outwardly confident as Phantom, he's very self conscious and craves your approval.

Specter: less so for after care. Specs would, with your permission, take a photo of the mess he's made of you, chuckling that it's his best work yet. Out of the 5 of them, Specs is the most likely to eat you out as a form of after care.

Banshee: he just wants to hold you. Keep you close, listen to your panting, the intense beat of your heart as it comes down. He'd enjoy Feather light touching, Whispers of kisses on warm skin. Soft, quiet, warm and safe. He'd want to stay in you as long as possible.

Wraith: he would stay as long as you wanted him to, but wouldn't be the most romantic for Aftercare. He'd wait for the body high to fall before taking you into the shower to clean up. He'd change the sheets before allowing you back into bed, only afterwards would he cuddle with you again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ghost: he's a lips and breasts kinda man, that oral fixation. He thinks his hands are nice.

Phantom: thinks he's the maker's gift to the galaxy, all of him is his favorite. He loves soft tummies and thighs on his partners.

Specter: takes pride in his arms and hands, they're quick, strong, and skilled. Loves to look you in those pretty eyes of yours

Banshee: he likes his tummy, its not rough chisled, but solid still. He likes that when he's not flexed, he has a little belly roll. Its not a body part, but he loves your voice. It's the only sound in the galaxy he'd want to hear all day long.

Wraith: his eyes and nose are his favorites on him, making him unique from the very start. He takes his time appreciating your whole body, stating that every part is his favorite, though you do catch him looking at your ass and chest very often.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Grave Squad: they all enjoy spending themselves inside their partners, but even more when their partners cum.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ghost: He gets jealous so quickly. He doesn't have personal possessions, but you belong to him, and if anyone makes him feel even the slightest insecure about that, he's quick to remind the galaxy who you belong to.

Phantom: he'll try to deny it, puts on a convincing act, but Phantom likes it when his partner takes control. He'd never ask for it, but he craves it.

Specter: when he's in a creative rut, Specs will wear a pair of your panties that he stole from you. Sometimes he'll wear them just for fun.

Banshee: listens to a recording of the two of you having sex almost every single day. His headphones are always on, no one is the wiser.

Wraith: once accidentally exposed himself to a powerful aphrodisiac he was researching and pretended to be sick because he couldn't get his boner down for 8 hours. Spent that time furiously going solo.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ghost: he's had his fair share of flings and one night stands, but yearns for more.

Phantom: first of Grave Squad to fuck, and has not stopped since. He's here for a good time.

Specter: much like Ghost, he's experienced the throws of passion.

Banshee: he's selective, and needs connection before making a physical one, but has had a handful of goes around the bases.

Wraith: someone draw this man a map, he can't find a date

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Grave Squad: any position they can see their partner's face in

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ghost: knows when to make a joke during sex, knows when to be heartfelt

Phantom: makes jokes afterwards, to cover up his insecurities

Specter: does not joke, but will chuckle if you do

Banshee: barely talks. If he does make a joke, it'll likely go over your head in the moment.

Wraith: jokes when he's nervous, so very often at first, but less and less the more serious the relationship.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Grave squad: all very well kept, Ghost doesn't let them get nasty (neither does Wraith). And yes, the carpet matched the drapes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ghost: he gets wistful, thinking of the future almost breaks his heart, because he doesn't know if he has one. But he wants to, with you, and he'll tell you that over and over. "I want a life with you."

Phantom: once you've broken down his fuck boy walls, Phantom is actually really romantic. He does stereotype romance when he thinks you're just in it for the sex, but once you've actually started to get serious he puts in the effort.

Specter: his romance is in subtle ways, like calling you by your first name when he only ever calls you by a pet name or your title. He may be softer with you, or come to you for creature comforts without the need or want for sex.

Banshee: if he speaks around you, fuck everything else, that's how you know he loves you. He uses his voice.

Wraith: his version of romantic interaction is a strange meld of his brothers, but above all else, he'd bring you flowers. Not just pressed ones, but live flowers, even ones he made with metal or papers.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Ghost: he doesn't do it often, but when he does he makes sure with 100% certainty that no one will hear, see, or interrupt him. Ghost is very private.

Phantom: has no shame, but at least has the decency to wait until he thinks his brothers are asleep.

Specter: will go solo to relieve stress, but otherwise doesn't unless it's part of sex with you.

Banshee: once a day, no one knows that he does.

Wraith: very bad at hiding the fact that he does, because he can't keep quiet.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ghost: breeding, marking/possession, over stim, nipple play, oral fixation, being called "daddy", body worship, Achluophilia (darkness/blindfold)

Phantom: punishment (recieving, light when giving), sub/Dom play (both ways), wax play, praise, public sex, teasing,

Specter: bondage, recording, edging/denial, over stim, public sex, lingerie, underwear

Banshee: Akophilia (arousal through sounds), body worship, shower sex, face sitting (partner on him), Somnophilia (sleeping sex (with consent))

Wraith: Vicarphilia (hearing of other's exploites), breath play, medical play, shower sex

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) (other than the bedroom)

Ghost: over his desk

Phantom: in any risky spot

Specter: in front of windows/ mirrors

Banshee: in the shower

Wraith: exam chair/table

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Grave Squad: their partner, always.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Grave Squad: non-concent, dehumanization, age play

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ghost: loves both

Phantom: likes recieving, loves giving

Specter: doesn't like recieving, enjoys giving

Banshee: loves both, especially giving

Wraith: likes both, getting better at it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ghost: depends on partner's desires

Phantom: rough and fast until bonds are made, then slows down sometimes

Specter: sensual, but hard

Banshee: slow and sensual

Wraith: clumsy, slow, and giggly

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ghost: enjoys them, but not as much as feature length fun

Phantom: loves em, but less when youre serious with him

Specter: he'll give you oral for a Quickie but doesn't like them for himself

Banshee: would only do it if you asked him to and seemed absolutely desperate

Wraith: so excited about the idea, would love to, as often as you'd like.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Grave Squad: they'll try damn near anything at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ghost: 4 rounds, 10-15 min each, 2-5 minutes between rounds

Phantom: 3 rounds, 8-12 minutes each, 3-5 minutes between first 3 rounds, 6-10 minutes between final rounds

Specter: 3 rounds, 10-15 minutes each, 1-3 minutes between each round.

Banshee: 3 rounds, 15-20 minutes each, 2-3 minutes between rounds.

Wraith: 2 rounds, 5-8 minutes each, 3-5 minutes between rounds (he'll get better with practice)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ghost: doesn't use toys, but wouldn't be adverse to trying for his partner

Phantom: loves toys, uses them for both

Specter: uses toys on partner

Banshee: loves a good cockring, anything to prolong the process

Wraith: doesn't know enough, but would be very excited to try them out

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ghost: teases a little (until you tease back/make him jealous, then all bets are off)

Phantom: teases until you tell him to stop

Specter: King Tease, doesn't stop until you use the safe word

Banshee: doesn't tease verbally, only touch, and only until you're in the mood and say you're ready for him

Wraith: would try to tease, but wouldn't be good at it. Unknowingly teases most of all.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ghost: moderate, doesn't get too loud but can be vocal. Grunts and moans, growls. Checks in throughout, light dirty talk sometimes

Phantom: moderate to loud. Talks through the process, shouts when he climaxes unless he's going solo. Dirty talk and check ins veiled as dirty talk

Specter: low to moderate, brief check ins. Dirty talk in a whisper, will call you names if you're into it.

Banshee: silent for the most part. Breathy panting, soft grunts. Focusing more on the sounds you make. Eye contact for check ins

Wraith: moderate to loud. Panting, moaning, grunting, begging and praise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ghost: watching you ride him is one of his favorite sights

Phantom: makes sure you climax at least twice while with him

Specter: gets off on you getting off, way more than anything else.

Banshee: wants nothing more than to slowly fuck you for an entire day, would spend hours worshipping your body if given a chance.

Wraith: has a fantasy about having sex on a beach, but wouldn't do it because it's very risky health wise. Thinks about it often, though.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Ghost: above average length, average thickness

Phantom: average length and thickness

Specter: average length, slightly above average thickness

Banshee: above average length and thickness

Wraith: average length and thickness

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Ghost: 8/10

Phantom: 8/10

Specter: 7/10

Banshee: 10/10 (surprise)

Wraith: 5/10

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ghost: doesn't fall asleep until after you do

Phantom: falls asleep within 20 minutes of finishing

Specter: falls asleep within 30 minutes of finishing

Banshee: stays awake as long as he can just admiring you

Wraith: once his Aftercare routine is finished, he's out within moments unless you keep him awake.

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 19: Hypnosis

Summary: The infected troopers start to move the captives into the unfinished hive for temporary storage. Obi-wan attempts to reason with them, but comes to a disheartening conclusion on what he must do to disrupt the parasite's control.

Warning: Slight mind manipulation (the morality of using Jedi Mind Tricks is put into question)

Dogma's design should give a vague idea of what Cody looks like since they belong to the same cast

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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In many ways the infected moved as if they were one singular creature. Their coordination and timing (things which most clones already had fine-tuned due to years of training) so incredibly in sync that it felt like watching an actual hivemind at work. One single entity with several bodies that worked on a precise set of tasks, like a conveyor belt in a factory line.

In reality, Obi-wan knows that's not it. The adaptations forced upon the men were ones he recognized on species of eusocial insects, that relied heavily on different kinds of pheromones to communicate. The infected are purely going off scent and hierarchy rather than an actual mind-meld. But their boosted cooperative skills are still impressive nonetheless.

That said, he really wishes that were not the case...

Especially not when he and the remaining healthy troopers were being carted off for storage. Set aside for whenever (if at all) Tup returned. Bound and unable to do anything about it. Their attempts to bring the sick to reason going on deaf ears.

Or, if they annoyed the mutated troopers just a little too much, they would get a low growl or a threatening hiss for their troubles. Sometimes the quick snap of jaws as well, but mostly they were ignored completely. The infected's devotion to their new leader far outweighing any familiarity they might have had with their healthy vode.

The parasites controlling them keeping far too firm a grip.

Obi-wan could, in a way, understand why such a creature would evolve to be this insidious. In as hostile an environment like Umbara, survival of the fittest meant doing just about anything to make it out on top. These parasites, the Umber Blight, had become some of the most naturally cruel arthropods he ever did lay his eyes upon. But, as understanding as he may be of how evolution worked, the Jedi could not bring himself to forgive these beings's true nature.

Not when they had used the troopers, his friends, in such a horrific manner. Starting off by relying heavily on the insecurities and fears of a rookie to spread their influence, and then making all of the men who'd fallen victim become mere mockeries of their true selves.

Identity was everything to a clone. Obi-wan had learned this early on, when he was still getting acquainted with helping to lead an army. Had done everything he could to deserve to get to know the fine young souls that he would be working with regularly, and that he'd slowly become endeared to. Been as openly supportive of their expressions of self, when he'd found out just how oppressive their upbringing had been. So seeing these loyal and kind-hearted soldiers lose that part of themselves, was like having a hot knife stabbed deep into his ribcage. And then subsequently watching those who still had their minds look at their vode with such distress, was like having that blade twisted and turned until everything it touched was torn into fine ribbons.

The unnecessary cruelty made his blood boil. His thoughts racing as he tried to reign it all in.

A Jedi did not submit to rage after all. They mulled over what upset them, processed that particular pain, and released it into the Force. Cleared their thoughts of all ill will and let themselves be guided towards a better solution.

Striking in anger would not benefit anyone. Least of all the victims of this disease.

"Cody..." He tried to speak calmly. Not wanting to come off as far too firm or condescending, when everyone else was relying on him being able to get through to the Commander. "My dear friend, I understand you are bound by honor to complete your duties towards your... Hive... But I must implore you to see reason. You know this isn't right."

The mutated Commander's antennae twitched as he spoke. A sign that he was listening, but not necessarily hearing what the Jedi had to say. Just aware of the noise coming from his direction.

It was a far cry from how he usually behaved.

"Spreading this to the others won't do them any good." He continued, hoping that if he insisted, that eventually he might get through to his second in command. "That is just what the parasite wants you all to think."

9 pairs of eyes turned to regard him with blatant disinterest.

The split in the middle of Cody's bottom jaw widening as he proceeded to yawn, giving the Jedi a nice view of his mouth. From the silk glands that lazily dripped thick strands of webbing, to the elongated and split tongue with protruding spikes, down to the bizarre proboscis-like appendage his esophagus had turned into, the Commander's wide articulated maw was nothing if not intimidating to look upon.

An attempt at a facsimile set of insect jaws that just came off as disconcerting when attached to a clone's otherwise human face.

"Am I boring you?" Obi-wan asked, sounding somewhat amused as he did so. "You seem tired..."

Instead of responding, Cody simply carried on with his current affairs. Most of which revolved around wrapping each and every one of the captive uninfected troopers in strong silk. Not enough to cover them up in cocoons (Cody most definitely did not produce that much silk of his own, nor had Obi-wan seem him spit up the same yellow adhesive Tup seemed to be able to naturally produce), but definitely enough to keep them immobilized during transport.

Each trooper that he'd bound up having then been carried off by one of the other infected, who's forms were distinctly different from the one Cody had taken on.

Lighter in build with less spikes or a stinger of their own. Still very much their natural height instead of the noticeable boost the Commander had gained. Unable to fly as they did not possess a set of wings. They also only had a total of 5 eyes whereas Tup had 7 and Cody had 9. Most likely because they were meant to remain indoors at all times, rather than traverse outside where good vision would be most needed.

Each cast definitely had their own set of specialties, as he noted some of the men who'd fully transformed had stomachs that were slightly larger than the average build of a standard clone trooper. For those mutated men in particular, their gasters were also rounder and larger instead of being heart-shaped and evenly sized.

They were also mostly just watching the proceedings with mild curiosity, instead of helping the others transport the prisoners. Perhaps unsure of what to do if they were not currently tasked with doing what they were most likely 'designed' to do.

At the very least their inactivity didn't seem to upset the others. Some of which checked up on them and very gently chirped as if to give reassurance. Obi-wan at least assumed this was the case, as he watch as a transformed Crys nudged an equally transformed Reed, taking the slightly rounder trooper by the hand and guiding him along.

"I think they might be Repletes." Canivete murmured from just slightly below him. At this point, only Obi-wan, Canivete and Waxer remained attached to the web. Cody had just managed to pin down Tacet to begin wrapping them up. "In ant societies, the repletes are essentially living food storage compartments, that remain in the nest to feed other ants. They fill up their social stomachs with so much food that the gaster swells to about the size of a grape..."

"That's nasty..." Waxer grimaced. He was hanging to Obi-wan's right, one of his boots the only thing in his line of sight. "How big do you think a vod could get if they followed the same logic?"

"Given the fact ants get as big as they get? From the larger bellies and gasters alone, I'm pretty sure they could put a puffer pig to shame." Cani mused. "I doubt it's gonna be a comfortable experience..."

"Stars..."

Cody passed Tacet onto the nearest trooper, moving on to grab at Waxer to begin yet another flurry of wrapping. None of the lieutenant's words getting through to his brother either. There was no talking sense into any of them... So long as the parasites had full control, the men would be forced to obey their new leader's orders.

The power of their suggestions simply too much to work around.

"..." blinking a few times, Obi-wan hummed and furrowed his brow as he began to contemplate that thought.

"You doing ok, sir?" Canivete asked as she noticed the change in his demeanor.

The parasites certainly had a powerful hold of the men's minds. Of that, he had no question. But could they withstand a Force Suggestion if he were to give it to them? They seemed to rely heavily on the men's own mental faculties to understand certain social constructs and ideas. Perhaps if he used a Jedi Mind Trick on the men, it might temporarily disrupt the hold the parasites had?

"General?" Canivete insisted, the medic sounding concerned for his sake.

"I believe I may have an idea..." He told her, frowning as he thought of the consequences implementing said idea, would later bring. Mostly, he knew he would be crossing a line with the men. Especially with Cody, who he'd once discussed this specific ability with. "But it is not one I'm particularly proud of..."

"Whatever works..." The web was slightly tugged, which he assumed was from Canivete shrugging. Or attempting to.

Waxer was already being dragged off. Cody was approaching. It was now or never...

"You will stop what you're doing and listen carefully to what I say." The Jedi tried to keep his voice as clear and even as possible, watching with bitter sadness as the Commander paused in his tracks to stare up at him clearly confused. "Now you will let go of the Commander and sleep for a little while..."

At that, Cody stood up ramrod straight in the same manner he'd done when Tup had first roared. Claiming control over the newly infected and setting them against the healthy. Pitch black eyes widened in mild shock, the mutated clone's mandibles beginning to click in distress. Antennae, arms and wings twitching as control was wrestled out of the parasite's grasp.

And then Cody let out a sudden gasp and violently shook his head.

"Was that a karking Force Suggestion?!" Canivete yelped, clearly horrified at the idea of her General using something of the sort on her siblings.

"It was the only thing I could think to try..." Obi-wan sheepishly admitted sheepishly, trying not to think too hard about it as he looked back to the shaking Commander. "Cody... Are you alright?"

".̴.̶.̸.̴.̶" Cody opened and closed his mouth several times before glancing up at the two of them in question. He regarded them for a couple of seconds before glancing down at his own body. Multiple emotions surging across his face before he regained his composure and looked back up at them again. "T̷h̶a̸t̶ ̶w̷a̷s̸n̷'̷t̵.̴.̶.̷ ̶G̶r̶e̸a̴t̴.̷.̴.̷"

"Oh crap, it worked..." Canivete sounded astonished.

"It seems to have, yes..." Which meant he'd need to do it for every single one of the infected men. Which put Obi-wan ill at ease, since he didn't like to do this sort of thing to anyone he was fond of.

Least of all to the troopers who considered trust to be everything.

Needless to say, he'd need to have a serious conversation with a lot of people once this entire mess was over. And perhaps maybe arrange a visit to the Mind Healers, since he was more than certain this entire ordeal would haunt him for the foreseeable future...

[t3mpest98]

OC Profile ask game! 5, 22 and 42 for the new baby boy Nutmeg? :3

>:3 da babi boy

5. biggest fear?

Being alone in the dark without his hearing aids. Cause then he’s really deaf to the world in every sense, if he can’t at least see his surroundings then he gets nervous, but being alone just makes it worse. He thinks it’s a bit of a childish fear though so he tries not to talk about it or make it known. I mean, he’s a Guard trooper after all, and now he’s with the CDU so he shouldn’t be afraid of something so ridiculous as the dark right? (Even though he’s seen plenty of people, both clones and nat-borns, dragged off in dark corners that are never seen again)

22. special interests?

Trees. He loves them. He’s only ever heard about them but he loves them. He’s never ever seen one but he really really wants to. He would absolutely love to make little creatures out of wood if he could ever get his hands on the materials. He doesn’t really like how dead Coruscant feels.

42. most distinctive features?

Probably his brownish hair, but also if he’s in the sun his eyes look a little amber. Really warm yk?

[violetjedisylveon]

Amnesia Chapter 12 - Interrogation

Bad batch Omega centric au

Summary: The Empire asks Freyu a few questions about her family.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: ⚠nothing too bad, there isn't any excessive violence or death. There is a bit of some creepiness but nothing really bad⚠

A/N: There is the mention of some clone OCs of mine, there are two different posts but here is 1 and here is 2. I highly suggest checking them out a bit before reading but I'll summarize them at the end.

Enjoy!

Bad Batch Amnesia AU Masterpost

________________________________________________________________________________

Imperial security was stupid.

Freyu had to wait and watch and explain literally everything she had on her. Half of the confusion was over her portable med kit, they were supposed to be soldiers, how they didn't know what a stem shot was for was beyond her.

Her current irritation was mostly based on her tinnitus acting up without her hearing aid, which was being examined at the moment. Again, these soldiers were idiots, they couldn't put together what a mechanical device in her ear was being used for.

Not quickly enough, the examination was done.

"Are you deaf?" One of the troopers asked as they handed her hearing aid back.

"Hard of hearing." She grunted, putting the aid back in it's slot.

Immediately, the tinnitus noise was cut out to a far more manageable level, she'd forgotten how bad it really was without her hearing aid.

"This way." A different trooper ordered her.

She followed them to a meeting room, the Empire was operating out of a rented space, that had been repurposed into a questioning room. There was a single table in the middle and chairs on either side.

"The vice admiral will be with you shortly." The trooper said.

He shut the door and left her alone in an empty room. She sat, kicking her feet up on the table and pulled out her datapad to make a note of what she had gotten done and what she still needed.

She quickly found herself unable to keep her attention on the task and just staring at the screen zoning out.

That's odd… she bit her lip as she racked her brain for whatever caused this, then her stomach grumbled.

Shit! I didn't eat! She groaned and tipped her head back, rubbing her eyes. She hadn't eaten this morning, it had slipped her mind in her rush to get going, and with that, she'd also forgotten to take her medicine.

"Fuck my life." She groaned.

This, this whatever it was, was going to take ages.

You fucking idiot, can't even remember to fucking eat or take your pills- Freyu jammed her fingers against her side to stop herself before she went spiraling, she already didn't want to be here, she didn't want to explain, that, to someone she'd never see again.

Distraction. Find a distraction. She snatched up her datapad and started doodling.

It felt like literal hours before some on finally came in. She glanced up as the officer came in, head buried in a datapad.

"My sincerest apologies for the delay-" he glanced up for one second then stared at her.

Freyu rolled her eyes and went back to her drawing. The officer was surprised by her appearance, like almost everyone who knew how old she was. She was acutely aware that she didn't look, or naturally sound, old enough.

"Problem?" She prompted, not even glancing at him.

The human took a second to compose himself, he cleared his throat and answered.

"My apologies… you are not what I was expecting."

"I get that a lot." She snorted.

The human sat down across from her and she could see him staring at her from the edge of her vision, she was more concerned with getting the twirl of Boa's tendrils just right. He cleared his throat, she glanced up at him with a frown.

"We are beginning now." He told her.

"Oh." She set her datapad aside.

He gave her kicked up feet a pointed look. Freyu fought the urge to sass the human as she put one leg on the floor and pulled the other against her chest so she could rest against it when this conversation inevitably got boring.

"Can't sit normally, can you?" He said.

"Nope." She grinned.

He muttered some xenophobic comment under his breath as he scanned his datapad. Given his general stiffness attitude and lack of a personality, he was probably from the Core.

"I am Imperial Vice Admiral Rampart, and you are Freyu O'asisk, correct?" He said.

"If I wasn't I wouldn't be here."

Rampart narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Wonder how long he's been on world.

"What did you need to talk about so much?" She asked.

"I just have a few questions about you, your family's history and it's," his eyes widened at something he saw, "relations to certain figures who've recently gained a lot of attention." He finished.

"This won't take long." He said with a politician's smile.

I sure hope not.

"Let's get started, shall we?" He prompted.

She just nodded, already bored out of her mind.

"I'm going to review the basic information in your file, just so we're on the same page."

She nodded again.

"You live near the town of Mlikix in the planet's northern hemisphere. You are a licensed medical practitioner for sentients and non sentients, a toxicologist and and herbalist. Your family has been living on Massanii for the last thousand years or so, and your family has a strong Mandalorian heritage. Correct?" He prompted

"Yep." She gave him a thumbs up and rested her cheek on her knee, wishing she could do something while the human talked at her.

"You are the current head of your family and have been since your mothers died seven years ago. Out of all the siblings you have, only one still lives with you, a younger sister." Rampart glanced up at her.

"That's right, but what's that got to do with anything?" She asked.

The corners of Rampart's mouth twitched up. She immediately got a bad feeling.

"As you may or may not know, the Jedi committed treason at the end of the war and were wiped out in response. Any of them left and those who help them will face Imperial justice." He stated matter of factly.

"But what matters to you is that the Emporer has ordered that an questioning of dead Jedi families, even those who died before or in the early stages of the war, as a means of security." He said.

Freyu blinked.

Her eyes stung slightly.

She lifted her head off her knee and stared at the human, his words slowly being comprehended until it clicked.

He was here to talk about Maatsu.

"You want to talk about my brother?" She asked.

"Yes, Maatsu I believe. He's listed as the oldest of six siblings, and from my understanding, he's quite a bit older than you. What did you know about him?" Rampart leaned forward slightly.

"I know he lived with our mothers until he was about three, he was recruited when a friend of my mom's came by for a visit. I think she said something about Maatsu wanting to go, it's a little fuzzy since I can't exactly ask her." Freyu said, picking at the loose skin around her fingernails.

"Yasti Phin was the Jedi, correct?"

She glanced up in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you-"

"The records I've been provided with regarding your family are quite detailed. Yasti Phin studied and frequently worked with a Pantoran padawan by the name of Requwon Vygolid. Your mother." Rampart said almost smugly, she couldn't quite tell.

"What?"

Rampart raised an eyebrow.

"Did you truly not know?"

Freyu shook her head.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it made some sense, a few odd things about her mother were explained, despite that she was internally reeling from the new information.

She was a Jedi… she was a fucking Jedi…

"I… didn't know she was a Jedi…" Freyu eventually said.

She barely noticed Rampart writing something on his log.

"The records say she left the order before her training was complete after a series of unlisted incidents." Rampart stated.

"That leads me to your brother's own history within the Jedi, starting seven years ago he was repeatedly absent for weeks at a time, can I assume you are the reason why?" He asked.

"Oh, uh yes. After our parents died, and I don't know why, but he came home to take care of me and my sister. Between the Jedi stuff he did and taking care of us, he somehow fit studying navy stuff into everything else. Then the war happened and he died. I don't know how this helps you, he didn't really do much." Freyu shrugged.

"What was your relationship to him like?"

"He's my ori'vod, er, big brother, he was one of the only people I could trust, he taught me what my parents didn't get too." Freyu fiddled with her fingers as she spoke.

"Did he ever tell you about the Jedi Order?"

"Just a whole lot of gossip, some of it was really boring but one of them was about that Obi-Wan guy, that's his name right? There was a rumor that the old Mandalorian duchess had a nephew who looked a lot like him, though Maat didn't think that one was particularly true. He talked a lot about the younglings." She said.

One of her favorite things was hearing Maat rant about the current Temple or senate gossip while he was cooking or showing her how to collect from dangerous plants.

"I see, he truly told you nothing of the Jedi?" Rampart asked.

"Nope, nothing that mattered." She nodded.

Rampart nodded and made a few more notes. With a barely concealed sigh, he moved onto the next topic, which he had very clearly been dreading. She had a few ideas about what that was.

"The sector's traffic records indicate that Jango Fett frequently visited your area of the planet in the years leading up to the war, the visits increased around thirteen years ago. Do you know anything about that?" He asked.

"He came to talk with my parents, I wasn't allowed in the room so I don't know what they were talking about but I know he got a kid from somewhere. I think he was visiting to get parenting advice." Freyu answered.

Please don't ask more, I don't want to explain it. Freyu silently begged.

Rampant sighed heavily.

"We have limited records of their interactions, but for the sake of completeness, I am obligated to ask," Rampart closed his eyes and squirmed in his seat a little.

"What was the relationship between Jango Fett and Lenoka O'asisk?"

Freyu had never held any lasting resentment towards her Buir for anything, but this one subject was the very occasional exception. It was always so awkward to explain.

"How complete of an answer do you need?" She asked.

Rampart glowered at her.

"Ah, all of it." Freyu nodded to herself.

She turned her head away from the officer.

"I know they knew of each other before the civil war, during the war was when they actually met each other, they had a lot to do then, so they got to know each other pretty well… I know that at one point, for a while they were… romantically involved… but it didn't last long and they split up but stayed good friends. He was our ver'gebuir, and they were his kid's ver'gebuir." She rushed the last part.

"Pardon?" Rampart asked.

"Oh, ver'gebuir is almost parent or secondary guardian, it's like a godparent." She explained.

"And your Jedi mother agreed to this?"

"Uh, yes, my mothers trusted each other, even if she had personal issues with him she knew that didn't really matter. He wasn't a threat in her mind." She said.

"Interesting." Rampart muttered.

"Can we stop talking about my parents now?" Freyu requested.

"Yes, I just have a few more questions to ask." Rampart nodded.

"Your brother was known for taking his troops out of action and bringing them here when he, I presume he was visiting you, took his leave, we are wondering if you know anything about them?" He said.

Freyu cocked her head to the side.

"They work for you, why do you need to talk to me?" She asked.

"His former command liaisons, BT-9900 and BT-9901 went missing the day the Jedi plot was discovered, there is some concern that they aided in the plot, have you heard anything from them?"

Freyu blinked at him.

Toqema and Rackus were gone, no one knew where, he hadn't mentioned Ciryc, so were they still around? Toqema was smart, frighteningly smart, and Rackus was always prepared for anything, the two of them would be fine on their own, if they were on their own, but why would they just leave? Did they know something she didn't?

"No… I haven't heard a thing about them… and I doubt I will…" she admitted.

If you didn't need to know, you wouldn't know. That was how Toqema operated, she kept everything close to her chest and hidden. It had gotten her through her hell of a life so far, Freyu wasn't going to jeaprodize it now by talking too much.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"What about Ciryc?"

"Who?"

"Uh, they used to be CC-9347-99, I think…" She really hated that number, hated calling the three of them by those numbers, their names had been legally changed.

Rampart looked something up on their datapad.

You do know that their number was changed to a name, right? She wanted to ask.

"CC-9347-99, "Ciryc", resigned after the declaration of the new order, apparently barged in on the Emperor for it. They are currently working as a personal bodyguard to Senator Riyo Chuchi. They don't know where the missing clones are either."

Freyu hid her smirk, of course Ciryc quit the first chance she got, and of course she spent the newfound freedom to stay by Riyo's side. She hadn't really spoken to either of them since the funeral.

It might be good to check in… see how they're doing… it wasn't an unpleasant thought, it actually sounded kind of nice.

Rampart stood.

"Is that it?" Freyu asked.

"Yes, all I needed to know was about the Jedi and the clones. Nothing more." Rampart said.

"So you dragged me away from my work in the middle of baby season to ask me about my dead brother and parents who died years before any of this traitor shit went down and about things that I have no idea of knowing? I haven't talked to them in years! How would I know what they were doing?" Freyu growled.

"It was necessary-"

"No it wasn't, you could've sent me a holo message and gotten the same results without pissing me off! Do you realise I have a job to do?!" She snarled.

"I- I apologise for any inconveniences-" Rampart started.

"Oh save it." Freyu snapped.

She stood up to the barely taller than her human, glaring like he'd spit in her face.

"Is there anything else you need from me or are you going to leave me alone now that I've done your stupid little interview?" She growled.

Rampart swallowed and frantically looked around like someone else was there. Wait, someone else was there.

Another human, pale skinned, dark hair, unsettling blue eyes, stood at the now opened door. She couldn't shake the feeling that she somehow knew him. Behind him was a table with medical equipment on it. She recognized several types of pathogen tests, and a syringe for drawing blood.

"Hello Miss O'asisk." The human spoke calmly, too calmly.

It was creepy.

"Before you go, we need to run a few tests to ensure the health of our staff." He said, gesturing to the equipment behind him.

"The basic file comes with vaccination history, so that won't be necessary." Freyu said, barely holding back a snarl.

She walked around Rampart, who had conveniently blocked her way, and stared the taller human down. He gave her major creep vibes.

"The Empire requires a blood sample be taken." He stated cooly.

She knew exactly what a blood test could be used for, and she wasn't keen on getting caught, especially not now.

"Yeah, no. Taking a blood sample without consent is extremely illegal here, so I'm afraid you're out of luck. I'm perfectly healthy and you already have my records. You don't need any new tests, and I certainly don't consent to them. So move." She made a shooing motion.

The human opened his mouth, but he didn't get a chance to argue, a Massii Guard chose to intervene when the human didn't back down.

"O'asisk is right, doctor, it is illegal to take samples without consent, it is a form of assault here, and assault is heavily punished, especially for offworlders." They stated, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Very well." He said politely.

The corners of his mouth twitched up with a smirk as he stepped aside, she made it past him and out of reach as fast as she could.

"Thanks." She told the guard in their tongue.

"Is the Empire gonna leave me alone now that I've answered all your dumb little questions?" She asked.

"Yes, you've done what we need you to." The human, a doctor apparently, said.

Freyu fought off a grimace.

"You are very creepy. Stay away from me." She said before she could think.

Surprisingly, the doctor laughed.

"I've been told that a lot on this planet." He said.

She did not like the way he looked at her. She quickly turned heel and walked as fast as she could away from the creepy doctor.

________________________________________________________________________________

Ciryc, Toqema and Rackus are all clones I made, they are all from early test batches, Ciryc was originally a commando, and they are all legitimately defective. Toqema and Ciryc both have skin issues, piebaldism for both and vitiligo for Toqema. Rackus and Toqema both have weird ears, ADHD and didn't respond properly to the accelerated aging treatment, so they age a lot slower than most clones. Ciryc also has ADHD.

Ciryc and Toqema are also both trans, she/they/xe demigirl Ciryc and she/her Toqema but that's not part of their defects.

There's more but I go into way more detail in the posts I made about them.

Freyu's forgot her meds moment is brought to you by the many times I've forgotten my meds cause they got changed to a one in morning and one 4-5 hours later because of an Adderall shortage cause, I heard this from someone working in the pharmacy when we asked about it so just keep that in mind, but apparently a bunch of adults got adhd diagnosis in the pandemic and the drug administration is worried about it so I get to be screwed, thank you department of food and drug administration of america.

Functioning as a semi normal human person is super hard with only half my dose.

But luckily I'm back in my normal meds after spending roughly a week on unhinged adhd god mode, oh boy is there a difference, I can do shit again.

I hope you all have a good day, whatever that is for you!

VJS Out!

[imrowanartist]

Different outfits for Yara throughout the years!

(The letters on his Mando helmet are D/H, which stand for Deaf/Hard of Hearing, so that other helmeted Mandos know to use sign language)

Separate images under the cut!

[plo-koons-favorite-padawan]

Hi let’s talk about clones and Jedi who have hearing loss/are deaf after the war

[marveltaughtmetoread]

It's weird, and alarming, how willing fans are to overlook the clones as being slaves

Yeah we recognise the Stormtroopers as bad, maybe even, as slaves but not the clones

And the clones are arguably worse

Their one job, their one purpose in life is to be soldiers, they were created for that purpose, trained from a young age and artificially aged up to better serve that purpose

They are the result of eugenics made possible with Sci-fi tech

They are already a clear problem for morality before you get to the way they are treated as an army

They aren't given names, their individuality is something they themselves make and yeah the Jedi don't stop them doing this but that doesn't make the Jedi's compliance with the clones situation any better

The Jedi are using genetically engineered people who have been created to be compliant with their overlords and are treated as expendable and the Jedi are happy to do this, happy to have soldiers to fight their war for them

Already pretty problematic but it gets worse

In at least one episode of the Clone Wars, we see a deserter, he is living a life on a farm, in secret and in hiding, Rex and co accidentally discover him when they crash land on the planet and Rex is injured forcing them to look for help

The revelation of a clone deserter is seen as a betrayal of his brothers, the show allows the deserter to argue that he left for his brothers, but his desertion is still seen as something punishable in canon, Rex's decision to not mention him in his report is a conscious one to protect him from punishment by the army and it is implied that it would have gone very differently had there been a Jedi present, maybe not Anakin because he would have likely understood but any other Jedi may have punished the Clone for this

Now, you may be thinking why is that so bad, in real life we also treat people a similar way for desertion from the army so what makes the Republic doing it wrong

Well, first of all, it is a pretty horrendous way to treat people who are no doubt suffering from emotional trauma from war and all that entails, especially when many of them may have been conscripted so not even consented to fighting in the first place. It is done to discourage desertion which could endanger the lives of their fellow soldiers but that doesn't make it right

Second of all, the clones aren't normal soldiers. They have never experienced a life away from war before, their only family is their fellow clones and their only purpose is to fight, their desertion is therefore significantly less likely but being punished for trying to leave is worse, it draws a parallel between them and slaves, they do not own their own lives, they are not allowed to walk away and they have to follow orders

The Jedi, in using them and enforcing this system, consented to the use of slaves, they consented and took part in a slave system

And the defence that Jedi treated the clones well falls on deaf ears, do you really think all slave owners were openly cruel and inhumane or do you think many would have treated them well in an attempt to encourage loyalty, the way they are treated is up to the individual, it makes that individual worse or marginally better than their peers, it does not negate the guilt and part all of the Jedi played in this system of oppression, the Jedi are still guilty and still responsible for owning and enforcing slaves and the slave system

And yeah it was the Senate who voted on this but the Jedi could have refused, it was their choice to use them, the Jedi were not powerless figureheads but actual leaders, with a degree of separation from the Senate which would have allowed them to refuse the Clone troopers

Yet they didn't, they actively choose to use clone troopers and actively made the Senate aware of their existence rather than shutting down Kamino, they choose to place a Jedi as an overseer of the operation making themselves firmly part of the system, and the way they justified this, was it was for the greater good

They were fighting a war the clones had no part in but the Jedi had decided to get involved in, they wanted to lead armies against the droids to oppose the Separatists and the clone troopers, innocents, were recruited and forced to fight as expendable soldiers

The clones had more personality and individuality than droid soldiers but they were treated no better, they were just as expendable

[jedipoodoo]

I Hear a Symphony (Tech x Deaf!Reader)

Word Count: 1000 exactly. Cool!

Warnings: None :)

Notes: This turned into a bit of an infodump but you know what, it's what Tech would want.

*The italicized words are signs. It is not babyspeak, it is ASL grammar. A lot of words are omitted or swapped for words that summarize the communication better.

*I myself am not Deaf, but I have studied American Sign Language and Deaf Culture for the last eight years. That experience is where the inspiration for this one-shot comes from. I do not pretend to know the personal experiences of Deaf people, I simply wanted to write this.

*Last but not least, this is for dear @mintywriteswritings. Thank you so much for everything you write and share! It always lifts my spirits and makes my day!

You smiled at your friend as they stumbled over the signs again.

Sorry. They talking. She gestured to a cluster of clones on a couple tables over.

Big man, no hair, LOUD! She emphasized the sensation next to her ears, and you laughed, looking for the trooper in question. Not being able to hear like your friend had its benefits sometimes. Focusing on your tasks was immensely easier, which made your work as a data analyst for the Republic invaluable.

You found the subject of her amusement easily enough, he was much larger than anyone in the GAR mess. Unlike most troopers and their colorfully painted armor, this trooper wore dark gray armor with various red embellishments, as did most of his companions. One of them, though he bore similar red markings, had armor that was almost white, like the regular clone battalions. Unlike most clones, however, he wore a pair of goggles. From the way he pushed them up the bridge of his nose, they seemed to be perscription.

You had never seen a clone trooper with goggles- or glasses -before. Clones were engineered to perfection. No defects, no abnormalities, any nonconformity was punished with decommission. The Kaminoans were lucky you had never been stationed on their planet, or hands would be thrown. In a more...violent way than you usually did.

He appeared to be watching you, the goggled clone trooper. His eyes squinting behind his goggles as he studied you.

Interesting.

Whatever, turning back to your friend, she brushed her fingers together and continued with her story. You reacted in all the right places and scooted to the edge of the bench in anticipation for the next series of signs.

A shadow was cast across the table, and you looked up to see the very same goggled trooper standing over you. He spoke, and you looked to your friend for the translation.

Your friend made a face, interpreting. Those look-like A-R-C soldier signs not.

You nodded, signing to the trooper. Soldier signs not, correct. I Deaf. Sign language I use.

The strange clone still appeared confused. They looked at your friend and spoke again. She shook her head.

Ask them. Focus them, She emphasized in your direction

He appeared flustered, and cleared his throat before looking at you and repeating his question.

You nodded patiently, watching your friend interpret out of the corner of your eye. He was hardly the first trooper who had asked you about sign language.

Sign language what?

I Deaf, cannot speak. Basic Sign Language, I use. Communicate.

The trooper stared at you, mouth agape, trying to process this information.

All Deaf people use hands? He asked.

You grinned.

Many people, many different species. Any world, culture, have Deaf person, use sign language, other communication.

Now enthralled by this alien conundrum, the trooper sat at the table next to you, straddling the bench. His mouth moved a mile a minute, but your friend's hands flew faster to keep up.

You held up your hand.

Stop. Slow. First, name. You fingerspelled your name for him before giving him your sign name for easier communication.

He nodded, and gave you his name, spelling it out for your friend to sign.

T-E-C-H. Tech.

Hm. You thought for a moment, then made the shape of the letter T with one hand before tapping the middle knuckle against the corner of your eye. T for Tech, with the sign for glasses.

Your friend laughed. Sign name, they give you.

Tech was intrigued. It only took a moment to explain that only a Deaf individual could give another person a sign name. You showed him the sign name you gave him, and then your own. He copied your movements effortlessly.

Good job! You signed. He copied that too.

Tech had so many questions now, he had forgotten why he originally came over to investigate your table. His brothers were long forgotten as he asked you more and more questions, alternating between taking notes on his ever-present datapad and copying the signs you showed him. Your friend was called back to their office for an assignment, but you and Tech had adapted by using the datapad to write out what you wanted to say, and then you would point out particular words and demonstrate the signs for him.

He took up the datapad, thinking for a while before slowly typing out his next question.

Are you ever made fun of?

You nodded. People stupid.

Tech chuckled. He liked the sign for stupid. You did too.

Think I not know. I Deaf, not stupid. You sighed.

Tech huffed.

I you think need smart Deaf.

You smiled at his attempt at grammar. Tech sighed, and took up the datapad again. He seemed so frustrated with the sheer simplicity of sign language that he always turned back to typing on the datapad. But it was sweet that he was trying. More so than most people you met.

I think you need to be very smart to comprehend sign language.

You tried to hide your blush by looking down at your lap. It wasn't very often that people recognized your talents.

You? you asked at last.

He nodded. I different.

You different how? You asked.

He tapped his goggles. Smart.

Big smart?

He nodded.

You nodded, echoing the sign. Fits.

Tech chuckled, you could feel the chuff of his breath in the space between you. He had run out of questions for now, but you were sure he would think of another soon enough.

You had never felt a particular desire to hear. You had lived without hearing your whole life, and while there was the occasional kriffer, people like your family, your friends, and Tech made it easier.

Still, there were times where you didn't need to hear anything. You didn't even need to say anything with your hands.

Sometimes, you just needed to sit and feel.

And so, as Tech's hands sat idly gripping his datapad, you wrapped your hand around his.